The Sports Festival grounds were still buzzing with leftover noise from the crowds as the afternoon sun shifted toward evening. Ikaris remained seated deep within the stands, an indistinguishable face among thousands. He had changed into plain clothes earlier—a simple jacket, dark shirt, and muted jeans—nothing that would draw the slightest attention. No armor. No glow. No sharp lines of celestial metal. Just a tall man, quiet and calm, observing the world of heroes as if he had always belonged in their midst.
But today the atmosphere had changed.
Subtle, but real.
The crowds continued to cheer, laugh, and chatter about the recent events, but beneath that noise Ikaris sensed something else moving—pressure, tension, an invisible searchlight sweeping through the stadium. Someone was looking for him. Not with eyes. With intention.
He knew the feeling. He had felt it across galaxies, felt it on worlds where people hunted threats they didn't understand. Earth was no different. But this time, instead of taking flight or disappearing into the sky, he stayed. He wanted to understand humans. To understand their hearts. Their strength. Their strange mix of fear, stubbornness, and hope.
And if that meant they sensed him… then so be it.
A soft vibration trembled through the metal beneath the arena seats. Nothing large. Nothing violent. But it was patterned—almost like a pulse. Ikaris allowed his senses to expand just slightly, enough to follow that small mechanical rhythm back to its source. Something was scanning the stadium. Something precise. Something deliberate. Something human-made.
And at the center of that network, he could feel a single sharp mind directing it.
Nezu.
The small creature with the smile sharper than any blade. Intelligent, composed, deceptively warm.
Ikaris breathed quietly through his nose. "So… you noticed me."
He did not stand. He did not shift. He simply continued watching the center field as shadows lengthened across the arena, letting the scanning wave roll across him again. He could easily shield himself from it—bend light, distort readings, vanish entirely. But he chose not to. Not yet. He wanted to see how far they could go.
Meanwhile, across the stadium, Nezu sat in his command room, eyes fixed on fluctuating graphs and shifting points of energy on the screens. Data spike after spike flickered across the monitors, too synchronized to be random.
"Director," Power Loader muttered from behind one of the consoles, "whatever that is, it's inside the stadium. And the readings are—well, they don't match any known Quirk signature."
Nezu nodded once, tail brushing the armrest. "Yes. I suspected as much."
Detective Tsukauchi leaned forward. "Is it the same thing from USJ?"
Nezu's smile didn't break. "It is highly likely."
Eraserhead, standing in the corner, arms crossed and tired eyes narrowed, spoke quietly. "Then why didn't you alert the entire hero staff sooner?"
"Because," Nezu replied, turning in his seat, "I am trying to avoid starting a panic over something we have not yet confirmed. And given its behavior, it does not appear hostile. Not in the slightest."
Present Mic lowered his voice surprisingly fast. "You sure about that, Nezu?"
"Absolutely." Nezu looked back at the monitors. "If it wanted destruction, we would have seen it already. Instead, it's observing. Learning. And I am very curious why."
Eraserhead sighed. "Curious is fine. But if it's here, inside the stadium, I want eyes on it."
"And you shall have them," Nezu said. "Carefully. Quietly. No one outside this room knows anything."
Eraserhead cracked his neck. "Then I'll start sweeping the upper stands. If it's watching us, I'll feel it."
"Yes," Nezu replied softly. "I believe you will."
Ikaris felt the shift before Eraserhead ever stepped into view.
A presence with sharp instinct. A man whose gaze carried precision honed over years of silent battles. Someone who didn't look for threats—someone who sensed them. That was why Ikaris noticed him. Because Eraserhead was not afraid. He was measuring.
A long shadow moved along the top rows of the stands, careful feet stepping without sound.
Ikaris did not move.
Eraserhead scanned the audience with plain eyes, his scarf draped loosely around his neck. He wasn't using his Quirk yet—just his intuition. He passed several rows away from Ikaris, paused, turned, frowned, and walked back.
Ikaris kept his eyes forward.
Eraserhead exhaled slowly, then continued walking down the steps until he reached the row where Ikaris sat. He didn't approach him directly. Instead, he moved past him, scanning the aisles, the shadows beneath the seats, the pathways between staircases.
