The iron door groaned open with a mechanical hiss, its hinges screaming like tortured metal. The dim corridor outside offered no warmth, no welcome. Just sterile, flickering lights and the sound of heavy boots echoing down concrete halls.
Through it stepped the boy known only now as Eidolon.
His body was a roadmap of scars—faint lines and deep gouges, old injuries overwritten by newer ones. Sweat clung to him like a second skin, mixing with the dirt and dried blood from another brutal session in the training chamber. His black training uniform clung to him in tatters, fibers torn at the sleeves, mesh armor warped from impact.
Still, he moved like a machine—precise, unfeeling, and conditioned beyond exhaustion.
His white hair was a matted mess, curling slightly from the dampness. He didn't fix it.
That wasn't important.
Obeying his master was.
Without a word, Eidolon stepped into the small, barely-lit room that served as his quarters. If it could even be called that. A metal frame with a mattress thinner than his training gloves. A sink. A bare desk with no chair. The only decoration was the black paneling of the walls and a faint humming from the vents above.
He didn't pause. He didn't breathe relief.
He turned straight toward the hygiene station—a cold, steel cubicle barely large enough to stand in. He activated the water. No heat. No soap. Just raw pressure.
The frigid cascade hit his back like needles. He didn't flinch. Not once.
Minutes passed.
Once clean, he stepped out, tugging on a fresh undersuit—dark gray, reinforced at the spine and joints. His hands moved with routine efficiency. Not a thought wasted. His mind had been trimmed of hesitation.
Then he sat down on the edge of his bed. Legs straight, hands on his knees. Spine erect.
Eyes locked on the wall.
The timer above the door blinked softly.
30:00
That was how long he had.
Thirty minutes. No more.
The precise amount of rest allotted to him before the next training cycle began. Before Kurogiri would arrive again. Before he would be told to fight. To kill. To serve.
And so, he waited.
Not because he needed rest—but because he was told to.
He did not sleep. He didn't allow himself to. Sleep was a luxury. Eidolon did not deserve luxuries.
His eyes stayed on the wall, unfocused, yet alert. Still. Motionless.
Like a weapon in a locked case.
With the key flushed through the drain.
But could that key be retrieved?
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(Energi POV)
I zipped my bag shut with a sharp tug, the teeth of the zipper sealing with a finality that made my chest tighten. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I took a deep breath.
This was it.
I was ready.
Today was the day Eidolon would be brought to justice. Today was the day I finally confronted the ghost that haunted my mentor's disappearance. After this… maybe then I could finally breathe—rest easy, if only for a moment.
Still… EmPee's words clung to my thoughts like static I couldn't shake.
"We all lost Strikeline, Daiki. Not just you."
The words had hit harder than I'd expected.
Maybe he was right. Maybe we all did lose him. But they didn't have to see his desk sit empty every morning. They didn't hear his voice in every half-finished report or feel his absence in every mission the agency turned down. I did. I still do.
I shook my head, physically trying to push the thoughts away, as if shaking them loose would help. Focus. Focus. This wasn't the time for reflection. I was too close now. I'd traced enough of Eidolon's patterns, narrowed the radius of his recent sightings, and decoded more silence than anyone gave me credit for. I was close.
So close.
I strapped on the final piece of my support equipment—an energy regulator built into my wristband—and adjusted the settings with a flick of my fingers. The soft hum of the shield generator comforted me. A familiar buzz. A partner that never let me down.
I opened the door to my apartment, stepping into the cold air of the early morning. The city was quiet, blanketed in a restless hush. Even the wind felt tense, like it knew what was coming.
I glanced down at my watch.
01:20 AM.
Perfect time for a villain to strike.
And this time… I'd be ready.
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(3rd person POV)
A soft electronic beep cut through the silence of the room like a whisper through fog.
Eidolon's eyes snapped open. He had been motionless, seated in the corner of his cell-like quarters, mind blank and body still—until that sound called him back to purpose.
Master was summoning him.
That usually meant one of two things: training, or a mission.
