The reinforced cell wasn't meant for normal detainees.It was for people who could punch through concrete, melt steel, or warp reality with a bad attitude.
Inosuke didn't care.
He had already tested the bars by kicking them, ramming them, and gnawing on them like a starving dog. When none of that worked, he crouched in the corner, hands on his knees, glaring at every soul who passed by like they were trespassing in his den.
From down the hall, voices carried—low at first, then louder as the cluster of pro heroes gathered outside the observation window.
Kamui Woods was the first to speak. "He broke your arm in under thirty seconds, Aizawa. You've gone up against tough villain before. That doesn't happen."
Aizawa stood there with his arm in a sling, his face the same mask of exhaustion as always. "He fights like an animal. No tells. No rhythm to predict. Even when I erased his… whatever that was, there was nothing to shut down. It's all raw muscle and instinct."
Edgeshot, still rubbing the spot where Inosuke had kicked him, added, "I've fought assassins who were unpredictable. This was different. He doesn't waste time thinking—he's reacting before you've even committed to a move. It's pure, unfiltered combat experience."
Inside the cell, Inosuke leaned toward the bars. "Damn right! You should be thanking me for the training!"
"Quiet!" a police officer barked.
"You quiet, you tiny weakling!" Inosuke shot back, rattling the bars. "You couldn't catch a rabbit if it jumped in your lap!"
The officer gritted his teeth and stepped back.
Kamui rubbed his temples. "So… what even is he? Some kind of underground fighter? Vigilante? or the demon slayer he is talking about?"
"Vigilantes don't behead people in the street," Edgeshot said dryly.
From the cell: "Only because you're bad at it!"
Kamui shot him a glare through the bars. "Shut up!"
"I'll shut you up, tree man!" Inosuke growled, hooking his fingers around the bars like he might actually try to bend them.
Aizawa ignored the exchange and said, "It's possible he's from another country. One without laws against lethal force."
"Another country?" Kamui asked. "The way he talks… he barely even understands what a country is."
Edgeshot's gaze narrowed. "I'm not ruling out a dimensional displacement. He claims he 'just appeared' here. If that's true, we could be dealing with someone from an entirely different reality."
From the cell: "Yeah, my reality's better than this one! No stupid rules, just you, the demon, and your blades!"
"Stop calling people demons," Kamui snapped.
"I'll stop when you stop being stupid!" Inosuke bellowed back.
Several more heroes had gathered now—Mount Lady return to her human size, Fat Gum leaning casually against the wall, and Best Jeanist straightening his immaculate jacket as if merely being in the same building as Inosuke was an affront to order.
Fat Gum arched a brow. "So this is the mystery maniac I've been hearing about. I thought he'd be taller."
"I'M PLENTY TALL!" Inosuke roared, jumping to his feet and banging his head against the cell ceiling just to prove he could.
Best Jeanist adjusted his collar. "Frankly, I'm more concerned about the fashion travesty. A boar mask and… whatever that loincloth situation is? He's assaulting my sense of style as much as the public safety."
"You wanna talk about style?!" Inosuke pointed dramatically through the bars. "You look like a scarecrow choked on a rope!"
Mount Lady snorted, covering her mouth. Fat Gum actually laughed out loud. "Okay, I kinda like him. He's got spirit."
"Spirit isn't going to keep him from killing the next person he mistakes for a demon," Edgeshot said sharply.
Aizawa nodded once. "Exactly. The problem isn't just that he's dangerous—it's that he doesn't see what he did as wrong. He genuinely believes he was protecting that woman."
"And she was being attacked," Fat Gum said, scratching his chin. "If he hadn't stepped in, the villain might've done worse damage. I mean, he's got the hero instincts, just… no hero code."
From the cell: "I've got the only code that matters—kill the demon before it kills someone else!"
"That's not a hero code, that's a slaughterhouse policy," Best Jeanist muttered.
"I'LL SLAUGHTER YOU!"
The heroes all started talking over each other then—Mount Lady suggesting they put him in Hero Boot Camp, Fat Gum proposing he be handed over to a hero with experience training unpredictable fighters, Best Jeanist advocating for a complete style intervention before anything else, Kamui insisting he be treated like a dangerous criminal until they knew more, and Edgeshot reminding everyone that the man had beheaded someone in public view.
Inosuke, of course, was shouting over all of them.