But the tension built.
Eraserhead suddenly stopped.
He turned—not toward the crowd, but directly toward Ikaris.
The two men looked at each other for the first time.
No flicker of fear. No glow of power. No dramatic flare.
Just recognition.
Ikaris offered a small nod.
Eraserhead narrowed his eyes—and activated his Quirk.
A faint red tint illuminated his pupils.
Ikaris felt his energy shift under the Quirk's influence—a tightness, a grounding sensation. Not painful. More like someone placing a heavy blanket over a flame.
Ikaris looked down at his hands thoughtfully and flexed them. He could feel the suppression attempting to compress his abilities. Impressive, he thought. Humans made interesting abilities from their biology.
Eraserhead didn't blink. "Who are you?"
Ikaris didn't answer immediately. Instead, he spoke calmly, tone even, voice quiet enough to blend into the crowd noise yet sharp enough to reach Eraserhead clearly.
"You've trained that gaze well. It almost works."
Eraserhead's eyes tightened. "Almost?"
Ikaris slowly turned his head toward him—deliberately, non-threatening. "You can relax. I'm not here to harm anyone."
"That's not an answer," Eraserhead replied.
"No," Ikaris admitted. "It isn't."
Eraserhead stepped closer, boots whispering against the concrete. "Whatever you are, your energy signature is setting off every alarm in this building. So again—who are you?"
Ikaris tilted his head. He admired the man's courage. Most humans screamed or fled when they sensed something they couldn't understand. But this one? He stood his ground. Calm. Firm. Even suppressing his natural fear.
"One who is… trying to understand your world," Ikaris finally said.
"That doesn't tell me anything," Eraserhead muttered, voice low. "And your Quirk—"
"I don't have one," Ikaris said.
The statement caused a flicker of confusion. Eraserhead's eyes sharpened again, red glow intensifying. "You're resisting my Erasure."
"I'm not resisting," Ikaris answered softly. "Your ability is remarkable, but it doesn't apply to me."
Eraserhead's scarf loosened slightly, coiling like a living thing around his shoulders. "If you're immune, that makes you dangerous."
Ikaris shook his head. "Danger lies in intention, not ability."
Eraserhead didn't like that response. His grip on his scarf tightened.
"Then tell me your intention."
Ikaris looked back toward the arena, watching the maintenance drones cleaning debris off the field. "To observe. To understand. And nothing more."
"Why here?" Eraserhead pressed.
"Because this place," Ikaris said, eyes steady, "is full of potential. And people who fight for something beyond themselves."
Eraserhead studied him long and hard. "You speak like someone who's watching us. But we don't even know what to call you."
Ikaris considered that. For a moment he thought of giving a false name. But lies built walls he didn't want. So he chose truth.
"…Ikaris."
Eraserhead's eyes widened—barely, but enough. "That's not a name from around here."
"No," Ikaris said, "it isn't."
Eraserhead exhaled slowly, Quirk still active, pupils glowing faint red. "I'm taking this to Nezu."
"I assumed you would," Ikaris replied.
"And if he asks me to detain you?" Eraserhead asked quietly.
Ikaris smiled faintly—not mocking, not threatening. "Then you'll try. You're brave enough to."
The honesty in the reply surprised Eraserhead. His red pupils slowly dimmed as he blinked, breaking his Quirk. "You don't act hostile."
"If I were," Ikaris said, "you wouldn't need to ask."
Eraserhead's scarf loosened again. His shoulders dropped slightly. He wasn't relaxed, not fully—but he was no longer seconds from attacking either.
"You're going to stay here?" he asked.
"For now," Ikaris said. "I have no reason to run."
"Most threats do."
"Then perhaps I'm not one."
Eraserhead didn't respond to that. Instead he gave a short nod—acknowledgment mixed with unresolved caution—and slowly stepped back.
"I'm watching you," he said.
"I would expect nothing less."