The iron door to his room hissed as the locks disengaged, sliding open with a mechanical groan. Without hesitation, Eidolon rose to his feet. His movements were smooth, practiced. Calm.
He walked through the door and down the long hallway, the cold floor echoing beneath his boots as he made his way to the throne room.
There, under the looming shadows and pale artificial lights, stood All For One.
Eidolon came to a stop several paces away from the throne and bowed his head.
"All For One, Sir."
The figure on the throne regarded him with an unreadable expression, masked and ever-still.
"Eidolon," he said, voice low and deliberate. "I have a new mission for you. Kyudai, if you will?"
From the side of the room, the hunched figure of Doctor Kyudai shuffled forward. Without a word, he picked up a manila folder from the cluttered metal table and approached Eidolon, offering it with trembling, gloved hands.
Eidolon accepted it wordlessly, flipping it open and scanning the brief contents.
"There is a client of mine," All For One continued, "currently hiding somewhere in the Hosu district. He has proven himself a liability… and fled with documents that do not belong to him."
There was no anger in his tone. Just fact.
"I want him returned," he said. "Alive if possible. Use only the force necessary. Do not draw attention. Do you understand?"
Eidolon closed the folder.
"Yes, Sir," he replied, voice even and cold.
All For One gave the slightest nod. "Good. You may go."
The air beside them shimmered with a sudden distortion as Kurogiri emerged from the shadows. His warp gate spiraled open behind Eidolon like a wound torn in space itself.
Just before Eidolon stepped through, All For One's voice reached him one last time.
"Can I trust that you complete your mission without complications?"
"Yes, Sir."
And then he was gone.
Swallowed by the mist.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Rain slicked the cracked pavement of Hosu's industrial zone, its rhythmic patter barely audible over the client's ragged breathing and hurried footsteps.
He clutched a worn satchel tight to his chest, one strap torn and flapping with every stride. His coat was soaked through, hood falling off every few steps, revealing wide, darting eyes and sweat-matted hair. The streets were empty at this hour, but he didn't feel alone.
He knew he wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
"They found me…" he whispered under his breath, half-panicked, half-certain. "I shouldn't have taken them. Should've burned the damn things."
But it was too late now. The damage was done. Whatever was in the folder—whatever he'd read—was more than enough to make him a target.
He took a sharp left into a narrow alley, his shoes splashing through shallow puddles. A fire escape hung low. He grabbed it, hauling himself upward despite the burning in his arms and legs.
From the rooftop, he could see the haze of the city stretching endlessly, lights flickering like dying embers. Somewhere in that haze, something moved—quiet, unseen, patient.
He didn't know who All For One had sent after him.
But he knew they were coming.
And they weren't going to knock.
Almost slipping on the slick rooftop, the client scrambled for balance. His foot caught the edge, nearly sending him over, but he managed to steady himself just long enough to spot a ladder leading back into the alleys below.
No other choice.
Gripping the cold metal with trembling hands, he descended fast—almost too fast—and landed awkwardly on the pavement. A sharp pain shot through his ankle, but adrenaline kept him moving.
He limped toward a narrow alleyway, ready to disappear into the maze of shadow and concrete. But then he froze.
There was a presence.
He couldn't see anyone. But every instinct screamed at him that something was there.
"No, no—please!" he begged, spinning around, eyes wild. "I'll give them back! Just leave me alone!"
The alley appeared empty.
Then a translucent hand burst out of the shadows.
The client yelped and dropped to the ground just in time to avoid being snatched. He scrambled backward, panting, shaking.
"I-I'll return them. I swear. Just let me go!"
A voice finally answered—distorted, emotionless, filtered through a voice modulator.
"Not happening."
An invisible force wrapped around his chest, hoisting him into the air like a ragdoll. He flailed, kicking at nothing.
"He needs you alive."
From the darkness, his hunter emerged.
Not a hulking brute. Not a masked maniac.
A teenager.
Clad in black, armored yet lithe, with white, unruly hair and glowing goggles masking most of his face. He looked impossibly young—but utterly lifeless.
The client's blood ran cold.
