(Energi POV)
Weeks pass by, one after another. They blend together now—just one long, sleepless night with brief interruptions of daylight. I'm still chasing shadows. Still digging through news clippings, witness reports, and unconfirmed sightings, looking for the ghost that attacked my mentor.
Strikeline.
Even saying his name in my head feels heavy.
The public doesn't know much. The agency barely released anything—just that he went missing after investigating a disturbance. I was told not to press it. Told to let it go. Told that sometimes heroes vanish in the dark and that it's the cost of the job.
I didn't listen.
Whoever that kid was—if he is a kid—he's not just some fluke. He's not a one-time anomaly or a petty villain with a power complex. The thugs didn't even see him clearly, but every shred of info I've found points to one conclusion: he's deliberate. Trained. Precise.
A weapon.
I've been chasing him through whispers. A store knocked over with no alarms tripped. A patrol squad taken out without injuries, but not a single camera feed left functional. Every time, they say it's "just another villain," "probably some copycat," or "not worth the manpower."
But every time—I feel it. That same cold thread pulling at me.
Each day I feel like I'm getting closer.
My room's a wreck now. Not from frustration, but from need. There are papers covering almost every surface. Printouts pinned to the walls. Maps with hand-drawn circles and arrows. Articles from backwater news blogs and half-deleted social media posts, all connected with red and blue string like some half-baked conspiracy theorist's bunker.
Except it's not a theory.
It's real.
I've got sightings plotted from Minato to Chiyoda. Each cluster shows up once—silent, clean, like a surgical strike—and then nothing. He disappears. Like a ghost through walls.
No one's calling him that, but I am. Ghost Kid.
It's better than nothing.
The agency's falling apart now. Ever since Strikeline disappeared, morale's tanked. Some of the rookies transferred. Others gave up altogether. The PR team's vanished into crisis mode and the head of the agency hasn't even returned my messages in over a week.
I don't blame them.
Strikeline was the glue holding this place together. He had this calm strength about him—quiet, focused, and always smiling like he knew something you didn't. He never shouted orders. Never acted above anyone. But when he walked into a room, it got better. Just like that.
And now?
Now it's just me. And this wall. And a ghost.
But I'm not giving up.
Not until I find the kid who did this. Not until I figure out why.
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(All For One POV)
The report Kyudai handed me was crisp, printed on thick paper like all things he handled—meticulous, clinical. I held it loosely between my fingers, scanning its contents without much effort. I already knew what it would say. But it is good to let the doctor speak.
"A sidekick is investigating Eidolon, hm?" I mused aloud.
Kyudai nodded, adjusting his glasses with those ever-shaking fingers of his. "The hero was Strikeline's protégé. His disappearance triggered an emotional response… strong enough to override his bureaucratic duties. He's going rogue, in essence. Angry, grief-driven. He's tearing through channels and suspects alike."
I stared at the photo attached—Energi, a name barely worth remembering, but his face was burned into the page with youthful desperation. He had the look of someone who didn't care if the answers destroyed him, so long as he got them.
"At this rate," Kyudai continued, "it might not take long for him to catch up."
A faint smile tugged at the edge of my ruined mouth. Not out of amusement, but anticipation.
"Then Eidolon will deal with him before it escalates."
Kyudai hesitated. "The boy has never been deployed for targeted elimination of an emotional target before. This may—"
"He will do it," I interrupted. My voice cut through the air like steel through silk. "This is precisely the kind of test we want. You've read the neural reports. He's ready. If not, he will be made ready."
As if summoned by my voice, Kurogiri's familiar hum vibrated the room. The swirling darkness parted, and Eidolon stepped through.
Precise. Controlled. The boy's posture betrayed no hesitation, no fatigue. Even the wisps of white hair curling at his forehead did not shift out of line.
"Eidolon," I said, letting the word stretch with weight.
"Sir," he replied, bowing his head slightly.
"It seems you have a fan."
"Sir?" No change in inflection. Just the barest flicker of confusion in those deep blue eyes—hardly perceptible to anyone but me.
"A sidekick. Energi. He's been sniffing around the alley where you made a mess of some thugs. He's persistent. Disobedient. Emotional."
A beat.
"You have been sloppy."
He lowered his head again. Not in shame. In submission.
"I will do better."
"See that you do." I folded the report and placed it on the table beside me. "Sloppiness attracts unwanted attention. And while I welcome attention in some forms, I'd prefer our plans not be interrupted by a boy with a wall covered in red string."
"Yes, Sir."
"And to ensure this doesn't happen again, we're intensifying your training regimen."
A pause. No reaction.
"Understood."
I could almost hear Kyudai shift behind me, barely containing his unease. It amused me sometimes how the old man, brilliant as he was, still hadn't accepted that this child was not just a child. That what stood in front of us was no longer simply Rei.
"Eidolon," I said again.
"Sir?"
"Do you know what becomes of stray threads in a tapestry?"
He waited. Listening. Always listening.
"They unravel the pattern. They must be clipped."
He nodded. "Am I to eliminate him?"
"If he gets too close. If he interferes. But I'm more interested in what you learn from this. Energi is not a thug. He's trained. A product of a functioning hero system. Consider it a chance to adapt to enemies with discipline, not just chaos."
"Understood."
I let silence fill the space for a moment longer. The air between us was heavy, charged not with emotion—but expectation.
"You may go."
He bowed, turned, and walked toward the portal once more.
Just before he stepped through, I added, "Eidolon."
He stopped.
"This is not just about silencing a sidekick. This is about knowing what to do when someone from your past threatens your purpose. That will happen more than once."
He gave a single nod.
And then he was gone.
