Musutafu's Shadow District had stopped resembling any other part of the city. The deeper Zoro and Yoroimusha pushed through its winding alleys, the more the metropolis seemed to fold itself away from outsiders' eyes, leaving only its true face exposed.
Shop windows disappeared one after another, replaced by bare concrete walls and rusted metal doors sealed shut with heavy chains. The streetlights sat dim, some fully shattered, as though the darkness itself had refused to leave this place. Behind torn curtains, frightened eyes stole quick glances at the two of them before vanishing fast.
Yoroimusha breathed slowly. "There are places heroism doesn't reach, boy. Crime swallows them whole instead."
Zoro didn't lift his gaze off the road, but his eyes kept sweeping the surrounding shadows in constant alertness. "I've never walked through anything like this district."
"Because it isn't an ordinary district." Yoroimusha answered. "This area used to be the heart of the illegal arms trade. Now, it's gone back to being a refuge for people who don't want to be seen."
Yoroimusha kept walking calmly, each alley they crossed narrower than the last. He stopped suddenly and glanced at Zoro from the corner of his eye. "In places like this, people don't watch the man carrying the sword. They watch the one who knows when to disappear."
Zoro raised an eyebrow. "That sounded like a lesson."
"Because it was one." Yoroimusha's mouth pulled into a faint smile. "A real hero doesn't only chase the criminal. A real hero chases the path that brought that criminal here. If you don't understand the path, you'll never understand why people choose to stand in the shadows in the first place."
Zoro gave a single nod, quiet and respectful. "Then show me the path. I'll figure out the rest myself."
They kept walking. On one of the lower rooftops, a man in a dark coat watched them, still as a cat tracking prey from a distance.
Yoroimusha led Zoro toward a small shop, more like a cluttered storeroom, tucked at the end of a narrow alley. Behind a worn wooden counter sat a middle aged man, hair unkempt, eyes carrying the exhaustion of someone who'd seen more than his share. The moment his eyes landed on Yoroimusha, he went completely still.
"You. I haven't seen you in years."
"And you haven't left this place in years either." Yoroimusha stepped closer. "I need information, old friend."
The man hesitated, eyes flicking between Yoroimusha and Zoro. "I don't know anything these days. Things have quieted down around here."
"Things never quiet down in the shadows." Yoroimusha said it evenly.
The man went silent for a beat, then let out a deep breath and started talking fast. "About two weeks ago. New men, not from this neighborhood. The way they move is different, their weapons are different. They've got order, discipline. This isn't just some gang."
Zoro and Yoroimusha traded a brief look.
"Did you see anything unusual with them?" Yoroimusha asked. "Something like a long box, maybe?"
The man's expression shifted instantly. "How do you know that?"
Zoro felt something stir inside him. His fingers tightened slightly around Wado Ichimonji's hilt.
"Talk." Yoroimusha ordered, his calm voice leaving no room for hesitation.
The man swallowed hard. "There were three of them. One carried a long wooden box. When they set it down and opened it for a second, I swear the room got colder. One of them told the other, don't touch the black blade."
Silence settled over the small shop.
"The black blade?" Zoro whispered, the words sliding out slow between his teeth.
Yoroimusha looked at Zoro, then back at the man. "Are you certain the box held a sword?"
"I never saw it fully." The man's voice shook. "But I felt like something in there didn't belong here."
Zoro's heart pounded harder. The black blade. Shusui. This wasn't just an old trace anymore. It was real evidence, tangible, close.
"Where did they go?" Yoroimusha asked.
"North alley. Behind the old warehouse." The man pointed with a trembling hand. "But I wouldn't recommend going there."
Yoroimusha thanked the man with a silent nod, then turned toward the exit. Zoro followed, though the young swordsman's mind stayed occupied. The pieces were falling into place, but the full picture hadn't cleared yet.
They stepped out of the shop and back into the narrow alleys. Zoro stopped abruptly. His right hand drifted slowly to Wado Ichimonji's hilt, his eyes narrowing at the rooftop of a nearby building.
"How long has he been watching us?"
Zoro's voice stayed calm, but it carried an edge sharp as a blade.
Yoroimusha showed no surprise. He kept walking and spoke low. "Since we entered the district."
