**Musutafu, Hero Public Safety Commission Headquarters – January 31, 2026, 9:30 AM**
The Commission building felt colder today than when Yamcha had gone through his own registration. Maybe it was the knowledge that they were bringing an actual extraterrestrial through the front doors. Yamcha walked on Missori's left, Nemuri on her right—like bodyguards flanking a VIP who had just stepped out of a sci-fi movie.
Missori's glowing green skin drew stares from every staff member they passed. Her silvery-green hair caught the fluorescent lights, making it shimmer faintly. The dual black antennae twitched every few seconds, picking up the emotional undercurrents in the lobby: curiosity, fear, suspicion, a few flashes of awe.
She tilted her head toward Yamcha, voice soft and melodic.
"Seventy-three percent of the people in this room are experiencing elevated heart rates. Forty-one percent are afraid. Nineteen percent are… aroused by the unknown. Fascinating."
Nemuri choked on a laugh. "Okay, antenna girl, maybe keep the live readings to yourself until we're in the room."
Yamcha smirked. "Just don't tell them you can smell their fear. They'll lock us all in quarantine."
They were ushered into a secure conference room on the fifth floor. Three evaluators waited: Ms. Arai (the same stern woman from Yamcha's evaluation), a quirk-analysis specialist with thick glasses, and a legal officer clutching a tablet like it was a shield.
Ms. Arai stared at Missori for a long moment.
"State your name, origin, and quirk designation for the record."
Missori bowed slightly, antennae dipping forward.
"I am Missori of the Keikai Kusa-jin. My homeworld is in a galaxy you have not yet charted. My abilities are biological and technological in nature. I wish to register as a hero under your system."
The legal officer cleared his throat. "You understand that non-terrestrial entities fall under special jurisdiction? We require full quirk demonstration, biological sampling, and a provisional threat assessment."
Missori's cyan-gold eyes sparkled with amusement.
"I expected as much. I am happy to comply… within reason."
Yamcha leaned forward, voice calm but firm.
"She's here to help. Not cause problems. She already proved herself to us. Treat her like any other provisional candidate."
Ms. Arai raised an eyebrow. "You vouch for her, Wolf Fang?"
"Completely."
Nemuri crossed her legs, smiling sweetly at the panel.
"And I second that. She's Pack. Our Pack."
The quirk analyst adjusted his glasses. "Very well. Let's begin with the demonstration."
They moved to an adjacent secure testing chamber—reinforced walls, energy-dampening fields, observation window. Yamcha and Nemuri stood behind the glass with the evaluators.
Missori stepped into the center.
"Whenever you're ready," Yamcha called through the intercom.
She closed her eyes. Antennae glowed softly green.
First she demonstrated agility: a series of flips and spins that looked like zero-gravity dance, even on solid ground. Then she knelt beside a pile of scrap parts the Commission had provided. Her hands moved in a blur—green light tracing patterns. In under ninety seconds she assembled a compact multi-tool: scanner, energy blade, and mini-shield projector.
The analyst's jaw dropped. "That's… impossible with current Earth tech."
Missori smiled. "Not impossible. Merely unfamiliar."
Next came combat. Training drones activated. She hardened her antennae into horn-like structures, focusing energy into precise beams that disabled two drones instantly. When a third drone released a simulated shockwave, she triggered her Golden Threshold—eyes turning pure gold, a shimmering golden aura bursting outward. The drones overloaded and shut down; the evaluators behind the glass felt only mild dizziness.
Nemuri leaned close to Yamcha, whispering, "She's magnificent. An alien star in our little dark night."
Yamcha chuckled. "Yeah. And she's ours."
The legal officer was sweating. "Portal ability?"
Missori nodded. "Keikai Gate. Short-range only today—I used my daily charge to arrive here. It allows transit across distances, even planetary. But limited to once per cycle."
Ms. Arai stared at the readings. "This is unprecedented. We'll need to classify it as High-Risk Provisional… but the demonstration is flawless."
After another hour of questions, blood samples (which Missori cheerfully provided in a glowing vial), and paperwork, they reconvened in the conference room.
Ms. Arai slid a tablet across the table.
"Provisional Hero License granted. Three-month probation, same as Wolf Fang. You will be monitored closely. Quirk usage must be logged. Any planetary-security breach and the license is revoked."
Missori took the tablet, antennae twitching happily.
"Thank you. I will honor your trust."
Yamcha leaned in. "You need a hero name. Something that fits."
Missori tilted her head. "I have not chosen one yet. Suggestions?"
Nemuri grinned. "Something starry. Mysterious. Alien."
Yamcha thought for a second, then smirked. "How about… Keikai Star? Sounds cool, right? Like you're a star from another sky."
Missori's antennae perked up, glowing brighter.
"Keikai Star…" She repeated it softly, tasting the words. "It has rhythm. And humor. I like it. It is… unexpectedly perfect."
Nemuri laughed. "He said it as a joke, and you just adopted it?"
Missori's golden pupils shimmered. "The best names often come from laughter. Keikai Star it is."
Ms. Arai sighed but nodded. "Keikai Star, provisional license approved. Welcome to the system."
Later that evening, back at the loft.
The three of them sat on the floor around a low table—ramen upgraded with alien spices Missori had synthesized from kitchen scraps, wine for the humans, and a glowing crystal-infused water for Missori.
Missori held up her new license card, holographic seal shimmering.
"Keikai Star," she said proudly. "I am now officially part of your world."
Yamcha raised his glass. "To the first member of the Wolf Fang Pack. And the first alien hero on Earth."
Nemuri clinked her glass against his, then Missori's crystal. "To the star who fell into our den. And to the alpha who keeps finding strays worth keeping."
Missori's antennae glowed warmly. "I have traveled countless light-years. Seen stars die and galaxies spin. But this… this feeling of belonging… is new. And beautiful."
They trained lightly after dinner—Missori showing Yamcha how to adjust his Spirit Ball trajectory with her tech insights, Yamcha teaching her basic close-combat timing, Nemuri cracking her whip in rhythm with their moves.
Laughter echoed off the concrete walls.
The loft felt alive.
The Pack was no longer just an idea.
It was real.
And growing.