U.A. High School - Main Gates - 8:47 AM
Nemuri's taxi pulled up to U.A.'s entrance, and she immediately knew something was catastrophically wrong.
The school gates were surrounded, no more like besieged by reporters. News vans lined the street, cameras pointed at the building, journalists jostling for position. The scene was just absolute chaos.
"Ma'am, I can't get any closer," the taxi driver said, eyeing the crowd nervously. "This is as far as I can take you."
"It's fine," Nemuri replied, paying quickly and stepping out into the maelstrom.
She'd barely made it three steps toward the gates when the reporters recognized her.
"That's Midnight!"
"Ms. Kayama! Ms. Kayama!"
They swarmed like sharks sensing blood in the water, microphones thrust toward her face, cameras swiveling to capture her reaction.
"Midnight, what's your response to the training camp attack?"
"Do you think U.A. can still protect its students?"
"Were you at the camp when the attack happened?"
"Is it true a student was kidnapped by villains?"
"What measures is U.A. taking to—"
Nemuri pushed through without responding, her professional hero smile fixed in place despite having no idea what they were talking about.
Training camp attack?
Student kidnapped?
She'd been gone for only a week, what had happened while she was in Gotham?
The questions continued pelting her like physical blows as she made her way through the crowd:
"Do you have any comments on Principal Nezu's statement?"
"Is All Might taking responsibility for the failure?"
"Can U.A. guarantee student safety going forward?"
She finally made it past the crowd and through the gates, security recognizing her and letting her pass immediately. The questions faded behind her as she walked quickly toward the main building, her mind racing.
What the hell happened?
She made her way to the faculty meeting room, where she could already hear raised voices. Taking a breath to compose herself, she opened the door.
Every teacher was there. All Might in his deflated form, looking more haggard than she'd ever seen him. Aizawa with visible injuries, bandages covering parts of his face and arms. Principal Nezu at the head of the table, his usual cheerful demeanor completely absent.
The conversation stopped as she entered.
"Ms Midnight," Nezu said, his voice carrying an unusual weight. "You've returned... Please, sit. We have much to discuss."
Nemuri took her seat, feeling every eye in the room on her. "I saw the reporters outside. What happened?"
"The training camp was attacked," Aizawa said flatly, his voice rough with exhaustion and barely contained rage. "Friday evening. The League of Villains sent a coordinated strike force, multiple students were injured, Pixie-Bob is in serious condition, Ragdoll is missing."
"And one student was kidnapped," All Might added, his voice heavy with guilt. "Katsuki Bakugo."
Bakugo, the explosive boy from Class 1-A.
Nemuri should have felt horror, devastation, urgent concern for her students safety.
Instead, all she felt was a strange numbness because even now her mind kept drifting back to Gotham, to her son and to that encrypted phone in her apartment it.
"Midnight?" Present Mic was looking at her with concern. "You okay? You look pretty out of it."
"I'm fine," she lied automatically. "Just... processing. This is a lot to take in."
The meeting continued, and Nemuri forced herself to focus as they went through the details:
The attack had been highly coordinated. The League of Villains had sent what they called their "Vanguard Action Squad" specialized villains with specific targets. They'd known the camp's location, the security measures, the schedule.
Many students had been rendered unconscious by a villain's gas Quirk, others had sustained injuries ranging from minor to severe, while some were physically unharmed but traumatized.
And Bakugo had been taken.
"We believe they targeted him specifically because of his performance at the sports festival," Nezu explained. "His violent behavior during the finals and his attitude at the award ceremony may have led them to believe he could be recruited to their side."
"That's ridiculous," Aizawa growled. "Anyone who actually knows Bakugo would understand he'd never join villains. He's too proud, too focused on becoming the top hero."
Present Mic slammed his hand on the table. "There's a traitor, has to be, how else would they know our camp location? Only we and the Pussycats knew!"
"Mic, stop it," Aizawa said sharply. "Suspecting each other won't help. We need to focus on recovering Bakugo and restoring security."
The argument escalated, voices raised, accusations flying. Nemuri sat through it all in a strange fugue state, participating when required but feeling disconnected from the urgency everyone else displayed.
