The billboard screens flickered to life, revealing a somber news anchor. Behind her, live footage showed Hosu City in ruins—crumbled buildings, flashing sirens, and heroes scrambling through the chaos.
"Good evening. This is Aizawa Saki with the Heroes Network. Our top story tonight: Hosu City is still reeling from a brutal attack by the vigilante known as the Hero Killer, Stain."
The camera pans over streets littered with debris. Rescue workers and heroes are seen in action, helping the injured and securing the area.
"The assault has left multiple casualties and widespread destruction. While local heroes work to restore order, many are questioning the effectiveness of our current system."
The camera now cuts to a group of citizens, all eager to say something. Their faces reflect a mix of fear and frustration.
A man frowns and demanded, "If Ingenium can decide who to save, what does that say about today's heroes? When I'm in danger, a hero can choose not to save me? What am I paying taxes for!?"
"I don't want my child to become a hero- it's too dangerous. My son is enrolled in Ketsubutsu Academy, but I'm pulling him from the hero course." a woman remarks. "I don't know if we're safe anymore. What if Stain comes after him next?"
The feed returned to the studio. Aizawa leaned forward, her expression grave. "Stay tuned as we examine the fallout of Stain's attack and what it means for the future of heroism in Japan."
The classroom buzzed with tension, the usual chatter replaced by heavy silence. Kaminari leaned forward, his voice cutting through the quiet.
"I'm not saying Stain was right, but he exposed the cracks in the system. Heroes aren't perfect—they have limits."
Jiro shot him a glare. "That doesn't make what he did okay! He's a murderer, not some revolutionary. Heroism isn't about being flawless—it's about doing what's right. That girl who fought him knew that."
Uraraka, sensing Iida's stiffness, quickly changed the subject. "How's your brother, Iida? Is Ingenium okay?"
All eyes turned to him. Iida stood, his voice steady but strained. "My brother… he's alive, but he can't be a hero anymore. His injuries are too severe. Using his quirk could cost him his arms. He's retired."
The room erupted in gasps. Midoriya's chest tightened. He wanted to talk about the girl—her desperate eyes still haunted him—but Iida's news overshadowed everything.
Kaminari broke the silence. "What about All Might? Is he okay?"
Midoriya glanced at Bakugou, who was glaring at him like he'd done something wrong. He looked away, muttering, "The League hasn't hurt him, but… they're shaking people's faith in heroes."
Iida's voice cut through again, firm and resolute. "All Might isn't the issue. The League's the real threat. Yuuei will push us harder because of this. We have to be ready."
Uraraka stared out the window, her voice soft. "I just hope people don't lose faith in heroes."
In the dimly lit corridor of Esuha Police Station, Chief Kuroo and Fatgum walked side by side, their faces tense. They stopped at a reinforced cell where a grotesque Nomu lay restrained in a containment chamber.
"This thing's unlike anything I've seen," Kuroo muttered, gesturing toward the Nomu. "But we're starting to think it's not connected to Stain. It's similar to the one found at Yuuei."
Fatgum frowned. "You think that girl's quirk is controlling them?"
Before Kuroo could respond, Hawks strolled in, cutting him off. "Nah, doesn't add up. Stain was a distraction. Someone else is pulling the strings." He clapped a hand on Fatgum's shoulder. "Don't overthink it, big guy."
Fatgum exhaled sharply, frustration clear. "You're not making this any easier. The citizens are calm now, but there are strange animal attacks all over the city—parks, playgrounds. Feels like something's about to break."
Hawks' posture shifted, the playful mask slipping for a moment. His eyes sharpened. "Animal attacks? Sounds like a smokescreen. If she's behind them, she's either testing her power or setting up something worse."
Chief Kuroo folded his arms. "Madam President's already knee-deep in damage control with Dosu City falling apart. But that girl—she's a direct link to Stain. Fatgum's fought her before. If she's working with the League, this is going to get messy."
"Too many groups chasing her will push her into a corner," Hawks said, voice light but serious. He turned to Fatgum. "If we find her first, she might lead us to whoever's really in charge."
Before anyone could respond, the Nomu let out a shriek. Its eyes flared with a malevolent glow as a black portal ripped open in the cell. The swirling void swallowed the creature whole, leaving behind only an echoing emptiness.
"What the—? Where did it go?" Fatgum asked, eyes wide.
Kuroo clenched his fists. "They can teleport Nomus now? We need more intel. This is spiraling out of control."
Hawks turned to him, eyes sharp. "We can't wait for backup. We move tonight."
