Mirai Hoshizora woke with the kind of energy she usually reserved for birthdays and summer vacation mornings. She didn't even hit snooze, just launched upright, her Hawks nightshirt twisted around her waist, and scrambled to her window.
Tokyo glittered.
Not metaphorically. Actual glitter, or at least, the early morning sun catching on the holographic banners strung between buildings, each one shimmering with looping footage of famous hero moments.
She pressed her nose to the glass, fogging it with her breath. Somewhere out there, Endeavour and the other heroes were already preparing for tonight's lantern ceremony. Her stomach swooped.
Downstairs, reality was less dazzling.
"...like walking into a warzone," her father was saying, voice tight. He stood at the stove, stirring the pot with aggressive precision. The kitchen smelled like burnt garlic and tension. "You saw what happened with Hosu. And what... we should start marching into crowds like nothing's wrong?"
Her mother didn't look up from packing bento boxes. "We're marching into a celebration guarded by every hero in the prefecture. Ever hero in the country will be on alert." A perfectly shaped rice ball landed with a soft thump. "Or would you rather we hide with the crowd forever?"
Mirai slid into her seat, the legs screeching against the tile. "Morning."
Her father's grip on the spatula tightened. "Mirai, tell your mother this is insane."
She stole a piece of tamagoyaki straight from the pan, ignoring his swat. "It's Hero's Eve. The villains would have to be suicidal to try anything." The egg was sweet, just the way she liked it. "Besides, Ayane's already at the station. If I bail now, she'll murder me before any villain gets the chance."
Across the table, Ren kicked his feet, his All Might figurine held aloft. "I wanna see the big boom!"
"Its a lantern lighting, not a..." Her father cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. "We stick together. No wandering. No hero-chasing. And we leave the second anything feels off."
Mirai rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "Yes sir."
The train ride was a crush of bodies and excited chatter. Mirai balanced her glass orb between her knees... she'd spent last night painting it gold, swirling in silver stars with painstaking strokes. Inside, her note sat folded tight:
I don't want my dream of being a hero to die. I want the heroes to stay alive and keep winning so I have tons of company when I make it to top ten.
Ren laughed when he took a glimpse at it. "Lame."
Now, as they stepped into the sunlight, the city hit her like a wave. Music spilled from open storefronts. Vendors hawked glow-stick bracelets and hero masks. The air smelled like frying dough and something sweeter... the sugar-dusted taiyaki cooling in her hand.
Her mother squeezed her shoulder. "Stay close."
Mirai didn't answer. She was too busy watching the crowd.
A group near the station exit stood too still, their laughter just a beat too loud. A man with a scarred nose checked his phone, then the sky, then his phone again. A woman adjusted her gloves, not the nervous fidgeting of someone waiting for friends, but the deliberate, practiced motion that a doctor about to perform surgery would do.
Then Ren barreled into her side, waving an Endeavour-shaped lollipop. "They're starting the emerging heroes announcement in the square."
The moment shattered, Mirai looked back to the strange group but they were nowhere to be found.
***
The waiting room was big. The smell of hairspray and caffeine wafted throughout the room. Sayuri's tail twitched as she paced, not the usual restless energy, but something sharper, like a live wire sparking under her skin. Around her, the other emerging heroes sat stiff-backed in their chairs, checking their reflections in phone screens, adjusting costume seams, swallowing hard.
A boy from Ketsubutsu cracked his knuckles. A girl from Isamu clenched her fists, her quirk (something with vines, Sayuri remembered) making tiny leaves sprout between her fingers.
Sayuri grinned. "You guys look like you're about to face a firing squad."
The vine girl startled. "Aren't we?"
"Nah," Sayuri flicked her ears forward, catching the distant roar of the crowd. "Firing squads are quieter."
The boy snorted. "Easy for you to say. You're numberone."
Sayuri's tail gave an involuntary wag. "Only cause I cheated."
That got their attention.
She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Stole All Might's secret training regimen. Ran laps around his shadow. Ate nothing but protein bars and hope for three months."
The vine girl blinked. "...that's not cheating."
Sayuri winked. "Tell that to my thighs."
A laugh rippled through the group, tension, uncoiling just a fraction. Good. They'd need it.
Then...
"Hero: Silverstride!"