"Kurogiri," the teen muttered, tapping his ear. A signal.
Behind the floating man, violet mist began to swirl—the start of a warp gate.
But then, without warning, it fizzled and collapsed into nothing.
"Kurogiri?" Eidolon said again, now with a trace of confusion.
And then—CRACK!
A beam of energy shot through the alley, narrowly missing Eidolon's head as he sidestepped at the last moment.
He turned swiftly toward the source of the blast.
A voice rang out:
"YOU!"
The figure emerged from the shadows of a nearby rooftop—gear glinting, eyes burning with purpose.
"I knew you'd be here!"
Eidolon didn't hesitate. He dropped the client and launched forward like a bullet.
As Eidolon landed on the rooftop, the shadows parted just enough to reveal his opponent in full.
Dark blue armor gleamed under the moonlight, edged with sharp golden trims. A black mask obscured the lower half of his face, but the fury in his eyes burned unmistakably. Short, dark hair blew slightly in the night breeze.
It was him.
Energi.
The so-called fan. The sidekick. The one foolish enough to chase after ghosts.
The one Master had ordered him to eliminate.
"Where's Strikeline?! Tell me!" Energi shouted, his voice raw, strained with emotion and rage.
Eidolon's answer came not in words—but in action.
Two ghostly hands erupted from his back and hurled forward like missiles. Energi barely had time to react—his energy shield sparked to life just in time to absorb the hit. The shockwave launched him backward, skidding across the rooftop with a harsh metallic grind.
Eidolon advanced, relentless.
Another pair of ghost hands slammed into the shield, then another, and another—each impact making Energi's arms tremble under the pressure.
"You—will—pay!" Energi growled between clenched teeth, sweat beading on his brow.
He reached toward his belt and slammed a button.
A flash of light.
BOOM!
The energy shield detonated in a controlled blast, forcing Eidolon back several steps. His footing slipped for just a second—just long enough.
Energi lunged forward with a burst of speed, body low, shoulder aimed to tackle. His momentum carried them both dangerously close to the ledge—
But Eidolon recovered too quickly
From the center of his chest, another ghost hand surged outward. It snatched Energi by the throat mid-charge, lifting him off the ground with ease.
"You'd make a good tool for Master." The voice was calm. Filtered. Cold.
Energi kicked and struggled as Eidolon carried him toward the rooftop's edge, holding him above the yawning drop below.
"No... You... Won't..." Energi hissed, one hand fumbling toward a small device on his wrist—his last contingency.
But Eidolon noticed.
A ghost hand snapped out like a whip and crushed the device before Energi could press it. Sparks flew from the mangled gadget.
The wind howled around them. The city lights flickered far below.
And Eidolon stared—expression unreadable beneath the mask—as Energi dangled helplessly in his grip.
"That's enough."
The voice cut through the air like a blade.
Instantly, the ghost hands vanished into thin air, and Energi dropped—only to be caught by another pair of arms before he could hit the rooftop.
No impact. No scream.
Only the sudden weight of stillness.
Eidolon turned sharply toward the source of the command.
A man stepped forward from the shadows of a nearby rooftop structure, scarf trailing behind him like a coiled predator. His tired eyes met Eidolon's, hardened with experience. Yellow goggles reflected the moonlight, and the faint hum of a capture weapon buzzed as it readied itself.
Eraserhead.
Eidolon's muscles tightened. His stance lowered instinctively. His quirk wasn't working.
That meant only one thing.
Aizawa's red eyes stared straight at him, glowing faintly behind his tinted lenses.
"How?" Eidolon asked, voice tinged with the first hint of hesitation.
Aizawa tilted his head slightly, unblinking. "Let's just thank the reckless sidekick."
Behind him, another figure climbed over the ledge, panting heavily. EmPee—wearing a modified sidekick uniform—stood beside Eraserhead, a hand still crackling faintly with lingering energy.
"Told you he wouldn't stop," EmPee muttered to Aizawa. "But luckily he at least told me."
Energi coughed on the ground, trying to lift himself back up, his eyes locked on Eidolon. "You're done."