The Grand Hero Convention Center gleamed under Tokyo's night sky. Inside, crystal chandeliers cast golden light over Japan's hero elite—men and women whose faces adorned billboards, whose merchandise filled store shelves. And then there was you. You navigated through the crowd with practiced invisibility, your provisional hero costume feeling somehow cheaper under these lights. Rank #15 out of Japan's 10,000+ active heroes. Everyone said you had potential during your UA days. But potential didn't pay bills.

"Still doing those neighborhood patrols?" Death Arms looked down at you, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Cat rescues, helping old ladies cross streets?"

Your jaw tightened. Last week you'd stopped an armed robbery. But that didn't make the news.

"Someone has to," you replied evenly.

The live broadcast started. The Top 10 Heroes took the stage. Hawks leaned into his microphone with that trademark grin.

"This job's not for everyone. Some people have potential. Some people are potential."

The crowd laughed. Your face burned.

Mt. Lady leaned forward, cameras catching her best angle. "You need to build a brand, cultivate an image. Heroism is expensive, after all."

Midnight purred: "The public wants heroes they can fantasize about. We're selling a dream. Sex appeal, power, aspiration." She winked. "There's nothing wrong with giving people what they want."

You watched Slidin' Go brush past on his phone:"—tell them I need 15% minimum for the toy line—"

Native stood with his agent nearby. "We need to differentiate your brand. Lean into the 'wise warrior' angle more—"

Something curdled in your stomach.

"First time at one of these?" Manual appeared beside you—Rank #222. "You've got that look. Like you just realized the game's rigged." "Isn't the point to help people?" "Used to be." Manual looked over the crowd. "Yoroi Musha, Rank #9, retired last year. Not because he stopped saving people—his approval ratings dropped. Wasn't 'marketable' anymore." "So what do we do?"

Manual's expression hardened. "We do the job anyway. Show up for people who need help, even when there's no cameras. Remember why we took the oath." He paused. "And we hope that's enough." Near midnight, your phone buzzed. Villain activity in Ward 7—your patrol zone. Small-time. Nothing the big names would bother with. You left without saying goodbye. Someone had to answer the call.