The Hero Public Safety Commission building didn't feel like a place where heroes were made.
It felt like a place where heroes were managed.
Cold marble floors. White walls too clean to be real. Glass windows that looked out over the city like the building itself was watching everything beneath it. The air smelled faintly of polished steel and paperwork.
On the highest floor, behind a set of thick double doors, a board meeting was already in session.
No reporters.
No cameras.
No speeches.
Only truth.
A long table stretched across the center of the room, polished black and reflective enough to show the faces of the people seated around it. Their expressions were tight, serious, tired.
Men and women in suits.
Some older.
Some younger.
All of them wearing the same look that came with knowing too much.
At the far end of the table sat the Chairwoman.
Her hair was pulled back, gray streaking through the black. Her eyes were sharp, and she didn't blink often. A tablet rested in front of her, displaying video footage frozen on a single frame.
A boy's face.
Pale.
Half-conscious.
Carried out of a zoo on a stretcher.
His eyes glowed faint gold.
Under the image was a name.
ILLIUM PRICE.
The Chairwoman's voice cut through the room.
"Let's begin."
No one spoke.
The only sound was the quiet hum of the building's lights.
She tapped her tablet.
A screen on the wall lit up, showing a surveillance recording.
The footage was clearer than anything that had aired on the news.
No shaky phone camera.
No blurred faces.
No dramatic editing.
Just cold security video.
A group of students stood near an electric eel exhibit.
A boy approached.
Illium.
Then—an elbow to the back.
A shove.
Illium stumbled.
Hands flailing.
And he fell into the tank.
The footage paused.
A woman seated halfway down the table cleared her throat.
"That's the moment."
Another man leaned forward, clasping his hands.
"So it wasn't an accident."
The Chairwoman's eyes remained on the screen.
"No," she said. "It wasn't."
A younger officer beside her—one of the Commission's analysts—spoke while scrolling through a document.
"The school is attempting to bury the bullying. They've already instructed staff to call it 'an unfortunate incident' and avoid using language that implies criminal intent."
A man with a heavy jaw frowned.
"Of course they are. Liability."
Another member of the board scoffed.
"They'd rather label a child a danger than admit their institution allowed abuse."
The Chairwoman didn't react.
She simply tapped the screen again.
The footage continued.
Illium's body disappeared beneath the water.
A few seconds passed.
Then the tank lit up like a lightning strike.
The camera distorted.
The image warped.
Then the entire screen went black.
Static.
The room fell silent.
Even the people who had already seen the footage shifted slightly in their seats.
Because no matter how many times they watched it…
it didn't look like a quirk awakening.
It looked like a disaster.
The analyst spoke again.
"The power outage affected six city blocks. The surge caused electrical damage to the zoo's security systems, fire suppression systems, and emergency lighting."
He paused, then added:
"And the discharge did not stop at the tank."
A woman in a suit narrowed her eyes.
"Meaning?"
The analyst hesitated.
Then switched the slide.
A map of the city appeared.
Highlighted lines traced outward from the zoo.
Power routes.
Infrastructure.
Electrical arteries.
"The surge traveled through the building's wiring and into the city's power grid. It was brief, but it spread."
Another board member leaned back, arms crossed.
"So he absorbed power and discharged it?"
"Possibly," the analyst replied. "Or he triggered an uncontrolled chain reaction."
The Chairwoman folded her hands.
"Either way, the result is the same."
Her eyes sharpened.
"An untrained child with an electricity-type emitter quirk can potentially destabilize an entire district without intending to."
The words sat heavy in the air.
A man at the end of the table spoke quietly.
"If he learns control…"
No one finished the sentence.
They didn't need to.
The Commission had seen what electricity quirks could do in trained hands.
And Illium Price had done this without training.
Without awareness.
Without intention.
That was the part that terrified them.
A woman near the Chairwoman adjusted her glasses.
"What is the boy's psychological profile?"
The analyst switched slides again.
A file opened.
Illium's school record.
Attendance issues.
Reports of "social withdrawal."
Multiple teacher notes describing him as "quiet" and "odd."
And then…
a list of documented complaints.
Most of them dismissed.
