I sweep a fist low, pivot, and drive a counter toward his ribs. Izuku dodges. Clumsy, but he stays in the fight. He's learning.
He trains every day. When he's not scribbling notes or shadowing local heroes, he's here. Sparring. Improving.
I drop my stance and raise a hand. The match ends. Not because he's tired. Because I'm done.
Then a memory hits. A clone just dispelled. Quick. Sharp. One blink of feedback and I know.
Izuku straightens, breathing hard. "What is it?"
"Clone went down," I say. "Three blocks west."
He stiffens. "You alright?"
"I'm always alright." I tap the bracelet on my wrist. "They're built to vanish if hit hard. Keeps up the illusion."
The truth?
Every clone has my full power. Every spell, every weapon, every scar. I tell them to fold under pressure so it looks like I have limits. Makes the others feel like I'm playing fair.
KD, Shadow, Cage, Slip, Bait — they all limit themselves. One obvious power, one hidden. All of them run Observation Haki without saying a word. Just enough to pass under the radar.
The recruits think my clones are half-strength. They think my sword style, my Haki, my Phantom Slash, all come from talent. They think I got good fast by learning from my own reflections.
They believe the story because they want to. That makes it easy.
"What happened?" Izuku asks.
"Smuggler. Tail like a scorpion. Took out a patrol."
I flick open my interface and send the signal to KD and Bait. Quick sweep and clean-up.
"They'll handle it," I say.
Izuku nods slowly, then hesitates. "Want me to back them up?"
"No." I step toward him, meet his eyes. "You're ready."
He blinks. "Wait, me?"
"You've been training. Learning. Watching. It's time."
"For what?"
"Your first solo." I keep walking. "Come on. I'll brief you at the house."
He follows.
"I'll give you a couple of tinkertech. There has been whisperings of a low class Hero that has been taking down drug spots."
Izuku look confused.
"sounds like a good thing, right? Well there has been inconsistencies of the amount reported."
"Do you think he took some for himself?" he asks in disbelief.
"Not sure. That is why I'm sending you to investigate. Find proof and report back."
Izuku looks at me then nods resolutely.
"Go suit up and head to the armory to check out the equipment."
<><><><><><><>
We track the trail to a rusted shipping yard near the outer wards of the city. Old containers line the perimeter. Forgotten place. Perfect for rats.
Bait stands beside me, arms loose, gum popping between his teeth. His sleeves are half-rolled, his grin lazy. He looks relaxed. He's not.
I nod once. He vanishes.
Blinkstep. Fast, silent, clean.
I ignite my arms, leap with precision, and twist midair. Zuko's stance flows through muscle and breath. Twin streams of fire launch from my palms and blast the container doors inward.
The impact echoes. Metal bends. Screams follow.
I walk in slow. Fire flickers along my coat, casting shadows on the walls.
Three men are pinned. Suits, white shirts, black ties. Trapped against steel walls in thick mochi. Bait must have slipped through a vent.
They squirm, eyes wide.
I step into the center of the room and stop. "What are you doing in Eighth Coil territory?"
The one on the right spits. It hits my boot.
"You don't belong here," he sneers. "Foreigners like you think you're gods. Yoruganome will tear you apart."
I glance at Bait.
He shrugs and pops his gum again. "Name sounds fake."
I knock all three out with a flick. No need to waste fire.
I move closer, crouch, and press my fingers to their temples.
Legilimency flows in. Fast. Sloppy. Panic leaves memories raw. Names. Faces. Routes. Contacts.
Yoruganome is real. Bigger than expected.
I bundle the intel and send it straight to the boss. Then we vanish.
The next morning, the three are found unconscious near the city limits. No weapons. No ID. Just their boxers and a headache.
A single note is pinned to one of their chests.
Stay out. Last warning.
Stamped below is a green serpent, looped in a figure eight.
The city gets the message.
<><><><><><><>
The control room breathes magic.
Rings of softly glowing runes shift across the floors and walls. The map table hums with life, casting Saitama in shades of gold and red. Streets pulse with movement. Dots mark zones, gangs, and new safehouses. Outside, the city sleeps. In here, it listens.
Timothy stands at the edge of the central table. His sleeves are clean. His coat hangs open. One hand rests near the edge, the other lightly taps a rune on the interface. The lights dim. The map tightens.
The others arrive without prompt.
KD strolls in first. Flame coils around his wrist, lazy and bored. His collar is scorched again. No one asks why. Cage swings down from the rafters, lands on a chair back, and flips a pen from his pocket before catching it with his teeth. Slip flickers from frame to frame, adjusting monitors that were never out of place. Shadow does not walk in. He is simply there. Watching. Always watching.
Bait enters last, gum cracking between his teeth. Sleeves rolled, hands in his pockets, he gives a lazy two-finger salute and drops into the nearest chair like he owns it.
