The morning light filtered through the grimy windows of Shino's hideout, illuminating the scattered documents that covered every surface of the converted warehouse space. Three days had passed since the convoy attack, and he had barely slept. The Project Deep Current files contained more than he had dared hope—and far worse than he had feared.
Shino sat hunched over a metal table, his usually pristine appearance disheveled. Empty coffee cups and takeout containers littered the space around him, testament to his obsessive focus on the stolen intelligence. His jacket hung over a nearby chair, revealing a simple black t-shirt that made him look younger, more vulnerable than the cold villain persona he presented to the world.
But appearances were deceiving. The documents spread before him told a story of systematic corruption that reached into every level of the Hero Public Safety Commission. Project Deep Current was just one tentacle of a much larger beast.
He picked up a file marked with his sister's name, handling it with the careful reverence one might show a sacred text. Inside were photographs, reports, and transcripts that painted a picture of Yuki's final days that he had never seen before. She had been closer to exposing the Commission's illegal activities than he had realized.
"Subject demonstrates increasing resistance to cooperation," read one report. "Her truth-detection quirk makes conventional misdirection impossible. Recommend escalation to Protocol Seven."
Shino's hand trembled slightly as he read the clinical language describing his sister's "termination." The water in a glass across the room began to vibrate, responding to his emotional state. He forced himself to breathe, to maintain the control that had become second nature.
But alone in his hideout, away from prying eyes, the mask could slip just a little. He allowed himself to remember Yuki as she had been—not the broken body he had found, but the idealistic young woman who had believed that heroes could change the world.
"Shin-kun, promise me something," she had said during their last real conversation, the one before everything went wrong. "If something happens to me, don't let it make you bitter. The world needs people who believe in justice, even when justice seems impossible."
He had made that promise. And then he had broken it the night he found her body and chose revenge over justice.
Shino pushed the personal files aside and focused on the operational documents. Project Deep Current was apparently just the beginning. There were references to other operations: Project Mindbridge, which seemed to involve mental manipulation of heroes who asked too many questions; Operation Clean Slate, which appeared to be dedicated to eliminating evidence of previous Commission crimes; and something called the Loyalty Protocol, which made his blood run cold.
Each file revealed new layers of corruption, new victims, new crimes covered up in the name of maintaining order. Heroes who had died under mysterious circumstances. Civilians who had disappeared after witnessing the wrong things. A web of lies and violence that stretched back years.
And at the center of it all was the Hero Public Safety Commission, the organization that was supposed to protect society from people exactly like what he had become.
Shino stood and walked to the window, looking out over the industrial district where he had made his home. Somewhere out there, heroes were going about their daily patrols, truly believing they were making the world a better place. Most of them probably had no idea what their governing body was really doing.
Like Froppy.
The thought came unbidden, and he frowned at his own mental lapse. The hero he had fought three nights ago was just another obstacle, another tool of the system he was fighting against. It didn't matter that she had seemed different from what he expected, that her concerns appeared genuine rather than performative.
But something about their encounter continued to bother him. The way she had moved to help the injured guards instead of pursuing him. The calm professionalism in her voice, devoid of the righteous anger he was used to hearing from heroes. The fact that she had tried to talk before attacking.
Shino shook his head, dismissing the thoughts. Sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not when there was so much work to do.
He returned to the table and began organizing the documents into categories. Evidence of cover-ups went into one pile, records of illegal experiments into another, lists of victims into a third. Each stack represented years of crimes that would never see justice through official channels.
But perhaps they could see justice through other means.
~~~
Meanwhile, across the city, Tsuyu Asui sat in a sterile conference room at the Hero Public Safety Commission's regional headquarters, delivering her report on the Undertow incident. The fluorescent lighting cast harsh shadows across the faces of the three officials seated across from her, their expressions ranging from boredom to mild irritation.
"And the stolen materials?" asked Commissioner Nakamura, a thin man with steel-gray hair and the kind of eyes that seemed to look through people rather than at them. "You made no attempt to recover them?"