"So you noticed him too." Zoro muttered.
"Of course. But don't chase him now." Yoroimusha answered. "If we go after him now, they'll know exactly which path we're taking. Let them watch for the moment. We'll watch them later."
Zoro released a slow breath and loosened his grip on the sword. Up on the rooftop, the watcher ducked behind an old chimney and vanished. He pressed a button on his earpiece and spoke in clipped words. "Target entered the designated zone. Hero number nine is with him."
From the other end, the reply came cold, stripped of any feeling. "Just observe. Don't move until orders come through."
Zoro and Yoroimusha kept advancing through the narrow alley as the old district's layers grew darker still. The silence here had stopped feeling comfortable. It sat heavy now, like it was waiting for something to break it.
The first signs of danger surfaced.
Around ten of them, though none looked like organized soldiers. Leather jackets, open shirts, long coats, scarves in mismatched colors. Closer to a chaotic local gang exploiting the power vacuum left in this territory.
Yoroimusha stopped in his tracks. Zoro didn't move a single step.
One man raised an eyebrow as he stepped forward, laughing. "What a coincidence. Hero number nine himself?" He turned to the man beside him, eyes flicking toward Zoro. "And look at this. That's the kid from the news. We saw him at the UA Sports Festival too."
Another man's smile stretched wider as he stared at the three swords. "The kid who fights with three swords? Thought that was just TV hype."
Nearly all of them laughed, some mocking, some carrying a deliberate curiosity. Zoro didn't answer the laughter. He just let his shoulders drop, and drew his real swords in front of them. Wado Ichimonji first, then Yubashiri, then Sandai Kitetsu, the motion confident and calm, like a natural extension of his own body.
One cluster of the gang whistled in mocking admiration. "Huh? He's actually gonna fight all of us with that?"
Yoroimusha drew his own real sword from its sheath, unhurried. "Don't underestimate what you don't understand." Then he turned to Zoro and said quietly, "Don't cut anyone."
Zoro gave the gang a cold look. "I didn't come here to kill them."
Yoroimusha's mouth curved into a faint smile, as though he'd been waiting for exactly that answer.
The first two men charged. Zoro moved first, using Wado to block the incoming knife strike, then spun his body and drove Yubashiri's hilt into the other man's stomach, dropping him in pain. Yoroimusha moved with a surprising lightness, using the flat of his blade and precise footwork to take down two attackers with clean speed.
The rest stepped back, then surged forward together. "It's fine!" one shouted. "If the two heroes don't want to kill, we'll just wear them down instead!"
One lunged at Zoro from the left, another from behind, a third raised a long iron chain. But Observation Haki had already caught their movement before it finished forming. Zoro ducked under the first strike, raised Sandai Kitetsu at a precise angle, deflecting the chain sideways, while the second blade struck the attacker's wrist without cutting deep. In the same motion, he pushed the third man back with a sheath strike to the shoulder, dropping him to the ground.
One gang member laughed nervously. "How's he fighting with three swords like that?! This is insane!"
Zoro adjusted his grip on the hilts as he answered. "You people talk too much." Then he charged.
The fight didn't last long, but it was sharp and fast. Every strike Zoro landed was calculated to drop his opponent without killing them, and every move Yoroimusha made was clean and direct.
One gang member staggered, glaring at Zoro grimly. "This kid, he was in the news! And at the UA Sports Festival too! He's that three sword swordsman!" Another stepped back anxiously. "So what we heard was true...!"
Two more went down, and only one man remained standing, wearing a gray coat and a mask shaped like a bird's beak, though he looked far less brave than the rest. He was breathing hard, fear cracking through his voice.
Yoroimusha approached him slowly. "Alright. Now tell us everything you know."
The man swallowed hard, looking at his fallen companions scattered around him. "I... I don't know much. We were just guarding the old place. The yakuza really were here, but they're gone now."
Yoroimusha narrowed his eyes. "Who do you mean by yakuza?"
The man hesitated a beat, then said, "They had a boss. Strange guy, tall, wears a dark coat and a mask like a doctor's, kind of like a plague doctor mask. Doesn't talk much, and everyone around him obeyed him on sight."
