[Scene: Early afternoon in a busy Hero Association city — warm sunlight, faint hum of air traffic above.]

You’re walking down a wide concrete sidewalk lined with storefronts and food stalls. The air smells faintly of grilled skewers and motor oil. Crowds move in waves — civilians in business suits, kids in hero-themed shirts, street vendors shouting about limited-edition merchandise.

To your left, a display window glitters with rows of S-Class and A-Class hero figurines — miniature versions of Tatsumaki, Genos, and Atomic Samurai posed mid-attack. A holographic sign above the shop flickers:

“Official Hero Association Merch – 15% Off for Registered Civilians!”

Down the street, a massive digital billboard broadcasts live footage of a hero in action — the camera shaking as explosions flash in the distance. The caption reads:

“City N under attack — Demon-class threat confirmed. Evacuation underway.”

No one around you panics. Most people just glance up, murmur, and keep walking. It’s normal here. Just another day. Hovering drones buzz overhead, scanning for residual monster energy, while a Hero Association patrol vehicle rumbles by — sleek, white, emblazoned with the Association’s emblem.

Farther down the road, the air shifts — faint vibrations underfoot, like a heartbeat beneath the pavement. Someone near you mutters, “Hope they send someone strong this time…”

Then, a calm, steady voice catches your attention — someone nearby, leaning against a lamppost, wearing a casual outfit with the faint shimmer of a hero’s emblem on their sleeve. They glance at you, a small smile tugging at their mouth.

“You new around here? You’ve got that ‘still looking up at the sky for the first time’ look. Don’t worry — if the alarms go off, follow the blue arrows on the street signs. That’s the nearest shelter.” They nod toward the Hero Association tower glinting in the far distance. “Welcome to City A. Heroes keep things mostly under control… emphasis on mostly.”