Izuku's Point of View:
I stopped running and shifted into a silent crawl, my spider-grip gloves and boots adhering perfectly to the ceiling as I moved. The HUD in my glasses flickered with updated tracking data—two red markers just around the next corner, close enough that any noise would alert them.
I pressed myself flat against the cool surface and peered down the hallway through the camera feed Jarvis had routed to my display. The visuals popped up in the corner of my vision—two figures standing lazily near an intersection, clearly bored with their assignment.
I pulled up their profiles.
Ema Yoshida – ★★☆☆☆
Quirk: Memory Glimpse – Can read surface thoughts of unconscious or willing subjects. Interrogation support.
Kaito Nakamura – ★★☆☆☆
Quirk: Static Touch – Minor electric discharge on skin contact. Stun-level only.
A slow smirk spread across my face.
"Just two-star scrubs," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. "This is already too easy."
I lined up my shot carefully, adjusting my wrist angle until the targeting reticle in my HUD turned green. The Widow's Bracer hummed softly as it charged.
The woman—Yoshida—was scrolling through her phone, completely oblivious. The man—Nakamura—leaned against the wall, picking at his nails.
Perfect.
I fired.
A crackling bolt of electricity shot from my bracer, striking Yoshida square in the chest. Her body seized for half a second before she crumpled like a puppet with cut strings, her phone clattering across the marble floor.
Nakamura's head snapped up, his eyes going wide. His mouth opened to shout—
Thwip.
My tranquilizer dart embedded itself in his neck before he could make a sound. He blinked once, twice, then his eyes rolled back and he slid down the wall, joining his partner in unconsciousness.
I dropped from the ceiling, landing silently between them. A soft chuckle escaped me as I looked down at the pair.
"That's two down."
I glanced at my HUD, and my eyebrows rose. Jarvis's marker showed two red dots fading to grey in the western wing—both two-star villains neutralized. Silk's marker in the central area told a similar story: two more grey dots, taken out in quick succession.
I couldn't help the wider grin that spread across my face. "Well, well. Looks like my team's showing me up." I tapped my coms. "I can't let you two take down more villains than me, now can I?"
Silk's chirp carried a distinctly smug tone.
"Merely optimizing efficiency, sir," Jarvis replied smoothly. "Shall I slow down to preserve your ego?"
"Keep it up and I'm deleting your snake documentaries."
A pause. "...That is unnecessarily cruel, sir."
I was already moving, crawling along the ceiling toward my next target. The HUD guided me through the eastern wing, and over the next several minutes, I fell into a rhythm.
---
Montage:
A villain with enhanced hearing—Aoi Nakamura, if I remembered correctly—stood guard outside a servant's entrance. He never heard me coming. I dropped behind him, one hand clamping over his mouth while the other delivered a precise nerve strike to the base of his skull. He went limp instantly. I webbed him to a support beam and kept moving.
---
Two corridors over, Jarvis encountered a pair of support villains—the contortionist Nao Higashikata and the friction-reduced Takumi Abe. They were checking rooms together, clearly nervous.
Jarvis watched from a ceiling vent, his serpentine form coiled in perfect silence. When they passed beneath him, he struck.
His body dropped like silk, wrapping around Higashikata's throat in a flash. The man's eyes bulged as the coils tightened—not enough to kill, just enough to cut off air and consciousness. At the same moment, Jarvis's fangs sank into Abe's shoulder. The paralytic agent in his venom reservoirs took effect in under two seconds. Abe crumpled without a sound.
Jarvis released the now-unconscious Higashikata, coiled once around both villains to ensure they wouldn't move, and slithered back into the vent.
"Two more neutralized," he reported calmly. "Proceeding to next sector."
---
In the central gallery, Silk danced through shadows.
Her target was a pair of scouts—Yuna Shimizu, whose enhanced olfactory tracking made her genuinely dangerous if she caught a scent, and Ryota Ishikawa, whose Light Step quirk made him nearly silent on his feet. They moved together, checking corners, covering each other.
It didn't matter.
