**Musutafu, Hero Public Safety Commission Headquarters – February 6, 2026, 09:00 AM**
Ms. Arai stood at the head of the briefing room, her usual stern expression softened by something close to respect.
"The Nomu prototype has been confirmed neutralized. No trace remains—your… beam left nothing but vapor in the upper atmosphere." She paused, glancing at the three of them. "The Commission is upgrading your provisional status. Full hero licenses for all three of you—effective immediately. Wolf Fang Pack is now officially recognized as a special operations unit. You'll receive priority funding, access to secure facilities, and a commendation from the top brass."
She slid three sleek black cards across the table.
"Congratulations. You just became the fastest-rising team in recent history."
Yamcha took his card, feeling the weight of it.
"Thank you. We'll keep earning it."
Nemuri smiled—sharp, proud. "About time."
Missori's antennae glowed faintly as she scanned the card. "This material is fascinating. Embedded nano-circuitry. I can improve the security protocols."
Ms. Arai almost smiled. "Do that off the books. And be careful. The League of Villains has taken notice. We've intercepted chatter—they're calling you 'the Sunshot Pack.' They don't like being upstaged."
**The Loft – Afternoon**
Yamcha stood alone on the rooftop, wind tugging at his jacket. The city sprawled below like a glittering map. He closed his eyes, centering himself.
Hands cupped.
Blue-white energy swirled—smaller this time, more controlled. He exhaled slowly.
"Kame… hame… ha."
A thin, focused beam lanced out—precise, not destructive. It carved a clean line across a distant scrap pile without collateral.
Better.
But the memory lingered.
*Krillin's grin. "Hey Yamcha, that was awesome!"
Vegeta's sneer. "Pathetic. You'll never match even Saibaman."
The Saibaman's explosion. The darkness. The failure.*
He lowered his hands, breathing hard.
"I'm not that guy anymore."
Inside, Missori worked at her makeshift workbench—parts from the junkyard scattered around her. She was building something new: a compact energy-absorber gauntlet designed to counter regeneration quirks.
Nemuri leaned against the doorway, watching Yamcha through the window.
"He's pushing himself too hard," she murmured.
Missori's antennae twitched. "His emotional signature is… turbulent. Pride. Doubt. Determination. All at once."
Nemuri walked out to the roof.
"Hey, hero."
Yamcha turned. "Hey."
She stepped close, hands on his chest.
"You launched a monster into the sun. You saved lives. You led us. Stop acting like you still have something to prove."
He exhaled, resting his forehead against hers.
"I know. But that thing… if there are more…"
Nemuri kissed him—slow, grounding.
"Then we'll face them. Together."
Missori appeared at the door, holding a glowing prototype.
"I have finished the gauntlet. It should disrupt cellular regeneration for up to thirty seconds. Enough time for a finishing blow."
Yamcha smiled tiredly. "You're a genius, Star."
She tilted her head. "I am merely useful."
They moved inside for a meeting—blueprints, maps, strategy.
Yamcha stood at the head.
"We took down the first monster. We'll take down the next ones too. The Pack isn't just surviving—we're hunting. We train harder. We get smarter. And when the League comes… we'll be ready."
Nemuri squeezed his hand under the table.
Missori's antennae glowed. "Unity detected. High levels. Optimal."
A notification pinged on the tablet—Commission secure alert.
"League activity confirmed. Multiple sightings of enhanced creatures matching Nomu profile. They're building more. And they know who stopped the first one."
Silence fell.
Yamcha looked at his team.
"Then we stop them before they finish."
**Later That Day – Industrial Junkyard Near the Loft**
Missori had slipped out alone—curious about the residual energy signatures from the Nomu fight. She wandered the scrap heaps, antennae scanning.
Then she heard it.
A soft, adorable bark.
She turned.
Sitting atop a pile of twisted metal was a small creature—140 cm tall when standing on hind legs, slightly chubby, plush-like fur in varying shades of purple. Darker lilac on paws, cap, tail tip, and ears' inner lining. Lighter lavender on belly and face. A dark purple baseball cap tilted jauntily on its head. Black nose. Pure white eyes with tiny black pupils. It tilted its head, barked again—cute, playful, almost puppy-like despite its size.
Missori's antennae perked.
"Fascinating. Organic? Synthetic? Hybrid?"
The creature hopped down, wagged its plush tail, and trotted over. It sniffed her boots, then sat back on its haunches, looking up with big, innocent eyes.
She knelt.
"You appear lost. Or… abandoned."
Another bark—happy, affectionate.
Missori smiled softly.
"I shall call you… Purple Spot."
Purple Spot barked again, tail wagging furiously.
She scooped the plush dog-thing into her arms—it was surprisingly light and soft—and carried it back to the loft.
**The Loft – Evening**
Yamcha opened the door to find Missori holding a purple plush dog wearing a baseball cap.
"…What is that?"
Missori beamed.
"Purple Spot. I found him in the junkyard. He is… adorable. And possibly alive."
Nemuri appeared behind Yamcha, eyes wide.
"Oh my god. It's a walking stuffed toy."
Purple Spot barked happily at them, tail wagging.
Yamcha stared.
"…We're keeping it?"
Missori nodded seriously.
"He has already imprinted. Emotional signature: loyalty. Trust. Joy."
Nemuri laughed, reaching out to scratch behind its ears.
Purple Spot leaned into it, eyes closing in bliss.
Yamcha sighed, smiling despite himself.
"Fine. Welcome to the Pack, Purple Spot."
The little creature barked once—loud, triumphant.
And just like that, the loft got a little more crowded.
A little more alive.
And a little more ready for whatever came next.