After a few minutes, the door creaked open to show the form of Naomasa Tsukauchi, the station's leading detective. His quirk, lie detector, allowed him to sense whether a person was telling the truth or not. However, his quirk needed a few steps to take effect: The person must verbally respond to a question, not with hand or body gestures. Also, the answer (true or false) needed to be clear and concise. Ambiguity muddied the waters, and Tsukauchi admitted it wasn't foolproof against skilled liars who knew how to manipulate their wording.

Naomasa Tsukauchi is a tall man with short, black hair and somewhat rectangular black eyes. As a member of the Police Force, he is normally seen in his uniform, which consists of his signature tan overcoat and matching hat, underneath which he wears a black suit, a green tie at his neck with matching slacks, and dress shoes. Overall, Tsukauchi was a plain looking man. His features were very bland: nose average size, eyes blank, lips thin, he kept himself well-groomed and made sure to stay presentable at all times.

Tsukauchi settled into the chair opposite Akira, his gaze steady and analytical. He was a man who had seen too much, his eyes holding a weariness that mirrored, in some small way, the endless fatigue that clung to Akira. He placed a thin file on the desk, the crisp white paper stark against the cold metal.

"Akira," Tsukauchi began, his voice a low rumble, "We found you near the old industrial district again. Trespassing, property damage… the usual." He didn't sound accusatory, more… resigned. Like a doctor stating a recurring symptom.

Akira remained silent, his gaze fixed on the swirling condensation on the paper cup. He knew the routine. They asked questions, he gave vague answers or none at all, and eventually, they'd release him with a stern warning and a fresh wave of exasperation. It had been this way for a while, only the faces changed.

"This is a waste of time, Detective," Akira finally said, his voice a soft murmur, betraying none of the age held within. "You know I won't tell you anything."

Tsukauchi sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Perhaps. But we still have to go through the motions, Akira. Society demands it. Even for… someone like you." He subtly emphasized the last two words. He knew Akira was different, everyone in the force did. The rumors, the whispers… "The immortal child."

Akira winced internally at the moniker. It felt like a brand, a scarlet letter etched onto his soul. He wasn't a child, not anymore. Not in any meaningful sense. The exuberance, the innocence, the hopeful naivety of childhood had been eroded away by the relentless tide of years.

"What is it this time, Detective?" Akira asked, his voice tinged with boredom. "Another abandoned factory? A dusty old warehouse? My taste in real estate is hardly a criminal offense."

Tsukauchi leaned forward, his expression serious. "There was something else, Akira. Security footage. A brief flicker, almost imperceptible. But it was there."

Akira's seemingly placid exterior tightened slightly. He knew what was coming.

"It showed… energy," Tsukauchi continued, his eyes narrowing. "A surge. Coming from you, just before the section of the wall collapsed. We're calling it a… quirk manifestation."

Akira swallowed, the dryness in his throat pronounced. He had been careless. Years of careful suppression, of meticulous control, and he had slipped. The frustration, the sheer weight of existing, had finally found an outlet.

"I have no quirk, Detective," Akira stated, his voice flat. He knew the drill. Deny, deny, deny.

"That's where you're wrong, Akira," a voice boomed from the speaker in the corner of the room. Officer Sato. "We've been monitoring you for years. Discreetly, of course. Every time there's an unexplained surge of energy, a freak accident, an anomaly… you're always nearby. It's not a coincidence anymore."

Akira's grip on the armrests tightened beneath his cuffs. He hated this. The creeping suspicion, the inevitable scrutiny. He was a ghost in their world, a whisper from a forgotten era. He just wanted to be left alone.

"And yet," Tsukauchi interjected, his tone calm but firm, forcing Akira's attention back to him, "You've never registered a quirk. Never shown any signs. The medical scans are always… clean."

"Perhaps your equipment is faulty," Akira suggested, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Tsukauchi ignored the jab. "The energy signature… it's unlike anything we've ever recorded. Raw, untamed… primordial, almost. It doesn't fit into any known quirk category."

Akira remained silent. He knew what his "quirk" was. It wasn't a mutation, a genetic anomaly. It was the very essence of life, an unending wellspring that refused to be extinguished. It was the curse, and the blessing, of his immortality. A curse left onto him from the only person in history who had the ability to give power to others.

"Akira," Tsukauchi said softly, his gaze searching. "We're not trying to hurt you. We just want to understand. This… power you possess. It's dangerous, uncontrolled. What happened at the warehouse? Tell me the truth."

The detective's words hung in the air, the weight of centuries pressing down on Akira. Could he trust him? Could he explain something that defied explanation? The urge to remain silent, to retreat into the familiar solitude of his own mind, warred with a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time: a desperate yearning for understanding, for connection.

He looked at Tsukauchi, at the genuine concern etched on his face, and a weary sigh escaped his lips. The charade, the endless cycle of evasion, was starting to feel… pointless.

"It wasn't intentional," Akira finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "It was… anger. Frustration."

Tsukauchi leaned in, his lie detector quirk on high alert. "Anger about what, Akira?"

Akira hesitated. How could he explain the burden of eternity to a man whose lifespan was a mere blink in his own? How could he articulate the loneliness of being a constant in a world of fleeting moments?