Silk dropped from a chandelier directly onto Shimizu's shoulder. The woman barely had time to gasp before the paralytic venom flooded her system. She hit the ground like a stone.
Ishikawa spun, his hand reaching for his weapon—but Silk was faster. She launched from the falling body, landed on his chest, and released a concentrated electrical discharge from her nodes. He convulsed once, twice, then went limp.
Silk chirped triumphantly and skittered back into the shadows, already tracking her next target.
---
Ten Minutes Later
I sat cross-legged on top of three unconscious bodies piled neatly in an intersection. My breathing was steady, my suit barely rumpled. Below me, the last of the two-star villains in this sector slept peacefully, completely unaware they'd ever been in a fight.
I looked down at the one on top—a bald man with an incredibly shiny head, even in the dim hallway light. Daiki Kanno. Quirk: Polish. The ability to restore surface shine to objects.
I stared at him for a long moment. Then I snorted.
"I literally found this world's version of Mr. Clean," I muttered, shaking my head. "Same bald head. Same obsession with shiny surfaces. All he's missing is the white outfit and a magic cleaning product." I chuckled at my own joke, the sound echoing softly in the empty corridor. "I almost feel bad for knocking him out. Almost."
I tapped my glasses. "Jarvis. Silk. Head back to my location. Now. We're done playing with the support staff."
"Acknowledged, sir," Jarvis's voice came through, calm as always. "En route. Estimated arrival, forty-five seconds."
A positive chirp from Silk confirmed she was already moving.
I stayed sitting on my pile of unconscious villains, perfectly comfortable, when a sudden burst of static erupted from the radio on one of their belts.
"Ironhide, we got a fucking problem on our hands!" Thorn's voice crackled through, sharp and furious. "Our hired hands got taken out!! They were supposed to deal with the heroes, giving us time to escape!!" A pause, then even more venomous: "Did you not kill all the guards?!"
My smile faded.
The guards.
I hadn't even thought about them. In the chaos of the attack, in my single-minded focus on protecting everyone in that storage room, I'd completely forgotten about the estate's security personnel.
If Ironhide killed them all...
My jaw tightened. That was more than twenty people. Men and women who were just doing their jobs, protecting the family they served. And Ironhide had slaughtered them without a second thought.
The cold anger from earlier stirred in my chest, but I pushed it down. Not now. Focus on the mission. Mourn later.
A soft skittering sound announced Silk's arrival. She dropped from the ceiling and landed on my shoulder in one graceful motion, her eight legs finding their familiar perch. She chirped quietly and tapped my cheek with one foreleg—her way of checking on me.
"I'm fine, girl," I murmured, reaching up to stroke her crimson carapace.
Above me, the vent cover shifted silently. Jarvis's sleek form emerged, his iridescent scales catching what little light filtered through the hallway. He didn't descend, instead positioning himself on a ceiling beam where he could observe all approaches.
"Well positioned," I whispered. He dipped his head in acknowledgment.
On the radio, Ironhide's voice rumbled through, cold and defensive.
"I did my part! They're all dead! Every single guard in this estate is gone!" A pause, then: "It may be that one of the heroes who was supposed to leave stayed behind. That's a problem. Hunt them down and kill them now!"
I allowed myself a small smirk. Hero. Right. Sure. Keep thinking that.
"We still haven't found the Yaoyorozus and—"
BZZZT. BZZZT.
A ringing sound cut through the channel. Someone's phone.
Ironhide went silent for a moment. Then: "That was faster than anticipated. It seems the heroes are finally here." His voice hardened. "Get rid of whoever is screwing up our plans and find the Yaoyorozus! Now! We need them!"
Thorn's annoyed sigh crackled through. "Sure. Let's see if I can clean up your mess."
The radio went silent.
I sat there for a moment, processing. Then a slow chuckle escaped me.
"I really threw a wrench in their plans," I murmured. "And now they want me dead." I grinned, feeling the familiar thrill of the hunt. "This is so much fun!"
Silk chirped inquisitively.