A student had been kidnapped, others were hurt, a potential traitor amongst them but…
And all she could think about was whether her criminal son would text her again.
What kind of teacher was she? What kind of hero?
The meeting eventually concluded with assignments: increased security measures, coordination with police, mental health support for traumatized students, and a press conference scheduled for later that day.
"We need to present a united front," Nezu said. "Show that U.A. is taking responsibility and implementing solutions. The press conference will be critical."
Crane's Wings Facility - Medical Bay - (Gotham Time: 8:23 PM)
Roman Sionis woke to the smell of total sterilization and the distant sound of machinery.
His head throbbed. His body felt wrong, he was too… weak, uncoordinated, like he'd been bedridden for weeks. The last clear memory he had was the fire, the chaos, his family around him...
And then that masked figure.
He sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it as the room spun. He caught himself against the bed frame, his hand slapping against the metal, and felt his Quirk activate involuntarily, that familiar crawling sensation across his skin as danger sense flared to life, screaming at him about threats that weren't there.
He forced himself to breathe, to focus, to suppress the panic response.
When his vision cleared, he realized he was alone.
The large medical bay was pristine, professional equipment, monitoring systems, surgical tools arranged with military precision. But no doctors. No nurses. No guards.
Just him.
His clothes were folded neatly on a nearby chair. Next to them, cleaned and repaired, was his suit.
Roman stood on shaky legs and made his way to the chair, his Quirk still screaming warnings about undefined threats. He dressed quickly, his hands fumbling with buttons and zippers, his body not quite responding correctly.
Then he saw the mirror.
His mask, the symbol of his power and identity, was now fused to his face.
The black material had bonded with his skin, seamless and permanent. No seam, no edge, no way to tell where the mask ended and his flesh began, It was part of him now inseparable.
He then remembered just before the chaos…
Falcone, the old bastard ordered his daughter and men to do this
"No," he breathed, reaching up to touch it. "No no no…"
He grabbed the edge, tried to pry it off, felt the sickening sensation of pulling at his own face. Pain flared, sharp and immediate.
"I wouldn't try that," a voice said, echoing through the room with distorted cheerfulness.
The voice came from an intercom speaker in the corner. Male, carrying that particular kind of disturbing good humor that suggested the speaker found suffering entertaining.
Roman spun toward the speaker, his Quirk screaming danger from that direction now. "Where am I?! Who the hell are you people?!"
"You're in a secure medical facility," the voice replied. "As for who we are, you'll learn soon enough. For now, I suggest you stay in that room, someone will meet you shortly."
"I'm not listening to you until you tell me—"
"You will stay in that room and get easy answers… or you can walk out and get hard answers, my boss would prefer the prior," the voice continued. "Your choice, Mr. Sionis."
The intercom clicked off.
Roman stood in the eerie empty silent room, and after a few minutes decided he wasnt trusting anyone and moved toward the door.
It opened smoothly, revealing a long hallway with reinforced walls and emergency lighting casting everything in harsh white light.
Roman started walking, his danger sense providing a constant low-level anxiety about everything he passed. Every door, every corner, every shadow represented a potential threat.
He encountered people or things that looked like people… after a few minutes of walking.
They moved through the hallway with mechanical precision, their faces completely blank, their eyes staring at nothing, and most were carrying building tools?
Roman's Quirk gave initial warnings about them, but they just... ignored him, and walked past him like he wasn't there.
It was more unsettling than if they'd attacked.
He kept moving, taking turns at random, trying to find an exit or at least someone who could actually respond to questions.
Instead, he found a greenhouse?
The room was massive, cathedral ceilings, glass panels projecting an artificial moonlight, and plants. So many plants. Vines covering every surface, flowers blooming in impossible colors, trees growing in patterns that defied nature.
And in the center, something that made Roman's danger sense spike so hard he actually staggered.
The plants weren't just plants.
As he watched, one of the flower formations shifted, and he saw a human face at the base of the roots mouth open in a silent scream, eyes wide with terror.
His Quirk was screaming at him to run.
Then he heard the screams, loud shrieking screams from somewhere deeper in the greenhouse.
