Toga didn't follow him right away.
Timothy left the compound without his coat. No weapons. Just that clean shirt, sleeves rolled, and a soft look in his eyes that didn't belong to war.
She waited a few minutes before slipping out after him, quiet on the rooftops.
It was late morning. The streets were awake but not loud. A few shops had music drifting from the windows. The air smelled like grilled fish, soy broth, and fresh oranges. No sirens. No tension.
He walked without purpose. At least, that was how it looked.
But nothing about Timothy ever really lacked purpose.
Toga crouched on the ledge of a second-floor rooftop and watched as he turned the corner near a corner bakery. An older woman spotted him through the shop window and came out wiping her hands on her apron.
He smiled at her. Nothing flashy. Just a soft nod, like they had known each other forever.
She handed him a small wrapped bun.
No charge. No words exchanged beyond the smile.
He bowed his head slightly, murmured something too soft to catch, and continued on.
Toga blinked.
He kept walking, passing fruit stands and street corners. Everywhere he went, someone seemed to know him.
A man in a suit gave him a quiet nod and crossed the street. A young girl on a bicycle slowed, waved at him with one hand, and sped off with a grin.
At one corner, two boys were playing with a ball that rolled toward Timothy's feet. He stopped it with the side of his shoe, then crouched down and picked it up. Instead of tossing it back, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wrapped candy.
One for each of them. Then the ball.
The kids cheered. One shouted something about magic. The other just laughed and ran off.
Timothy waved once, then turned toward the shrine market.
Toga hopped to the next building and followed from above, hands in her pockets, blade tapping softly against her leg.
He had not noticed her yet. Or maybe he had, and chose not to say anything.
That was the thing with Timothy. You never knew what he let you see and what he already understood.
She watched him stop again. This time at a fruit stall run by a man with a broad chest and a rough face. The kind who probably knew how to break teeth.
But he smiled like a child when he saw Timothy.
"Oi, boss," the man said, reaching for something behind the stand. "Try these. Just picked."
He handed over a small bag of peeled fruit slices. Timothy took them with another nod, not once pulling out money. Just a thank-you, honest and soft.
The man looked proud just to hand it to him.
Toga crouched lower.
What are you?
That thought passed through her head before she could help it.
He had burned men to ash. Broken killers with a glance. Walked through blood like it was just another floor.
And here, in the middle of this quiet place, people smiled at him like he had done nothing but build homes and fix fences.
She didn't know how to name the feeling in her chest.
It was not jealousy.
But it pulled.
Maybe this was what real belonging looked like.
She didn't move for a while.
When he stopped again, it was near a park. The same one where they had once gathered supplies during that early winter run.
This time, he sat on a bench under the shade and pulled something else from his coat pocket. A thin booklet. Folded paper.
Toga dropped down from the rooftop and walked toward him.
He didn't flinch when she approached. Just glanced sideways, then offered her a slice of fruit.
"You were following me," he said.
She popped the fruit in her mouth and sat next to him.
"Maybe," she said. "You looked like you were going somewhere. But you never do."
He smiled faintly.
"Sometimes going nowhere is the point."
Toga leaned back and stared up at the sky. A few birds crossed overhead. The clouds were slow.
She glanced at the booklet.
"What's that?"
"Local donations list," he said. "Supplies they're short on. I check in when I can."
She tilted her head.
"So you're the boss of a secret group that wears suits and fights Yakuza, but also brings diapers and bottled water to shelters."
Timothy didn't laugh. But the corner of his mouth tugged upward.
"They're not different things," he said. "Not to me."
Toga looked at him a long time.
She remembered the Hero who had picked up Onizuka. That man had not questioned him. Had not even asked for proof.
Just a glance. A nod.
Like Timothy's word was enough.
"You're connected," she said. "With them. With real Heroes."
"Some," he answered. "The right ones."
She squinted.
"Do they know what we are?"
"They know what we are not."
He said it with no bite. No pride.
She let that sit.
A group of kids passed by the sidewalk nearby. One of them pointed. Timothy raised a hand. The child lit up and ran over.
"Do you still have the lemon drops?" the boy asked.
Timothy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful.
He gave two to each of them.
They scattered, laughing.
Toga looked down at the candy in his hand.
"You always carry that?" she asked.
"Only when I leave the house," he said.
She frowned.
"Why?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "Because sometimes they run before I can say anything. The candy makes them stop."
Toga stared at him. For once, she didn't have a clever reply.
The wind picked up again.
A woman across the street waved. Timothy waved back.
Toga leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"You ever think this won't last?"
Timothy looked at the horizon.
"Yes."
She waited.
He didn't follow it with anything.
She nodded.
The two of them sat there a while longer.
And for once, neither of them moved.
