Location: Naruhata Estates – Oguro family Room.
Date: Saturday | 08:30 AM (Ten Days After the Best Jeanist Contract)
Sizzle. Pop. Shhh.
The sound of butter hitting a hot iron skillet was the first thing Kaito heard as he stepped into the Oguro family's kitchen.
It was a messy, loud, and cramped space, far removed from the sterile, high-rise luxury of the Genius Office in Minato.
Here, the air smelled like toasted sesame oil, slightly burnt miso, and cheap dish soap.
Iwao Oguro, the man the world knew as the speed hero: O'Clock, was currently losing a battle against a stack of pancakes.
He wasn't using his Quirk.
There were no blurs of motion, no hyper-accelerated thoughts. He was just a man in a faded "Naruhata Local" t-shirt, squinting at a spatula.
"I think... I think I flipped it too early, honey," Iwao muttered, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
"You always flip them too early, Iwao. You're too impatient," a soft, musical voice answered.
Kaito leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene.
Sitting at the small, wobbly dining table was a woman who looked like a more mature, slightly weary version of Tamao.
Her skin was still a bit pale from her long stay in the hospital, and her hands were thin, but her eyes were bright and full of life. This was the missing piece of the puzzle: Iwao's wife.
"Arisaka-kun! You're up early," she said, giving Kaito a warm, genuine smile. "I was just telling Iwao that he needs to stop treating breakfast like a race."
"Good morning, Oguro-san," Kaito replied. He wasn't wearing his suit. He had on a simple black hoodie and grey cargo pants.
"Pancakes are a waiting game," Kaito said, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a carton of juice. "The bubbles need to pop on the surface before you turn them. It's a matter of timing."
"See? Even the kid knows!" Mrs. Oguro laughed, patting the seat next to her. "Come, sit. Tamao is still finishing her hair, and Koichi... well, Koichi is probably still face-down on his futon."
Kaito sat.
For the last ten days, this had been his reality. After three months of managing the Number Three Hero and moving billions of yen through shadow accounts, he had retreated and took a break from work
Bzzz. Bzzz.
The burner phone in his pocket vibrated. Kaito pulled it out.
The caller ID was a string of scrambled digits—a high-level encryption used by Top 10 agencies.
"Is that work?" Iwao asked, finally successfully flipping a pancake.
Thud.
"It's an invitation," Kaito said, glancing at the screen. "Edgeshot's office. This is the fourth time this week."
"You're the most famous 'Golden Manager' in Japan right now, kid," Iwao said, sliding a plate of pancakes onto the table. "Jeanist didn't just stay at Number Three; he's actually closing the gap on Endeavor. Every big-shot in Tokyo wants a piece of that magic."
Kaito hit the 'voicemail' button and slid the phone back into his pocket.
"I'm on vacation."
"So, you're staying here for a while?" Mrs. Oguro asked, her voice hopeful. "Your decision to relax is good choice. Too much work and stress isn't good for the body."
"Yes, and I have some things to finish here," Kaito said, his gaze drifting toward the wall.
Behind that wall was his own apartment, currently filled with over half a million yen worth of professional musical equipment.
"A music festival needs a soul. Without it, it's just a street fair."
The front door of the apartment groaned open. Creak.
"Is it... is it breakfast time?" Koichi Haimawari stumbled in, looking like a zombie in a tracksuit.
His hair was a chaotic nest, and his eyes were barely open. "I smell pancakes. Please tell me there are pancakes."
"Sit down, Koichi," Makoto Tsukauchi's voice boomed from behind him, followed by a sharp smack to the back of his head. "And wash your face. You look like a hobo. Excuse me Mrs. Oguro."
Makoto strode into the room, her arms full of posters and permit applications.
She looked exhausted but wired on caffeine. She dumped the pile onto the table, narrowly missing Kaito's juice.