Kuroo narrowed his gaze. "She's a Red Tier threat. We don't have enough intel or manpower. If the League's involved, we need a team."
Fatgum took a deep breath, shaking off the shock. "I'll mobilize support teams and check in with the heroes on the ground. And I'll—wait, where are you going?"
Fatgum turned to see Hawks already heading for the exit.
"Have fun waiting for a task force." Hawks waved over his shoulder, voice light and dismissive. "I've got a date with this monster-villain-chick. Wouldn't want to be late. We got this cat-and-mouse thing going on. Not gonna lie, I'm kinda into it."
Fatgum watched him go, the air suddenly colder, like Hawks had taken some of the tension with him. Chief Kuroo sighed, rubbing his temples. "I need a vacation."
Across town, Madam President stood on a balcony overlooking the crowd gathered outside headquarters.
The evening sun cast long shadows over the scene, painting the chaos below in a somber hue. Behind her, the command center buzzed with frantic energy. Monitors flickered with maps of the city, color-coded markers denoting danger zones and evacuation routes. Heroes and support staff moved swiftly, their faces grim, focused.
A man in a tactical uniform shouted over the din, "We need to reinforce our patrols in the affected zones! Prioritize areas where civilians are still trapped! And keep the comms clear—we can't afford to lose control!"
"Understood, sir!" came the sharp response from a nearby team. Their coordination was precise, but even the best professionals could not hide the tension in their eyes.
Madam took a measured sip from her glass of water, a fleeting moment of comfort in the middle of the storm. Her gaze drifted back to the balcony's edge, where the crowd below seethed with anger. Makeshift protest signs waved like banners of war. "Heroes Failed Us," one read, the stark letters scrawled over a blood-red backdrop. Another cried, "Time for a Change," held aloft by a tear-streaked young woman.
A particularly vocal protester, his voice rising above the rest, bellowed up at her, "We need real heroes! Not just people who show up when it's convenient!"
His words cut through the tension of the evening like a knife. The chant spread quickly. "Real heroes! Real heroes!"
Madam's face remained impassive, though the flicker of irritation in her eyes was undeniable. Another protester's sign read, "If they can't protect us, what's the use of quirk laws?" It was a question that hung in the air like a dark cloud, the undertone of fear and betrayal thick in the crowd's voice.
Her grip tightened on the glass, but she didn't let the cracks show. Instead, she straightened, clearing her throat into the microphone at her side. Her voice was cold, calculated, every word weighed for effect.
"To everyone gathered here," she began, "I hear your concerns and your frustration. But understand this: Our heroes are working tirelessly to manage this crisis. They are risking their lives every day to protect this country, and your safety is our highest priority."
Below, the murmurs shifted. A few protesters, reluctant, began to exchange uncertain glances. Her voice rang through the air again, "We are committed to transparency, and we will keep you updated with accurate information. Cooperate with the authorities and help us restore order."
There was a pause, then a soft round of applause from some, though the rest of the crowd remained skeptical, their faces etched with uncertainty.
Madam turned away from the balcony, turned the mic off, and squared her shoulders. The applause faded, replaced by whispers. But they didn't matter. She had bigger problems.
"Update!" she barked.
A technician at the computers quickly jolted from their chair. "The portal's expanding fast, ma'am! We've evacuated all civilians near Deika City. Reinforcements are deploying high-energy shields to protect critical infrastructure. Wind backlash is a concern, but we've reinforced all major routes!"
"Keep me posted on every development. Ensure all response units are briefed and equipped with the necessary gear. No lapses."
The technician nodded sharply and returned to their station, but Madam's eyes had already drifted elsewhere. Another monitor flickered, a screen showing a live feed from the Aether Foundation's restricted research division. The scientists inside worked tirelessly, unaware that their breakthroughs were no longer their own.
Project Pon was progressing on schedule.
She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. The bridge between worlds was forming exactly as she intended, and soon, no one—not the heroes, not the villains, not even All for One—would be able to stand in her way.
Uma's POV
Kamino, Yokohama: Safe Haven Bar
1 Week Later
The bar's haze of smoke and stale liquor clung to Uma's clothes as she entered, her jaw set.
Seven days. A week of chasing Kurogiri's warp trails, seven nights of dead ends. She'd mapped his patterns, cross-referenced his known haunts—but the mist villain stayed frustratingly, impossibly elusive.
The bartender didn't glance up as she approached. She leaned against the counter, knuckles whitening around the edge. "Kurogiri. Where is he?"
Silence.
She exhaled sharply through her nose. Patience. You need him cooperative. "Look—I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need to talk."
