The Kurogane Orphanage was built not on a foundation of concrete and rebar, but on a single, unwavering ideal: that no one was beyond saving. For its founder, the retired Pro Hero Lunar Sentinel, this was not a naive platitude but a truth carved into his bones, a lesson learned from a lifetime spent in the jagged trenches between society's spotlights and its shadows.
His name, once, had been Arata Shirogane. His quirk, Moonbeam, had manifested in a moment of childhood panic during a blackout—soft, silvery light emanating from his palms, enough to comfort his younger sister and guide them to a flashlight. It was a gentle quirk, a utility quirk. In a world dazzled by All Might's sun-bright brilliance and Endeavor's roaring flames, a little moonbeam was… quaint.
His school years were a study in quiet marginalization. He wasn't bullied, not overtly. He was simply overlooked, filed away under "Support Potential" or "Rescue Auxiliary." The hero course tryouts were a polite formality; he was fast, he was smart, but his quirk lacked "combat viability." The message was clear: his light was too faint to matter in the real fight.
But Arata's resolve was not so easily dimmed. He clawed his way up from the very bottom. His first job was as a sidekick for a third-rate hero known as "Ground Spike," who was, in turn, a sidekick for a minor hero who had once shared a press conference with All Might. He was two degrees of separation from greatness, and it felt like a chasm.
He spent his days filling potholes, directing traffic after villain fights, and fetching coffee. But he also spent them helping the displaced, the scared, the ordinary people caught in the crossfire. He used his Moonbeam to light dark alleys for lost children, to provide a beacon for survivors trapped in rubble, to calm frantic civilians with its gentle, non-threatening glow. He learned that heroism wasn't always about the grand, cinematic punch; sometimes, it was about the hand offered in the darkness afterward.
His big break came not from a spectacular victory, but from a catastrophic failure. During a massive battle between a rampaging villain and the top heroes, a skyscraper was destabilized. While the headlines focused on the combat, Arata, using his intricate knowledge of urban rescue and his light to cut through the dust and smoke, coordinated the evacuation of the entire building. He found a pocket of survivors others had missed, his faint glow the only thing guiding them through a collapsed stairwell.
All Might himself had been there, in the aftermath. He'd placed a massive, grateful hand on Arata's shoulder, his voice booming even in a whisper. "A true hero shines brightest when the night is darkest, young man. You have my thanks."
That was the birth of Lunar Sentinel. He built his agency not on defeating villains, but on winning the peace. The Lunar Guard became synonymous with disaster relief, search and rescue, and cleanup. They were the calm after the storm. He never reached the top ten in the popularity polls, but he earned something more valuable: the unwavering trust of the public and the profound respect of his peers.
He retired early, his body weary from years of labor that didn't make for flashy highlight reels. And with his savings, he opened the Kurogane Orphanage. The name was a play on his own, "Kuro" for black, "gane" for metal—strong, unassuming, foundational. It was his final, definitive statement to the world: here, we take in those whom society deems too dull, too broken, or too dangerous to polish. Here, we find the strength in their scars.
He saw his younger self in every quirkless child who walked through the doors, and he saw a terrifying potential in every child with a so-called "villainous" quirk. And then there was Izaya.
Izaya was different. The boy's calm intelligence, the deep, unspoken sadness in his eyes, and the mysterious nature of his late-blooming power… Lunar wasn't fooled by the "Matter Manipulation" label. He had seen the way the air sometimes stilled around the boy, the way spilled water seemed to defy physics just for him. It was a power that felt… old. Fundamental. It scared Lunar, not for himself, but for the weight it would place on Izaya's young shoulders. His mission was to ensure that weight didn't crush him, but forged him.
These thoughts were circling in Lunar's mind as his agency-issued commlink crackled to life in his ear. He was downtown, having just finished a meeting with the city's disaster management committee.
*"Lunar, we've got a Code Violet, district 7. A villain, designative 'Rumbler,' is causing significant structural damage. Ground-based quirk, seems to be causing localized tremors. Top-tier responders are engaged, but he's… erratic. Civilians are evacuated, but the collateral is piling up."*
A Code Violet. Unstable, high-destruction potential. Old instincts, long since muscle memory, fired up. "I'm five minutes out. My skill set might be useful for stabilization."