Roman took several steps toward the sound before his danger sense intensified to painful levels, every instinct telling him to flee, to get out, to save himself.
But he kept moving toward the screams anyway, as morbid curiosity overrides anyone's instincts.
He pushed through a curtain of vines and saw her.
A green plant looking woman? She reclined on what looked like an enormous leaf, her body draped across it like a predator at rest. Vines extended from her off arms like natural extensions of her body, grabbing struggling people from a fenced area that Roman couldn't quite see.
The vines lifted the victims with casual strength and fed them into massive venus flytrap plants that had to be fifteen feet tall at least.
The flytraps closed around screaming victims with wet, twisted sounds.
The green woman's eyes met Roman's across the greenhouse.
He ran.
His Quirk was howling warnings about the immediate threat behind him, the long-term threat of this entire facility, the existential threat of whatever organization operated here.
But the woman didn't chase him. She just watched him flee with those glowing green eyes, then returned her attention to feeding her plants.
Roman slammed through another door, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his permanently affixed mask making it harder to breathe than it should.
He found a light switch and flipped it on.
The room illuminated to reveal two figures.
One was clearly some kind of bat-human hybrid, his skin stretched into wing membranes, elongated features, eyes that reflected the light with animal awareness.
The other was moth-like, large strange eyes, antenna, and a fuzzy coating that looked like it should belong to an insect not a human.
Both of them turned to look at him with inhuman gazes.
Roman slammed the door and kept running.
His Quirk was useless now he was best in an open fight with direct threats, but here everything was a threat, and every direction held danger, the entire facility was one massive death trap.
He ran until he hit a dead end, a corridor that terminated in a blank wall with no doors, no exits, no escape.
He turned to retrace his steps and found his path blocked.
A massive figure stood in the corridor behind him, skin scaled like a crocodile's, muscles bulging with inhuman strength. Yellow eyes with vertical pupils stared at him with predatory intelligence.
Killer Croc. Roman recognized him from Gotham's underworld, Waylon Jones, the mutant who'd disappeared from the public eye months ago.
Croc advanced slowly and Roman readied himself for a fist fight he likely wouldn't win.
"Well well," a voice said from behind Croc. "Look who wandered into the wrong part of the facility."
A figure stepped out from the shadows, tall, pale with black hair, wearing that same mask Roman remembered from that night…
Roman's danger sense shifted its focus, the immediate physical threat was Croc, but the real danger was the man in the mask.
"You," Roman said, his voice rough. "I remember you."
"Roman Sionis," Crane interrupted calmly, approaching with Croc moving aside to let him pass. "Also known as Black Mask, one of Falcone's new young talents."
Crane tilted his head, studying Roman with those empty mask eyes. "You're probably wondering why you're here instead of dead in that alley."
"The thought had crossed my mind," Roman said, forcing himself to sound calmer than he felt.
"Waylon, please step back," Suguru said.
The massive crocodile-man moved backward with surprising obedience, giving Roman more space.
"I didn't save you out of the goodness of my heart," Crane explained. "We have a need for someone with your particular skills and connections." leaving out his interest in Romans quirk combatting his from that night weeks ago, he continued "But first, I should apologize, I wasn't planning on meeting like this. You were supposed to wake up with someone present to explain the situation properly."
"And what situation is that?" Roman demanded.
"An invitation," Crane said simply. "To join my organization. Crane's Wings."
"Why the hell would I join you?" he asked.
"Because we can offer you what you actually want," Scarecrow replied. "Money, certainly, we're well-funded and our operations generate significant revenue. But more importantly..."
He paused.
"We can offer you revenge on Carmine Falcone."
Roman's heart rate spiked. "What?"
"You think you can take down the Falcones?" Roman asked skeptically but wanting nothing more to kill that man who betrayed him and did this to him.
"Eventually, its all part of a larger plan for this city," Suguru said. "But I need people with specific skill sets, you understand Gotham's underworld like me but the others dont, You have connections to people on sides of the criminal world I don't have."
Crane reiterated once again his offer of revenge.
"I suspect right now you hate the Falcones more than even Maroni himself."
Roman was quiet for a moment, his danger sense providing useless static about every possible choice.