The bartender scrubbed a glass, his disinterest deliberate. Uma's nails dug into her palms. This is why I hate interrogations.
A snicker cut through the din. At the bar's end, a man with a steel girder propped beside him grinned, amused by her struggle.
She approached, posture loose but eyes sharp. "Something funny?"
"You," he drawled. "Barging in here like you're owed answers. Cute."
Uma's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Cute's not the word I'd use. Efficient, maybe." She pulled out the stool beside him, ignoring his raised brow. "Kurogiri. Seen him?"
"At least buy the Great Magne a drink first," The man—or woman, Uma wasn't sure—leaned back, studying her. "Why? You his new lackey?"
"The opposite." She kept her voice even, but her thumb tapped a restless rhythm against her thigh. "I need him to stop dodging me."
They shrugged. "Port district. Hour ago."
Her chest tightened. An hour. The port sprawled for miles—she'd never cover it alone.
"Thanks, Magnet." she muttered, rising.
"Magne," They corrected.
"Sure, Magpie."
Her room offered no refuge. She slammed the door, but the reek of mildew and the metallic tang of old pipes seeped in.
Uma sank onto the cot, its springs groaning. A moth-eaten blanket scratched her palms—Kurogiri's idea of "hospitality." She glared at the peeling wallpaper, where a faded Fatgum poster hung askew.
Ironic decor.
A single bulb swung overhead, casting jagged shadows that made Marshadow's silhouette twitch.
Her ribs still ached from Stain's mad ruse—"Would you save a murderer?"—and her knuckles stung, split from protecting a man who wouldn't save her. Outside, the warehouse thrummed with whispers: Stain's disciple, the righteous outlaw.
Ever since her kidnapping—her near-death experience (breathe, lock it. Toss the key away)—denizens of the underworld had been trickling into the Safe Haven. New faces, more bodies, and all with the same misguided reverence.
To help the League of Villains.
She pressed a pillow over her face. I'm a scientist, not a martyr.
Rotom zipped out of her phone, buzzed over her shoulder, and projected a hologram of Kamino's grid. Red dots marked potential portals—all inert. "Zzt! Update! No energy spikes! No anomalies!"
"Run it again," she snapped.
"Same result, zzt! No—"
"Again."
Rotom whirred, his light flickering.
Uma stared at the ceiling, where water stains bloomed like inkblots. Three weeks ago, a Incinaroar had leveled a city block. Now? Silence. No headlines screaming about interdimensional rifts, no heroes scrambling to contain Legendaries. Just… Stain. Always Stain.
Uma sat up slowly. "Rotom. Pull up all news mentions of portals or monsters from the last 48 hours."
"Searching! Zzt… 3 results from Tabloid conspiracy forums."
Her stomach dropped. Uma and Marshadow had contained six portal strikes over the past week.
"Turn on the TV, Rotom."
The TV crackled to life. The broadcast cut to the festival's highlight reel: Bakugou's explosions tore through a stadium, the crowd roaring. The anchor gushed, "A display of true heroism!"
"Heroism?" Uma hissed. Marshadow materialized beside her, shadows pricking the mattress. "They're children. And where's the coverage on the Froslass swarms? The Tentacruel in the bay?"
Rotom beeped. "Media databases show no related entries, zzt! Possible censorship?"
Possible? She grabbed the remote, flipping channels.
Channel 2: Stain's manifesto, scrolling like ticker tape.
Channel 5: Yuuei students ice-skating in a "team-building exercise."
Channel 8: A weatherman grinning beside a cartoon Sunflora. "Clear skies ahead!"
They're erasing it. Someone-The Aether Foundation, no doubt- was scrubbing the narrative clean. Uma's nails bit into her palms. If the portals weren't "real" to the public, no one would prepare. Everyone would panic.
A knock.
Uma startled. She hadn't been expecting anyone—least of all now.
Another knock.
"Marshadow," Uma hissed as she slid off the bed, feet soundless against the cold floor. Her bonded didn't need to be told twice as he positioned himself beside the door. "Don't attack unless I give you the word."
She held her breath before cracking the door open just enough to see—
Kurogiri.
Uma blinked. She'd spent weeks trying to track him down, chasing rumors through the underworld, and now he just—knocked?
The absurdity of it almost made her laugh. Almost.
Instead, she yanked the door open, impatience flaring. "Are you serious?"
Kurogiri stepped inside smoothly, the scent of old smoke and pressed fabric following him. "It's good to see you too, Uma-sama."
She shut the door with more force than necessary. "You vanished. I needed to talk to you."
"And now I'm here." His tone was maddeningly calm, like he hadn't been the reason she wasted days searching sketchy hideouts and unsuccessfully trying to bribe information out of lowlifes.