Student claims harassment. No evidence.
Student reports bullying. Likely exaggeration.
Student appears sensitive. Recommend counseling.
The Chairwoman stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then her voice dropped slightly.
"They ignored him."
The man with the heavy jaw exhaled sharply.
"That's always how it starts."
A different board member, older, with a stern face, leaned forward.
"We need to consider worst-case outcomes. If the boy develops resentment, or worse—if someone recruits him—"
"Recruitment is unlikely," another member said dismissively.
But the Chairwoman cut in instantly.
"Don't be naïve."
Her eyes swept the table.
"This country has no shortage of individuals who would gladly weaponize a quirk like his."
The room grew quieter.
Everyone knew who she meant.
Villain organizations.
Underground groups.
And more recently…
rumors.
Whispers about a growing presence in the shadows.
The Chairwoman tapped her tablet again.
Another image appeared.
A close-up still of Illium's face underwater.
His eyes glowing gold.
A halo of light in the darkness.
The Chairwoman's voice was controlled.
"We have a child who was abused, ignored, publicly labeled a threat, and now possesses the ability to interfere with modern infrastructure."
She paused.
"If he becomes unstable, he is not just a danger to heroes."
She looked around the room.
"He is a danger to society."
A man beside her frowned.
"What about containment?"
The word was spoken casually.
Like it was routine.
Like it was normal.
Containment.
Illium Price wasn't even fourteen.
The Chairwoman didn't hesitate.
"We cannot imprison him."
A few board members looked relieved.
Until she continued.
"Not yet."
That relief vanished instantly.
The analyst cleared his throat.
"He is currently hospitalized under standard care. Police have begun their investigation, but they are incompetent. The school is interfering. The media is sensationalizing."
The Chairwoman's gaze remained cold.
"Then we step in."
A woman on the board raised an eyebrow.
"With what justification?"
The Chairwoman leaned forward slightly.
"We don't need justification."
Silence.
Then the Chairwoman spoke again, voice smooth and precise.
"We need information."
She tapped the file.
"We need to know what he is."
The heavy-jawed man nodded.
"We need the quirk's classification."
Another member spoke.
"And a name."
The Chairwoman's eyes narrowed.
"Yes."
She paused.
"Names shape perception. The public is already calling him a 'quirk anomaly.'"
Her voice hardened.
"If we don't define him, someone else will."
The analyst shifted nervously.
"We can send two officers. One medical quirk specialist, one behavioral analyst. Under the pretense of assistance."
A woman frowned.
"Assistance?"
The Chairwoman looked at her.
"We will not treat him like a villain."
She spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.
"We will treat him like a risk."
The woman fell silent.
The Chairwoman continued.
"Two officers. No uniforms. No weapons visible. Their objective is to establish trust, assess his mental state, and fully document the limits of his quirk."
The analyst nodded.
"I already have candidates."
He tapped his tablet.
Two names appeared on the screen.
Officer Kaede Shimizu
Quirk Specialist / Support Division
Officer Renji Takahara
Behavioral Analyst / Field Liaison
The Chairwoman stared at the names.
Then nodded once.
"Approved."
The heavy-jawed man leaned forward.
"What if the boy refuses?"
The Chairwoman didn't blink.
"He won't."
Her voice was quiet.
"He wants to be seen."
A board member spoke with faint disgust.
"You're assuming too much."
The Chairwoman's gaze snapped to him.
"I'm assuming nothing."
She gestured toward the footage still frozen on the screen.
"That expression is not fear. It's not confusion."
Her voice lowered.
"That expression is awareness."
The board member didn't respond.
Because deep down, they all knew she was right.
The Chairwoman leaned back.
"Send them today."
She paused.
"And restrict media access. I want every recording of that incident removed from public platforms."
The analyst nodded.
"Yes, Chairwoman."
Another member asked carefully.
"What about the bullies?"
The Chairwoman's eyes narrowed.
"They will be handled by local authorities."
The room stayed silent.
Because everyone at the table understood what that meant.
Nothing would happen to them.
Not really.
Not in a society where reputation mattered more than truth.
The Chairwoman stood.