"Narufest is officially greenlit by the ward office!" she cheered, though she immediately slumped into a chair. "But the city won't give us a dime for the stage or the sound system. They said it's a 'private community initiative.' Translation: 'We're too broke to help you.'"
"The budget isn't a problem," Kaito said calmly.
Makoto squinted at him. "Kaito, we need a high-end sound rig. We need security. We need lighting. That's millions of yen."
"I found a corporate sponsor," Kaito lied smoothly.
In reality, he was just going to launder a tiny fraction of the 12.5 billion yen he'd swiped from All For One. "A subsidiary of a shipping company I consulted for. They're looking for a tax write-off. They'll cover everything, including the marketing."
Makoto stared at him for a long beat. "I don't know who you sold your soul to, but I'm glad they have deep pockets."
_-_-_-_-_
Location: Naruhata Ward – Unit 203, Arisaka Residence
Date: Tuesday | 02:00 PM
Strum. Twang.
Kaito adjusted the tuning peg on the jet-black Stratocaster.
He was sitting on the edge of his sofa, surrounded by thick coils of XLR cables and glowing studio monitors.
In his mind, a library of information hummed. Music Theory. Vocal Range. Compression Ratios. Audio Engineering.
Public Belief is a hax.
"Okay, let's try the pre-chorus again," Kaito said, looking through the glass of his makeshift vocal booth—actually just a closet he'd lined with heavy acoustic foam.
Kazuho Haneyama—Pop★Step—stood behind the mic, wearing oversized studio headphones.
She looked nervous.
Next to her, Koichi was holding a pair of drumsticks, and Tamao was holding a electric guitar.
They looked like a high school band, but Kaito was treating them like a world-class act.
"From the pre-chorus," Kaito commanded. He hit a button on the synthesizer.
Beep.
A driving, upbeat drum track exploded from the monitors.
Boom-tap, boom-boom-tap!
Kazuho took a deep breath. She had spent years singing over cheap speakers in the street.
Her voice was raw, but it had heart. Kaito was here to give it polish.
"Zankoku na unmei ga sadamatteru to shite,
Sore ga itsu no hi ka boku no mae ni arawareru to shite..." she sang.
(Assuming a cruel fate is becoming inevitable,
Assuming it will appear before me one day...)
"Stop," Kaito said, his voice flat.
The music died. Kazuho slumped. "Was I flat?"
"You're singing from your throat," Kaito said, standing up and walking toward the closet.
"You're trying to project to a crowd that isn't there yet. You're in a studio. The microphone is sensitive enough to hear your heartbeat. Don't shout. Close your eyes. Imagine you're standing on top of a building, looking at Naruhata. Sing to the city, not the mic."
He looked at Koichi and Tamao.
"Rhythm. You're dragging. If the beat isn't solid, she has nothing to lean on. Again. From the top of the pre-chorus. And Koichi, hit the snare like you mean it."
Thwack!
Koichi practiced a hit. "Got it, Kaito!"
They went again.
This time, the energy shifted. Kazuho closed her eyes.
"Zankoku na unmei ga sadamatteru to shite,
Sore ga itsu no hi ka boku no mae ni arawareru to shite..."
(Assuming a cruel fate is becoming inevitable,
Assuming it will appear before me one day...)
She thought about the nights she'd spent leaping over these rooftops, trying to be a hero when the world told her she wasn't.
"Tada isshun kono isshun iki ga dekiru nara,
Dou demo ii to omoeta sono kokoro wo!"
(I can't go back, tripping as I ran... I'll go as far as I can go!)
Kaito watched the levels on his laptop.
"Mou ichido,
tooku e ike tooku e ike to,
Boku no naka de dareka ga utau,
Doushiyou mo nai hodo netsuretsu ni..."
(One more time! Go far, go far!" Somebody inside me is singing, With an infectious enthusiasm)
The waveforms were perfect—sharp, energetic, and clean.