Marshadow stirred at her feet, a dark wisp of warning curling toward Kurogiri's formal shoes. Good. He should know she wasn't in the mood for games.
Uma folded her arms. "Is it true?"
Kurogiri tilted his head. "You'll have to be more specific."
"Your quirk," she said impatiently. "The rumors say you're a walking portal. Can you cross dimensions?"
Kurogiri considered her, his golden eyes unreadable. "No."
A sharp exhale left her. Damn. That would've been too easy.
"Fine. Then can you at least take me to Jaku?"
That pause was long enough for her stomach to tighten.
"I can," Kurogiri said at last. "But I am loyal to Master Shigaraki. I suggest you speak with him directly."
She winced. Uma was actively avoiding him.
The League of Villains wasn't a group she could align herself with. She owed Shigaraki for pulling her out of that alley, sure, but that debt didn't extend to joining his war.
Uma didn't care about crushing hero society. She wasn't trying to play revolutionary. She just wanted to find a way home.
But Shigaraki wouldn't take that answer.
She turned back to Kurogiri. "What if I don't ask for permission?"
His expression didn't change. "Then you will have made an enemy of someone who doesn't forgive easily."
Uma clenched her jaw. She hated this. Hated needing anyone's approval. Hated being trapped between her mission and politics she wanted no part of.
But she was running out of time.
She exhaled sharply. "Fine. I'll talk to him."
Kurogiri nodded. "Right this way, Uma-sama."
Uma and Marshadow quickly followed. Kurogiri stopped in front of adjacent door down the hall and, without a word, phased through it, mist dispersing into the dim light.
The door opened from the inside. Uma steeled herself and stepped in.
The first thing she noticed was the glow of a screen. The second was the sound of rapid button mashing.
Shigaraki was slouched on the floor in front of a TV, hunched forward, fingers moving frantically over a controller.
Uma stared.
You've got to be kidding me.
Shigaraki didn't acknowledge her. His fingers twitched over the buttons, eyes locked on the game with the kind of obsessive focus she'd only seen in gamblers and madmen.
Kurogiri materialized beside him, calm as ever. "Uma-sama wishes to speak with you."
"Busy," Shigaraki muttered.
Uma narrowed her eyes. "This is important."
"So is getting a perfect KO," he shot back.
Her patience snapped. "Shigaraki."
He finally turned his head, red eyes flicking to her in brief acknowledgment before returning to the screen. "If you're still here in two minutes, then maybe I'll care."
Oh, for—
She moved before she could stop herself. A quick step forward, then—click.
The TV blinked off.
Uma met his gaze, chin lifted, arms folded. Shigaraki blinked once. Slowly. Then he set the controller down with deliberate care.
Kurogiri sighed. "I did warn you, Master."
Uma barely heard him.
Shigaraki's fingers twitched over his own neck, dragging lightly against the dry, peeling skin. Not a full grip—just enough to suggest he was resisting the urge to grab something else. "Kurogiri, leave us."
The mist man bowed and vanished.
The door shut behind him.
"I need to get to Jaku." Direct. No room for argument.
Shigaraki tilted his head, uncaring. "So?"
She exhaled sharply. "I need to reach Professor Tsubasa." The name tore out of her—Tsubasa, a victim of Aether Foundation's meddling, who might be the one person she trusted in this dimension. "Before you pulled me out of that alley, we were working on something. I just need your permission to use Kurogiri's Quirk to get there."
Shigaraki let the words settle, watching her with the same idle curiosity he had for the game moments ago. Then—
He scoffed. "No."
Uma's stomach sank.
"Why should I let you use my resources when I get nothing in return?" He leaned back against the couch, arms stretching lazily. "Figure it out yourself."
She clenched her fists, forcing herself to stay still. To think.
He had the upper hand. She needed something to offer. Something he'd actually want.
Uma inhaled deeply. "I'll come to the meetings."
Shigaraki blinked, surprised. Then, slowly, his fingers hovered near his throat again, lightly scratching. Calculating.
"You're stalling," he muttered. "I don't buy that you're going all this way for a professor."
He stood, moving toward her.
Uma instinctively stepped back.
His slow, deliberate movements sent warning signals through her nerves, but she refused to look away.
She hit the door frame.
Shigaraki tilted his head. "Why are you really going?"
She swallowed, forcing herself to stay composed. She couldn't give him everything.
So she gave him a half-truth.
"I'm helping him get out of a messy situation," she said shakily. "The Shie Hassaikai were pressuring him to develop a Quirk-destroying serum. I offered to take his place. But I haven't been back since the Stain incident. I'm worried."