The room fell into its usual stillness. Only Kyudai and I remained, and he, like always, tried to pretend he wasn't unsettled. His gaze lingered too long on the closed portal, as if it might spit Eidolon back out—changed, broken, human.
I exhaled slowly, letting the rasp of my breath curl out into the room.
"He's progressing," I said.
Kyudai nodded. "Faster than expected."
"Good. He will be tested soon. Perhaps sooner than either of us planned."
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(Energi POV)
I cracked it.
After weeks of chasing shadows, scouring dead-end sightings, and sleeping next to half-charged devices, I finally did it.
I cracked the code.
The data lined up perfectly—sightings, sensor irregularities, gaps in patrol coverage. All of it.
I could pinpoint his location. I could corner him. I could stop him once and for all.
I would do it for Strikeline.
…Right?
My jaw tightened. I shook my head, brushing away the rising doubt like it was smoke in front of my face. Now wasn't the time for questions like that. I was too close. One step away from a breakthrough.
A sudden knock on the door jolted me. I stiffened, instinctively minimizing the map on my laptop screen. No one ever visited. Not anymore.
"Energi? You there?"
The voice made my chest tighten. EmPee. Another sidekick from the old days. Back when this place still had people. Back when Strikeline was still here. A good friend—or at least he used to be.
"Seriously, Energi," he continued. "You gotta drop this whole conspiracy theory thing."
Ah. So that's what this was.
I leaned back, letting his words roll past me like wind against a concrete wall. He could talk all he wanted—I didn't have to listen. He didn't get it. None of them did.
A sigh came through the door, heavy and familiar. "Daiki... can you please, just please open the door?"
I hesitated. My eyes drifted back to the glowing screen of my laptop. I could keep going. Keep pushing. The next breakthrough was just a few clicks away.
But… a small, buried part of me tugged at the thought. The part that remembered late-night ramen after missions, dumb jokes, catching each other when we messed up. I hadn't seen him in weeks. Maybe longer.
Maybe... I didn't hate the idea of seeing him.
I stood and walked to the door. My hand hovered on the knob, hesitant. Then I cracked it open just slightly, like I was testing the temperature of a pool.
Then, finally, I opened it fully.
EmPee stood there, arms crossed, the same annoyed-yet-worried expression he always wore when I skipped training. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, and his brow furrowed.
"Daiki, you look like hell. Seriously. When's the last time you showered?"
He leaned against the doorframe, casual like nothing had changed.
Everything had.
"What do you want?" I asked flatly, crossing my arms.
"To talk to my friend, duh."
I raised an eyebrow. That word—friend—stung more than it should have.
"I'm busy."
"Busy with what?" he asked, tilting his head. "Vengeance?"
"Justice," I corrected sharply.
"Doesn't seem like it." He stepped forward, past the threshold.
I moved instinctively, placing a hand on his shoulder, stopping him cold. My voice dropped. "I don't need your pity, EmPee. I'm fine on my own."
He looked at me, really looked. Not at the mess in my hair or the dark circles under my eyes—but at something deeper. I could feel it.
And he didn't say anything right away.
But I could see it in his expression
He didn't believe me.
"That's what I doubt," EmPee said, his voice dropping. He looked at me dead in the eyes, and for a second I saw the same guy who used to joke with me during stakeouts, who used to mock Strikeline's protein shakes and watched hero documentaries with me until midnight.
But that version of him felt like it was from another timeline. One where I wasn't alone.
I shrugged. "Then stop doubting and leave."
He didn't budge.
"Look at yourself, Daiki. You're practically living in this room. When's the last time you were outside? Ate something real? Breathed fresh air that wasn't filtered through a cracked window?"
"I'm busy," I said again, returning to my laptop. "Every second counts. I'm not letting him disappear again."
"You don't even know what he is, Daiki."
"I do now," I said, eyes burning into the data. "He's not a ghost, not a rumor, not a hallucination. He's real. I triangulated his sightings, cross-referenced movement patterns, and—"
"Do you even hear yourself?" EmPee snapped. "Triangulated movement patterns? You sound like a villain-hunting maniac on a forum thread!"
I stood, the chair scraping back with a screech. "I don't need your approval."
He didn't back off. "No, you need help, and not just from me. From someone who can remind you that you're not a damn vigilante."
I almost laughed. "The heroes won't help me. They're too busy writing reports, covering things up, pretending we didn't lose one of the good ones."
EmPee's expression softened, just a fraction. "We all lost Strikeline, Daiki. Not just you."
I froze. My fists clenched by my sides. He didn't understand. He couldn't.
"He was my mentor," I muttered.
"He was mine too."
Silence filled the space between us, sharp and suffocating. He wasn't wrong. Strikeline had been everyone's anchor at the agency. And now? The agency was half-empty and shrinking more by the day. I was just the one who couldn't let go.
Finally, I sat back down. "I'm close. I know it."
EmPee didn't argue. Just walked to the map-covered wall and stared at the pins and strings, the mess of papers and red lines.
"...What are you planning when you find him?"
I didn't answer immediately. Because I didn't know. Confront him? Track him? Take him down? Save him?
"Figure out who he is," I said instead. "Figure out why."
EmPee sighed. "Just don't let that answer break you when you find it."
Before I could respond, he stepped back toward the door.
"I'm serious, Daiki. Call me if you—if you get anything real. I don't want to read about you in a memorial file."
He left before I could say anything more.
I looked back at my screen. At the coordinates I'd been narrowing down for weeks. An abandoned subway line in west Shibuya, long since closed for renovations that never came. Quiet. Unpatrolled.
Everything fit.
I cracked the code.
I leaned back in my chair, my hands shaky for the first time in weeks.
Soon, I would know.