"Kanashimanai you ni waraeru
Sonna hero ni naru tame no uta
Saraba kakagero peace sign
Korogatte iku story wo"
(I'll become a smiling hero, That's what this song is for..Holding up a peace sign as I bid farewell..That kind of bumbling story)
He tapped his foot almost imperceptibly. This was "Peace Sign" female cover version.
"That's the take," Kaito said when the last guitar chord faded.
Vrin-n-n.
Kazuho burst out of the closet, nearly tackling him. "Did we do it?! Was it good?!"
"It was acceptable," Kaito said, which they all knew meant 'flawless.'
"I'll spend tonight mixing and mastering it. Makoto has already set up the 'O'Clock Records' social media accounts. We'll leak the demo tonight. By the time Narufest starts, I want every teenager in this ward humming this melody."
"We're going to be real idols," Tamao whispered, looking at the studio monitors with awe.
"No," Kaito corrected, looking at the screen where his viral algorithms were already being prepared. "You're going to be the symbol this ward needs. People don't follow heroes because of their Quirks. They follow them because of the feeling they give off. We're just manufacturing that feeling."
_-_-_-_-_
Location: The Subterranean Vault – Unknown Coordinates
Date: Thursday | 11:30 PM
While the melody of hope began its first ripples in Naruhata, a much darker composition was being written in the silence of the deep underground.
The silence in the underground chamber was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic hiss of life-support systems.
All For One sat in his throne, his face hidden in the shadows.
Across from him, a holographic display flickered to life. It showed the results of a month-long worldwide search.
"You've been busy, Doctor," the Demon Lord said, his voice a low, melodic rumble.
"The digital theft was a blessing in disguise, Master," Dr. Garaki's voice crackled through the speakers. "It forced us to look outside our usual circles. We realized that while we were building monsters, the world was producing... anomalies."
The hologram displayed a man with wild hair and a cold, calculating gaze.
"Wolfram," AFO noted. "A man who believes that power is the only true currency. His ability to manipulate metal is impressive, but his ambition is what makes him useful. He wants to tear down the world's structures. We will provide the hammer."
The screen shifted to a blue-skinned man with a calm, almost religious demeanor.
"Flect Turn," Garaki continued. "A tragic soul. He believes Quirks are a disease that will eventually kill humanity. He wants to 'purify' the world. We have offered him the resources to build his organization, Humarise. He thinks we are allies in his crusade."
"And the third?" AFO asked.
The screen went dark for a second before showing a tall, imposing figure with an air of noble authority.
"Waldo Gollini," Garaki whispered. "An aristocrat of the underworld. He has connections that even our brokers can't reach. He brings a level of... class to our Vanguard Project."
"Heh," All For One let out a soft, dry chuckle.
"Good. The 'Japan Speedsters' and their hidden financiers think they have won because they stole some paper. They don't realize that I am no longer playing their game. I am building a Vanguard. When the time is right, these men will be the first wave of a tide that will drown the Hero Society."
_-_-_-_-_
Location: Musutafu / Tokyo / Digital Space
Date: Two Weeks after the Song Release
K-CHHHH!
The static on the radio frequency cleared as a high-octane voice exploded through the speakers of cars and kitchens across Japan.
"YEEEEAAAH! Welcome back to the 'Put Your Hands On Me' radio hour! This is your host, the Voice Hero: Present Mic!" The blonde hero practically screamed into his mic, his headphones rattling with his own volume.
"Listen up, listeners! I've been getting flooded with requests. I'm talking a literal mountain of emails! Everyone wants to hear that mystery track from Naruhata!"
He hit a button on his soundboard, a bright
Ding!
echoing out.
"It's trending on every chart! It's the song that's making everyone in the street act like they're already pro-heroes! From the brand new O'Clock Records—here is 'Peace Sign'!"
THUMP-THUMP-TSS.
The heavy bass and driving guitar chords Kaito had polished in his apartment began to play.
Across Tokyo, in the trendy Shibuya crossing, the giant screens that usually showed weather reports and stock prices were now displaying a stylized, animated loop of Pop★Step leaping across a sunset-soaked Naruhata skyline.