The rest of the board followed immediately.
Chairs scraped against the floor.
The meeting was over.
But the air remained heavy.
Because they all understood the real problem.
The boy wasn't the disaster.
The boy was the beginning.
The Chairwoman's final words were spoken quietly as she turned toward the doors.
"Keep an eye on him."
She paused.
"Before someone else does."
The hospital room smelled like disinfectant and cheap food.
Illium was sitting upright in bed now, eating the sandwich Aoi had brought earlier. Slowly. Methodically.
Like he was disassembling it with his teeth.
Aoi sat beside him, scrolling on her phone with an annoyed expression.
"Mom says she's gonna talk to the principal," Aoi muttered.
Illium took another bite.
"She won't do anything."
Aoi looked up sharply.
"Don't say that."
Illium swallowed.
"She'll try."
Aoi narrowed her eyes.
Illium stared at the sandwich.
"Trying doesn't matter."
Aoi glared at him.
"You're getting really depressing."
Illium blinked.
"…Sorry."
Aoi sighed dramatically and leaned back in her chair.
"I swear, you almost die once and suddenly you start talking like an edgy villain in a manga."
Illium glanced at her.
"I'm literally in a hospital bed."
Aoi shrugged.
"True. Very dramatic."
Illium's lips twitched slightly.
He didn't smile, but the edge of his expression softened.
Aoi leaned forward again.
"Also, I checked online."
Illium's shoulders tensed.
"What now?"
Aoi grinned.
"They made memes about you."
Illium froze.
"…Memes."
Aoi turned her phone toward him.
On the screen was a poorly edited photo of the eel plush sitting on Illium's hospital bed.
Text above it read:
WHEN YOU FINALLY AWAKEN YOUR QUIRK BUT IT'S ELECTRICITY DLC
Illium stared at it.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
Aoi burst out laughing.
Illium's expression remained blank.
But his voice was quiet.
"…That's stupid."
Aoi laughed harder.
"It is! But it's funny!"
Illium stared at the meme for a moment longer.
Then he muttered:
"I almost died."
Aoi nodded, still laughing.
"Yeah, and the internet almost has empathy. But we can't have everything."
Illium stared at her.
Aoi's laughter slowly faded.
She looked at him.
"…I'm trying to make you feel normal."
Illium's gaze softened slightly.
"…I know."
For a moment, the room was quiet again.
Then the door opened.
Aoi stiffened instantly.
Illium looked up.
Two unfamiliar people stepped inside.
Not police.
Not doctors.
They wore professional clothes, but not hospital attire.
The woman had dark hair tied neatly back and carried a slim folder in her hands. Her expression was calm, almost gentle.
The man beside her was taller, with sharp eyes and a neutral face that didn't reveal much.
They didn't look like threats.
Which made them more unsettling.
The woman spoke first.
"Illium Price?"
Illium stared at her.
"Yes."
The man closed the door behind them.
The woman smiled faintly.
"My name is Kaede Shimizu. This is Renji Takahara."
Aoi narrowed her eyes.
"Who are you?"
Kaede's smile didn't falter.
"We're with the Hero Public Safety Commission."
Illium froze.
Even Aoi went quiet.
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Hero Public Safety Commission.
Not heroes.
Not police.
Something else.
Something higher.
Something that didn't show up unless things were serious.
Illium's fingers twitched slightly under the blanket.
The lights above flickered faintly.
Renji's eyes flicked upward for half a second.
He noticed.
Illium noticed him noticing.
Kaede stepped forward slightly, keeping her tone soft.
"Please don't be alarmed. We're not here to arrest you."
Aoi scoffed.
"Then why are you here?"
Renji spoke calmly.
"We're here because your quirk is unique."
Illium stared at them.
Aoi's voice sharpened.
"Unique? He almost died."
Kaede nodded.
"Yes."
She looked at Illium now, not Aoi.
"And that's exactly why we're here."
Illium's eyes narrowed.
"What do you want?"
Kaede opened her folder.
"We want to understand your quirk."
Renji added:
"To help you."
Illium stared at them.
He didn't believe that word.
Help.
People only used it when they wanted something.
