The sky over Kyoto was a deepening bruise, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into an ink-black horizon. Hawks hovered high above the city, the wind slicing through his feathers with a crisp, autumnal bite. Below, the festival pulsed with life, lanterns flickering to life like scattered stars, children laughing as they clutched glowing orbs, their tiny hands carefully placing wishes onto the miniature trees that lined the streets.
Wishes.
Hawks' lips twitched. He could guess what most of them said. "I want to be a hero." "I hope I meet All Might." Simple. Earnest. The kind of dreams that didn't yet know the weight of the world.
His fingers flexed, his feathers subtly shifting in the air currents, each one a sensor, a blade, a lifeline. The plan was straightforward, five of the top five heroes in Kyoto, five in Tokyo. Divide the firepower, maximize coverage. The absence of Curst still stung, but it gave another opportunity to Gang Orca to be in the rankings. The man's sheer presence was a deterrent itself.
Not that deterrents mattered tonight.
Hawks' gaze flickered toward Endeavour, a distant pillar of flame near the main stage, his silhouette rigid against the glow of the festival. The man was a statue, unmoving, unflinching, waiting. Every year, Endeavour lit the great lantern. Every year, the crowd held it's breath as fire wreathed his hands, as the symbol of hope rose into the sky.
This year, Hawks hoped it would still reach that far this year.
His comm crackled to life.
"Hawks." Yoroi Musha's voice was gravel wrapped in silk, the kind of tone that made rookies straighten their spines. "We've got a lead."
Hawks tilted his head, a single primary feather detaching to hover near his ear, sharpening the signal. "Do tell."
"Apprehended a would-be bomber near the eastern stalls. After some... persuasion, he confirmed the attack is set for midnight."
Midnight. Of course. The witching hour. The moment the lanterns would be at their peak, the crowd at it's thickest, heroes stretched thin between ceremony and chaos. Christmas day.
Hawks exhaled, long and slow. "Any specifics?"
"No."
"Copy that. Keep the pressure on him."
The line went dead.
Hawks flexed his wings, the great crimson arcs catching the last dregs of twilight. His role was clear, evacuation. When the attack came in whatever form it might be, he'd be the shield, the swift current that carried the civilians out of the fire. He was built for it. The most mobile. The one who could be everywhere at once.
But speed will not fix what will come after.
He let his eyes drift shut for a fraction of a second, the city's heartbeat thrumming through his feathers, the scrape of shoes on pavement, the hum of idle chatter, the rustle of paper wishes brushing against branches. He could almost pretend, just for a moment, that tonight was normal. That he wasn't hovering like a vulture over a feast, waiting for the first sign of rot.
He liked Hero's Eve.
Before he started seeing the cracks in their hero foundation, there was just something so pure about how for one night people came to celebrate and believe in their heroes and wish for more good fortune.
That belief was brittle now.
The commissions reports had been clear, public trust was fraying. Every villain attack, every failed rescue, every whispered scandal chipped away at the pedestal heroes stood on. Tonight wouldn't help. Even if they stopped the attack, even if no one died, the mere fact that villains had dared to strike during Hero's Eve would be a wound.
And wounds festered.
Hawks' jaw tightened. Fine. If the world wanted to doubt, let them. His job wasn't to play politician. It was to move. To act. To make sure that when the dust had settled, as many people as possible could go home to their families.
And after that?
After that, he'd drag every bastard responsible back to Tartarus himself.
A gust of wind howled past, carrying the scent of oil and sugar from the food stalls below. The clock ticked closer to midnight. The lanterns swayed in their trees, their soft glow a taut.
Hawks spread his wings wider, his feathers trembling with barely restrained energy.
Soon.
***
The wind carried the distant hum of Tokyo's festivities. Lady Nagant lay prone on the rusted skeleton of an abandoned water tower, her body still as death, her breath shallow enough to avoid disturbing the air around her rifle's barrel.
Below, Koku Hanabata, Trumpet, walked with the measured arrogance of a man who believed himself untouchable.
Four bodyguards. Two towering brutes with halos in red colour hovering above their heads like crowns, their bulk positioned to intercept any frontal assault. The twins were worse, small, quick, their eyes scanned constantly. All of their quirks unknown. A perfect shield.