Chisaki's serum dissolving a man's Quirk flashed through her mind—the raw, inhuman scream, the way the victim collapsed into nothing.
Shigaraki let out a slow breath, gaze thoughtful. Then, just as quickly, he stretched his arms over his head, like he had already lost interest. "Fine," he drawled. "Do what you want."
Uma exhaled, relief barely creeping in before his next words cut through it like a blade.
"Midnight. Downstairs. Bring the rat." His eyes flicked toward Marshadow, who let out a low, warning hiss.
Shigaraki's smirk widened.
"Welcome to the League of Villains."
Kurogiri's portal collapsed behind her with a sound like a breath being stolen. Uma stepped into the oppressive quiet of Jaku. She scanned the horizon, assessing the alleys and streets that wound toward the power grid.
Tsubasa could wait.
The lie she'd fed Shigaraki sat bitter on her tongue, but the truth was sharper: initial panic over the portals had gone silent, and the Heroes absence was a scream.
Suppressing information on dimensional breaches didn't just make things safer for her. It meant someone wanted control over them.
Too many variables. Too many missing pieces.
She needed to warn Burnet. If the Aether Foundation was here, they weren't just observing. They were acting.
To reach her, Uma needed raw power. Jaku's power.
Rotom buzzed anxiously in its Poké Ball as she moved, Marshadow's shadow pooling dark and liquid at her heels. The plan was precise—hack the grid, channel its surge into Rotom, force an evolution strong enough to pierce the dimensional static.
Simple.
Uma quickened her pace. The grid's silhouette loomed closer, its hum a beckoning heartbeat.
But as she moved through the narrow alleyways, her senses prickled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, an instinctive alarm bell that told her she wasn't alone.
Don't be paranoid. But paranoia keeps you alive.
A shadow flickered above. Uma froze, gaze snapping upward. No wings. No sound. Just a fleeting darkness, too swift to track.
A feather drifted down—red. Vibrant, impossibly so. It landed at her feet, glowing faintly.
A Ho-Oh? Here?
She crouched, gloved hand hovering. The feather pulsed with warmth, humming like a live wire. Marshadow hissed, shadows coiling tighter.
Another feather—this one just a little further ahead, caught between two rusted fire escapes above. It floated gently in the wind and danced around a corner. Soft. Teasingly.
The red feathers were leading her somewhere.
A shiver ran down her spine, and Uma made a decision in an instant. She tucked the feather into her fanny pack and zipped it closed.
"Later," she muttered under her breath. ""Stay alert," she murmured, releasing Rotom. The Pokémon buzzed in response, its glowing eyes scanning the area.
She approached the power station, its industrial facade blending into the urban sprawl. The steel gates were slightly ajar, and she slipped inside, unnoticed.
Uma knelt by the junction box, her fingers flying over frayed wires. The phone cord clicked into place, and she connected Rotom to the other end.
For a moment, the silence pressed against her. Then, crackling energy wrapped the space like a heavy blanket, as if the station itself were breathing.
She leaned in, fingers trembling slightly as she checked the readings. The power was flowing into Rotem now, the Pokémon absorbing it eagerly.
Please, please work. Uma bit down on her lip, focusing on the screen.
"Uma… Uma?"
Uma froze. The voice was faint—almost a whisper. It was soft, familiar. Her stomach lurched. "Burnet?"
"Uma... please... hear me?!"
The voice flickered in and out, distorted like static from a broken radio. Her heart skipped, and she gripped the phone tighter. "Burnet, I—I'm alive! I can hear you! The Foundation's here! They have Shine!"
The static surged again, and this time, the words broke through clearer, though still fragmented. "I'm... working…!" The voice was fading. "To... help… Hope…"
Hope. The word hit her hard, like a punch to the chest.
And whatever was happening, whatever this was, she had to act fast. The numbers on the console jumped, shooting beyond safe limits. The power surge was too much.
But Rotem—Rotem was evolving. And Burnet was here. Uma couldn't stop now.
"Okay, Uma," she breathed, forcing herself to calm down. "Focus. Just focus." Her fingers hovered over the controls, quickly analyzing the data. She could still fix this.
Her fingers flew across the controls. The data surged faster, too fast now, the numbers flashing like strobe lights in front of her. Her tattoo flared to life.
Uma gasped as a sudden, sharp pain shot through her hand. The ink on her skin glowed with intense, blinding light, as if the energy of the grid was pulling at her, latching onto the tattoo.
It was overwhelming, and she cried out. Before she could jump back, a violent pop split the air.
