Hanabusa Sayo rarely invited anyone into her office.The President of the Hero Public Safety Commission did not like clutter. Her office reflected that: clean lines, glass, metal, and a wide window overlooking the city. On her desk sat only a tablet, a comm terminal, and a thin stack of high-priority files.
One of those files lay open now, marked:
Project YamaKurogane Takeru – Age 12
The boy in the photo could hardly be called a boy by appearance alone. At twelve, Takeru was already over six feet tall, heavily muscled, his expression calm and composed. Black hair, grey eyes, sharp features.
Sayo had personally overseen every year of his development. The HPSC maintained the delicate balance of an age dominated by quirks. The very heroes meant to protect society could turn against it—and flawed as the system was, it was the only one they had.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," she said.
The man who stepped inside was not a hero, but he was one of the Commission's most capable officers—Enomoto Shun, head of Strategic Analysis. His quirk, Mind Grid, allowed him to process information at accelerated speeds, constructing branching predictive models with frightening accuracy. He could not see the future, but he could model it until the difference became academic.
"Madam President," Shun said with a small bow. He was in his early thirties, unremarkable in appearance—black hair, thin frame, glasses—but his eyes were sharp. "Thank you for seeing me."
Sayo gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "Sit. You said this was about Kurogane."
"It is." Shun placed a data slate on her desk. "I believe he is ready for field application."
Sayo's fingers tapped once on the folder. "You mean missions."
Shun didn't flinch. "Yes. Assassination missions. Controlled eliminations of high-risk targets—fallen heroes, select villains, compromised assets. The work Hawks is currently performing."
Her eyes narrowed fractionally. "We already have Hawks."
"He is a pro hero now, and I'm sure you're aware that overreliance on any asset is dangerous," Shun replied smoothly. "He is effective, but we do not want another Lady Nagant situation. Redundancy is essential to any stable system. We need a second black-ops asset—one not bound to the Hero Billboard image."
He tapped his slate. The display lit up with graphs, projections, strength metrics, quirk logs—Takeru's development, quantified in excruciating detail.
"Kurogane Takeru," Shun continued, "is the ideal candidate."
Sayo glanced at data she already knew by heart. Strength output surpassing nearly every active hero. Durability tests where he walked through simulated explosions without a scratch. Speed trials where cameras needed upgrading three times just to capture him.
"In terms of raw physical might," Shun said, "only All Might and a handful of top-tier heroes surpass him. And even that margin is shrinking."
"Power is not the only factor," Sayo replied. "Field work requires stability. Psychological control. Tolerance for blood. And despite his strength, he is still a child."
Shun's lips twitched. "Madam President, with respect, you know his profile as well as I do perhaps even better. Takeru shows no instability. His guilt from the Hana incident solidified his adherence to restraint. He follows protocol, obeys commands, and has an internalized sense of responsibility. The boy has a pragmatic streak. He isn't some idealistic child. He is the perfect soldier."
He brought up psychological evaluations, behavioral analyses, pattern predictions.
"He prefers solitude," Shun said. "He spends his free time reading, studying, reviewing curated media. He does not seek attention. He forms no attachments to other children. He's motivated not by ego, but by duty and the desire to avoid collateral damage. Ideal for covert work."
Sayo said nothing. She turned her gaze to the window, watching a few distant heroes dart between buildings—shadows cast by a society that preferred bright colors and simple narratives.
Once, years ago, they had believed the same about Lady Nagant.
Her predecessor had called Nagant a "necessary tool," just as they now called Hawks. They had handed her target lists and told her she was protecting society from the shadows. Until she snapped. Until she killed her predecessor. And the public story had to be rewritten.
Sayo had learned from that failure.
"My predecessor rushed Nagant," she said quietly. "He trusted too much in a single weapon. He forgot that people break."
"Hawks hasn't broken," Shun pointed out.
"Hawks is still young," Sayo replied. "And we haven't asked of him what we asked of her. Not yet."
Silence.
Then Shun leaned forward. "Takeru is not Nagant. His quirk is not a rifle. His quirk is his body. His instincts. His durability. Even if a mission goes poorly, his risk of capture or death is negligible. He has no psychological fractures. No idealistic illusions to shatter. He was raised by us. The HPSC is the only home he knows. Like Hawks, he will be a great asset."
Sayo looked at the file again.
At twelve, Takeru's control over his Smart Atoms was almost absolute. He could modulate his strength to the gram. His aerial spatial awareness was razor-sharp. He trained in chokeholds, non-lethal takedowns, lethal strikes, and high-speed insertions.
His mind was disciplined. His emotions restrained. He rarely questioned orders.
And yet… he remained oddly innocent.
He did not understand what the Commission truly did in the shadows. He did not ask.
"He's still a child," she murmured.
"Biologically," Shun agreed. "But biologically he is also nearly invulnerable. Mentally he is more stable than most adult heroes. Rational under pressure. Absurd reflexes. Soldier-level discipline—and we never trained him as a soldier. He shaped himself; we only gave him structure."
He paused.
"We both know he will be deployed eventually. The only question is whether we wait for a crisis… or prepare him properly now."
Sayo considered that. She thought of the classified reports on All For One—how the monster had stolen quirks, hoarding strength until no one could rival him.
Takeru's quirk would be irresistible to such a creature.
"Exposure increases risk," she said. "Field missions mean visibility. If All For One is still out there… he could notice."
"Which is why the first missions should be tightly controlled," Shun said. "Enclosed environments. No witnesses. Limited communication. Targets already marked for elimination—fallen heroes, silent liabilities, villains who cannot be publicly tried."
"We don't want to become over reliant on Hawks," Sayo murmured.
"Exactly. If Hawks dies, defects, or breaks, we have no replacement."
Invulnerability. Not perfect, but close.
Bullets bounced off him. Fire, electricity, blunt force—fleeting marks at best which his healing remedied with speed that was unnatural in someone without a healing quirk.
She imagined him quietly entering a room with a target… and leaving before anyone realized death had come.
"His mind?" she asked. "You're certain he won't break? Nagant broke because she thought she was a hero, and we made her into an executioner."
"Takeru doesn't seem to think of himself as a hero," Shun said. "He sees himself as a tool for stability. He accepts that some people must be removed for the greater good. His scenario responses are consistent. He won't enjoy the work—but he won't refuse it."
"And guilt?"
"Contained. The Hana incident shaped him but didn't shatter him. He insisted on the trust fund for her, on ensuring her future. That's not someone who runs from consequences. That's someone who accepts them."
Sayo leaned back, studying the file one last time.
"Kurogane Takeru," she said softly, "will not be another Nagant."
He was twelve. Already stronger than nearly every hero in Japan.
Time to put him to the test.