Kaede spoke again, voice gentle but firm.
"Your quirk awakened in an unusual way. It affected infrastructure beyond what a normal emitter quirk should."
She paused.
"And because of that, we need to properly document its limits and officially register it."
Illium's eyes flickered.
"Register it."
Renji nodded.
"And name it."
Aoi blinked.
"…Name it?"
Kaede smiled faintly.
"Yes."
Illium stared at them.
He could feel the electricity in Kaede's phone. In Renji's earpiece. In the small recording device tucked into Renji's jacket pocket.
They weren't here just to talk.
They were here to measure him.
To categorize him.
To define him.
Illium's voice was quiet.
"And if I don't cooperate?"
Renji's gaze remained neutral.
"Then you'll be treated as an unknown variable."
Kaede quickly added, softer:
"And nobody wants that."
Illium stared at them.
Then he leaned back against his pillow.
His voice was calm.
"…Fine."
Aoi looked at him sharply.
"Illi—"
Illium didn't look at her.
He kept his eyes on Kaede.
"If you're going to watch me anyway…"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…at least be honest about it."
Kaede's smile faded a fraction.
Then she nodded.
"That's fair."
Renji stepped forward slightly.
"Then we'll start with simple questions."
Illium stared at him.
Renji asked calmly:
"When did you first feel the electricity?"
Illium's fingers twitched.
He remembered the water.
The light.
The feeling of the entire building humming like it was alive.
Illium answered quietly.
"In the tank."
Renji nodded, writing something down.
Kaede's eyes softened.
"And before that? Any signs at all? Static shocks? Sensitivity to electronics?"
Illium stared at the ceiling.
"…I liked wires."
Aoi blinked.
Kaede tilted her head slightly.
"You liked wires?"
Illium glanced at her.
"I wanted to be an electrical engineer."
Kaede paused.
Renji stopped writing for half a second.
Aoi looked away, expression tightening.
Kaede's voice became gentler.
"I see."
Renji continued.
"Can you generate electricity, or only manipulate existing current?"
Illium stared at his hands.
He lifted his fingers slightly.
A small spark snapped.
Kaede didn't flinch.
But her eyes sharpened.
Illium watched her carefully.
Then he spoke.
"I don't know."
Renji nodded.
"That's an honest answer."
Illium's eyes narrowed.
Renji looked at him.
"You're smart, Illium. Smarter than most people your age."
Illium didn't respond.
Renji continued calmly.
"Which means you already understand why we're here."
Illium's voice was quiet.
"You're scared."
Kaede didn't deny it.
Renji didn't deny it either.
He simply said:
"We're cautious."
Illium stared at them.
Then he said softly:
"Same thing."
Silence.
Kaede closed her folder.
Her voice was calm.
"We'd like to run some controlled tests once your doctor approves it. Nothing painful. Nothing dangerous."
Illium's eyes narrowed.
"And if it is dangerous?"
Renji answered.
"Then we'll know."
Illium stared at him.
Then he smiled faintly.
Not warm.
Not friendly.
Just sharp.
"Okay."
Aoi's voice cracked slightly.
"…Illium."
Illium finally looked at her.
Aoi's eyes were worried.
Not scared of him.
Scared for him.
Illium's expression softened for half a second.
Then he looked back at Kaede.
"Tell me something."
Kaede blinked.
"Yes?"
Illium's eyes glowed faintly gold.
"Do you believe I'm a monster?"
The room went still.
Kaede stared at him.
Then she answered honestly.
"No."
Renji's eyes remained calm.
Kaede continued.
"I believe you're a boy who survived something no child should've experienced."
Illium stared at her.
For a moment, something inside him hesitated.
Then Renji spoke.
"But survival isn't the issue."
Illium's gaze sharpened.
Renji's voice was calm.
"What you become after survival…"
He paused.
"…is what matters."
Illium stared at him.
Then he looked at the window.
The rain continued falling.
The city lights beyond the glass still glowed.
Still bright.
Still alive.
Illium's voice was quiet.
"…I wonder what I'll become."
No one answered.
Because none of them knew.
But all of them feared the same thing.
That the answer was already forming.