_-_-_-_-_
Location: Uwabumi Agency – Dressing Room
"It's clever. Infuriatingly clever," Uwabumi murmured, her snakes hissing softly in agreement as she stared at her tablet.
The celebrity hero was currently having her makeup touched up for a magazine shoot, but her eyes were locked on the "O'Clock Records" engagement numbers.
They weren't just high; they were clean. No scandals, no messy tabloid leaks—just pure, high-quality aesthetic.
"They didn't just release a song," Uwabumi said, tracing the logo on the screen. "They've rebranded an entire ward. Naruhata used to be the place people avoided. Now, I'm seeing girls on social media wearing 'Step-Style' hoodies and looking for the best spots to take photos near that graffiti bridge."
She looked at her manager. "Find out who's running their PR. I want a collaboration. If O'Clock is moving into the idol industry, I want to be the one to show them the ropes."
_-_-_-_-_
Location: Jiro Household – Kyoka's Bedroom
Eleven-year-old Kyoka Jiro sat on the edge of her bed, her earphone jacks plugged directly into a small portable player.
She had her bass guitar resting against her lap, but she wasn't playing. She was just... listening.
Strum. Twang.
She tried to mimic the bridge of the song, but her fingers froze.
"The timing is... hard," Kyoka whispered to herself.
She was only a middle-schooler, but her parents were musicians; she knew a "perfect" track when she heard one.
Most hero songs were cheesy, over-produced, and fake.
But this? This felt like a heartbeat. Every drum hit was exactly where it needed to be.
Every vocal layer was balanced with a precision that felt almost... perfect.
"Who produced this, Dad?" she yelled toward the door.
"Some new label out of the Naruhata Ward!" her father shouted back from the living room.
"Probably some genius guy or a woman with a computer! Why? You like it?"
Kyoka bit her lip, looking at the screen of her player. "It's the best thing I've ever heard. It makes me want to... I don't know. It makes me want to actually do something."
_-_-_-_-_-_
Location: The Streets of Naruhata
The atmosphere in the ward had shifted. Two weeks ago, people walked with their heads down, eyes scanning for Trigger thugs or Villain Factory remnants.
Now, a group of kids, teenagers and young adults were walking and running down the sidewalk, one of them holding a phone aloft that was blasting the chorus of Peace Sign.
They weren't running away from anything. They were pretending to be a strike team.
A boy with a cardboard stopwatch taped to his wrist struck a pose. 'I'm O'Clock! I'm the fastest!'"
"I'm Pop★Step! I'm the idol!" a girl shouted, jumping off a curb.
"I'm the Skycrawler! I can fly" another one shouted.
A few shopkeepers looked out from their windows, and for the first time in months, they weren't frowning.
They were humming the melody. The song had become the invisible glue holding the neighborhood together.
It wasn't just music; it was proof that they were still standing.
The "Golden Manager" had turned a traumatized ghetto into a national trend, and he hadn't even stepped out of his front door to do it.
_-_-_-_-_
Location: Naruhata Ward – Unit 203, Arisaka Residence
Date: One Month | Sunday | 09:00 PM
Kaito sat at his desk, the blue light of the laptop reflecting off his glasses.
He was back in his 'work' mindset. The one-month vacation was nearing its end, and he needed to decide his next move.
His inbox was a graveyard of ignored dreams.
Invitation from Yoroi Musha.
Invitation from Ryukyu (Follow-up).
Invitation from Kamui Woods (Highly unprofessional).
Invitation from Fat Gum.
Invitation from Selkei.
Invitation from ...
....
....
..
He scrolled past them all. He didn't want another city agency.
He needed a change of pace. He needed to test his systems in an environment where nature was the enemy, not just people.
He opened a folder labeled "Independent/Specialized."
There, he found a modest, brightly colored recruitment brochure.
