The walk from the UA faculty lounge to the station was a solitary one, the kind of walk where every footstep on the pavement felt amplified by the silence of the thinning crowds. Loki felt the weight of the bronze medal in his bag—a physical anchor that reminded him of the "ceiling" he had hit against Bakugo. It was a cold, circular reminder that in a world of raw, explosive "Truth," a magician's "Lie" could only hold the stage for so long.
But as he stepped through the front door of the Hargreaves manor, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The air was no longer thick with the scent of gym floor and ozone; it smelled of old parchment, expensive tea, and the sharp, clinical cold that always preceded a Blackwood influence.
Arthur Hargreaves was standing in the foyer, a tablet clutched in his hand. He wasn't looking at the stock market or his usual business reports. He was looking at a grainy, high-resolution feed of an airport terminal. He didn't ask how the school day went. He didn't ask about the "Mysterio" hero name. He simply turned the screen toward Loki, his face a map of profound, quiet concern.
"The news is already moving, Loki," Arthur said, his voice low.
Loki adjusted his monocle, peering at the headlines flickering across the Hero News Network.
[INTERNATIONAL SHOCK: THE BLACKWOOD SISTERS SPOTTED IN TOKYO]
[UK TOP-TIER LIAISONS ON UNOFFICIAL VISIT? MINISTERIAL SILENCE REMAINS]
The footage showed Scarlet and Cynthia—two tall, veiled shadows—walking through Narita International Airport with a grace that made the surrounding security detail look like bumbling amateurs. They didn't look like heroes. They looked like an inevitability.
"The 'Buzz,' as the media calls it, is reaching a fever pitch," Arthur continued, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, nervous beat against the tablet's casing. "Your Aunt Scarlet called. She said the script has been adjusted. You aren't going to a public agency. You aren't even staying in Tokyo for the week."
Loki felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. "Where, then?"
"A secret estate," Arthur said, his eyes meeting Loki's with a sudden, piercing intensity. "A Blackwood property hidden in the mountains on the outskirts of the Hosu District. It's off the books, Loki. No press, no cameras, no UA oversight. You leave in three days."
Arthur stepped closer, placing a heavy, grounding hand on Loki's shoulder. "They told me to tell you: 'Pack for a funeral, but prepare for a rebirth.' Loki, I know you want to be stronger. I know the loss to Bakugo stung. But remember that in a house of Blackwoods, you are the only one who still knows how to tell the truth to himself. Don't lose that. It's the only thing that keeps you from becoming a ghost like them."
The following day at UA felt surreal, like a dream sequence in a play that had gone on for too long. The academic lectures—English with Present Mic, Modern Hero History—felt like background noise, a hollow echo of "normalcy" before the students were flung into the grinding, visceral gears of the professional world.
The classroom was a hive of frantic whispers as the final internship decisions were finalized and submitted. The air was thick with the scent of cheap pens and high-stakes anxiety.
"I'm going to the Battle Hero, Gunhead!" Uraraka announced to a small circle of girls, her face set in a look of grim, unshakeable focus that bordered on scary. "I realized during my match with that if I'm ever going to help people reach the sky, I need to know how to keep my own feet on the ground. I need to know how to hurt someone who is trying to hurt me."
"I'm headed to Fourth Kind," Kirishima added, fist-bumping a nervous-looking Tetsutetsu from Class 1-B. "It's gonna be a manly grind! No flashy stuff, no cameras—just pure grit and iron! We're gonna come back with skin like diamonds!"
Loki sat at his desk, his silver-headed cane leaning against the wood like a silent sentry. He watched the "cast" of Class 1-A solidify their roles for the next act. He saw the fire in Kirishima's eyes and the newfound weight in Uraraka's shoulders. They were all evolving, shedding their skins as students and growing the carapaces of heroes.
"And I..." Midoriya said, his voice trembling slightly as he looked at a crumpled, handwritten piece of paper. "I got an offer from someone named Gran Torino. All Might seemed... terrified when I mentioned the name. He turned pale and started coughing. But I have to go. I need to learn how to control this 'Truth' in my veins before it breaks my bones for good."