"WHO'S 'BOOT CAMP'? I'LL FIGHT HIM!"
"STOP IGNORING ME, FUR-BRAIN!"
"WHO'S THE FAT ONE? I LIKE YOU! WE SHOULD SPAR!"
"I'M NOT FAT, I'M BULK!" Fat Gum yelled back good-naturedly.
"BULK FAT!"
"HEY!"
It was chaos—two conversations happening at once, punctuated by the sound of Inosuke rattling the bars every thirty seconds just to remind everyone he was still there.
Finally, Aizawa cut through the noise with a single sentence:
"We can't keep him in police custody forever. He's either going to adapt to our laws… or tear them down."
A heavy silence followed. Even Inosuke stopped shouting for a moment.
Edgeshot glanced toward the cell. "If we hand him over to the wrong people, he'll either escape or be put down. I don't think he'll survive prison without killing half the inmates."
"That's assuming he doesn't start the fight," Kamui muttered.
From the cell: "I'll start all the fights!"
Aizawa's sigh was the quiet, weary kind—barely audible, but heavy enough to be felt. "We should bring Naomasa Tsukauchi into this. He'll know our options."
______
The Conference Room
The hum of the fluorescent lights was the only calm thing in the building.The conference room table was packed—Aizawa with his sling, Edgeshot sitting ramrod straight, Kamui Woods with his arms crossed, Best Jeanist smoothing his lapel for the third time in five minutes, Mount Lady and Fat Gum leaning against the wall, and a handful of other officers from the Musutafu Police Department.
At the head of the table stood Naomasa Tsukauchi, the plainclothes detective whose calm voice usually kept meetings grounded. Today, however, his expression was pinched in a way that suggested nothing about this situation was going to be simple.
Naomasa placed a tablet on the table and tapped the screen. The air filled with the sound of a grainy video clip playing on loop—a shaky cell phone recording of Inosuke's "introduction" to the city.
The footage was brutal.
From the street below, the camera caught a shirtless man in a boar mask leaping off a rooftop like a missile, dual blades glinting in the sun. He landed on the monstrous villain mid-attack, severing both arms in a spray of blood before—without hesitation—driving a clean strike through the neck. The head tumbled, the villain's body collapsed, and Inosuke stood over it, chest heaving, blades still dripping, while bystanders screamed.
The video had been edited and reuploaded a thousand times already—some slowed down with dramatic music, some with comedic sound effects, some with text overlays like BOAR MAN IS JUST BUILT DIFFERENT.
Naomasa hit pause just as Inosuke turned toward the fleeing crowd, boar mask catching the light.
"This," Naomasa began, "is the problem."
"Understatement of the year," Kamui muttered.
"Two hours," Naomasa continued, "That's all it took for this clip to hit every major social platform. Hashtags are trending—#BoarMan, #VillainExecution, #HeroOrMonster. News outlets are running with it. The Public Safety Commission already called me twice this morning, and they're not happy."
Fat Gum winced. "I mean… yeah, that's not exactly the kind of debut you want in a hero-saturated city."
Mount Lady raised a hand lazily. "Public's split though, right? Half of them are freaking out, but the other half thinks he's some kind of badass anti-hero."
"That's part of the problem," Naomasa said. "We've got civilians calling for his arrest and others calling for him to get a hero license tomorrow. This is exactly the kind of discourse that destabilizes public trust in the Hero system."
Aizawa finally spoke. "He's not getting a license. Not until he understands the rules, and even then, that's assuming he can follow them."
Best Jeanist gave a stiff nod. "And until he understands the importance of presentation. His appearance alone is—"
"Don't," Mount Lady cut in, "start on the fashion thing again."
"It matters," Jeanist insisted. "He looks like a wild animal, and the public will treat him as such."
Kamui glanced at Naomasa. "What's the Commission's angle? Containment? Deportation? Not that we even know where to send him."
"That's where it gets tricky," Naomasa admitted. "They want him under lock and key for now. They're citing lethal force in a public setting, visible to minors, broadcast online. But… given his combat ability and complete lack of Quirk registration, they also want to know where he came from before they make a final call."
Edgeshot leaned forward. "You think they're going to keep him as a potential asset."
Naomasa didn't deny it. "I think they're going to keep their options open until they know if he's a threat they can neutralize… or a weapon they can point."