Finally, "fine im in" he answered realizing it was his best chance to get the falcones and he had nowhere else to go he would never go back to Carmine and other families wouldn't trust him.
"Good but understand this, Mr. Sionis we don't accept members lightly, and we don't tolerate betrayal. Once you're in, you're in completely"
Roman looked at the masked figure, at the massive crocodile-man standing patiently nearby, thought about the greenhouse full of human-plant hybrids and the woman who fed people to carnivorous flora.
His danger sense was screaming that everything about this was wrong.
But it was also telling him that refusing would be immediately lethal.
So he nodded in agreement.
"Excellent," Scarecrow said, gesturing for Roman to follow. "Come. Let me introduce you properly to Crane's Wings"
Croc moved to walk behind Roman as Crane led the way deeper into the underground facility, and Roman followed with his danger sense providing constant warnings about the organization he'd just agreed to join.
But for the first time since waking up with a mask fused to his face, he felt something other than fear.
He felt purpose.
Somewhere in Yokohama, Japan - League of Villains' Hideout - Same Time
Katsuki Bakugo sat in the chair they'd placed him in, wrists bound, surrounded by villains who thought they could turn him into one of them.
Idiots.
Tomura Shigaraki stood in front of him, and around the room, the other League of Villains members watched: the burned and stapled Dabi, the enthusiastic Toga, the split-personality Twice, the suited Compress, the lizard-like Spinner, the muscular Magne.
"I'll ask you one more time, aspiring hero, Katsuki Bakugo," Shigaraki said, his voice carrying that whiny entitled tone that made Bakugo want to punch him even more. "Will you join me?"
Undisclosed Location - All For One's Monitoring Room - Same Time
In a room filled with screens and medical equipment, All For One sat in his chair, his ruined face hidden behind a breathing mask, his body sustained by technology and stolen Quirks.
He watched the confrontation between Shigaraki and the Bakugo boy on one screen with mild interest.
On another screen, Dr. Garaki worked frantically in his laboratory, analyzing the brain sample that had arrived from Gotham.
"Master," Garaki's voice came through the communication system, breathless with excitement. "The techniques used on this specimen are remarkable. The precision of the lobotomization, the methods for maintaining basic motor functions while removing higher cognition, it's already helping me optimize the Nomu mass production process."
"Excellent," All For One said, though his attention was divided.
A third screen showed Gotham news feeds, multiple incidents happening simultaneously across the American city:
The Joker had orchestrated some kind of attack in the theater district, emergency services overwhelmed by victims laughing themselves to death and others disfigured and maimed.
Bane's militia had seized control of a LEXCORP weapons distribution center, holding it against GCPD and LEXCORP security forces attempts to retake the facility before everything could be extracted.
And most interesting: a new group, the mysterious "Crane's Wings" had conducted a coordinated series of attacks across uptown Gotham with disturbing efficiency; he also noted they were the ones this brain came from.
All For One studied the Gotham footage with great interest. The chaos there made Japan's villain problems look almost quaint by comparison.
His gaze drifted back to the screen showing Shigaraki's recruitment attempt.
The boy was failing, as expected. Too impulsive, too emotional, not thinking strategically.
All For One had hoped that Shigaraki would demonstrate more growth by now. The training, the resources, the careful cultivation, it should have produced better results.
Instead, he watched his successor struggle to recruit a single student while in Gotham, young organizations like this "Crane's Wings" appeared to be growing and operating with sophisticated coordination.
Disappointing.
But not irredeemable.
Shigaraki just needed more pressure, more challenge, more reason to evolve beyond his tantrum-throwing instincts.
"Garaki," All For One said. "Continue analyzing the Gotham sample and also be ready for our call with Cranes Wings in a few hours."
"Yes, Master!"
All For One returned his attention to the Shigaraki screen. The recruitment was going poorly, as predicted.
League of Villains' Hideout - Moments Later
"Then I have no choice," Shigaraki was saying, his frustration evident despite the hand covering his face. "The heroes said they're continuing their investigation of us, we don't have time to talk leisurely, master, lend me your power."
"That was a good decision, Tomura Shigaraki,"