The meeting chamber of the Hero Association was quiet—too quiet for a room filled with the world's most powerful protectors.
No windows, no press—just steel walls and one long table.
The air hung heavy with tension, dimly lit by overhead strips casting long shadows behind the seated heroes.
Each shadow stretched like a second self—jagged, warped, exaggerated—as if the power of those at the table could barely be contained in human form.
At the far end, a man sat still—back straight, face veiled behind strands of hair and half-darkness. No one addressed him directly. They didn't need to.
The conversation moved without him, circling like vultures.
"Monster incidents are down. Drastically," said one suited man, thick glasses glinting with data reflected from his tablet. "Without disaster, there's no help to offer. Our value slips each week, and now that press conference..."