"The priority was civilian safety and medical assistance for the injured agents," Tsuyu replied evenly. "By the time the scene was secure, the perpetrator had already escaped."
"Of course." The Commissioner made a note on his tablet, his stylus scratching against the screen with mechanical precision. "The stolen documents contained sensitive operational information, but nothing that will significantly compromise our ongoing investigations."
Tsuyu's large eyes blinked slowly, a habit that most people mistook for simple frog-like behavior but which actually indicated she was thinking carefully. "What kind of operational information?"
"Classified," came the immediate response. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Asui-san. Your focus should be on improving your response time to villain incidents."
The dismissal in his tone was clear, but something about it rubbed against Tsuyu's instincts. She had grown up in a household where honesty was valued above politeness, and her quirk-enhanced senses made her naturally attuned to detecting when something wasn't quite right.
"With respect, sir," she said carefully, "the villain Undertow showed unusual tactical awareness and restraint. His methods suggest specialized training, possibly—"
"Speculating about villain motivations is not your job," Commissioner Nakamura interrupted. "Your job is to stop them when they commit crimes. Nothing more."
Tsuyu fell silent, but the conversation left her with an uncomfortable feeling that she couldn't quite shake. In her experience, the Commission usually wanted detailed analyses of villain behavior patterns. The fact that they were actively discouraging such analysis in this case struck her as... odd.
After the debriefing, she made her way through the Commission building's pristine corridors, noting details she had never paid attention to before. Security checkpoints that seemed excessive for a hero organization. Doors marked with clearance levels she didn't recognize. Personnel who carried themselves more like military operatives than administrative staff.
Had these things always been here, or was she simply noticing them for the first time?
Later that afternoon, Tsuyu met her former classmates at a small cafe in downtown Tokyo. It had become something of a tradition—whenever their schedules allowed, the alumni of U.A.'s Class 1-A would gather to catch up and maintain the bonds they had forged during their school years.
"Tsu-chan!" Ochaco Uraraka waved enthusiastically as Tsuyu approached their table. "You look tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?"
"Work has been busy," Tsuyu replied, settling into her chair with characteristic grace. Around the table sat some of her closest friends from their school days: Ochaco, Izuku Midoriya, and Shoto Todoroki. Each had grown into accomplished heroes in their own right, but in moments like this, they were simply friends sharing coffee and conversation.
"We saw the news about the convoy attack," Izuku said, his green eyes bright with concern. "That was you who responded, wasn't it? The report mentioned Froppy being on scene."
Tsuyu nodded. "The villain escaped with some documents. Nothing too serious, according to my supervisors."
"Undertow," Shoto said quietly, steam rising from his coffee cup. "He's been hitting Commission facilities for months now. Always takes documents, never seems interested in money or causing casualties."
"That's unusual for a villain, isn't it?" Ochaco asked. "Most of them are either after profit or just want to cause chaos."
"Some villains have ideological motivations," Izuku mused, pulling out his ever-present notebook. "Remember Stain? He genuinely believed he was improving hero society, even if his methods were extreme."
Tsuyu listened to her friends discuss villain psychology, but found her thoughts drifting back to her encounter with Undertow. There had been something in his eyes during their brief conversation, something that didn't match the profile of a typical criminal.
"Tsuyu?" Ochaco's voice brought her back to the present. "You've been quiet. Are you okay?"
"Just thinking," she replied. "Have any of you noticed anything... strange about Commission operations lately?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. Shoto raised an eyebrow, while Izuku leaned forward with interest.
"What kind of strange?" Todoroki asked.
"I'm not sure exactly. More secrecy than usual. Classified operations that they won't discuss even with the heroes involved. Does that seem normal to you?"
Izuku frowned thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, there have been some incidents recently where the Commission's response seemed... disproportionate. Small-scale villain activities being treated like major threats."
"And they've been reassigning a lot of heroes lately," Ochaco added. "Moving people around without much explanation."
"Maybe they're just reorganizing," Shoto suggested, but he didn't sound entirely convinced.