He looked down at his youthful hands, the skin smooth and unmarked by time, a stark contrast to his soul within. "About… everything," he finally said, the word laced with the weight of an era.

Tsukauchi's brow furrowed. He sensed the truth in the emotion, but the vagueness of the answer left his quirk struggling. "Everything?" he pressed gently.

Akira looked up, his eyes the colour of a young man's, holding the depth of ages. "About the world moving on," he whispered, "And me… staying the same."

The silence in the interrogation room was thick, broken only by the distant hum of the station. Tsukauchi stared at Akira, a flicker of understanding, or perhaps just the beginning of comprehension, dawning in his eyes. He knew, instinctively, that he had just scratched the surface of a story far older and more complex than he could have ever imagined.

Tsukauchi leaned back slightly, absorbing this new information. " That's… quite a descriptor, Officer Sato. Akira, this energy… Can you control it?"

Akira finally looked up, his gaze meeting Tsukauchi. There was a flicker of something blank in his eyes – not fear, but weariness, an immeasurable exhaustion that transcended simple fatigue. "Control is… a relative term, Detective."

Sato scoffed through the speaker. "That's not an answer."

Tsukauchi held up a hand, silencing Sato. "Akira, be direct. Is this… energy… a danger?"

Akira sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. "Existence is a danger, Detective. Whether or not I am a danger… depends on your perspective."

"We're trying to understand, Akira," Tsukauchi said, his voice softening slightly. He could feel the truth in Akira's weariness, a deep, profound truth that resonated beyond the limitations of his quirk. This was not a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.

"Understanding is a luxury I cannot buy," Akira replied, his voice barely a whisper. "For years, you've tried to understand. To categorize. To contain. And for years, you've failed."

"But things are different now," Sato's voice boomed again. "Quirks are the norm. We have systems, regulations…"

Akira gave a small, humorless chuckle. "Regulations. For something that predates your regulations by a century?"

Tsukauchi frowned. The boy's words were cryptic, layered with a history he couldn't even begin to fathom. "If you've had this… ability… since the beginning of quirks, why hasn't it manifested before? Why now?"

Akira's gaze drifted back to the condensation on the cup. "Frustration, Detective. A moment of… letting go. Imagine carrying the weight of every sunrise, every snowfall, every fleeting moment of joy and crushing sorrow… for longer than your entire civilization has existed. Sometimes… the pressure builds."

Tsukauchi felt a chill run down his spine despite the sterile temperature of the room. This wasn't just some delinquent kid with a hidden quirk. This was something… ancient. Something fundamental.

"And this 'letting go'… it caused the wall to collapse?" Tsukauchi pressed, trying to steer the conversation back to the immediate issue.

"A side effect," Akira said dismissively. "The world reacts to me, sometimes. Especially when… agitated."

"So, you admit you caused the damage?" Sato's voice was triumphant.

"I was present," Akira conceded, his tone implying it was barely his concern.

Tsukauchi leaned forward again, placing his hands on the file. "Akira, we're not trying to persecute you. We need to understand the implications of what you're saying. This… primordial energy. Is it your quirk?"

Akira paused, his silence stretching, thick and heavy in the small room. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resonant. "Quirks are mutations, Detective. Modifications to the natural order. I am… the natural order. Before the modifications. I have my suspicions as to the origin of my power, but it was never confirmed"

The words hung in the air, a profound and unsettling statement. Tsukauchi could feel the truth of it, a deep, undeniable resonance that bypassed the need for his quirk. This wasn't a lie. This was something else entirely.

"So, you're saying you don't have a quirk?" Tsukauchi clarified, wanting to hear the words directly.

"Correct," Akira stated, his voice clear and concise.

Tsukauchi felt a strange sensation. His quirk registered the truth in the statement. Akira genuinely didn't perceive his nature as a quirk. It was something far more fundamental, something that was different from what they thought.

Sato sputtered through the speaker. "But the energy surge! The footage!"

"Evidence of my existence, Officer," Akira said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Not evidence of a quirk."

Tsukauchi rubbed his temples. This was far beyond a simple trespassing charge. This was a fundamental shift in their understanding of quirks, of the very nature of their world. If Akira was telling the truth, and his lie detector insisted he was, then they were dealing with something unprecedented.

"Akira," Tsukauchi began again, carefully choosing his words. "If you're not bound by the limitations of quirks, by the genetic lottery… what are you capable of?"

Akira finally met Tsukauchi's gaze again, a hint of something unreadable flickering within his ancient eyes. "Far more than you can imagine, Detective. And far less than I desire. I have broken every bone, crushed every nerve and stomped on every muscle there is in the human body. And yet, here I am, standing all the same. My body should be riddled with scars, if not buried underground to decompose."

The room fell silent once more, the weight of Akira's words pressing down on them. Tsukauchi knew this interrogation was far from over. He had opened a door to something ancient and powerful, something that defied their current understanding of the world. The trespassing charge was insignificant now. The real question was, what were they going to do about the immortal child who wasn't a child at all? And more importantly, what was he going to do?