Sparks flew.
Everything went black.
Uma blinked, disoriented and on her back.
The crackling had stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air.
The grid—no, not just the grid—the entire city was dark.
"Shit..." she muttered hoarsely, pushing herself up.
She glanced at Rotem, now still and flickering weakly with static. The Pokémon had barely held on through the surge. The energy had knocked it out cold.
Her plan had backfired. The grid was fried, the lights of Jaku City extinguished.
A faint, iridescent trail shimmered in the air before her. It wasn't much—a sliver of light in the pitch-black streets, barely visible—but it was enough to make her stop in her tracks. It felt like a whisper in the dark, a pull on her instincts.
Her thoughts buzzed with questions. The Pon Shard—was it close? Was this its energy she was sensing? Or was it something else? Dark matter? Whatever it was, she couldn't ignore it. The glowing trail was leading her somewhere, and she had to follow it.
She scanned the darkened streets.
The energy in her hand, the tattoo, the voice of Burnet—it was all connecting. She was closer than ever to finding the Shard.
Rotem was safely returned in his Pokéball, and the fried phone was shoved into her bag without a second glance.
Sirens wailed in the distance, voices barked orders in the dark, and confusion rippled through the streets.
Uma moved unnoticed, another face in the crowd of panicked citizens spilling out of their buildings, shouting for power to be restored.
Ahead, a convenience store caught Uma's eye. She slowed her pace, lingering just outside. She hesitated. Stealing wasn't something she wanted to do. It never had been. But this wasn't her world, and these weren't her rules. Right now, survival came first.
After what felt like an eternity, the clerk stepped out to investigate the blackout, leaving the store unattended.
She ducked into a convenience store, its aisles lit by the ghostly glow of backup batteries. Marshadow pooled at her feet, restless, as she shoved protein bars into her bag. A feather drifted past her peripheral vision, snagging on a rack of instant noodles.
Without thinking, she snatched it mid-air.
The instant her fingers closed around it, a jolt shot through her—a prickling awareness that raised the hair on the back of her neck. Someone was watching. She didn't know how they'd found her, but they had.
Uma couldn't afford to stick around and figure it out. She slipped outside, scanning the streets as her hand dropped to her Poké Balls. With a soft flash of light, Leafeon appeared at her side.
"Marshadow, Leafeon." Uma murmured, shifting her gaze to the shadow Pokémon. He tilted his head, waiting for her signal. "Let's lose our tail."
A rustle sounded from behind.
"Marshadow," she muttered, not bothering to turn. He nodded silently and disappeared into the darkness, his form melting into the shadows. Uma glanced back at Leafeon,"Get ready, kit."
The stalker drew closer, their movements deliberate but not subtle. One moment, they were walking. The next, they stumbled, disoriented as Marshadow reappeared, leading them off in the wrong direction.
By the time the figure realized what had happened, Uma and Leafeon had already moved on.
Leafeon stopped suddenly, her ears perking, gaze fixed on a distant shadow.
Ahead of them lay an old park, secluded and forgotten. The emergency lights here were sparse, their red glow stretching long, distorted shadows across the cracked pavement.
Creeping vines tangled with the worn stone pathway, the gate groaning softly as Uma pushed it open.
"No one else is here," Uma murmured, her voice barely audible.
Her tattoo pulsed again, a wave of heat coursing through her arm. She flinched, though the sensation wasn't painful—more like a signal, a connection forming between her and whatever was waiting.
And then she saw it.
A Metagross, its metallic limbs gleaming faintly under the moonlight, moved through the shadows with an unsettling grace.
"Magikarp, come on out," she called. The water Pokémon flopped into view, clumsy and uncoordinated, but Uma didn't mind. Unpredictability was the key.
"Ready, Marshadow?"
He reappeared at her side, flickering with quiet anticipation.
"Throw him!"
Marshadow threw Magikarp, drawing Metagross's attention. The steel-type turned toward just in time to catch a face full of water.
"Shadow Punch!" Uma commanded.
Marshadow darted forward, striking with a speed that sent Metagross staggering. The massive Pokémon retaliated, unleashing a sharp psychic wave that forced Marshadow to retreat.
"Leafeon, Helping Hand!" Uma barked. A faint glow surrounded the grass Pokémon as her energy rippled outward, amplifying Marshadow's next Shadow Punch.
Uma's pulse quickened. She had to think faster.
Before she could issue another command, a shadow flitted between the trees—too fast to be normal.
A gust of wind swept through the park as a figure landed between Uma and Metagross, and his —like a man with Pidgey wings—unfurled behind them, blood-red against the moonlight.
