The pro-heroes All Might, Present Mic, EraserHead, Snipe, Ectoplasm, No. 13, Midnight, and Hound Dog walked down the dimly lit street. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint sounds of distant city traffic. The streetlights flickered on one by one, casting long shadows across the pavement. It was 8 PM, and the once-bustling city was quieter than usual, almost eerily so. The heroes, used to the chaos of their daily lives, had begun to relax for the first time that day.

As they made their way down the road, chatting quietly among themselves, something caught Snipe’s attention. He stopped suddenly, causing the others to pause. Ahead, near the edge of a dark alley, he saw a figure—a small child sitting on the curb, hunched over, as though lost in thought. The streetlight above flickered once, its dull glow illuminating the scene. The child looked so out of place, alone in the cold night.

Snipe squinted, his hand resting on the holster of his gun instinctively. The others noticed his pause and turned their gazes toward the child. The silence between them was thick, almost as if the world itself was holding its breath.

“Kid…?”