He didn't wait for a reply. His civilian coat was off, revealing the sleek, silver-and-white under-suit he still wore out of habit. He wouldn't be the one to throw the punch, but he could be the one to ensure the punch didn't bring a city block down on everyone's heads.
He arrived at a scene of controlled chaos. The street was fractured, water geysered from a broken main, and the air was thick with dust. The villain, Rumbler, was a hulking man, his skin the texture of cracked earth. With every stomp of his foot, a shockwave rippled out, shattering windows and buckling asphalt. The hero on scene, a rising star named Grand Slam, was trying to pin him down, but the tremors kept throwing off his aim.
But what struck Lunar immediately was the villain's face. It wasn't filled with rage or malicious glee. It was a mask of pure, animalistic terror. His eyes were wide, whites showing all around, and he was screaming, not threats, but a frantic, guttural mantra: "No! No! Stay back! You can't have it!"
Lunar moved, not towards the villain, but to the periphery. He placed his hands on the shuddering wall of a nearby apartment building. His hands glowed with a soft, silvery light that seeped into the concrete. "Moonbeam: Structural Cohesion." He wasn't reinforcing it, not exactly. He was using his light to create a resonant frequency that counteracted the tremors, allowing the building to flex and sway without shattering. It was a delicate, energy-intensive process, like convincing the steel and concrete to dance to a different, safer rhythm.
"Rumbler!" Lunar called out, his voice calm but projecting over the din. "No one is taking anything from you! You need to stand down before you hurt yourself!"
The villain's head swiveled towards him. For a second, the terror seemed to recede, replaced by a flicker of confusion. "He… he said… he takes everything!" Rumbler stammered, his voice cracking. "The Constant… he looks at you and you… you stop! You just stop!"
Lunar's blood ran cold. The Constant. The name from the briefing reports. A new, shadowy figure consolidating power in the underworld. The reports spoke of broken gangs and subservient thugs, but they hadn't mentioned… this. This wasn't just domination. This was psychological evisceration.
"He's not here," Lunar said, maintaining his calming tone, even as his mind raced. "It's just you and me. You can end this now."
"NO!" Rumbler shrieked, the fear returning tenfold. "He's always there! In the stillness! He is the stillness!" He stomped his foot again, this time with renewed, panicked force. The shockwave was larger, ripping directly towards Grand Slam, who was caught off-balance.
Lunar acted on instinct. He shifted his focus from the building, throwing out a wide-arc beam of solid light—not a weapon, but a shield. The shockwave hit the luminescent barrier, which shimmered and strained, dispersing the energy harmlessly into the air above. It was a classic Lunar Sentinel move: defend, don't retaliate.
But the effort cost him. The building behind him groaned, a window finally giving way and shattering.
Seeing his opening, Grand Slam finally connected, landing a powerful, concussive blow that sent Rumbler crashing to the ground, unconscious.
The fight was over. The street fell silent, save for the hiss of the broken water main.
Grand Slam walked over, panting slightly. "Thanks for the assist, Lunar. Nasty piece of work. Completely insane."
Lunar looked down at the fallen villain, his face a canvas of pity and deep concern. The man wasn't a monster; he was a victim, his mind shattered by something he couldn't comprehend. "He wasn't always like this," Lunar murmured. "The reports said he was a mid-level enforcer. Arrogant, brutal, but sane. Something broke him."
"Well, whatever it was, it's behind bars now," Grand Slam said, clapping a hand on Lunar's shoulder.
As the police moved in to secure Rumbler, Lunar stared at the cracked earth where the villain had fallen. He looks at you and you stop. He is the stillness.
The words echoed the fears he held for Izaya, but twisted into something horrifying. Izaya sought to understand and guide motion. This "Constant" seemed to impose absolute cessation. It was a philosophical nightmare made manifest. A power that didn't just defeat you, but negated your very will.
He thought of the orphanage, his sanctuary of second chances. He thought of the fragile hope in Izaya's eyes when he talked of U.A. And now, he thought of this new shadow, a force that didn't just break bones, but broke minds. The world was not as simple as heroes and villains. It was a spectrum of light and shadow, motion and stillness. And a new, terrifying extreme had just declared its presence.
As he turned to leave, the setting sun casting long shadows across the broken street, Lunar Sentinel felt a profound chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. The battle for the city's soul had just become infinitely more complex, and the front lines were no longer just in the streets, but in the human heart itself.