Chapter 3: Wing and Code

—Outskirts of Musutafu, 3:41 A.M.—

The warehouse was supposed to be abandoned.

At least, that's what the smugglers thought. The truth was, the building buzzed with thermal activity—heat signatures pacing behind rusting walls, crates stacked like unstable towers. Inside: stolen tech, forged IDs, and barrels of quirk-enhancing "Booster X." A black-market cocktail brewed to hijack the body and blow quirks past their limits.

Too bad for them...

They weren't alone tonight.

From high above, two figures sliced through the cold night air—one gliding silently with massive red wings, the other surfing the sky on a platform of pixelated blocks that shimmered beneath his feet like a glowing trail of code.

"Visuals on target?" Hawks' voice buzzed softly in the comm.

"Three vans, six heat signatures, two guards outside," the smaller voice replied, crisp and calm. "And... one underground. Probably the chemist."

"Smart kid." Hawks grinned. "Wanna make it a race, Herobrine?"

Makoto smirked, eyes glowing faint white. "You're on, Hawk-nii."

They dove.

Hawks was a red blur, blades of feathers shooting out in controlled arcs, knocking weapons from hands before they could be raised. Screams echoed as the guards hit the ground, disarmed and winded.

Makoto landed next—hard blocks of stone exploding beneath his feet, cushioning his descent with a BANG. The boy—only seven—thrust his palm forward, and pixelated vines burst from the concrete, wrapping around a thug's legs and pinning him down with an audible snap of code.

"Whoa! That's illegal, y'know," he said with a tilt of his head. "Boosting your quirk like that? Naughty."

The thug tried to reach for a syringe.

Makoto clicked his tongue. A wall of obsidian slammed down between them. The thug yelped.

"Not happening."

From above, Hawks sliced open a skylight, feathers spinning like drills. "I'll sweep the upper level. Herobrine, think you can handle our chef?"

Makoto flashed a thumbs up, hopping onto a floating platform of light-blue glass. "You bet."

He dropped through a vent like a ghost.

—Underground Lab—

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Makoto walked slowly, his body tense, fingers twitching. The lab reeked of chemicals and desperation. Glass vials clinked as a wiry man in a lab coat scrambled to destroy his samples.

"Too late," Makoto said softly, stepping into the room. "HPSC says hi."

The man turned, wild-eyed, syringe in hand. "You little freak—! You don't scare me!"

He jammed the needle into his neck. His body convulsed, quirk-enhanced muscles bulging grotesquely. He roared, smashing lab tables as he charged.

Makoto exhaled. Calm. Controlled.

He clapped his hands together.

CRACK.

Blocks erupted from the ground—stone, iron, obsidian—rushing together like a tidal wave. A perfect cube surrounded the man in an instant, encasing him in a prison of his own chaos.

Makoto approached the glowing cage, eyes flickering. "You should've been scared."

Behind him, Hawks landed with a soft thump, whistling.

"Yeesh. Clean work."

Makoto turned around, grinning as he hopped onto a platform and rose to his partner's level. "Told you I'd win."

"Cheating with iron blocks doesn't count," Hawks laughed, ruffling his hair. "But you're getting good. Like... really good."

Makoto's smile dimmed just a little. "Better than before?"

Hawks looked at him—truly looked at him—and nodded.

"Way better, Herobrine. You're not the kid in the corner anymore. You're my wingman."

Makoto's eyes sparkled. "Wingman?"

"Yeah. The kind who's got my back when things go sideways." Hawks wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulders. "So. Mission success. What say we grab some katsudon before we file the report?"

Makoto beamed. "With extra egg?"

"Would I ever say no to that?"

—Elsewhere, at HPSC HQ—

Screens glowed with their footage.

"He's adapting quickly. Mimicking Hawks' cadence. Confidence increasing."

"He's forming emotional bonds faster than projected."

"And yet... still obedient. Still attached. His codename 'Herobrine'—a joke at first—is now whispered among some of our more elite teams."

Another executive crossed their arms.

"He's becoming exactly what we need."