It was a group he remembered from his past life anime—a group that focused on the one thing most heroes ignored: the sheer, brutal logistics of the wild.
The Wild, Wild Pussycats.
Kaito clicked on their internal filing.
They were a four-person team. They owned a massive private mountain domain. They handled search-and-rescue, disaster relief, and specialized training camps.
Their paperwork was a mess. Their response times in the mountain ranges were limited by their terrain-mapping technology.
Their budget was inconsistent because they spent too much on specialized gear and not enough on operational flow.
"Mountain rescue," Kaito muttered to himself.
"No skyscrapers. No traffic. Just topographical challenges and specialized rescue protocols."
It was perfect.
It was a "comfortable" change of pace.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number he'd extracted from the National Hero Registry.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Hello?! Wild, Wild Pussycats! Mandalay speaking! Who is this? If you're calling about the training camp, we're currently booked through—"
"Mandalay-san," Kaito interrupted, his voice returning to that crisp, professional baseline. "This is Arisaka Kaito. I am a freelance logistics manager."
There was a sudden, sharp gasp on the other end. Then, the sound of someone dropping a phone.
Clatter.
Thump.
Thud.
"Wait! Wait! Arisaka?! The guy who managed Best Jeanist?!" Mandalay's voice came back, sounding breathless and frantic. "Pixie-bob! Ragdoll! Get over here! It's the Golden Manager! He's on the phone!"
Kaito pulled the phone back an inch as a chorus of high-pitched feline-themed cheering erupted through the speaker.
"Mandalay-san," Kaito said when the noise died down. "I am interested in a three-month temporary contract with your agency. Specifically, I wish to handle the administrative and operational restructuring of your mountain domain."
"I really didn't think you will choose use over hundreds of agency in Japan. But... Arisaka-san, We... we can't afford you," Mandalay said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"We saw what Jeanist's office was billed. We're a specialized agency, we don't have that kind of—"
"I am not interested in money," Kaito lied. He had 12.5 billion yen; he didn't need a salary.
"I am interested in the topographical data and the challenge of wilderness rescue. I will accept a standard mid-tier consultant's fee."
"Are you sure?" Mandalay asked. "You want to continue?"
"Yes, I want to make sure that when someone gets lost in your mountains, they are found in minutes, not hours," Kaito replied
"When can you start?"
Kaito looked at the calendar on his screen. "Monday morning. 08:00 AM. Please have your terrain maps and search-and-rescue logs ready for review. I do not like to waste time."
"We'll be ready! We'll be paws-itively ready!"
Kaito winced at the pun and hung up.
Click.
He leaned back in his chair, looking out the window at the quiet streets of Naruhata.
The "Peace Sign" demo was already sitting at 500,000 views on the O'Clock Records channel.
Kazuho was trending. Narufest was funded. Now, it was time to go into the mountains.
_-_-_-_-_
Location: HPSC Headquarters – Deep Archive
Yokumiru Mera and his sister Agent Mera sat in a darkened office, both staring at a screen.
"He's gone to the Pussycats," Agent Mera whispered to the empty room. "He's moving away from the city. Why?"
She looked at the report on Kaito Arisaka. The more she dug, the more she was confused.
No records beyond the legal erasure Sir Nighteye had performed.
Mera picked up a pen and added a note to the 'Shadow' file.
Subject: Arisaka Kaito.
Status: Active.
Current Location: Gunga Mountain Range (Wild, Wild Pussycats Agency).
Assessment Level: Unknown, but potentially logistic / management / audit genius
Agent Mera leaned back and closed her eyes.
She had a feeling that by the time Arisaka came down from that mountain, the Hero Society would never be the same again.
"Should we request to send Lady Nagant on his side elder brother? As far as I know he still doesn't have a secretary for his company."
"...."
Mera stared at his sister for a long, silent minute, his eye twitching. "A secretary? You want to send the nation's most dangerous sniper to file his taxes? Go back to sleep, little sister."