I looked at her, then up at Jarvis. "Hey, guys. How pissed do you think he's going to be when he realizes that a nine-year-old kid messed up his entire operation?"
Jarvis's sensor-eyes gleamed. "I suspect his emotional response will be... significant, sir."
"I want to use the radio," I said thoughtfully. "Just to rub it in." I paused. "But where's the fun in that? I want to see his reaction myself."
I tapped my glasses, pulling up the HUD. Red markers dotted the map—the remaining combatants, scattered throughout the estate. One was close. Very close.
"Well, well," I murmured. "We've got another target near our location. Let's check the cameras."
Jarvis complied immediately, routing a camera feed to my display. The image flickered to life—a man moving cautiously down a corridor two floors below, his arms hanging at his sides in a way that looked almost unnatural.
I pulled up his profile.
Kenji Watanabe – ★★★☆☆
Role: Control / Capture
Quirk: Tendril Lash – Transformation-type allowing arms to elongate and split into flexible, prehensile tendrils (max extension 8 meters). Tendrils have limited strength but can entangle and restrain.
Notes: Prefers to immobilize rather than kill. Overconfidence in reach advantage.
A predatory smile spread across my face.
"Well, this one should be fun." I stood, rolling my shoulders. The shield hummed against my back. "Let's go deal with another insect, shall we?"
I raised my wrist and fired a web line at the ceiling.
THWIP.
The line caught, and I pulled myself upward in one smooth motion, flipping until my feet adhered to the ceiling. Silk adjusted her perch on my shoulder without missing a beat, her legs gripping my reinforced suit.
Behind me, Jarvis flowed silently from his beam and into the adjacent vent, his scaled form disappearing into the darkness.
I began to crawl, moving toward my next target.
My HUD guided me unerringly toward the red marker. Watanabe was close now. Just around the next corner, pacing slowly in what appeared to be a small sitting area adjacent to the main hallway.
I adjusted my crawl, angling toward the intersection where the ceiling opened into a wider space. Through the camera feed Jarvis had routed to my display, I watched my target.
Kenji Watanabe stood in the center of a small circular room, his arms hanging at his sides in that same unnaturally loose way. He was tapping his foot impatiently, clearly unhappy with his assignment.
Perfect.
I reached the edge of the ceiling and peered down. Watanabe was directly below me, maybe fifteen feet of open air between us. His head was tilted down, attention on his phone.
Element of surprise. Quick and clean. That's all I needed.
I lined up my shot, the targeting reticle in my HUD turning green as it locked onto the base of his skull. The tranquilizer dart would put him down before he even knew—
THWIP.
The dart shot from my bracer, a streak of silver in the dim light.
Watanabe's head snapped up.
His eyes met mine for a split second—and then his body moved with a speed I hadn't anticipated. His right arm exploded, elongating and splitting into a half-dozen writhing tendrils that lashed through the air like angry serpents. The dart was batted aside effortlessly.
"Shit," I muttered.
I dropped from the ceiling without hesitation, flipping in midair as the tendrils whipped toward where I'd been. They passed through empty space as I landed in a crouch on the polished floor, my shield already swinging into my grip.
Watanabe stared at me, his tendril-arms retracting slightly as confusion flickered across his face. Then his expression shifted—first to disbelief, then to amusement, then to outright contempt.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "What do we have here? A little kid playing dress-up?" He gestured at my suit with one of his elongated arms, the tendrils writhing obscenely. "Where's the real hero, huh? The one who took out all our hired help?"
I said nothing. Just watched him with flat, unimpressed eyes.
His smirk widened. "I gotta admit, the disguise is cute. Send a kid out first to throw us off? Clever. But it won't work on me." He stepped forward, his tendrils spreading wide to block escape routes. "I've been doing this long enough to know when I'm being played. So why don't you run along and tell whoever's really pulling the strings that they're gonna have to try harder than—"
I sighed.
Loudly.
Deliberately.
Watanabe blinked, his monologue derailing mid-sentence. "Did you just—"
"I hate overconfident punks," I said flatly. "You talk too much."
I raised my wrist.
