Morning comes without warmth.Mist drapes the forest like a veil, heavy and unmoving.I watch it rise from the watchtower balcony, tracing slow spirals as it curls into the valley.
Every channel in Japan is still replaying the footage.The Commission's building collapsing.The light tearing the clouds.My name, spoken in fear and reverence, echoing through broadcasts and whispers.
The Storm That Escaped.They turned a survival into a story before I could take a breath.
"Names are anchors," I mutter to no one. "They keep you in places you never chose."
The words fade, but their weight doesn't.
A soft knock interrupts the quiet.Not a soldier.Not Aizawa.
When the door opens, it's Uraraka.
She stands in the doorway, coat too large, eyes uncertain but steady."How did you even find me?" I ask.
"I followed the air currents," she says, half joking, half honest. "Aizawa told me not to. So I did."
"That's a dangerous habit."
"So is existing," she replies. "You taught me that."
She steps inside, shaking off the cold. The tower feels smaller immediately, filled by the quiet strength she carries without realizing it.
"You shouldn't be here," I say.
"I wanted to see for myself."
"See what?"
"If you're really what they say."
I don't answer. She walks closer, stopping a few steps away.
"I watched the footage," she says. "You didn't hurt anyone. You could have. That matters."
"It won't to them."
"Then make it matter to you."
Her voice is calm, but her hands shake. I can tell she's terrified — of me, of the choice she made coming here, of what it means to believe something she's not supposed to.
"You're brave," I tell her.
She shakes her head. "No. Just tired of being told what to think."
She places a folded piece of paper on the table — a small, unmarked envelope."Nezu sent this. Said you'd understand when you read it."
I unfold it.Three lines.Nezu's handwriting, clean and deliberate:
They will come in threes.Not heroes. Not villains.Decide who you trust before they do.
The paper trembles slightly in my hand, reacting to the air.
"What does it mean?" she asks.
"It means the Commission isn't done," I say. "And neither is he."
By nightfall, the forest grows restless.I sense them before I hear them — three distinct signatures cutting through the air with military precision.
Uraraka stands near the door, eyes wide. "They found us."
"No. They followed you."
Her guilt flashes too fast to hide. "I'm sorry—"
"Don't be. This was inevitable."
The first figure lands in the clearing — dark uniform, heavy boots. His aura feels like stone and static.The second, lighter, faster, moves in the shadows.The third doesn't touch the ground at all.
Three agents.But not Commission.Something else.
The lead man steps forward, removing his hood. His face is young, eyes sharp — like a hero from the new generation."Kazen Arashi," he says. "We're not here to capture you."
"Then why are you armed?"
"Because peace doesn't travel unguarded."
"And you are?"
He taps his chest plate. "Unit Zero-One. Internal Containment Division. We broke from the Commission two days ago."
"And what do you want?"
He glances at Uraraka, then back at me. "The truth. The one they're trying to erase."
Inside the tower, we sit around a small oil lamp. The flame flickers with each breath.
The man — Rai Akimoto — explains:"When the Commission fell, it wasn't chaos. It was a purge. Files deleted, people silenced, heroes reassigned. They're building something new — a world order without quirks. Artificial regulation. Power that can be switched off like light."
I listen, quiet. Uraraka looks horrified.
"And you?" I ask.
"We refused. We took what data we could and ran. But we need protection. You can bend what they built — maybe destroy it."
"You want me to fight your war."
Rai shakes his head. "Not ours. Everyone's."
He slides a small device across the table — a crystalline drive, pulsing faint blue. "Inside is every file they had on you. And something else. A project called Erebus."
The name hums wrong. Heavy. Cold.
"What is it?"
"A weapon," Rai says quietly. "Built from your energy signature. They plan to control storms — real ones. Not just weather. Planetary balance."
"They're trying to control nature itself."
He nods. "And they already started testing."
The air thickens. I can almost hear the storm stir behind my ribs, restless, angry, alive.
"You want my help," I say.
"We want your choice."
Uraraka looks at me, silent plea in her eyes. "If you run now, they'll use what's left of the Commission to finish this. You can stop them."
"Or become what they want me to be."
"Maybe," she says. "But at least it'll be your choice this time."
Outside, the mist begins to rise again, glowing faintly under the stars.I walk to the balcony, the drive heavy in my hand.
Every decision in this world leaves a scar.Freedom, order, chaos — they're just words until someone bleeds for them.
Behind me, Rai waits, patient. Uraraka watches. The night listens.
"If I do this," I say, "there's no going back."
Rai nods. "There never was."
I look at the horizon — a city still burning with light, still pretending it's safe.
"Then let's make them remember what truth feels like."
The drive hums once in my palm. The storm shifts, coiling around it like recognition.
This time, I don't suppress it.I let it breathe.
And somewhere far away, systems flicker — servers strain, encrypted data cracks open, and the world begins to see.