The moment Eraserhead disappeared into the dark stairwell, the stadium atmosphere shifted again.The people continued their chatter, the vendors shouted for last-minute snacks, and maintenance drones whirred across the field—but beneath all of that, a new tension pulsed through the air.A quiet alarm. A hunt that had officially begun.
Ikaris remained seated for several more minutes, blending into the crowd, listening to the breathing of the entire arena.He could feel the sensors adjust again—this time more focused, more precise.They were not trying to hide it anymore.
Deep below the stands, in the command room, Nezu's screen flickered as a new signal lit up.A crackle filled the speaker.
"I found him."
Nezu's hand paused above his console. "And?"
A soft breath came through first—Eraserhead's, steady but strained.
"…He didn't attack. He talked. Calm. Controlled. Too calm."
Nezu leaned slowly back in his chair, a thoughtful smile stretching across his face. "Good. That means communication is possible."
Power Loader nearly dropped the wrench he'd been fiddling with. "You want to talk to that thing?!"
Tsukauchi shot him a sharp look before turning to Nezu. "We still don't know what we're dealing with. There's no Quirk signature, no identification, no trace in any system. This could be dangerous."
"No," Nezu replied quietly, "we don't know what he is. But we do know what he hasn't done."
Present Mic's voice lowered, almost whispering. "Boss… you really think it's safe to approach it?"
Nezu stared at one monitor showing the upper stands—the place where Ikaris sat moments ago.
"I think," Nezu said gently, "that he is searching for meaning, not conflict. And perhaps… he hopes to find it here."
Power Loader muttered under his breath, "Or he's scoping the place out…"
Nezu didn't turn. "If he meant to harm the students, he had countless opportunities. Yet he watched. Quietly. Patiently. With intent, yes—but not malice."
Eraserhead's voice returned through the comm, low and rough. "He gave me a name. Ikaris."
Tsukauchi straightened. "That doesn't match anything in our database."
"It won't," Eraserhead said. "He claimed he has no Quirk."
Present Mic blinked. "No quirk? Then how—"
"That's the part that bothers me," Eraserhead muttered. "My Erasure didn't affect him. At all."
Silence washed over the room.
Nezu finally exhaled. "Then he exists outside the boundaries of our biological laws. Fascinating."
Power Loader stared. "That's your takeaway?!"
Nezu's tail flicked once. "A creature—or person—who stands in our midst, unaffected by our systems, yet chooses to observe rather than destroy… I cannot ignore the potential significance."
Back in the stands, Ikaris felt the shift.The heroes were not panicking—good.But they were mobilizing.
Watching him.Tracking him.Studying him.
He rose from his seat slowly, blending into the moving crowd as waves of spectators began leaving the stadium.No one noticed him.To them, he was just a tall man walking calmly toward the exit.
As he stepped onto the outer walkways and descended toward the street, he heard distant announcements from speakers preparing for the evening cleanup.The sunset painted the sky in muted orange, shadows stretching long and thin across the concrete pathways of the stadium district.
He walked down the sidewalk, hands in pockets, passing food stalls, student groups, and vendors packing up their carts.Everything looked ordinary.Everything sounded ordinary.
But he could feel Eraserhead's gaze following him from somewhere above.And farther away—Nezu's calculating mind, already preparing the next step.
"I suppose that was inevitable," Ikaris murmured.
He turned down a narrower side street, one of the quiet lanes that wrapped around the stadium's outer structure.Here, the noise of the crowd faded.Only the hum of distant city traffic and the click of cooling metal from the arena walls remained.
A streetlight flickered once overhead.
Ikaris took another step—
—and a voice came from the shadows at the far end of the alley.
Smooth. Calm.Like someone who had been expecting him.
"Hello there, stranger."
Ikaris stopped.
His eyes narrowed just slightly—not in fear, but in recognition that this moment was not random.
Someone had chosen to approach him.
Someone who clearly knew he would come this way.
The alley grew quieter, the world holding its breath around them.
Ikaris lifted his head.His voice was steady.
"…Who are you?"
The figure stepped forward, silhouette forming under the dim glow of the street lamp.
And the night shifted again.
The hunt had begun—but this encounter was something else entirely.