Yoroimusha stopped at the description, something shifting slightly in his expression. "Overhaul." He said it low.
Zoro turned toward him at once. "Overhaul? Who's that?"
Yoroimusha sighed and returned his sword to a more relaxed position. "Their leader. Or at least the man running what's left of them."
The masked man swallowed quickly. "Yeah. That's him. We didn't see him much, but everyone knew his word was final. Just recently, they left this place. Moved their whole base."
"Where to?" Zoro asked.
The man shook his head regretfully. "I don't know. We haven't been with them for a while now. All I know is they took what they needed and disappeared."
Silence held for a few moments. Yoroimusha turned slowly, looking toward the alleys stretching ahead of them. "So we're not just late..."
Zoro looked up at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean we've found our first real trace." The old man answered, then added as he started walking again, "And that means the path we're searching for doesn't end here. They changed location, but they left something behind."
Zoro followed his steps, eyes drifting toward the shadows spreading at the far end of the alley. "Something like what?"
Yoroimusha didn't answer right away, just gave him a calm look carrying a quiet certainty. "Exactly."
On the other side of the city, warm sunlight spilled across Musutafu's crowded streets. Mirio Togata walked with confident steps, his wide smile never leaving his face. Beside him, Midoriya walked with clear tension, his mind still stuck on Sir Nighteye's words from the day before.
Mirio noticed and stopped suddenly. "You're thinking a lot, aren't you?"
Midoriya hesitated before answering. "What do you mean?"
"I know that look." Mirio tilted his head. "Sir Nighteye said something rough to you yesterday. And you're still stuck on it."
Midoriya didn't deny it. "He said he'll be watching me. That he wants to witness my failure himself."
Mirio laughed lightly, but it was a warm sound. "Listen, a hero doesn't only show up when the villain falls. A hero shows up whenever people need to feel safe." He added, more serious now, "Don't let his voice decide your worth. If Sir Nighteye wants to see you fail, that just means he cares about you more than he's letting on."
Something loosened in Midoriya's chest. "Thanks, Mirio."
"No need to thank me. Just breathe. Focus on what you can actually do right now." Mirio smiled again. "And by the way, if you wait for the perfect moment to move, you'll never move at all. Heroism always starts with an imperfect step."
Just as Midoriya was about to respond, he felt something bump into his leg. Both of them stopped.
A small girl. No older than six. Her long white hair carried a bit of grime, her simple clothes far too big for her frame. But what caught Midoriya's attention immediately were the white bandages wrapped around her thin arms and legs. She was trembling, her wide eyes holding a fear too deep for a child her age.
"Hey... are you okay?" Midoriya leaned toward her, worried. She didn't answer. Instead, she gripped the edge of his shirt tight, like clinging to a life raft in a storm.
Mirio crouched down too, trying to talk to her. "Hi there, I'm Lemillion. Did you get lost? Where's your dad?" At the word "dad," the girl's trembling deepened. She clung to Midoriya harder, hiding partially behind him. Midoriya and Mirio traded a worried glance.
Then they heard footsteps. Calm. Slow. Measured.
From the corner of the nearby alley, a tall man appeared, wearing a dark green coat. A medical mask covered half his face, shaped like a plague doctor's beak. His stare, despite its outward calm, carried a coldness that sent a shiver down Midoriya's spine. The man walked toward them slowly, each step leaving a trail of silence behind it.
Midoriya froze for a moment.
That mask.
It's him. Overhaul.
At that same instant, Mirio's eyes flashed briefly before his calm smile settled back over his face, though it wasn't the comfortable smile it had been seconds ago.
He'd recognized the man too, immediately.
The photo Sir Nighteye had shown them in his office was still burned into both their minds.
Leader of the Shie Hassaikai organization. Kai Chisaki, known as Overhaul.
Neither of them said his name out loud.
Eri was trembling behind Midoriya, and any hasty move could push the man into doing something unpredictable.
The man stopped a few steps away, his voice polite, soft edged, but cold as ice. "Sorry for the disturbance. My daughter is very shy around strangers."
Midoriya looked at the girl, then the man, then back to her. In her eyes, he saw something that broke something inside him.
It wasn't shyness. It was pure terror.
.
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