**Musutafu Central District – Downtown Square, Near the Fountain – February 2, 2026, 18:30**
The cameras were still rolling when Shinichi and Hisato finally got a moment to breathe.
Medics hovered around them, but a local news crew had pushed through the cordon before the heroes could be loaded into the ambulance. Shinichi—Water Hose—leaned heavily on his wife, Hisato, both covered in dust, blood, and bruises. Muscular's final rampage had left them broken: cracked ribs, deep lacerations, a dislocated shoulder for Shinichi, and a concussion for Hisato. Yet they stood tall for the interview, voices steady despite the pain.
The reporter thrust a microphone forward.
"Water Hose duo! You held off Muscular for over twenty minutes—saving dozens of civilians who were able to escape to safety. Can you tell us what happened?"
Shinichi winced as he shifted weight off his injured leg.
"We're rescue heroes first. Our job is to protect people, not to fight for glory. When Muscular appeared… we knew we couldn't win. But we could buy time. We kept him focused on us so the civilians could run. That's all."
Hisato squeezed his hand, her voice soft but firm.
"Twenty minutes felt like hours. We were bleeding out, barely standing… but every second gave someone else a chance to get away. Then… the Wolf Fang Pack arrived."
The reporter's eyes lit up.
"Wolf Fang, Midnight, and the newcomer—Keikai Star. They took Muscular down in under two minutes. Can you describe what you saw?"
Shinichi managed a tired smile.
"Wolf Fang moved like lightning—pure martial precision. Midnight's fragrance slowed him just enough. And Keikai Star… that portal, those beams from her antennae… she saved Hisato from a killing blow. They worked as one unit. No ego. No showboating. Just results."
Hisato nodded.
"They didn't hesitate. They didn't ask for cameras. They just… saved us. And the people around us. If they hadn't come when they did… we wouldn't be here talking."
The reporter pressed.
"So you consider the Wolf Fang Pack true heroes?"
Shinichi looked straight into the lens.
"Yes. They are. And we owe them our lives."
The feed cut to the studio, but outside a nearby electronics store, a lone figure stood in the shadows, watching the interview through the glass.
Chizome Akaguro—Stain—stood motionless, arms crossed, eyes narrowed behind his bandages.
He had been passing through, intending to scout for his next "purification." But the interview stopped him cold.
Reporters swarming injured rescue heroes. Shoving microphones in their faces while blood still dripped from their wounds. Asking for soundbites instead of letting them go to the hospital.
His lip curled in disgust.
"Fake. All of them. Vultures."
But then… the mention of the Wolf Fang Pack.
He knew Midnight. The R-Rated Hero. Too flashy. Too sexualized. Clothing designed to seduce rather than protect. He had dismissed her as another false idol long ago.
Yet here she was—on screen, praised by true rescue heroes for saving lives without hesitation. No posing. No cameras begging. Just action.
And the others… Wolf Fang. Keikai Star.
Names he didn't know. Faces he hadn't seen in the hero rankings.
But the way Shinichi and Hisato spoke of them—with genuine gratitude, not rehearsed PR lines—made Stain pause.
"Real heroes…" he muttered under his breath.
For the first time in years, curiosity—not just judgment—stirred inside him.
He needed to know who these three were.
Especially the one called Wolf Fang.
**Yamcha's Rooftop Loft – 19:15**
Yamcha stepped through the door, still in his hero gear, muscles aching from the day's double fight.
He expected silence—or maybe Nemuri and Missori laughing over shopping bags.
Instead, a figure sat on the edge of the couch.
Black hair. Tired eyes. Capturing weapon coiled loosely around his shoulders.
Eraser Head—Aizawa Shota—looked up from the tablet he'd been scrolling.
"You're late," he said flatly.
Yamcha froze in the doorway.
"You're in my house."
Aizawa shrugged.
"Midnight gave me the code. Said you wouldn't mind."
Yamcha closed the door behind him, dropping his bag.
"She didn't mention she was inviting company."
Aizawa stood slowly, expression unreadable.
"She didn't invite me. I came because she's been… different lately. Happier. Less guarded. Less like she's carrying the world alone."
He met Yamcha's eyes.
"That started around the time you showed up."
Yamcha crossed his arms.
"And you're here to… what? Threaten me? Warn me off?"
Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"I'm here to see if you're worth it. Nemuri's my colleague. My friend. If someone's making her smile like that… I want to know who they are."
Silence stretched.
Then Yamcha relaxed slightly.
"Fair enough. Want tea? Or coffee? I've got whiskey too, if you're staying."
Aizawa's mouth twitched—almost a smile.
"Tea. Black. No sugar."
As Yamcha moved to the kitchenette, Aizawa spoke again.
"I saw the news. Muscular. Water Hose. You three took him down clean. No collateral. No theatrics. That's rare."
Yamcha poured hot water, back turned.
"We just did what needed doing."
"That's exactly why I'm curious," Aizawa said quietly. "Most new teams fall apart under pressure. Yours didn't. You led them like you've done it a hundred times before."
Yamcha turned, handing him the mug.
"Maybe I have. Just… not in this world."
Aizawa took the tea, studying him.
"You're hiding something. But you're not lying about wanting to protect people. That much I can see."
He sipped.
"If you hurt her… I'll erase your quirk and bury you under paperwork so deep you'll never see daylight."
Yamcha chuckled.
"Noted. But I'm not planning on hurting anyone here. Least of all her."
Aizawa nodded once.
"Good."
He set the mug down.
"Tell her I stopped by. And… keep doing whatever you're doing. She deserves to smile."
Then he walked to the door.
Before leaving, he paused.
"By the way… your alien friend. Keikai Star. She's not from around here. Keep her safe. The Commission will watch her closer than you think."
The door closed softly behind him.
Yamcha stood alone in the quiet loft, staring at the empty doorway.
Then he smiled—small, tired, but genuine.
**Meanwhile – Musutafu Central Shopping Mall**
Nemuri pushed a cart full of clothes, Missori walking beside her, antennae twitching at every new sight and sound.
"This is… overwhelming," Missori admitted. "So many textures. So many colors."
Nemuri grinned.
"That's why we're here. You can't save the world in the same outfit every day. Variety is key."
Missori picked up a soft black sweater, running her fingers over it.
"My people do not prioritize aesthetics. Function only. But this… feels pleasant."
Nemuri leaned close.
"Welcome to Earth fashion, Star. Next stop: lingerie section. Trust me, you'll love it."
Missori's antennae perked.
"I sense elevated excitement from you. And… affection. For Wolf Fang."
Nemuri laughed.
"Guilty. Now come on—let's find something that makes him forget his own name."
They disappeared into the aisles, two women—one human, one alien—bonding over the simplest, most human thing in the world:
Shopping.