In the shadows of the city's underground sewer system, a group of burglars crouched together. The only light came from a flickering maintenance lamp overhead, barely lighting their nervous faces.
"Why are we even hiding?" one of the younger ones hissed, frustration crackling in his voice. "There's just one guy out there. We can take him down!"
The group's leader didn't even look his way. "If you know what's good for you," he said, voice low and flat, "you'll sit your ass down."
Tch! The rookie clicked his tongue. "What's so dangerous about him anyway?"
The leader finally turned to glare at him. His voice dropped a note colder. "He's one of the few heroes who supposedly came face-to-face with All For One… and lived."
"What?!" The rookie blinked, startled.
"Exactly." Another older thug chimed in, eyes narrowed. "That either means he's powerful enough to survive that hell… or worse—he's seen real dread and still came out hunting scum like us. Which means... we're nothing but a warm-up to him."
The rookie was just letting that sink in when—
Click.
Something rolled to their feet. A tiny metallic ball.
Fshhhh—BOOM!
A flashbang lit up the tunnel like a miniature sun, then vanished just as fast, leaving behind fried retinas.
"Fuck—my eyes!" one thug screamed, clawing at his face.
"He's here—he's here!" another shouted, swinging wildly at the air.
Then—
Thud. Thwack. Crack.
Bones shattered like dry twigs. The concrete rang with the sound of bodies collapsing.
The first one never saw it coming, his throat caved in by a side elbow that landed like a piston. He dropped, twitching.
A fire-user flared up, flames along his fists.
"Come on, asshole—show yourself!" he yelled.
A blur emerged from the smoke—a foot swept low, knocking his legs out. As he fell, a spinning knee met his jaw, cutting the flames short. He hit the ground hard, teeth skittering away into the dark.
A man with blades for hands slashed blindly, screeching, his movements reckless.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
The blur weaved through the strikes.
SMACK.
CRACK.
A fist slammed into his solar plexus, followed by a sudden headbutt that crunched his cartilage. The blade-user reeled, choking. Then, with terrifying precision, the attacker drove his boot into the side of the man's knee, breaking it with a wet snap.
He didn't scream. He passed out.
"Shit! he can't—"
One tried to rally, but his words were drowned out by the slithering hiss of another thug—a tall, wiry man with a snake-like neck that coiled unnaturally.
"Found you," the snake hissed, neck shooting forward like a whip.
The blur ducked. Grabbed him mid-lunge.
WHAM.
The snake-thug was slammed headfirst into the tunnel wall twice, leaving a bloody dent behind.
The others, still blinking spots from their vision, swung out of fear and rage—but they were hitting ghosts.
Shadows.
One by one, they fell.
Elbows crushed ribs. Knees shattered, jaws.
Each strike landed with surgical cruelty—nothing flashy, just violent intent and painful efficiency.
In the middle of the chaos stood the figure, breathing slowly, calmly, surrounded by groaning bodies.
One thug tried to crawl away.
A boot landed on his back.
Hard.
He didn't move again.
The tunnel went silent—except for the soft dripping of blood and the fading groans of broken men.
All the rookie could make out through the blinding haze was a dark purple blur, gliding through the group like a ghost in combat boots. Bodies hit the ground, limp and moaning.
Passing out punches like takeout... goddamn.
His vision cleared just enough to see it, a lean, athletic man in a sleek, dark purple suit, and a visor glinting in the low light. He slammed one of the larger thugs face-first into the concrete with brutal efficiency.
The rookie gritted his teeth, a diamond like layer formed over his skin, jagged and gleaming. "Name's Aiger," he growled, standing tall. "Nice meeting you, Hero… Grape Lock."
The hero said nothing.
"Tch. Not even gonna talk?"
Aiger glanced toward his leader, still blinking furiously, eyes watering from the flashbang.
No backup. He'd have to handle this himself.
Without warning, Aiger charged.
"You're going down!"
The hero calmly side-stepped, barely shifting his posture. His gloved hand reached into his own hair, now short, more controlled, and pulled out a smooth purple orb.
Whap!
He smacked Aiger across the face with it.
Pfffft!
The orb burst, releasing a purple mist that immediately seeped into Aiger's lungs. He stumbled, vision swimming, consciousness slipping.
"Wh-What… the hell…?"
The last thing Aiger saw was the hero crouching beside him, locking him down with a cluster of orbs that magnetically latched to the ground.
Then—
Black.
Aiger was barely conscious, but through his heavy eyes, he caught the last of it.
The group's leader lay groaning beside a wall, his body sprawled in defeat.
The purple-clad hero didn't celebrate. Didn't pose. Didn't even stand.
He simply sat beside Aiger, elbows resting on his knees as he looked ahead, eyes shadowed behind his visor.
"You're still young, kid," GrapeLock said quietly. "Get out of this mess before it's too late."
There was no lecture. No anger. Just something far heavier behind his voice—regret.
"And don't give me too much credit for surviving the war," he added after a pause, voice dipping low. "I didn't do jack shit."
Before Aiger could process it, the sharp beams of flashlights cut through the tunnel. Footsteps approached faintly in the background as the police arrived and began cuffing the unconscious thugs.
Moments later, as the suspects were escorted out, a tall, broad man in a beige overcoat stepped into the scene.
"Morning, Detective Sato," one of the officers greeted, offering a quick salute.
"Morning. At ease."
Detective Rikido Sato,[Quirk: Sugar Rush, ex-hero: Sugar Man], took a sip of his black coffee as he walked toward the hero standing under a leaking pipe. His heavy boots echoed in the hollow tunnel.
"What's the situation, Mineta?" he asked, stopping beside the hero.
Underground hero: GrapeLock, Minoru Mineta stood with arms crossed, still scanning the area as if expecting something more.
"Nothing serious. Just regular burglars. Not them," he said flatly. "Looks like your tip was wrong, Sato."
Sato sighed and rubbed his temples, frustration bleeding through the wrinkles on his forehead. This was the fourth bad lead in two weeks.
"However…" Mineta said, his voice drawing Sato's attention instantly.
The detective raised an eyebrow.
"It appears the sewers are more complex than we thought." Mineta knelt beside a rusted valve embedded in the wall. "These guys were using some age-old, sealed section that's not on current schematics."
Sato stepped closer, frowning. "You think…?"
"Yeah." The hero stood up, dusting his gloves. "I think someone's been using these abandoned paths for more than petty theft. And if I'm right…"
He looked down the pitch-black corridor.
"We don't have any more info than that."