Her ears shot upright. The door swung open, flooding the dim backstage with golden light.
Showtime.
Sayuri burst onto the stage in a streak of silver, skidding to a stop so precise it kicked up a gust that sent confetti spiralling. The crowd erupted.
Thousands of faces, a sea of waving arms, flashes from cameras like starbursts. She could smell them, popcorn, perfume, the sharp tang of excitement. Her tail lashed once, twice, then stilled as she bowed deep, her grin threatening to split her face.
This. This was why she ran.
The announcer, a slick haired man with a voice like melted butter, gestured to the four other heroes joining her. "Ladies and gentlemen, you Top Five Emerging Heroes of the Year!"
More cheers. Sayuri's ears flicked toward the others as they took their places.
The vine girl (her name was Hana, apparently) looked like she might faint. The Ketsubutsu boy, Ryu - his quirk was something to do with directing kinetic energy. He kept clenching his fists. The other two, a girl with translucent skin and a guy who seemed to be made out of literal rock, stood stiff as statues.
Sayuri bumped Hana's shoulder with her own. "Breathe," she muttered. "They don't bite. Unless you're into that."
Hana choked on a laugh.
That announcer cleared his throat. "Now, lets hear from our future legends! We'll take questions from the crowd, keep it light folks."
A forest of hands shot up.
The first few were easy, funny even.
"Silverstride! What's your favourite food to eat after patrol?"
"Spicy curry. The kind so hot it makes you cry. Also, anything I don't have to share."
"Who's your hero inspiration?"
"Present Mic. Dudes loud, he's fast and he never shuts up. My spirit animal."
Laughter. Cameras flashed her picture.
And then more questions came for her.
"What's the fastest you've ever run?"
Sayuri's tail flicked. "Mach 2.3. For about six seconds before I passed out in a dumpster."
Gasps. Ryu side-eyed her. "You what?"
"Regret nothing."
More laughter came.
And then there was a physical shift in the crowd.
The crowd parted as a man stepped forward. No smile. No phone raised to snap a picture or video. Just cold asserting eyes under a black hood.
"What do you think of Proxy?"
Silence.
Sayuri's ears flattened. The name hung in the air like a blade of ice being held over them.
The announcer coughed. "Ah, lets keep it..."
"And Soryu?" Another voice, this time a woman. "Hero or villain? Or just another failure of society."
The crowd murmured. Sayuri's claws pricked against her palms.
Then...
"Should we even believe in hero societyanymore?"
A kid, barely looking older than ten, his voice too loud, too sharp. "If the villains took over tonight, what would you do? How many people would you save? How many would die because you weren't strong enough?"
The announcer paled. "Okay that's..."
Sayuri snatched the mic from his hand.
The crowd stilled.
Sayuri didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"You wanna know what I think?" Her tail lashed once. "I think you're asking the wrong questions."
She pointed to the kid. "You asked how many would die. But heroes don't count lives like points on a scoreboard."
A beat. The crowd held its breath to listen.
"I've run through burning buildings," she continued, quieter now. "I've carried kids smaller than you out of rubble. And you know what they never ask? How many did you save? Instead, they ask Am I gonna be okay? And I say yes. Every time. Because that's the job."
She turns to the stone-faced adults. "You wanna talk about Soryu? Proxy? Fine. But heroes shouldn't be looked at as just symbols. We're people. We screw up. We get scared. But we still show up."
Her claws flexed. "So yeah. If the villains come tonight? I'll run faster. Fight harder. And when it's over, I'll still be standing here telling you... you're gonna be okay."
Silence.
Then...
The crowd exploded. Cheers, screams, a wave of sounds so fierce it rattled the stage lights. Sayuri's ears rang with it.
The announcer gaped. The other emerging heroes stared.
And the hecklers?
Gone. Melted back into the crowd like shadows at dawn.
Sayuri handed the mic back, her tail finally, finally still.
The announcer swallowed. "Well. That's one way to handle it."
And the negative spell was broken. Laughter and cheer rippled through the crowd. The moment passed.
But still, something had changed. Sayuri could smell it, like an ozone after a storm.
Hero's Eve had begun.
