Kael didn't speak right away. He stood there, gripping the folder like it held more than just reports. His eyes hovered over the jagged-winged sigil again—etched deep into cracked stone. Like a warning.
Voidflare moved beside him, voice low. "I'm telling you this because we might not have much time. And because your past isn't as buried as you think."
Kael looked up slowly. "You think they know?"
"Not know. But some of them suspect." Voidflare folded his arms. "The underground's been buzzing. Quiet chatter. No name, no face—just rumors about someone who used to clean up after the heroes. Someone efficient. Someone dangerous."
Kael stayed silent.
"You've kept a low profile since enrolling," Voidflare added. "No traces, no slips. That's good. But you can't erase history, Kael. You can only outrun it for so long."
Kael's voice was steady. "I'm not going back to that. I've done everything right."
"I know you have," Voidflare said. "But not everyone forgives that kind of past. And if any of these new threats—especially The Fractured—get wind of what you used to be, they won't care that you stopped. They'll see you as a threat until the day you die."
Kael looked down at the cracked-wing sigil again. "You think they're connected to the old organization that Ryken used to run, huh?"
"I think they're watching everything. The Pro Hero system, the overseas agencies… even the kids coming up through U.A." His tone darkened. "Especially the ones that don't fit cleanly into their mold."
A long pause settled between them. The sun outside had nearly vanished, leaving only deep reds bleeding into dark.
Kael finally asked, "What should I do?"
Voidflare looked him in the eye. "Keep your head down. Focus on school. Watch your surroundings. And don't give them a reason to look too closely."
Kael gave a slow nod.
Then, quieter: "You'll come back, right?"
Voidflare's smile was brief—real, but small. "If I don't, Yumi's gonna be seriously pissed."
Kael cracked the faintest grin, then turned toward the door.
As he left the office, the folder under his arm, a weight settled in his chest. Not fear. Not regret.
Just awareness.
The past might've been behind him…
But not forgotten.
…
The Nevada wind howled against the old concrete structure hidden deep in the desert. Beneath its unassuming shell, a subterranean base thrummed with life—if life could be defined by flickering red lights, rusted iron, and the low buzz of encrypted communication lines.
Inside a dim central war room, a group of six villains stood gathered around a cracked digital table, its flickering screen showing the outline of Brazil. Three red X's blinked on the map—each marking one of the hero-related sites they had recently annihilated.
A tall, hooded figure leaned over the table, fingers tapping along the map. The number #78 glowed faintly on the back of his left hand.
"São Paulo intel relay—gone. The Manaus combat training center—wiped. And the Rio de Janeiro urban defense outpost is rubble."
He looked around at the others, each bearing their own rank—spaced wildly apart.
#132, a wiry woman with gleaming metal threads woven into her skin, gave a satisfied nod.
"Three for three. Took 'em out faster than expected."
#96, arms crossed, chuckled.
"And they still haven't figured out how we slipped in. Brazil's entire hero ops network is in disarray."
#144, who'd been lounging against the wall, spoke up.
"They'll send more pros. They won't ignore a direct hit like that."
#78 didn't flinch.
"They already have. North America's Hero Council is mobilizing new squads. Star and Stripe was the first to arrive."
The room grew quiet.
#132's smug grin faded.
"And?"
#78 narrowed his eyes.
"She's gone."
A slow breath passed through the chamber. Even #96 straightened slightly.
#78 continued.
"We didn't kill her. But we did enough. She was forced to withdraw after taking a critical hit. And she's not the only one who's been wounded."
He turned the display. Japan now glowed faintly on the other side of the globe. A pulsing dot appeared over U.A. High School.
#144 muttered,
"They'll panic. Try to protect the next generation. Send reinforcements to Brazil and leave Japan exposed."
#132 smirked.
"Which means when the League of Villains finally makes their move…"
#78 finished her sentence.
"…there will be no cavalry coming. No backup for All Might. And none for Kael Ishiro either."
#96 leaned in, voice low
"Equinox is dangerous. You know what he's done to our networks."
#78 nodded slowly.
"We do. But this isn't about removing him head-on. It's about isolating him. Strip him of allies. Force him to stretch himself thin. And when he finally starts to crack—"
#132 grinned.
"That's when we strike."
The map flickered again, highlighting several movement lines—villain cells spreading throughout South America, diverting heroes from all across the globe.
#78 looked to each of them.
"Keep the pressure overseas. The League will take care of U.A. on the ground. Our job is to make sure All Might and Equinox are fighting alone when it happens."
Outside, the desert wind screamed across the dry sands, as if carrying the tension of what was to come.
…
The room was bathed in a cold, bluish glow from dozens of monitors, each one flickering with images of Kael Ishiro in his shadowed form—Equinox. The man sitting before the screens watched intently as Kael moved through the world of darkness and power, absorbing quirks with a quiet, unyielding determination.
A slow smile curved the man's lips, eyes narrowing with satisfaction.
"So much has fallen into place," he murmured, voice low and full of cold calculation. "His power… his hunger… everything aligns perfectly with what I need. Soon, the final pieces will be within reach and BalanceKeeper will be mine."
Rising from his chair, he moved silently down the corridor, the hum of machinery growing louder as he approached a heavily secured chamber. The steel door slid open with a hiss, revealing a dim cell block lined with cages.
Inside one cage, a young man cowered, clutching his knees tightly. His breath was ragged, eyes wide with fear but still burning with a flicker of defiance. Yuto's hands trembled violently, but his spirit had not yet broken.
The man stopped before the cage, his voice low but commanding.
"Yuto."
The young man's gaze snapped to him, panic clear but mingled with a stubborn resilience.
"I'm not… Please, just let me be."
The man's expression darkened, his patience thinning like a thread stretched too far. From his coat, he produced a small device that buzzed softly, emitting a faint pulse of energy.
"You don't get to choose," the man said sharply, voice unforgiving. "You'll do what must be done. Loyalty isn't a favor—it's a requirement. I don't care what you feel. You serve because you have no other choice."
Yuto flinched as a pulse coursed through the cage, the invisible pressure pressing down on his mind and body. His eyes squeezed shut in pain, but when they reopened, a flicker of resistance still lingered, buried deep beneath the imposed obedience.
The man turned away, his footsteps echoing coldly down the hall.
"Everything is moving as planned. Soon, even the brightest lights will be snuffed out."
…