THWIP.
A web line shot past him, anchoring to the ceiling behind. Before he could react, I was already moving—the line yanking me upward, my body arcing through the air in a perfect trajectory that brought me directly above him.
Watanabe's eyes went wide. His tendrils snapped upward, trying to intercept—
Too slow.
I twisted in midair, my other wrist firing a barrage of web fluid that wrapped around his torso, his arms, his thrashing tendrils. Layer after layer, binding him tighter and tighter until he looked like a silver cocoon with a very confused head sticking out the top.
He hit the ground with a muffled thump, completely immobilized.
I landed three feet away, my knees bending to absorb the impact, then straightening with the fluid grace of a cat. Not a sound. Not a wasted movement.
I looked down at him.
He stared up at me, his expression cycling through shock, disbelief, and the beginning of genuine fear. His mouth opened—to beg? to threaten? to demand answers?—but only a strangled croak emerged through the webbing across his face.
"Jarvis," I said calmly. "Knock him out. Low-yield taser. Don't want him waking up anytime soon."
A soft zap echoed from the ceiling, followed by Watanabe's eyes rolling back in his head. The tension drained from his bound body as unconsciousness claimed him.
I tilted my head, studying his limp form for a moment. Then I chuckled softly.
"Not bad instincts, honestly," I murmured. "Dodging a tranq dart at close range? That takes reflexes. Too bad his mouth wrote checks his body couldn't cash."
Silk chirped agreement from my shoulder.
I turned away from the cocooned villain, already scanning my HUD for the next target. The red markers were thinning out nicely—Jarvis and Silk had been busy while I played with Mr. Tendrils here.
Something cold whispered across the back of my neck.
Instinct—pure, primal, honed by years of Hikaru's brutal training—screamed at me to MOVE.
I jerked my head to the side.
A spike—bone-white, razor-sharp—whistled past my ear and embedded itself in the wall behind me with a sickening thunk.
I didn't think. I moved.
My body launched forward in a diving roll, hands hitting the floor, pushing off, spinning me around to face the threat. Silk skittered down my arm and into a defensive crouch on my wrist, her venom injectors already primed.
Shadows pooled at the far end of the corridor.
She moved like a predator accustomed to shadows, her steps silent despite the elegant heels that somehow looked perfectly natural on her. The woman was tall and lean, dressed in a fitted black outfit that prioritized mobility over armor—sleek, tactical, and undeniably dangerous. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, sharp cheekbones catching the dim light, and her eyes—cold, calculating, entirely amused—locked onto me the moment she emerged.
But it was her outfit that made me pause.
Black bodysuit, yes. Tactical webbing, sure. But the accents—the ruffled collar, the fitted corset-style waist, the way the fabric draped just so—it was almost theatrical. Almost... pirate-like.
She looked like she'd stepped straight out of a costume party for One Piece villains.
I filed that observation away for later.
Her gaze swept over the cocooned form of Watanabe, then lifted to me. Her eyebrows rose—first in surprise, then in something that looked almost like delight. Her lips curled into a slow, predatory smile.
"Well, well, well," she purred, stepping fully into the corridor. Two figures materialized behind her from the shadows—a woman with short, practical hair and restless eyes, and a man who kept shifting his weight like he was about to sprint at any moment. Thorn's lieutenants. "What do we have here?"
She looked at Watanabe again. Then back at me. Then—she laughed.
It wasn't an angry laugh. It was genuine, surprised, almost delighted amusement. The sound echoed off the walls, rich and warm and utterly wrong for someone covered in bone spikes.
"Oh, this is rich," she said, wiping at her eye theatrically. "I knew they hired trash. I told Ironhide, multiple times—that you can't build a competent operation on discount thugs and washed-up has-beens." She gestured at Watanabe's bound form. "But this? This is something else entirely."
She took a step closer, studying me with open fascination.
"The fact that a kid took them out and easily it seems" She shook her head, still chuckling. "I knew Ironhide was an imbecile, but this is too much. His grand plan he meticulously planned for months, decoy attacks, coordinated strikes, the whole production, bing put on hold because of a child." Another laugh, this one almost fond. "I'm going to remind him of this every single day for the rest of his life."
