Chapter Text
1:34 AM — Abandoned Construction Site
Patrol cars idled beyond the caution tape, red and blue lights washing over half-built concrete and exposed steel. The air carried a faint metallic tang, sharp enough to linger in the throat.
Two officers crouched beside a fallen hero.
"No blunt trauma. No burns," the younger one muttered, gloved fingers hovering just above the body. "Armor's intact... but the incisions—"
"—are clean," the older officer finished quietly. He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Too clean."
He traced the edge of a cut with his gaze. Not a tear. Not a slash. Precise.
"Surgical," the younger officer said. "Arteries severed. Tendons too. Whoever did this knew exactly where to cut."
"Could've been a blade quirk," the other said, though he didn't sound convinced. "Plenty of those."
"Then explain this," the younger officer replied, swallowing. "There's barely any spray. No cast-off. His blood didn't... move the way it should've."
The older officer straightened slowly.
"...You remember that memo from the Commission?" he asked.
The younger one nodded, jaw tight. "The internal one. The one we were told to flag if we ever saw signs like this."
He hesitated. Then recited, almost verbatim:
"'Clean anatomical restraint. Abnormal blood displacement with minimal residue. Signs of immobilization prior to fatal injury. No recoverable DNA belonging to the initial subduer.'"
Silence settled between them.
The older officer exhaled through his nose. "They said she was gone."
"They also said she was a rumor."
He glanced at the body again. At the stillness. At the unnatural lack of chaos.
"...Guess the Commission doesn't send out memos for ghost stories."
2:12 AM — Government Briefing Room
A large monitor projected crime scene photographs across the room. Three heroes. Different positions. Same outcome.
Suit-clad officials sat rigidly around the table.
"Time of death estimates place all three fatalities within a ten-second window," an analyst reported. "However—" she hesitated, then continued, "—the wounds themselves do not appear immediately fatal."
That got attention.
"What do you mean?" the director asked.
"The incisions suggest restraint, not execution," she clarified. "Major blood vessels were compromised, but not in a way that would cause instantaneous death. It's likely the victims were rendered immobile first."
"And then?" another official prompted.
"And then someone else acted," she said carefully.
A pause.
"Any trace of the League?" the director asked.
"Minimal. Scorch damage consistent with the fire quirk user. Destroyed comms. But the initial engagement?" She gestured to the screen. "That wasn't him."
A research liaison shifted in his seat. "Could this be Subject 09?"
The room went still.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," the director said. "She was declared missing two years ago. No confirmed sightings."
"Until now," the liaison murmured. "The blood displacement patterns match the facility's redacted case studies. The way circulation appears to have been... interrupted."
"You're saying she restrained them," someone said slowly.
"I'm saying," the liaison replied, "that if she was present, she didn't need to finish the job."
A heavy silence followed.
"...Invoke the Kurebayashi Clause," the director ordered at last. "Contact surviving facility personnel. Gamma division only."
"I thought that clause was scrapped," an analyst said.
"It was," the director replied. "Because it was never meant to be used again."
He looked back at the screen.
"If she's operating alongside the League—even indirectly—then their threat profile has changed. Notify U.A. High as well. Quietly."
8:00 AM — U.A. High School, Class 1-A
Aizawa entered without his usual slouch.
That alone was enough to quiet the room.
"We've received a notice from the Hero Public Safety Commission," he said flatly. "It concerns an individual you may have heard referenced in rumors."
He clicked the remote.
A distorted surveillance image filled the screen: smoke, motion blur—and a pale figure at its center. Blood hovered unnaturally around her, suspended like a halo mid-collapse.
"Codename: Hemomancer," Aizawa continued. "Quirk: Hemomancy. Confirmed capabilities include manipulation of her own blood—hardening, shaping, weaponization—and the control of blood that has left the body."
Murmurs rippled through the class.
"What's unconfirmed," he added, "are her limits."
He paused.
"She was created in a government institution. Trained off the books. Classified as an asset. When she escaped, no one even noticed until the next day for morning drills."
Midoriya swallowed. "She just left?"
Aizawa didn't answer directly.
"What matters," he said instead, "is that recent incidents show signs of her involvement. Not execution. Restraint. Immobilization so precise the victims couldn't even fight back."
His gaze hardened.
"She doesn't announce herself. She doesn't posture. Most targets don't realize she's there until they can't move."
Kirishima shifted uneasily. "So... she lets others finish it?"
"That's one theory," Aizawa replied. "She disengages once resistance stops."
He shut off the screen.
"If you ever hear her name over comms, you retreat. Immediately. You don't engage. You don't try to be clever."
Kaminari raised a hand. "If she's this dangerous, why isn't this public?"
"Because the Commission isn't sure she exists," Aizawa said bluntly. "Every report is incomplete. Every witness unreliable. No clear footage. No capture attempts that ended cleanly."
He folded his arms.
"To the public, she's a rumor. To professionals, she's a worst-case variable."
"...Like an urban legend," someone muttered.
Aizawa nodded once.
"And until proven otherwise," he said, voice low, "you treat her like one that kills without ever pulling the trigger."
The room stayed silent long after the bell rang.