Rin stands by the far wall. Arms behind her back. Eyes unreadable. Tanaka is beside her, quiet, grounded. His serpent tattoo pulses faintly under the collar of his shirt. A mark of loyalty, earned and alive.
Timothy speaks.
"Yoruganome."
The name lands without flair. Just weight. No one laughs. No one speaks.
"They are from Gunma," Timothy says. "Old. Disciplined. They believe in roots, not power. In suffering, not skill. In legacy, not invention."
He flicks his fingers. A holographic web unfolds above the table. Static-lined footage, street-level captures, half-clear faces. Grainy, but enough.
"They do not care about quirks. They care about where your blood comes from. Who raised you. What ink you wear. And why."
Slip mutters, "So, traditionalists with rage issues."
Timothy ignores it.
"They call us fakes. Our tattoos are entry marks. Theirs are names. Oaths. They are carved, earned, or paid for with blood."
Cage whistles. "We use enchanted ink that grants access to sanctums. I mean, ours glow."
"They think it is mockery," Timothy says calmly. "A joke. Foreigners handing out sacred symbols like ID cards."
He points at KD. "They hate your nickname the most."
KD scowls. "Kid Dynamite's iconic. They're just uncultured."
Timothy's expression does not change. "They called it a comic book name. Said it makes us look like clowns with stolen colors."
"They should see the Rasensurge," KD mutters.
"They have seen enough to send a warning," Timothy says. He opens a drawer under the console and lays a thin black envelope on the table. It is sealed in wax shaped like a bleeding koi.
He opens it. Inside is a single inked slip. A koi fish, red bleeding from its eyes. The message is short.
"Go home. This is not your soil to sow."
Cage leans forward. "Not a threat. A declaration."
Timothy nods. "They are not afraid of us. Not yet. But they are watching."
KD rolls his shoulders. "Then we give them something to be afraid of."
Rin's voice is quiet but firm. "They approached Tanaka years ago. Tried to bring him in. Called him pure. Strong. Oni-blooded. He said no."
"They did not forget," Timothy says. "And now they see him beside us, marked by me. To them, that is betrayal."
He flicks the table again. A new display builds. Names. Faces. Rough dossiers from clone memory extractions and psychic sweeps.
"Meet their inner circle."
Takeshi Onizuka – the Canvas
"Leader. Covered in living tattoos. Each beast summoned carries a spirit and fights with its own mind. He feels what they feel. Does not speak unless someone is meant to die."
A video shows him shirtless in an ash field. Calm. Barefoot. Serene like a monk, but with death behind his eyes.
Junko Aizawa – Needlewitch
"Tattoo master. Every mark she makes alters the body or soul. Created Hisashi. Created Raijin. Calls herself a priestess of the flesh."
She appears in grainy footage, ink-stained robes, moving with quiet precision. Eyes half-lidded, smile never warm.
Raijin – the Tattoo Beast
"A thunder gorilla tattoo bound to Onizuka's back. Fiercely loyal. Violently strong. Too large for enclosed combat. Injuring it injures him."
A single frame catches lightning coiled in its fists, teeth bared mid-charge.
Takuya Hisashi – the Flame
"Enforcer. Can switch between healing blue fire and destructive orange flame. Scars line his arms. Treats pain as a path. Worships Onizuka."
"Calls medical quirks a crutch," Rin adds, voice cold.
Rei Nakamura – Linebreaker
"Duelist. Every attack moves in a perfect line. Precision incarnate. Keeps a ledger of everyone he has fought and how they died."
Slip mutters, "Bet he straightens the table before stabbing someone."
Mika Uehara – Sleepless
"Does not sleep. Does not slow. Loyal to Junko. Fading slowly, but dangerous. Tracks every movement around her."
Kouta Miyamoto – Ghostwire
"Can copy and share memories. Twitchy. Quiet. Disturbed. Carries a shrine bell. He has seen more deaths than most men dream of."
Timothy steps back. His hand rests near the Whisperfang Ring.
"They believe we are playing pretend. They think this is theater. They think this is disrespect dressed in black suits and borrowed gods."
He lets the silence sit.
He looks at each of them. KD. Shadow. Cage. Bait. Slip. Rin. Tanaka.
"They think you are street punks with magic tricks."
He taps the map again. The serpent symbol glows faint green.
"Let them believe it. Let them come slow. We will not bark. We will coil. And when they reach too far, we strike."
KD crosses his arms. "Do we respond?"
"No," Timothy says. "Not yet."
"Then what?" Rin asks.
Timothy's voice is calm. "We grow. We fortify. We dig into this soil they say we cannot touch. And when the time comes…"
He taps the Whisperfang Ring.
"…we will not ask for permission."
The serpent glows on every wrist in the room.