<><><><><><><>
Izuku sat on the steps just outside the compound. The sky above him was a deep gray, not quite night, not yet morning. Fog curled over the rooftops like breath held too long. The city felt quiet in a way it rarely did. No wind. No footsteps. Just stillness.
He had not slept.
There had been too much movement in his head for that. Images looping behind his eyes. That projection of a girl with white hair and downturned eyes. The shape of her curled body. The way she barely took up space, like she had learned not to.
A child.
They were hurting a child.
He pressed his palms against his knees and let out a slow breath. No stutter. No shaking. Not even the usual tightness in his throat. Only air.
Inside, he knew the others were waiting.
Rin would be pacing. Not because she was nervous, but because her body always stayed alert before a mission. Shinso would be leaning somewhere nearby, arms crossed, silent, eyes tracking everything without asking for attention. La Brava would be checking her gear, adjusting small pieces more from habit than need. Gentle would be still beside her, grounded in the way he always was — calm first, brave second.
Izuku stood.
His legs didn't tremble.
He walked through the side entrance of the compound and into the control room, letting the door close behind him with a soft thud.
They looked up when he entered.
He didn't wait for permission.
"They're using her," he said. "Experimenting on her. Overhaul's plan — whatever it is — revolves around her. If we don't move, she will suffer more. There's no time left."
No one interrupted.
Izuku stepped to the central console. He tapped the panel, and the map flickered to life. The lines of the compound stretched across the display. Rooms. Patrol paths. Entry points. All marked.
"Tanaka and I confirmed their shift pattern. Four-man rotations. They cycle every three hours. There's a dead zone here."
He circled a narrow section along the southern wall.
"A ventilation shaft behind the courtyard. No line of sight. No camera coverage."
His voice was steady. Not loud. Not forced. Just sure.
"La Brava," he said, turning to her, "can you breach this security node?"
She blinked once. Then nodded.
"Give me ten minutes. I'll loop their feed and route it through our system."
"Do it," Izuku said. "We need them blind before we make our move."
Rin stopped pacing. "You're taking lead," she said. It wasn't a challenge. Just an observation.
Izuku nodded. "If you'll let me."
Shinso pushed off the wall slightly. "You sure?"
Izuku met his eyes. "Yes."
There was no tremor in his voice.
"We wait too long, we lose her. She doesn't have the time for us to hesitate."
Silence held for a breath.
Then Gentle spoke.
"Lead, then."
Izuku turned back to the projection.
"There are two guards on the lower level. They rotate between the eastern wing and the basement entrance. That's likely where Eri is kept. We move in waves. I take point with Tanaka. Rin covers us from the upper hall. Shinso handles comms and fallback coordination. He'll be on the rooftop of the west building. La Brava and Gentle run digital overwatch. I want full control of their feed. Every camera. Every emergency channel."
La Brava gave a quiet laugh, not mocking. "You sound like you've done this before."
Izuku looked at her. "I haven't. But I've watched heroes hesitate when people needed them. I won't do that."
His words fell like stone into water.
No one argued.
Shinso gave a short nod. "We'll move on your mark."
Izuku adjusted his gear, eyes still on the projection.
Timothy had left before sunrise, saying nothing more than carry it.
Izuku hadn't understood what that meant at first. Not fully.
Now, he did.
It wasn't about the weight.
It was about what you did while holding it. About standing still while others ran, and moving when others waited.
About choosing.
Izuku looked at the plan again. At the small highlighted path that led to the lower levels. The place where a girl with white hair waited for something better than silence.
This wasn't about proving himself.
It was about not being one of the people who knew and still did nothing.
He reached forward and marked their first checkpoint.
"We move at nightfall."
<><><><><><><>
The compound's southern perimeter cracked open at midnight.
Gentle slipped through the main wall first, his soft-footed balance carrying him along a narrow ledge. La Brava's voice fed through his earpiece with measured timing.
"Two guards. Eight meters apart. Right path is yours."
He gave a short nod and stepped into the dark.
On the rooftop, Shinso adjusted his scarf and activated his comms block. Every camera on the eastern half flickered once, then died quietly. No alarms. Just silence.
Tanaka broke the gate at the west wing with a palm strike cloaked in invisible heat. It hissed, then fell inward like a curtain of iron dust. He did not run. He walked forward, slow and steady, his steps loud enough to draw attention.
Rin dropped beside him, her hands already forming barriers in the air. She whispered a word, a name, maybe, and the first guard bounced off a transparent wall before he even raised his weapon.
Izuku moved last.
His cloak rippled behind him as he crossed the line. No fanfare. No storm. Yet.
Not yet.
They pushed inward. Each hallway marked and memorized. Izuku's mind worked faster than his steps, calculating routes, fielding options, tracing where Eri might be.
