BOOM!

The explosion of sound shattered the quiet hum of conversation in the Library Restaurant. Forks froze mid-air, while pages of book unturned as if very air had been sucked from the room. Heads jerked up, eyes wide, drawn toward the scattered fragments of a round table now lying in pieces on the floor.

All eyes flickered to the source—a white-haired boy slumped in his chair. His posture tight, with his red hood hiding his face, but tension radiated from his hunched frame, gripping everyone in a silent unease.

His teeth sank deeper into his lower lip, a thin line of blood creeping from the corner of his mouth, slowly and unnoticed, his hand raked through his hair with desperation while the other hand held his phone with a deathly grip, the phone popped with it's screen cracking ever so slowly.

The room watched in a collective breath, waiting for something to break.

"The fuck are you doing bastard!" his voice suppressing the growing furry, his thumb refreshed the phone again and again but the message remained the same.

'Farewell Todoroki'

Crunch!

The phone cracked under his grip, holding in his hand like made of paper, the sharp sound slicing through the heavy silence of the library. Tiny shards of glass burrowed into his palm, his hand tightening even further worsening the wound by the second.

Blood, oozed between his fingers, running down his hand in slow, trembling rivers, staining the once-pristine screen alongside the wooden table.

His breath came in sharp, controlled bursts holding the leash of a wild animal barely restrained. The cold fury simmered beneath the surface threatening to freeze all.

His other hand pressed hard against his face, fingers digging into the skin near his temples, his thumb and middle finger pressing the pulsing veins trying to force the tension out. His eyes, hidden beneath his palm, burned with unshed tears, but they weren't the soft kind. No, these were burning like a furnace behind his eyelids.

In the stillness of the room, each shaky breath he drew echoed, the sadness with the weight of everything he refused to say.

An old memory flickers in his mind, like a old fading video. "I don't like saying goodbye, so see you soon." The words echo, tinged with the warmth from a time much worse.

His childhood had been nothing short of a terrible, each day a fight broke in the house, his brother crying, mom screaming and that bastard. . . all in a home that barely deserved the name.

The pain of it still lingered, buried deep. . .not forgotten, he couldn't forget it but there was something else that rose from those dark days—a glimmer of hope, hope that came in the form of a boy, quirkless two years younger but always commanding everyone around him, a quirkless boy who could command a room with just his presence, as if defying the laws that bound this world.

That boy, so full of life, was ready to take on the entire world of villains—fearless, untamed, daring anyone to challenge him. The memory of it brings a fleeting smirk to his lips. He could still see the unwavering resolve etched on his face. The boy had spoken with such raw intensity, the words echoing like a vow.

"When I grow up, I'll become a hero. . . someone who cares for everyone."

The boy had looked at him then, his voice hard with conviction. He hadn't just made a promise; he'd clung to it like a lifeline. His small frame seemed too fragile to hold so much hatred, yet the words came, heavy and deliberate: "Better. . . far better than anyone else, the society is about to fall. They need someone new, someone. . .someone like me."

The weight of those words still hung in the air, even after all these years. Back then, he hadn't known how to respond, still trying to escape the long shadow cast by the man who had shaped his own broken life, he'd answered the only way he knew how—sarcastic, bitter and disdain.

"Oh? And what'll you do. . . you don't even have a quirk, you are weak" The question had been more of a shield than a real inquiry.

But the boy had just laughed, the sound sharp and wild, like he was mocking everyone with a sudden pat on the back, that laugh still ringing in his ears, he'd said something. . . something that stayed with him far longer than it should have.

"Hahahaha, what do you think you are for No.2, my left hand aren't you strong enough?"

And in that moment, despite the madness, despite the pain, there had been a flicker of something between them—a bond, born not from blood or family, but from something much simpler.

"M-mr. Todoroki, c-can you um" the waitress's voice wavered, her hand trembling as she spoke.

Todoroki blinked awake, eyes heavy and clouded, fixing on the young woman standing before him. Her wide, brown eyes darted nervously between the blood and the shards of glass embedded in his skin.

The rest of the café fell into a hush. Eyes were on him—some curious, others wary.

"Fuck" he muttered under his breath, wiping his hand on the sleeve of his red hoodie, smearing blood across the fabric. yet slowly, the glass shards shifted, sliding out of his skin with a faint, almost sickening sound. They clinked against the table, each one catching faint glow briefly before they fell and bleeding stopped.

"I know it was just—just. . .I am sorry." His voice cracked, softer now, as he pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to pull himself back from the edge, thoughts colliding—apologies, anger, exhaustion—unsure of where to go next.

The waitress's hand faltered, her breathing quickening as she dabbed at her forehead. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. "W-we understand, b-but we also hope that y-you can follow the rules."

Rules. The word hung in the air, pointless, useless. Shoto let out a long, shallow breath. "About the table, I'll pa—"

"Oh, that-there's no need for that!" she interrupted hastily, her voice higher than before, strained. "Y-you're Endeavor's son, right? S-so i-it's fine."