***
The thug, no name, never a name, just another face in the League's endless roster of disposable muscle, he slipped through the crowd like oil through water. The hood of his black jacket stayed low, casting his face in shadow, but his ears still rang with that damn fox hero's voice.
"You're gonna be okay."
He scoffed, teeth grinding. Like it was that simple. Like hope was something you could just hand out with a pretty speech and a wagging tail. The crowd had eaten it up, though. He'd seen it, the way their fear dissolved into cheers, how their shoulders loosened, how they turned to each other with relieved smiles.
Pathetic
He ducked into an alley where the festival's glow didn't reach. The stink of stale beer and fried food clung to the walls, mixing with the sharper tang of piss. Perfect. No one here but rats and the occasional drunk dumb enough to wander where the lights died.
The thug yanked down his hood. Cool air licked at the shaved sides of his head, the tattoo there, a crude, jagged X itching under the sweat. His mohawk, stiff with gel, caught the dim light like a rusted blade.
He pulled out the phone. Burner, of course. No SIM, no history, just a single number pre-programmed into its guts.
It rang twice before a voice, smooth as silk and twice slippery, answered.
"Report."
Compress.
The thug's tongue darted over chapped lips. "Square's soft. Barely any heroes, just a few sidekicks licking ice cream cones like they're on vacation."
A pause. Then, a chuckle, the kind that made the thug's spine prickle. "Of course. They've all scurried to Tokyo Tower like good little soldiers. The main event demands their attention."
The thug grinned. "So we're clear to move?"
"Oh, absolutely." Compress's voice dipped, theatrical. "Phase two, my friend. The stalls, season them."
The thug's fingers twitched. He could already picture it. The drugs, colourless, odorless, dissolving into drinks and dripping onto food. A slow-acting cocktail, tranquilizers to dull reflexes, hallucinogens to warp perception, and just a pinch of something nastier to make sure anyone who fought would struggle.
"Got it. The usual mix?"
"With atwist." Compress's tone tuned conspiratorial. "Our chemist added a new kick. He wouldn't tell me where the supply was from though. But it will be great considering how much he's done for us so far don't you think?"
The thug's pulse jumped. He could already hear it, the gasps, the confusion, the moment the crowd realized something was wrong. Heroes would scramble, but by the then, it would be too late. They would only be able to wait it out.
"Beautiful."
"Do mind the cameras, though. We want them watching."
The call ended.
The thug crushed the phone under his boot, the plastic splintering like bone. No evidence. No trail. Just another ghost in the League's army.
He put his hands in his jacket pocket and picked out a vial that was handed to him earlier by Compress. It was a dull orange colour, it was like a child's forgotten juice box. He cracked it open and drank its contents without a struggle.
Bitter.
Always bitter.
"Alright. An hour to go."
This no named thug had a valuable quirk. Toxin Mimicry.
It allowed him to swallow any toxin and then mimic its toxicity and place it on objects and people. Due to this ability he also gained a high resistance to these all forms of toxin and drugs.
"Where to start.
His first target was a lemonade stand.
Where a line of exhausted parents stretched in front of a brightly decorated stall, the scent of sugar and citrus thick in the air. The vendor, some college student with a hero merch headband, doled out cups with a smile.
Too easy.
The thug slid into line, hands in his pockets. When he reached the front, he ordered two cups, making a show of fumbling with his wallet. His fingers just grazed the rim of the pitcher as he took his drinks.
A whisper of contact. A pulse of his quirk.
The toxin seeped into the lemonade, invisible, undetectable.
He handed one cup to a random kid behind him. "Here. On me."
The kid beamed. "Thanks mister!"
The thug smirked and walked away, leaving the tainted pitcher behind.
A tub of lemonade flowed through the same pitcher every time it needed a refill, so as long as they don't clean it people will be infected.
He done the exact same to the water stall.
Then the cotton candy machine. The thug "tripped", catching himself on the edge of the machine. His hand lingered just a second too long on the spinning drum.
The sugar would carry his toxin just fine.
His final target was a condiment table. He went behind it and found where they kept all the tops of the bottles and simply touched the caps with his fingers.
When he was walking out he "accidentally" tripped over the condiments table, causing them to fall and have to be replaced.
A family sat nearby, loading up their fries. The father reached for a bottle.
The thug turned away.
Done.
When he got the signal the screaming would start.