The night was unseasonably still, the kind of quiet that pressed in on even the sharpest instincts. The Pro Heroes, gathered on what was supposed to be a routine strategy meeting, felt it before they saw it—an almost imperceptible disturbance at the edge of their senses.

Endeavor’s flame burned hotter, casting distorted shadows across the rooftops. Hawks shifted uneasily, wings half-spread as his feathers twitched, scanning the darkness. All Might’s gaze hardened, no longer the warm beacon of a symbol but sharp and searching, and even Mt. Lady stood unusually still, her eyes narrowed toward the skyline.

It was Kami Woods who caught the outline first: a figure perched where no one should have been able to stand, half-swallowed by the moonlight, features obscured as though the shadows clung to them willingly. Midnight drew in a sharp breath, and Nezu’s calculating eyes glimmered with sudden, unnerving interest.

The figure didn’t move, didn’t speak. Their presence alone radiated something unsettling—an energy that felt neither villainous nor heroic, but something unclassifiable. Present Mic’s usual booming confidence faltered into a tense hush, his voice caught in his throat as every hero’s instincts screamed the same thing:

Who—or what—was watching them?