Stupid.
She exhaled through her nose, the scope's crosshairs fixed on the back of Koku's skull. He had left Deika City even when he didn't need to. choosing to instead lurk on Tokyo's outskirts like a vulture waiting for a carrion. Arrogance or idiocy, it didn't matter. It made her job easier.
Her finger rested against the trigger, but she didn't press. Not yet. A single shot now would send ripples through the city, panic spreading faster than any villains fire. She had to wait for chaos to cover her sin.
Why am I even doing this?
The question slithered through her mind, unwelcome but persistent. Kobe had asked her to kill Trumpet. No explanations, no grand speeches, just a quiet request, as if he already knew she'd say yes. And she had. Not out of loyalty, not out of conviction either.
Because she had nothing else.
The Meta Liberation Army's rhetoric had long since curdled in her ears. Freedom. Power. Revolution. Empty words spat out by men who just wanted to be the new tyrants. She had seen enough regimes, read enough about them too to know the shape of hypocrisy.
But Kobe...
He was different. Not righteous, not kind, but purposeful. He moved like a man who saw the board three steps ahead, even if he refused to share the game. She didn't trust him. But she trusted results.
A gust of wind tugged at her hair. The bodyguards shifted, the twins exchanging a glance. For a heartbeat, she thought they'd spotted her. But no, their eyes passed over the water tower, blind to the shadow clinging to its ribs.
Her rifle, was literally and extension of her arm, the cold metal as familiar as her own bones. She had spent years perfecting the art of the kill, of threading bullets through the narrowest gaps in fate. Tonight would be no different.
Faith.
The word tasted bitter. She had stopped believing in causes long ago. But if she had to place her faith somewhere, it might as well be in the one variable that hadn't failed her yet.
Koku laughed at something which made her heart stutter a little. It just came as a shock to hear a bursting laugh in the dark.
Lady Nagant smiled, thin and sharp.
Soon.
***
The lemonade was too sweet, so Jiro didn't have any, she just sipped on her beaker of juice instead.
Tokoyami sipped his lemonade slowly, the sugary tang clinging to his tongue like an unwelcome guest. Around them, the festival pulsed with life.
Jiro shifted beside him, her fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against her thigh.
Why me?
The thought gnawed at her, sharp and unrelenting. Of all people she could've been paired up with tonight, why Tokoyami? Not that she minded him, his quiet presence was welcome, especially compared to the usual chaos of Class 1 A. But that was the problem, he was steady and calm. Right now she felt none of that.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His face was unreadable as ever, shadowed beneath the hood of his cloak. Dark shadow coiled lazily around his shoulders, its glowing eyes half-lidded. They looked... calm. Prepared.
Jirou's stomach twisted.
I shouldn't be here.
The thought slithered in, unbidden. Around them, heroes moved through the crowd, some in costume, some undercover, all watching, waiting. They were safe. Protected.
But safety was an illusion.
Proxy had taught them all that. It had burned into their bones. Villains didn't care about preparedness. They didn't care about fairness. And if they struck tonight, if the League and the MLA or whoever decided this festival was their next stage...
It'll be over before I hear them coming.
Tokoyami's voice cut through the static of her thoughts. "You're unsettled."
It wasn't a question.
Jiro stiffened, then forced a laugh. "That obvious?"
"Your heartbeat, Darkshadow can hear it." he said simply. "It's been irregular for the past seventeen minutes."
Of course he'd noticed. She'd swallowed, the admission sticking in her throat. "I, uh... kinda regret not dropping out like Mineta."
The words tasted like ash. She expected judgement. Disappointment.
Tokoyami was silent for a long moment. Then...
"Bravery isn't the absence of fear." His voice was low, measured. "Its the acknowledge of it. And you've done that far more honestly than most."
Jiro blinked.
"You're here," he continued. "Despite your doubts. Despite knowing full well what we may face. That alone speaks volumes."
She stared at him. The sincerity in his words was staggering. No platitudes. No empty encouragement. Just... truth.