"That's not happening," Aizawa said flatly.
Naomasa looked at him. "You volunteering to handle him changes the conversation, but that's a lot of responsibility for someone this unpredictable."
"He'll be worse if you hand him over to the wrong people," Aizawa said. "And if you put him in a standard containment facility, he'll break out."
Kamui raised a brow. "You sure about that?"
"Positive," Aizawa said, voice like stone. "He doesn't think like other fighters. He won't test a door; he'll go through the wall."
From somewhere down the hall, faint but unmistakable, came Inosuke's voice:
"HEY! IS THIS A PRISON OR A NAPPING DEN? YOU'RE ALL COWARDS!"
The table collectively exhaled.
Naomasa pinched the bridge of his nose. "And he hasn't shut up since we put him in there?"
"He's insulted every officer who's walked by," Edgeshot said. "Also threatened to 'headbutt the sun' if we don't feed him soon."
Naomasa sighed. "Wonderful."
Edgeshot leaned forward. "So what's the move? Lock him away? Deport him? He's too dangerous to leave unsupervised, but he's also not malicious—he genuinely believes he's helping."
"That's exactly the problem," Naomasa said. "I ran his story through my quirk. He believes every word he's said about 'demons' and 'protecting people.' There's no deception, no hidden agenda. He's operating on a completely different moral framework than ours."
Best Jeanist gave a measured nod. "Rehabilitation, then. Education. But how do you reeducate someone who breaks restraints for sport?"
Aizawa finally spoke, his voice carrying that unshakable calm that made the room go quiet. "You put him in an environment where combat ability and discipline are both required. Somewhere with strict oversight and the resources to keep him contained when necessary."
Naomasa glanced at him. "You're talking about U.A."
"Not the main courses," Aizawa clarified. "It's three months until the next term starts. I'm talking about the preparatory track. Off the public roster. A closed environment where we can test his limits, re-educate him, and keep him contained. Think of it as a three-month probation period disguised as training."
Naomasa considered that. "It gives us control over his movements and image. If we announce he's been taken into custody for 'special hero training,' we turn the narrative from 'killer' to 'rough talent being refined.'"
Best Jeanist nodded slowly. "A rehabilitation story. The public loves those. We can even spin the footage as an example of raw skill that needs proper hero guidance."
Kamui didn't look convinced. "And what happens if he injures one of the instructors?"
Aizawa's tone was flat. "Then we pick instructors who can handle him. And we make sure he understands that fighting them is part of the training—not a challenge to the death."
Mount Lady chuckled. "Good luck explaining that to him."
Edgeshot's eyes narrowed in thought. "There's also the matter of PR control. If he's inside U.A.'s prep program, it's easier to manage what the public sees. No unauthorized footage, no random street encounters."
Naomasa agreed. "It's the best containment option that doesn't look like containment. We'll need Nezu's approval, but I can sell this to the Commission as a calculated investment in an unusual talent."
Fat Gum leaned forward. "And if he bolts?"
"Then we'll know exactly where he was when he left," Aizawa said. "That's more than we can say now."
From the hall came another echo of rattling metal. "IS THIS ALL YOU'VE GOT? I'VE WRESTLED BIGGER TREES THAN THIS!"
Kamui groaned. "You're really sure this is worth the headache?"
Aizawa met his gaze. "I'd rather have him under watch than out there carving up villains in front of civilians. And if we don't take this chance, someone else will—maybe someone who doesn't care how they use him."
Naomasa gathered the folder. "Alright. I'll contact Nezu and draft the public statement. We'll frame it as: 'An unregistered combatant intervened in a dangerous situation and is now undergoing specialized training to align with hero standards.' That should calm both sides of the debate long enough to keep him in one place."
Best Jeanist added, "We should also get the woman he saved to make a public statement. Seeing her alive and thanking him will soften public opinion."
"I've already arranged that," Naomasa said. "Her gratitude is genuine, and she's willing to appear on camera. That's going to be our opening move in reshaping his image."
Aizawa stood, adjusting his sling. "In the meantime, keep him in the reinforced cell. And no more solo visits. He's unpredictable, and you don't want to test his patience right now."
The meeting broke up, each hero moving toward the door. From down the hall, Inosuke's voice carried one last time, loud and unrestrained:
"I DEMAND YOU SET ME FREE OR I WILL BREAK YOU ALL!!!"