The narrow street was quiet in the way cities pretended to be asleep. Neon signs flickered weakly above closed shutters, rainwater gathered in shallow cracks between concrete slabs, and the distant hum of traffic felt muffled, as if the city itself was holding its breath. Ikaris stood beneath a flickering streetlamp, its yellow glow washing over his borrowed jacket and dark hair, making him look like any other man who had wandered away from the noise.
He had not meant to come here specifically. His retreat from the stadium had been instinctual, not fear-driven. The encounter with Eraserhead lingered in his thoughts—not as a threat, but as proof. Proof that humans did not simply lash out. They assessed. They adapted. They tested boundaries before crossing them.
That restraint fascinated him.
Steam rose lazily from a vent along the alley wall, curling into the night air. The space was narrow, intimate, the kind of place meant for shortcuts or mistakes. Ikaris sensed the shift before sound accompanied it. The pressure wasn't explosive. It wasn't hostile.
It was deliberate.
"Hello there, stranger."
The voice came from behind him, smooth and measured, echoing slightly as though it traveled through something hollow. Ikaris turned without haste. At the mouth of the alley, darkness thickened unnaturally, folding inward, mist gathering and condensing as if the air itself was being pulled apart. From that distortion stepped a tall figure clothed in black, his neck and face replaced by a swirling mass of purple fog. Two yellow eyes glowed calmly within it.
Ikaris regarded him with quiet interest. "You followed me."
The figure inclined his head. "I prefer to say we noticed one another."
The fog rippled gently with each word. This was no disguise. No trick of biology. Whatever stood before him was something constructed—purposefully altered.
"You avoided me in the stadium," Ikaris observed.
"That location was… unsuitable," the figure replied. "Too many observers. Too many variables. My employer prefers privacy."
"Your employer," Ikaris said. Not a question.
"Yes." The glow of the eyes sharpened. "You may know him by reputation."
Silence settled between them. Somewhere, far off, laughter echoed and faded. A train passed underground. Ikaris stepped forward, closing the space just slightly. The streetlamp flickered.
"You aren't a hero," Ikaris said calmly. "And you aren't here to protect anyone."
"No," the figure agreed pleasantly. "My name is Kurogiri. I serve as a facilitator."
"All For One," Ikaris replied.
The mist paused—just long enough to acknowledge the accuracy. "Then we are aligned on context."
The air in the alley subtly warped outward as Kurogiri shifted his stance, asserting space without aggression. "You have attracted attention. You exist outside known systems. That makes you… disruptive."
"I've harmed no one," Ikaris said.
"And yet heroes sensed you. Machines failed around you. Quirks misread you." Kurogiri's tone remained polite. "My master does not ignore anomalies."
"What does he want?" Ikaris asked.
"Understanding. Possibility. Cooperation, should it prove useful."
Ikaris met his gaze fully. "I will never belong to him."
The fog churned more violently now. "Perhaps. But belonging is not always voluntary."
Without warning, the mist around Kurogiri's body surged outward, spreading across the alley walls like spilled ink. A portal began forming beneath Ikaris' feet, gravity twisting sideways as space distorted.
Ikaris reacted instantly.
He stepped back—not hurried, but decisive—and the air around his eyes ignited with sharp golden light. A narrow beam lanced forward, not wide, not explosive, but impossibly precise. It sliced straight through Kurogiri's fog, severing the forming warp like a blade through smoke.
The beam didn't burn.
It separated.
The portal collapsed with a violent hiss, mist recoiling backward as though injured. The streetlamp above shattered from the pressure alone, glass raining down between them.
Kurogiri staggered half a step, fog turbulence spiking wildly before stabilizing. The yellow eyes widened for the first time.
"…Fascinating," he breathed.
Ikaris lowered his gaze slightly, the light fading from his eyes. "I warned you."
"You didn't," Kurogiri replied softly.
"You assumed," Ikaris corrected. "That I'd allow myself to be moved."
The fog retracted defensively around Kurogiri's body, no longer pressing forward. "That was a warning strike," he noted. "You could have dispersed me entirely."
"Yes," Ikaris said. "But you're not my enemy."
Kurogiri studied him now with a new calculation. "All For One was correct. You are not like the others."
"I don't want war," Ikaris continued. "And I won't be forced into one."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the brief clash itself.
"Then allow me to revise the message," Kurogiri said at last. "My master will continue to observe you. He will test your boundaries indirectly."
"And I will continue observing humanity," Ikaris replied. "That includes him."
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, Kurogiri bowed—just slightly.
"I will relay your response."
A portal bloomed behind him, darker this time, edges unstable from the recent interference.
"One last advisory," Kurogiri said before stepping back. "In this world, not choosing a side is viewed as arrogance."
Ikaris' expression didn't change. "Then your world will have to adapt."
Kurogiri vanished. The portal sealed itself shut, leaving only the quiet alley and drifting steam.
Above the city, in a hidden operations room beneath U.A., Nezu stared at a frozen frame pulled from a corrupted camera feed—purple distortion, yellow eyes, and a blinding flash of gold that severed the image completely.
"That confirms it," Nezu murmured.
Eraserhead stood nearby, jaw tense. "He fought back. But didn't escalate."
Nezu's smile was small. Thoughtful. "Which tells me more than violence ever could."
"So what now?" Eraserhead asked.
Nezu folded his hands. "Now we proceed carefully. Because our visitor has just refused the strongest villain in history—and chose restraint."
Back in the street, Ikaris stepped into the flow of late-night pedestrians. No one noticed him. No one sensed the tension he carried.
The city moved on.
And somewhere between heroes tightening their watch, villains adjusting their plans, and a man learning what it meant to walk among humans—
The balance shifted.
Not toward chaos.
Not toward peace.
But toward choice.