Marshadow growled low, stepping in front of Uma protectively, sharp warning vibrating through their bond: Don't come any closer.
Golden eyes met hers. Smiling.
"Well, well," he murmured, his voice smooth, almost playful. "Looks like I've found you."
Uma didn't move. Her stance was defensive, but not panicked. "Who are you?"
He chuckled, the sound warm but unsettling. "Hawks. Number Three Hero. Adored by millions." His grin was razor-sharp. "You're Uma. Wanted by millions."
Her chest tightened. "How do you know my name?"
"You're not subtle, dove. The big scary monsters? Commission's got a file on you thicker than All Might's biceps." His gaze lingered on her Pokémon. "What kind of quirk lets you summon them?"
Uma's jaw clenched. "They're not quirks. They're Pokémon."
"Pokémon," Hawks repeated, testing the word. "Funny. But not exactly standard issue for heroes—or villains."
"I'm not a villain," she snapped.
Hawks raised an eyebrow. "Madam President disagrees. She's got you pegged as public enemy number one."
Uma's stomach dropped. "What are you talking about?"
"You didn't know?" Hawks' grin widened, but there was no warmth in it. "The HPSC's been framing you for weeks. Building collapses, hero attacks—all conveniently tied to your monsters. They've got the public convinced you're the next All For One."
Uma's mind raced. She'd known from her internet sleuthing, but hearing it confirmed sent a chill down her spine. "Why are they cornering me?"
"Because you're unpredictable," Hawks said simply. "You don't play by society's rules. That makes you a threat."
Uma's fists tightened. "And you? Are you here to take me in?"
Hawks laughed, a low, dangerous sound. "If I wanted to arrest you, you'd already be in cuffs. No, I'm here to offer you a deal."
Uma took a step back, but he followed, closing in.
Her eyes flicked to the Megatross, and she barely managed to shout, "Watch out!"
Hawks pulled her forward, his arm wrapping around her waist. His wings snapped open in a barrier just in time to absorb the psychic blast. The force hit hard, but he didn't flinch.
"You really know how to keep things exciting," he whispered in her ear.
Uma's temper snapped.
She shoved him back, harder than necessary. "Don't touch me."
Hawks laughed. "Feisty." He stepped aside, watching with mild curiosity as Marshadow's dark energy struck Metagross, sending it staggering.
"Marshadow, engage in Close Combat! Leafeon, don't stop using Helping Hand!"
As the battle raged on, Hawks folded his wings, leaning against a nearby tree.
"I'm impressed," he said lazily. "But I've got to ask—is the big rock guy not yours, chickadee?"
Uma ignored him, her attention locked on Metagross. But she couldn't shake the weight of his gaze, like a predator toying with its prey.
The fight ended with one final command, Marshadow's Shadow Punch striking true. Metagross roared and disappeared in the familiar shower of golden sparkles.
For a moment, silence.
Then, Hawks clapped, his grin widening. "Well, that was exciting. Training over?"
Uma turned slowly. Her stomach twisted into knots—not from fear, but from sheer frustration. She didn't have the patience for this right now.
Her gaze flicked to Marshadow, who stood close by, his form crackling with energy. Leafeon, too, growled softly, the air around them tense.
The bond was restless, Marshadowing urging Uma to let him fight, she needed to run, anything to escape whatever trap Hawks was setting.
For once, Uma ignored him. "What deal are you offering?"
Hawks dropped the act, just slightly. His smile didn't change, but his tone did. "You keep doing what you're doing. Feed me information—villain movements, their plans. And in return?" His wings flexed slightly. "I make sure you don't end up in Tartarus."
The name hit like ice.
She saw it again—the broadcast.
A fallen officer. A family in mourning. And her face, plastered across the screen as the culprit.
"You think you're running your own game, but the truth is, you're a pawn." He exhaled, wings folding in. "You're not a villain. But you're not on the heroes' side. So what's left, Uma?"
He let the question hang.
She stared at him, jaw tight. He was feeling her out. Talking. Why?
"You work for the Commission," Uma said carefully. "And yet, you're standing here making back-alley deals with me."
The final piece fell into place.
Uma realized. "You're going rogue."
Hawks' pupil flickered. "You sure make a lot of assumptions," he purred.
She stepped closer. "Because you'll dodge any question I throw at you."
His grin tilted. "That's just called good survival instincts, dove."
She studied him, gaze sharp. "What aren't you saying?"
Hawks tapped his chin. "Oh, lots of things. But here's a fun one—who do you think's funding all those nasty little science projects your pal Stain is playing with? The Trigger shipments?"