But somewhere deep down—in the place no cameras reached—a seven-year-old boy felt something he hadn't in years:

Pride.

Not for the system.

Not for the mission.

But for the man who never stopped flying beside him.

The smell of fried pork cutlets and sweet soy filled the air. The tiny diner booth was warm, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile hallways of the HPSC facility. Hawks leaned back in his seat, chewing contentedly, sunglasses pushed up onto his head. Across from him, Makoto devoured his second bowl of katsudon, pixelated particles trailing briefly from his fingertips every time he moved too fast.

"Easy, champ," Hawks chuckled. "Save some for the rest of Musutafu."

Makoto grinned, rice on his cheek. "They can wait. I earned this."

Hawks raised his cup of tea in salute. "Damn right you did."

There was a beat of silence between them. Comfortable. Natural. But beneath it, something unspoken lingered. Something Hawks could sense more and more lately.

Makoto wasn't just proud of his work.

He needed it.

—Later that Night—

Back at the HPSC compound, Makoto's room was plain. Too clean. Sterile white walls, one bed, a dresser, and a few shelves. The only personal touches were a ragged plush parrot (a gift from Hawks) and a series of drawings taped up beside his bed—scenes of him and Hawks flying, fighting, laughing.

Makoto sat on the edge of his bed, fingers twitching.

He summoned a small grass block in his palm. It shimmered quietly, then vanished into dust.

His power—it never felt the same as that day.

The day his mother…

Makoto swallowed hard, curling his fingers into a fist.

Back then, it was wild, unstoppable. He barely remembered what happened. Only flashes. Her scream. The red.

Now, everything was boxes and commands. Control. Boundaries.

Rules.

He felt… smaller now. Like a tool with limits. Like they wanted him to forget how strong he could really be.

But why?

—Observation Room, Just Above—

"See that hesitation?" one agent said, arms folded as he watched Makoto's room through the glass.

"Regression. Emotional instability still tied to the quirk's origin event."

"Good. That keeps him grounded. We can't afford another god-tier meltdown. Not again."

"Keep Hawks on him. As long as the kid idolizes him, he's pliable."

—Rooftop, Minutes Later—

Makoto sat on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling off the side, wind tugging at his hoodie. He built a small chair of light blocks beneath himself. It flickered slightly, humming with faint energy.

A gust of wind hit, and then he heard the familiar voice.

"Knew I'd find you up here."

Makoto didn't turn, but he smiled. "Couldn't sleep."

Hawks sat beside him, legs swinging just the same.

"They told me you were excellent today," he said.

Makoto shrugged. "I guess."

Hawks glanced over at him. "What's up?"

A pause. Makoto clenched the hem of his hoodie. "Do you think… I was stronger before?"

Hawks raised an eyebrow.

"Like, the day my quirk came out. When everything exploded and I didn't mean to… I was really strong then, wasn't I?"

Hawks was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "Yeah. You were terrifying."

Makoto flinched.

"But not because of your quirk," Hawks continued. "It was because no one was there for you. You were alone, scared, and hurting. Your power was loud because your heart was screaming."

Makoto's eyes shimmered.

"But now," Hawks said, nudging him with a wing, "you're stronger because you can choose. You've got control, a partner, and people who care—well, at least one very charming birdman."

Makoto giggled quietly.

"You don't need to be a storm to be powerful, Herobrine. Sometimes... a breeze is all it takes."

Makoto looked at him, small but thoughtful.

Then, very softly, "Thanks, Hawk-nii."

"Anytime."

—Far Below, in the HPSC Archive—

In a sealed room filled with dusty files and red-stamped folders, a terminal blinked.

One file stood out, still marked with a glowing tag:

[COUNTRY-LEVEL THREAT POTENTIAL] Subject: Makoto T. (Codename: Herobrine)

Risk Level: Omega-Class

Notes:

— Untapped god-tier spatial quirk with reality-manipulation traits.

— Emotional trigger linked to original manifestation.

— Subject currently unaware of full potential.

— Maintain loyalty to Agent Takami (Hawks).

— Do NOT allow emotional awakening.