Kazuki slowly walked in, leaving his shoes at the door. Before he could set them aside himself, a maid appeared from the hallway, already moving to arrange them on the rack.
Renji rushed down the stairs, taking his bag off his shoulders. There was something in the way the older man seemed today.
"What happened?" Kazuki asked, breaking the silence. "All of you seem... weird," he asked, looking around the giant mansion.
Renji adjusted the bag on his shoulder, chuckling a bit. "Nothing for you to worry, sir. Your father is upstairs; he'd like to meet you for a bit," he said, smiling.
"He's... here?" Kazuki asked, genuinely surprised. His father was never home on Thursdays.
"You can go to your room if you're feeling tired," Renji added quickly.
That's when Kazuki noticed the earpiece. Small, nearly hidden, but there. His father was listening right now. Giving Renji instructions like he was reading from a script.
..
Kazuki clicked his tongue in frustration and shook his head. He didn't say anything about it. "I'll be in my room. Get me dinner," he said, leaving.
Renji sighed, looking down.
Three floors up, Akira stood at his study window with one hand pressed against the glass. He'd watched the whole thing on the monitors first, then came here to see it himself. His son disappeared down the hallway, getting smaller and smaller until he was gone.
The bottle of whiskey sat on the desk. A third of it was already gone.
Renji walked in without knocking.
"I know what you're going to say." Akira didn't turn around.
Renji took a deep breath. Twelve years he'd been here. Twelve years of watching this family fall apart in slow motion.
"You need to talk to him. Not through me."
"You think I don't know that?" Akira burst out.
Renji stood his ground, unflinching. He'd worked for the Hayashi family for twelve years. He'd earned the right to speak plainly.
"Then what's stopping you, sir?"
Akira set the bottle down harder than intended. "Because I can't." Akira turned from the window. "Every time I look at him, I see her. His eyes. The way he moves. Even the way he goes quiet when he's angry. I can't have a heartfelt conversation with him when he looks like her."
Renji didn't move. Hands behind his back, feet planted. "He's not your wife. He's your son."
"He doesn't need me. He's doing fine on his own."
"Fine?" Renji's voice sharpened slightly. "Is he? He walked in and wasn't even surprised you were here. He expected you to hide."
Akira reached for the whiskey. His hand closed around the neck, but didn't lift it. Just held it there, shaking slightly.
"You have your work. Your meetings. Your trips." Renji paused. "What does he have?"
...
Akira let go of the bottle and turned back to the window. "Leave, Renji."
"Sir—"
"I said get out."
Renji hesitated. Then he bowed slightly and left. The door clicked shut.
Akira dropped into his chair and stared at the ceiling.
Across the city, in Kamino Ward.
The warehouse district was dead this time of night. No foot traffic or cars.
Perfect for crime.
Daichi Kurogane stood in front of the reinforced steel door, hands in his pockets, breathing slowly. Big guy. Two meters tall, built like he'd been carved from stone. Body full of scars because he was brash. Arrogant and hasty, but he got the job done.
He didn't bother with the door's security system. His shoulder hit the door.
Sounded like a car crash. The entire door frame ripped out of the wall and crashed inward, skidding across the concrete floor.
Alarms started blasting immediately.
Daichi stepped through the opening, crushing the debris under his feet with sheer force. He rolled his shoulders once, cracked his neck, and kept walking.
The warehouse interior was massive. Shipping containers stacked three high.
Somewhere in here was fifty million yen worth of hero support equipment. Prototype gear being shipped to Endeavor's agency. High-grade materials. Starbuster tech.
Daichi's employer wanted it. So Daichi was taking it.
Simple.
Footsteps from multiple directions. Security guards. More than he'd expected. He counted at least six, maybe eight based on the sound. Some on the ground floor, others on the catwalks above.
"FREEZE! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!"
Daichi didn't stop walking.
"I SAID FREEZE!"
One of them fired a warning shot. The bullet pinged off a shipping container ten meters to Daichi's left.
He stopped. Turned his head to look up at them.
"You missed," he said.
Then he charged.
Not at them. At the support pillar holding up their section of the catwalk.
WHAM.
The pillar collapsed.
The catwalk section came down with it, Daichi stepped back.
Two guards scrambled out of the wreckage, coughing, limping. A third wasn't moving.
The remaining guards on the ground floor were already moving in, spreading out to flank him. Professional. Trained.
"Villain!" one of them shouted into his radio. "We need hero backup NOW—"
Daichi was faster.