He paused, savoring her shock. "Oh, you didn't know? The Aether Foundation and the Commission of course," he mused. "A funny little web, huh?"
He's leading me and dropping breadcrumbs.
But why? Is he warning me?
"You act like I don't have other options."
"You don't," he said simply.
Something inside her snapped.
"You think I wanted this?" she said, voice breaking, furious at herself for it. "You think I chose to be hunted, to be labeled a goddamn villain?"
Her breath came too fast, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She wanted to stop talking, but the words just kept coming.
"I had a life," she said, voice breaking, furious at herself for it. "I wasn't—this. I don't want the fate of the world in my hands, I didn't—"
She swallowed hard, gritted her teeth.
Her hands were shaking.
She clenched them into fists, forcing control back into her voice. "I am trying to fix this," she hissed, "So I always have a choice."
Hawks' expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes shifted.
A quiet flicker of real interest.
With disarming ease, he tilted his head, stepping closer. His forehead nearly brushed hers.
"Now we're talking," he murmured, the words sliding into her ribs like a blade. "I knew you were hiding something. What exactly are you saving the world from, Uma?"
Uma jerked back like he'd burned her, pulse roaring in her ears.
Her feet were moving before she could think.
Turning. Walking away. Then running.
Just as she cleared the edge of the park, Hawks moved, too fast and too red.
"Marshadow!" Uma called.
The ghost Pokémon appeared instantly, and a blur of dark energy intercepted Hawk's outstretched hand with a crackling strike.
Hawks chuckled, his wings folding as he landed lightly on the ground. "Huh. That hurt. Your little marshmallow a Pokémon too?"
Marshadow's energy flared, a clear warning. Chibi, stop holding me back.
"More or less," Uma said, her voice even despite her bonded yelling at her. "And he'll make sure you don't get any bright ideas."
Hawks smirked, his sharp gaze flicking between her and Marshadow. "That's what I like about you," he said softly. "You're sharp. But you're also delusional if you think I'll let you disappear. You need me."
"I don't. There's no deal." She stepped back, pulse too fast. "I don't trust you."
Hawks grinned, sharp. "Wouldn't respect you if you did. But don't make a decision out of anger. Just think about it."
There was a flash of cold light, and with it, a sudden rush of icy wind that sent a gust of snow and sleet swirling through the trees.
Uma's fingers brushed the tattoo on her hand, the faint glow betraying its presence even in the dim light.
"Again?" Uma muttered under her breath, realizing too late that this wasn't just another environmental shift.
Hawks looked up, his expression turning serious for the first time. "What's happening?"
Uma didn't answer him. "Marshadow, Leafeon! Be on guard."
From the shadows, emerging through the blizzard, came a figure, its white, snow-covered fur glowing faintly in the pale moonlight.
It was a Ninetales.
"That one yours, too?" Hawks asked, his tone now more wary. His wings twitched, almost instinctively, preparing for a fight.
"Don't attack!" Uma's voice was tight with urgency. "It's-"
Leafeon cut her off with an joyful chirp, the young Pokémon bounded forward, chirping happily, its ears flicking as it approached Ninetales.
Ninetales lowered its head and nuzzled the younger Pokémon gently.
The realization hit Uma like a jolt—Ninetales was Leafeon's mother.
"Looks like it's our lucky day," Uma said softly. "We've reunited Leafeon with her family." Uma couldn't help but smile at the moment, her heart warmed by the reunion.
"Ninetales," Uma said, approaching the duo, her voice steady but gentle. "Leafeon's become a good friend of mine. I'm glad you could be reunited. But… I don't think it's safe for you to be wandering around anymore. Would you like to stay with me?"
Ninetales turned its gaze toward Uma, and without hesitation, stepped forward, allowing Uma to reach for a Poké Ball. No words were needed. The Pokémon understood.
With a bright flash, Uma gained more than she expected.
"Now, she's mine." Her breath caught as she turned to Hawks, who was watching the scene unfold with a thirst for something more; something she wasn't sure she could give.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Uma's face felt hot; she couldn't look away even if she wanted to.
Then Hawks coughed, and just like that, his expression snapped back into easy playfulness.
With a single, fluid motion, his wings flared out, sending a rush of wind past her.
"Wish I can stay and chat, dove, but hero duty calls."
He paused, smirking. "Oh, and don't stress 'bout the feather you stole." A slow wink. "I'll let you keep it. My fans always like having a piece to remember me by."
Then, as he turned, just over his shoulder:
"Don't forget about our deal, dove."
And in the next blink—he was gone.