"Being a hero," Tokoyami said, turning his gaze toward the distant glow of Tokyo's skyline, "is nothing like the stories. The advertisements. The lies they sell to children. It's blood. It's sacrifice. It's staring into the abyss and knowing you may not return." His fingers tightened around his cup. "There's no shame in questioning whether that's a path you wish to walk."
Jiro exhaled, long and slow. The weight in her chest didn't vanish, but it shifted. Became something she could carry.
"Thanks," she muttered. "For not... y'know. Sugarcoating it."
Tokoyami nodded. "Honesty is the least I can offer."
Dark shadow chirped in agreement, nudging her shoulder with its beak. The gesture was oddly comforting.
Jiro checked her phone. 11:50.
"We should get to our positions," she said, standing. "Still wanna see Endeavour's lantern."
Tokoyami rose besede her, his cloak rustling like wings. "A fleeting light in the darkness," he murmured. "Lets hope it's not the last."
***
The lantern hung above him, a colossal sphere of paper and steel, cradled by figures clad in white, their faces shrouded, their movements precise as priests performing a sacrament. The silence around them was thick, reverent.
Endeavour stood beneath it, his flames a low, seething ember in his chest.
This shouldn't be happening.
The thought was a blade twisting in his gut. Hero's Eve, this spectacle of light and hope, should have been cancelled the moment the League's shadow stretched over the country. Every instinct in him had screamed it. The risk was too great. The damage, incalculable.
And yet, here they were.
The crowds murmurs rose around him, a sea of upturned faces, their eyes reflecting the lantern's unlit bulk like it was already aflame. Children sat on shoulders. Lovers clasped hands. Fools, all of them. They didn't understand. They couldn't.
But he did.
His jaw clenched. The other heroes were scattered throughout the city, their tension a live wire beneath the festivities. They knew. They all knew. This wasn't a celebration, it was a battlefield wrapped in pretty paper.
The countdown began.
"Ten!"
Endeavour's fingers flexed.
"Nine!"
The air hummed with anticipation.
"Eight!"
He could feel it, the moment stretching thin, the last breath before the plunge.
"Seven!"
His flames stirred, restless.
"Six!"
A bead of sweat traced down his spine.
"Five!"
The lantern swayed, as if sensing the coming fire.
"Four!"
Endeavour exhaled.
"Three!"
The world narrowed to this: the lantern, his hands, the spark waiting in his veins.
"Two!"
A heartbeat.
"One!"
He moved.
Fire erupted from his palms, a controlled inferno, winding around the lantern in ribbons of gold and crimson. The crowd gasped as it lifted, as if the very air bowed beneath its ascent. For a moment, just one, everything was perfect.
It was the same every year.
The lantern rose, a second sun, painting Kyoto in molten light. The faces below softened, there was no fear just mouths open in awe. Endeavour watched it climb, his chest tight with something he refused to name.
This. This was why they fought. It should have always been about this.
For this—
A blue flame flew at great speeds and hit it.
It tore through the lantern like a spear thrown by a javelin Olympian. A vicious streak of cerulean that split the night. The explosion was deafening, a thunderclap of heat and shattering paper. The crowds gasp became a scream.
Endeavour's head snapped toward the source.
Laughter. High, sharp and mocking.
It was the face of someone on their blacklist. Someone who was a recruit of the League after the Hosu incident: Miyu Ogawa, of the Ogawa family.
His blood turned to ice.
But before he could act, the ground shook. A shadow erupted from the streets, a monstrous, writhing mass of darkness that screamed with a voice like grinding bones.
He knows that form as his son described it for him, he knows who it is. Tokoyami Fumikage, he was the apprentice of Hawks.
Dark Shadow.
Unhinged and uncontrolled.
And then, nomu started dropping from the sky. Falling like stars, their wings snapping open at the last second, their talons gleaming. Miyu's laughter spiralled above it all, a sirens song of chaos.
Endeavour's fists ignited.
Enough.
He was Endeavour. The flame hero. The man who carved his name into the world through sheer, unrelenting force. He would not falter. He would not fail.
The first Nomu lunged.
Endeavour met it in a blaze of glory.