He closed the distance in three strides, grabbed the guard by the throat, and slammed his head into the concrete. Once. Twice. A sharp crack. The guard went limp, blood pooling from his mouth.
Two more guards rushed him from opposite sides.
The first swung a baton at his head. Daichi caught it mid-swing, ripped it from the guard's hands, and drove it into his stomach. The guard doubled over, gasping.
The second guard had a taser. Smart.
He fired.
The prongs hit Daichi's chest. Fifty thousand volts pumped through the wires.
Daichi didn't even flinch.
He grabbed the wires, yanked hard, and pulled the guard off his feet. The man went sprawling. Daichi stepped on his hand—not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make him drop the taser.
"Smart choice," Daichi muttered.
Another guard opened fire from behind a shipping container. Three shots. Two hit Daichi's shoulder and ribs.
He grunted. The bullets didn't penetrate deep—his quirk made his body density far beyond normal—but they stung like hell.
Daichi grabbed a piece of broken catwalk railing and hurled it like a javelin. It struck the container with enough force to dent the metal. The guard dove for cover.
The last two guards on the ground floor weren't engaging. They were retreating toward the exits, calling for backup.
Daichi let them go. He didn't have time for a prolonged fight.
He continued deeper into the warehouse, stepping over unconscious bodies.
The support equipment was exactly where his employer said it would be. Three reinforced crates, each stamped with the Starbuster Inc. logo.
Daichi pulled out his phone and took photos. Sent them to a number with no contact name.
The reply came ten seconds later.
Unknown Number: Confirmed. Load them into the truck. Rendezvous point hasn't changed.
Daichi pocketed the phone.
More security than expected, but still manageable. The employer's intel had been mostly accurate.
A truck was already waiting in the loading bay—stolen earlier tonight, plates swapped. He grabbed the first crate. Three hundred kilos, easy.
Sirens.
Distant, but getting closer. The guards must've gotten their distress call through.
Daichi checked his watch. Four minutes since he'd breached the door. Heroes would be here in six.
Plenty of time.
He grabbed the second crate.
Kamui Woods landed on the rooftop silently. He'd been three blocks away when the call came in. Villain attack, Kamino warehouse district, suspected theft in progress, multiple guards down.
He peered over the edge.
The loading bay doors were open. A truck sat there, engine running. And standing next to it—
"Big guy," Kamui muttered into his comm. "Two meters plus. Muscular build. Currently loading stolen goods."
"Copy that," the dispatcher's voice crackled. "Mt. Lady's en route, ETA three minutes. Can you engage?"
Kamui watched the villain lift another crate, which looked quite heavy, taking into account the size, and place it in the truck bed like it weighed nothing.
Strength quirk. Probably enhancement-type.
"Affirmative. Moving to intercept."
Kamui dropped from the roof, wooden branches extending to catch his fall. He landed in the loading bay twenty meters from the villain.
"That's far enough!" Kamui called out. "You're under arrest for breaking and entering, assault, and theft of hero support equipment!"
The villain turned slowly.
Up close, he was even bigger. Scars, dead eyes.
"You don't want to do this," Kamui said. "There's no way out. More heroes are coming. Surrender now, and this doesn't have to get ugly."
The villain stared at him for a long moment before charging abruptly.
Kamui reacted instantly. "LACQUERED CHAIN PRISON!"
Wooden branches exploded from his body, whipping through the air in dozens of directions, wrapping around lampposts, truck wheels, support beams, and the branches converged on the villain, binding his arms, legs, and torso—
The villain didn't slow down.
He just bulled through the branches, splintering the wood, finally showing some effort from his side.
"What—"
The impact sent him flying backward. He crashed through a stack of empty pallets.
Kamui gasped, struggling to his feet.
The villain was already loading the third crate.
Kamui gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. He extended his branches again, aiming for the truck wheels.
The villain grabbed one of his branches mid-extension.
And pulled.
Kamui's whole body lurched forward. He tried to detach the branch, but the villain was faster. He swung Kamui like a flail and slammed him into the concrete floor.
Stars exploded across Kamui's vision.
He heard the truck engine rev.
"No—" Kamui tried to stand, but his legs weren't ready for that yet.
The truck burst out of the loading bay at high speed.
Kamui slumped back against the ground, breathing hard.
"...Dispatch," he called into his comm. "Suspect is... mobile. Heading... west on Route 7. I'm—" He coughed. "I'm down. Need medic."
"Copy. Mt. Lady is in pursuit. Medics are en route."
Kamui closed his eyes.