As the interrogation went on, Tsukauchi kept asking questions and Sato kept sassingly responding from the speaker. Akira, on the other hand, attempted to manipulate his way throughout the detective's quirk.

The white walls of the interrogation room seemed to press in, the silence punctuated only by Tsukauchi's thoughtful inquiries and Sato's increasingly frustrated interjections from the speaker. Akira remained a study in quiet intensity, his gaze sometimes flitting to the condensation tracing paths down his paper cup, other times fixed on Tsukauchi, those ancient eyes holding a depth that defied his youthful appearance.

"So, you're saying you're not bound by the limitations of quirks, by the genetic lottery… what are you capable of?" Tsukauchi repeated, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Akira's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Consider the nature of your quirk, Detective. Lie detection. It relies on physiological responses, on subtle tells that betray deception, does it not?"

Tsukauchi nodded slowly, a prickle of unease starting at the base of his neck. "It analyzes minute fluctuations… heart rate, perspiration, vocal patterns."

"Precisely," Akira said, his voice a low murmur. "But what if those fluctuations were… consciously modulated? What if the very signals your quirk interprets as truth and falsehood were, in essence, a performance?"

Sato's voice crackled over the speaker. "He's trying to confuse you, Detective. Classic deflection tactic."

Tsukauchi held up his hand again, silencing Sato. He fixed his gaze on Akira. "Are you saying you can control your body's reactions to the point where my quirk reads your lies as truth?"

Akira shrugged, a delicate movement that belied the monumental claim. "Control is a strong word. Influence is perhaps more accurate. Think of it as… guiding the current, rather than stemming the tide."

Tsukauchi leaned back slightly, a frown etching itself onto his face. He focused on Akira, actively engaging his quirk. He asked a simple question, a baseline to test this new claim. "Your name is Akira?"

"Yes," Akira replied, his gaze unwavering.

Tsukauchi felt the familiar tickle behind his eyes, the confirmation of truth. But something felt… off. The usual clarity, the unwavering certainty his quirk provided, was clouded, as if a thin film had been placed over his perception. He asked another question, a slightly more probing one. "You regret causing the damage to the wall?"

Akira's expression remained neutral. "Regret is a human emotion, Detective. I observe the consequences of my actions."

Again, the sensation of truth, yet the fog persisted. It was like trying to see through frosted glass, the shape of the truth discernible, but the details blurred.

"See! He's lying!" Sato's voice boomed. "No remorse at all! He's a menace!"

Tsukauchi ignored Sato, his focus entirely on Akira. "You're manipulating my quirk, aren't you?"

Akira finally allowed a flicker of something that might have been amusing his eyes. "Manipulation implies coercion, Detective. I am merely… demonstrating its limitations."

"But how?" Tsukauchi pressed, the pieces starting to click into place. "If your nature isn't a quirk, if you predate them… then your very being operates outside their parameters. My quirk is calibrated to detect lies based on physiological responses tied to quirk activation, to the human experience of having a quirk. You… you're bypassing the entire system."

Akira inclined his head slightly. "A well-designed lock is useless against a locksmith that knows their craft."

"So, every answer you've given, every 'truth' my quirk has registered…" Tsukauchi trailed off, a wave of realization washing over him.

Akira's smile widened, just a fraction. "Has been… curated, Detective. Presented in a way that aligns with your expectations, with the limitations of your perception."

Sato was apoplectic. "This is unbelievable! He's playing us! We need to bring in someone with a stronger quirk, someone who can see through his tricks!"

Tsukauchi shook his head slowly. "It's not about the strength of the quirk, Sato. It's about its nature. Akira isn't lying in the traditional sense. He's shaping the truth to fit the parameters of my quirk, a language he understands implicitly, while we are only just beginning to grasp its rudiments."

He met Akira's gaze, the weight of centuries pressing down on him just as it seemed to press down on the immortal child before him. "Why? Why go to such lengths?"

Akira's smile faded. The weariness returned, heavier than before. "To be left alone, Detective. To be an enigma, a whisper in the wind. Not a specimen under a microscope."

"But that's impossible now, isn't it?" Tsukauchi said softly. "We know too much."

Akira sighed, the sound carrying that ancient weight again. "Indeed. The frustration, Detective. It does tend to… manifest." His gaze drifted back to his cup, the condensation now forming delicate, intricate patterns. The silence in the room deepened, no longer simply the absence of sound, but a heavy pause, filled with the unspoken understanding of a new, terrifying reality. The trespassing charge was long forgotten. This was a conversation about the very fabric of their world, and the immortal child who stood outside its reach.

"You see," Akira began once more "Even the quirkless" He pointed to himself "Carry a strand of the quirk genome. It is just inactive, undeveloped. I, on the other hand, do not possess that gene. Since I was born before quirks rose, my genetic code is different from yours. Humans have evolved in the last 200 years more than we ever have. Nowadays, animal mutations, elemental abilities and the like are the norm. What do you think has happened?" He leaned in and whispered "Radical changes are happening right in front of our eyes. Doomsday is approaching, and it is only a matter of time…."

Akira's words leave a feeling of dread down Tsukauchi's throat.