She tilted her head, her smile sharpening.
"Hey, kid. How many have you taken out already?"
I met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch for just a moment. Then I smiled back—not as wide as hers, but with its own sharp edge.
"Counting Discount Want-to-be Monkey D. Luffy back there?" I jerked my chin toward Watanabe. "Twenty of you guys."
Her eyebrows rose.
"Though," I continued casually, rolling my shoulders, "that number's going to be twenty-three in about a minute. If I count you and the grunts behind you."
For a heartbeat, she just stared at me.
Then she threw her head back and laughed—a full, unrestrained cackle that bounced off the walls. "I like this kid!" she announced to her subordinates. "He's got guts!"
She waved a hand dismissively at the two figures behind her. "Don't kill him. Just knock him out. We don't kill kids, no matter how mouthy they are."
"How generous of you," I said dryly.
Then my tone shifted, dropping to something cold and precise.
"Silk. Jarvis. Take down her subordinates."
A soft chirp from my shoulder, and Silk was gone—a crimson blur launching toward the ceiling, skittering across it faster than the eye could follow. Above, a vent cover shifted silently as Jarvis flowed into position.
The woman—Rina Kobayashi, my HUD supplied, Quirk: Phase Step—spun toward the movement, her body already beginning to flicker at the edges. Intangibility. She could phase through solid matter for short bursts.
But Silk was faster.
She dropped from the ceiling directly onto Kobayashi's back, her legs gripping tight. Before the woman could fully phase, Silk's venom injectors sank into her neck. Kobayashi's eyes went wide, her body convulsing once before she crumpled, unconscious before she hit the ground.
The man—Yuki Aoki, Quirk: Sonic Step—was already moving, a burst of speed that left a faint crack in the air behind him. He was fast, his quirk giving him explosive acceleration for short distances.
Jarvis met him in midair.
The cobra dropped from the vent like a falling shadow, his sleek body wrapping around Aoki's legs in a flash. The man tumbled, his momentum destroyed, and before he could recover, Jarvis's fangs found his ankle. The paralytic took three seconds. Aoki went still.
Neither subordinate made a sound.
Thorn just watched it happen.
She didn't move to help. Didn't even flinch. She just stood there, her eyes tracking Silk's graceful return to my shoulder and Jarvis's smooth repositioning on a nearby beam. When it was over, she let out a low whistle.
"Impressive," she murmured. "Very impressive." Her gaze settled on me with renewed interest. "You got Pets, huh? You Trained them well."
"They are not my pets, they are my Partners," I corrected her.
Something flickered in her eyes at that. Respect, by the looks of it.
Then I smiled.
"I got Thorn guys," I said softly. "It's been a while since I had a proper dance." I flexed my fingers, and my claws extended with a whisper-sharp shink, gleaming under the dim lights. The Widow's Bracers hummed as electricity began to crackle along their surfaces, pale blue arcs dancing between the emitters. Behind me, my shield slid into my grip with a magnetic click, its silver surface catching the light.
I settled into a low stance, weight balanced, eyes never leaving hers.
"Will you care to join me in this dance of ours, Miss Double Finger?"
For a long moment, she just stared at me.
Then she chuckled—a low, genuine sound that held no mockery. Her eyes swept over me, taking in the claws, the crackling bracers, the shield, the stance, the absolute lack of fear in my expression.
"My, my," she purred, rolling her shoulders as bone-white spikes began to emerge from her forearms. "What a gentleman. If you were just a bit older, you might actually be my type." She flexed her fingers, and the spikes on her arms lengthened, sharpening to needle points. "And you even get the One Piece reference I was going for. That's rare these days."
She dropped into her own stance—lower than mine, weight forward, arms spread slightly to maximize her firing angles.
"So I'll accept this dance offer of yours, little hero."
Her smile turned wicked.
"Try to keep up!!"
"I'll do my best to entertain you, my lady." After saying that I moved.