Loki's gaze shifted to the back of the room.
Iida Tenya was packing his bag with a mechanical, eerie precision. He didn't join the chatter about sidekicks or costume upgrades. He didn't share his excitement about the Hosu city-side agency he had chosen. He looked like a man who had already walked through a door and locked it behind him, leaving only a hollow shell to occupy his seat.
He's not going for training, Loki thought, his green eyes narrowing behind his glass. He's going for a reckoning. And he has no idea how poorly that script usually ends.
As the final bell rang, its shrill tone signaling the start of the week-long hiatus, the students began to filter out, their voices trailing off into the hallways. Loki was one of the last to move, his actions slow and deliberate. He wasn't in a rush to leave; he was savoring the last moments of the "School" setting before the "Sanctum" claimed him.
He found Momo Yaoyorozu standing by the tall, arched windows of the main hallway. The setting sun was pouring through the glass, bathing her in a warm, amber glow that contrasted with the deep, thoughtful frown on her face. She was looking out at the sprawling UA campus as if seeing it for the first time.
"Momo," Loki greeted, his voice a smooth, melodic silk that didn't startle her so much as it anchored her. "You look like a Director who has realized the lead actor has forgotten their lines, and the curtain is already rising."
Momo turned, a faint, tired smile touching her lips. "Hargreaves-san. I suppose I'm just... reflecting. I'm going to Uwabami's agency.
She's a celebrity hero, very focused on the 'image' and 'aesthetic' side of the industry. I thought it would be a good challenge for my confidence—to be in the spotlight—but now that I'm about to go, I wonder..."
She looked at her hands—the hands that could create anything from a cannon to a tracker, yet had failed to create a victory against Tokoyami's shadows.
"But you wonder if the 'image' is just a distraction," Loki finished for her, stepping into the golden light of the sunset beside her. "You wonder if learning how to pose for a camera will help you when the lights go out and the real monsters come out to play."
"Exactly," Momo admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "And you? I heard the rumors in the cafeteria today. The Blackwood sisters? The media is calling it the 'International Intrusion.' People are saying you used your family connections to bypass the standard ranking system because you only had six hundred offers."
Loki laughed—a dry, hollow sound that didn't reach his eyes, though it held a certain weary charm. "Practically speaking, Momo, every 'Truth' is just a well-maintained lie. Yes, I am interning with my aunts. But don't mistake that for a privilege. To be a Blackwood student is to have your soul audited every hour of every day. They aren't going to teach me how to sign autographs or look good in a magazine."
He gripped the head of his cane, his knuckles white. "They are going to teach me how to survive a slaughter. They are going to strip away the 'Sleightist' until there is nothing left but the 'Enigma'."
Momo looked at him, her eyes searching the fractured glass of his monocle, finding a reflection of her own fears there.
He turned away from her, his silhouette lengthening as he walked down the hall.
"Take care of your confidence, Momo," he called back over his shoulder. "A Director is nothing without her belief in the play."
Loki walked toward the school gates, the cool evening air hitting his face. He saw Midoriya and Iida walking toward the station in the distance. They were talking, but their shadows were pointed in completely different directions. One was walking toward a mentor who would teach him to fly; the other was walking toward a grave he had dug for himself.
Loki felt a buzz in his pocket. It was an encrypted message from an unknown sender, routed through a server in the Hosu mountains.
Loki walked toward the school gates, his shadow lengthening across the pavement. He saw Midoriya and Iida walking toward the station, their backs to him. One was walking toward a mentor; the other was walking toward a grave.
Loki gripped his cane, his eyes flashing with a jagged, emerald intensity.
Three days.
Three days until the Illusionist was stripped of his parlor tricks and forged into something that could lie to the Reaper himself.
As he boarded the train home, he saw a notification on his phone. It was an encrypted message from an unknown sender.
"The stage is set, little nephew. The props are in place. Bring your monocle—you'll need it to see through the blood."
Loki closed his eyes, the rhythm of the train tracks sounding like the ticking of a countdown. The internship wasn't a lesson. It was a baptism
[End of Chapter 31]
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