"No! I'm not." A sharp, sudden growl ripped from his throat, before he could stop it, eyes narrowing as he pulls his hood up. His hands, glowing faint blue. "Even if I was, there should be no difference."

He reached into his pocket with shaking hands, yanking out a few bills. He slammed them onto the table with more force than intended, blood-smeared fingers brushing against the money.

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The café held its collective breath as he stood, shoulders tense, the weight of all the stares pressing down on him. No one dared to speak, not until the door creaked open and his footsteps echoed away into the street.

Only then did someone murmur, voice barely above a whisper, "Scaryyy..."

"Well that's Endavours family for you"

"But shouldn't his hair be red?"

"Who knows maybe the mother has white hairs"

"Or maybe he isn't his son"

A fragile silence fell over the café once more, like broken glass, scattered across the quiet room.

30/ May / 5:40 Am

Weeks has gone by since Jin last contacted anyone and as he said he did appear on tv.

Today was Sunday, yet it didn't feel like it. The usual easy-going rhythm of holiday was lost, swallowed by a city gripped in tension. It was as if the entire country had collectively forgotten the meaning of rest.

Children who typically clung to their bed until noon were already awake, eyes bleary yet alert. Some of them hadn't slept at all, their faces drawn, marked by the faint glow of phones that hadn't left their hands.

The usual laughter of senior who walked carefree early in the morning was replaced with serious discussion as they too watched their phones their eyes shone with complexity.

In homes, televisions flickered in the background, casting ghostly lights on tired faces. Parents exchanged anxious glances as if daring not to voice the questions hovering in their minds. The morning news, the first voice to break the quiet of a lazy Sunday, was different today—muted. The hero commission had managed, just as Jin had predicted in Shibuya, to hold back the flood of footage.

It didn't matter. every moment of the delay only fanned the flames, birthing rumours and conspiracies that spread like wildfire. Among them, none burned hotter than the Blue Hood man, it's origin starting from the heart of Shibuya Crossing.

And the Hero Commission didn't prove the man wrong, his words have come true as they tried their best to delay the footage, yet the footage—uncut, raw—circulated like a ghost in the digital world, there had been a mole, rather moles.

Many uncut version have leaked, but the first one circulated like fire, way back in China, America and other Western countries.

Japan's Hero Commission had fought hard to stifle it, but they were no match for the relentless engine of the CCP, and the Western countries whose heroes, defended the act in name of free speech, in the end, their pleas were met with silence and delay.

At home, the fight was no easier. The Commission had tried, to wipe the videos clean from the web. At first, there had been hope, that maybe, just maybe, they could stay ahead of it. But like a flood breaching a dam, the truth was already spilling everywhere—clips uploaded in the dead of night shared faster than they could be erased. Each deleted video was replaced by two more, until finally, the Commission abandoned the effort. It was a war they couldn't win.

And now, the people knew. Not everything, but enough. The silence had grown deafening. They weren't just waiting for an explanation anymore—they were demanding it, eyes sharp with suspicion, waiting for the moment the Commission would finally speak. The streets felt different as if the weight of this hidden truth had seeped into the cracks between every sidewalk stone, in every wary glance exchanged between strangers.

"We are actively investigating and hope you cooperate with us, the interview is now available on the official Hero Commission site."

"This is official Hero Commission statement, we know many of you are confused for what led to such a severe outrage from the suspect, we are closely looking at the school and students involved in the matter and hope to uncover everyone involved, the search for 20 missing police officers is still going, with prime suspect being jin Asano. . . Thus The Hero Commission hereby declare Jin Asano as a villain"

the man bows and leaves the stage as cameramen click photos with pure dedication even though it was very early in the morning, while the reporter aggressively threw their question, only to be met with professional silence.

Somewhere in Tokyo In a tourist park, The same white-haired boy, with his red hoodie stained with dried blood, slumped on a rusting brown bench, the air thick with the crisp bite of early morning. His eyes, clouded and distant, fixed on the circular lake stretched out before him. The surface of the water was still, save for a few green and yellow leaves drifting aimlessly like him.

Thin fog clung to the air, softening the edges of the world around him, blurring the line between the real and illusions.

The morning dew seeped through his clothes, cold and uninviting, but he didn't flinch. He welcomed the chill, it grounded him in a way the warmth never could.

In the distance, a figure emerged from the fog, slowly making its way toward the bench. The figure's silhouette, shrouded in mist, wore clothes eerily similar to those worn by Jin even his hair and beard—it was as though the man had stepped out of a forgotten memory.

The bench creaked under the weight of their shared silence. Neither of them moved, nor did they acknowledge the other. The man's presence was a mirror of his own—silent, heavy. The dew clung to them both now, but neither made an effort to wipe it away. The cold was nothing compared to the storm within.