Then he heard it.
A scream. Small. Broken. Not loud enough to reach the outside, but enough to fracture something inside his chest.
He stopped thinking.
He started running.
Tanaka broke down the next door without hesitation. Gentle sealed it behind them with a broken beam. Rin threw up a barrier just in time to deflect a volley of darts. The hallway darkened.
La Brava's voice whispered through. "I've found her. Three rooms below. Left wing. Tight quarters."
Izuku did not pause.
He blew through the first guard with a shoulder strike that echoed. His hand found the wall. His breath slowed.
Then his fingers reached upward.
A crack of light traced the ceiling like it was splitting the world in half.
Then Mjolnir dropped.
Not summoned. Claimed.
It hit his palm with weight that felt like memory. Not heavy. Not cruel. Just real. As if it had been waiting for him longer than he had known to reach.
The metal hummed.
Electricity coiled up his arm, not wild but steady, crawling like a second pulse. The air thickened. The pressure built in the quiet. Outside, clouds turned. Wind bent.
Thunder stirred.
Izuku exhaled.
And the compound shook.
Wood shattered into splinters. Bolts jumped from pipe to pipe. Metal peeled back from its supports like paper cut loose from tape. The doors ahead of him blew apart before he reached them, hinges snapping into the floor.
His cloak fluttered behind him, outlined in white-blue arcs. Sparks danced across his chest, over his shoulders, and trailed off his hands like mist on the sea.
Overhaul stepped from the final chamber.
His mask gleamed. His coat reformed itself along his arms, layers of stolen life snapping into place with a hiss.
He tilted his head. Not shaken. Not frightened.
Just annoyed.
"You're the one they sent?" he asked.
Izuku raised Mjolnir. Lightning curled over the head like it knew what was coming.
"You took a child," Izuku said.
Overhaul lifted his hand. The hallway responded.
Tiles buckled. Steel warped. The walls folded inward like jaws. A scream of pressure filled the air.
Izuku did not flinch.
He surged forward.
His foot hit the ground, and the floor shattered beneath him. A burst of storm light cracked from the point of impact. He moved faster than sight, faster than Overhaul could reform. The hammer came down once.
And lightning obeyed.
A roar tore through the compound. The ceiling split in three directions. Beams melted. Static screamed across every surface. The hallway lit not from impact but from recognition, the storm had come home.
Overhaul flew across the chamber like a rag doll, slammed into a pillar, and dragged a crater into the far wall.
He stood.
Barely.
His mask was cracked now. His mouth bloodied. He lifted both hands and rebuilt, not from strength, but desperation. The floor rose beneath him. It tried to become a weapon again.
Spikes of concrete lunged.
Izuku walked forward.
The spikes melted. Not from fire. Not from heat.
From force. From gravity bent sideways. From a will too focused to let physics argue.
Mjolnir spun once in his hand. The air answered with a low rumble.
Electricity now crawled across his shoulders and chest like armor, rising and curling with each step. His breath slowed. His vision narrowed.
Overhaul screamed something, a command, a curse, maybe a plea, and the room twisted with kinetic shock.
Izuku stepped through it.
His feet never stumbled. The air bent away from him. The attack broke like water around a stone.
He raised the hammer again.
"I am not here for you," he said.
Overhaul hesitated.
That was his mistake.
Izuku threw Mjolnir.
It vanished from his hand with a crack that split the corridor open. The wind followed it, not around it, with it. The room inverted. Light fractured.
Mjolnir struck center mass.
Overhaul disappeared in a storm of broken stone and shattering air. The force punched through three walls before it finally stopped. The far wing of the compound collapsed inward. Pipes burst. The lights failed.
Izuku stepped forward and caught the hammer mid-return. The storm quieted.
Only breath remained. His own.
Measured. Calm.
He walked into the final chamber.
A small cage rattled in the corner.
Within it, curled and silent, was a child. White hair. Bare feet. Eyes turned down. She barely took up space.
Izuku crossed the room and knelt.
She flinched.
His voice was soft. Lower than the thunder had been. Lower than fear.
"It's alright," he said. "You're safe."
She looked at him. At the hammer. At the storm still breathing across his shoulders.
"You're not with them?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"I came to stop them."
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she reached out.
He took her hand with both of his.
Behind him, Rin arrived first. She walked past him, shield raised. She checked the corners, her stance protective, precise.
Tanaka followed. No words. Just heat in his step. A warning to anyone left.
Gentle stepped through and paused. "We have incoming from the west gate."
"Block it," Izuku said.
La Brava's voice cut in. "Way ahead of you."
The cameras blinked out.
Rin closed the door with a seal.
Izuku picked Eri up, wrapping her in his cloak.
"We're going home," he said.