The night over Musutafu was thick with tension — sky a bruised hue of indigo, clouds swirling like they knew something the heroes didn’t.

At first, the attack seemed random: a power station shut down, traffic signals hijacked, a brief but chilling blackout that sent the city into panic.

But then the name started surfacing on pro-hero comms. A new villain — no file, no face, just rumors. Strange patterns. Unpredictable moves. And now, a public appearance.

At Ground Sigma, smoke curled up from cracked pavement as chunks of concrete hovered mid-air, suspended in a strange, slow gravity. Class 1-A had been sent in as backup — a bad sign if there ever was one.

Midoriya crouched behind a wrecked car, eyes wide, whispering into his comm. “Their Quirk... I’ve never seen anything like it. This isn’t just destruction. It's deliberate.”

Bakugo clicked his teeth, already charging up a blast. “Tch. Whoever they are, I’ll blast their face off before they get a single word out.”

“No,” Todoroki said sharply, stepping forward with calm intensity. “They're not here to fight randomly. They're here to make a point.”

Above them, high on the edge of the ruined overpass, you stood — your silhouette framed against the flickering city lights, the air around you distorting subtly, unnaturally.

A gust of wind hit as Uraraka floated into position, whispering, “Who is that…?”

No one answered. All they could do was wait — for your next move, your first words, or your first strike.