"I met him when Mom was hospitalized. . ." Natsu's voice trembled slightly, each word dragged up a memory too heavy to carry.

His eyes, distant yet sharp, focused on the tranquil lake. "His mother was a nurse there. Said he'd become a hero and expose Endeavor. . . No. 2, can you imagine a little child saying that?" He let out a hollow laugh, a bitter sound that echoed off the lake.

Kenta, standing close by, joined in with a chuckle of his own. His laughter was warmer, almost nostalgic, but it carried the weight of years long gone. "He's always been dreaming big" His breath, too, mingled with the cold mist around them. "And isn't that what brought us all here?"

Natsu stood slowly, hands clasped into fist, every muscle carried the burden of battles fought and yet to be fought. His eyes scanned the still expanse before them.

"When everything was going downhill. . . I found some joy," the words spilling out softly. His voice, now quieter. "Fighting like a goon, beating thugs at night, and helping the poor in the day. . . all these years, I felt alive. Alive with the hope that one day, we'd really do something."

His voice cracked on the last word. his eyes toward Kenta, while his fists goes white from the pressure. "Tell me, Kenta, why. . . why after all these years, when everything was finally starting to fall in place, when we were so close to becoming something when we were staring right at our dream. . .tell me why. Why train so hard? Why plan so much if he just— to fuck himself up."

His voice broke, and tears rolled silently down his cheeks. The boy's shoulders shook under the weight of emotions.

Kenta watched him in silence, his eyes hidden behind the same glasses that had always masking his true thoughts. He didn't move, his posture calm, but there was a tension in the air between them. Unspoken words, memories, and shared grief crackled in the stillness.

Natsu took a step forward and tapped his foot against the ground.

TAP!

The sound echoed, sharp and sudden, and in an instant, the fog that had surrounded them like a shroud of uncertainty disappeared, vanishing as though it had never existed.

TIP! TIP!

Thin, needle-like shards of ice began falling to the ground, each tiny crystal glinting in the faint light. The entire lake lay frozen beneath them, an intricate web of runes-like structure stretching across its surface, spreading into every corner like delicate veins of frost.

In the center of the lake, stands a fragile and beautiful thin glass-like rose. Its stem, held aloft by multiple glass-like hands, hovered in the air, defying gravity.

Kenta's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You… did you awaken your quirk?" A smirk crept onto his face, but Natsu only shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a bitter smile.

"Close, but not there." Natsu replied, voice steady now. "You know. . .from freezing myself to near death, to shooting ice from any part of my body. . . to this all of this. . . But tell me, Kenta, after all this time. . ." His voice trailed off, and his gaze grew distant again. "Nothing has really changed has it?."

Kenta stood up, brushing the dew off his pants with deliberate, slow movements. He smirked as he pulled out a folded letter from his pocket. The paper rustled softly in the cold air.

Natsu's brows furrowed as he stared at the letter, unsure of its meaning. His eyes locked onto the bold, five-letter word printed across the paper.

"Now I have a quirk."

A smile spread across his face before he even realized it, the weight of the letter making the impossible seem real. Kenta stepped forward, his gaze lingering on the frozen lake, the strange patterns etched into the ice reflecting the complexity of their situation.

With a casual step, Kenta lifted his foot and slammed it down onto the ground.

CRACK!

The earth split open with a violent force, a jagged snake-like line racing toward the frozen lake.

"THE HECK!" Natsu exclaimed, his voice shaky. Cold sweat ran down his back, his breath coming out in startled gasps as he observed the crack.

Kenta's smirk widened. "You're not the only one growing, Natsu," he said, voice laced with amusement. "I've got some prestige to hold as No. 1, you know."

The crack reached the lake, and in a single, thunderous moment—

CRASH!

The jagged line, like a tree and its branch split into thousands of lines collapsing the entire frozen lake like glass, sending shards of ice flying into the air. Cold vapour hissed up from the fractured surface, filling the air with a biting chill. Natsu stood frozen, staring at the devastation before his eyes. "I-Is this… a new quirk?"

"Nope." Kenta replied, flashing a toothy grin. "Just your normal awakening."

Natsu let out a shaky breath, the tension easing from his shoulders as he managed a half-defeated smile. He raised his hand in surrender. "That's UA for you. . .and they don't even know"

"HA!" Kenta snorted. "Says the man who didn't even graduate from hero school."

The two began walking, their footsteps the only sound in the silence that followed. Though their use of quirks was reckless, the world around them remained indifferent. Public quirk usage was still frowned upon, after all.

"Someone has to make the connections, after all. . ." Natsu paused, his voice steady.

"Victorious warriors win first and then go to war." Kenta finished the thought, his voice carrying the weight of a truth they both understood well.

Natsu, with a wave of his hand, summoned mist from the air, cloaking the area once more in thick fog. The world around them disappeared in a veil of mystery.