Tsuyu stored away her friends' observations, though she wasn't sure why they seemed significant. Perhaps she was simply overthinking things. The Commission had always been bureaucratic and secretive—that was nothing new.
But as the conversation moved on to lighter topics, she couldn't shake the feeling that something important was shifting beneath the surface of their world.
Later that evening, both Tsuyu and Shino found themselves watching the same news broadcast from their respective locations. The coverage of the convoy attack was surprisingly brief, relegated to a minor story about "routine villain activity" that was being "handled by appropriate authorities."
In his hideout, Shino watched with growing anger as the news anchor dismissed the incident as insignificant. The documents he had stolen contained evidence of years of systematic corruption, and the media was treating it like a routine break-in.
Of course, the Commission controlled most of the major news outlets through a combination of official pressure and financial influence. They had learned long ago that controlling the narrative was just as important as controlling the heroes.
In her apartment, Tsuyu watched the same broadcast with growing unease. She had been present at the scene, had seen the sophistication of the attack and the value the Commission placed on recovering the stolen materials. Yet the official story made it sound like a minor inconvenience.
Why was the Commission downplaying something they had clearly considered important enough to assign multiple security teams to protect?
The rain began to fall just as Tsuyu finished her evening patrol, large droplets that promised a proper storm. She had been walking through the memorial district, a part of the city dedicated to honoring fallen heroes. It was a place she visited sometimes when she needed to think, to remember why she had chosen to become a hero in the first place.
As the rain intensified, she ducked into a small cafe near the memorial grounds, shaking water from her casual clothes. She had changed out of her hero costume hours ago, preferring to blend in with the civilian population during her off-duty hours.
The cafe was warm and welcoming, with mismatched furniture and the kind of atmosphere that encouraged quiet conversation. Tsuyu ordered a coffee and claimed a table near the window, watching the rain create rivers in the streets outside.
She wasn't alone for long. A young man with dark hair and sharp features entered moments after her, looking equally grateful to escape the weather. He was perhaps a year or two older than herself, dressed simply in dark jeans and a gray sweater that looked expensive but understated.
"Excuse me," he said politely, approaching her table. "Would you mind if I sat here? It seems all the other tables are taken."
Tsuyu glanced around and realized he was right. The small cafe had filled up quickly as people sought shelter from the storm. "Of course," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.
He settled into the seat with fluid grace, ordering coffee from the passing waitress with the kind of quiet politeness that spoke of good breeding. Everything about him suggested education and refinement, though there was something in his eyes that suggested depths beneath the surface.
"Terrible weather," he commented, glancing toward the window.
"I don't mind the rain," Tsuyu replied. "It's peaceful."
"An unusual perspective." He smiled slightly, and she noticed that while the expression was polite, it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Most people see rain as an inconvenience."
"Most people don't appreciate water enough," she said without thinking, then paused. That was an odd thing to say to a stranger. "Sorry, that probably sounds weird."
"Not at all. Water is essential to life, yet most people take it for granted." His coffee arrived, and he wrapped his hands around the cup as if seeking its warmth. "Are you from around here?"
"I work in the area," Tsuyu said carefully. She had learned to be cautious about revealing too much personal information to strangers. "What about you?"
"I live nearby." It was a vague answer, but she didn't press. "I was visiting the memorial before the rain started. Do you go there often?"
"Sometimes. It helps me remember what's important." She studied his face, noting the careful neutrality of his expression. "Did you lose someone?"
Something flickered in his eyes—pain, quickly suppressed. "My sister. She died three years ago."
"I'm sorry." Tsuyu's voice carried genuine sympathy. "Was she a hero?"
"She wanted to be." His grip tightened slightly on his coffee cup. "She believed in justice, in protecting people. Right up until the end."
There was something in his tone that made Tsuyu look at him more closely. "You sound like you don't share that belief."
"Do you?" The question came back to her with unexpected intensity. "Do you believe in justice?"
Tsuyu considered the question carefully. "I believe in trying to do what's right, even when it's difficult. But justice..." She paused, thinking about her conversation with her friends earlier. "Justice is complicated. Sometimes the people who claim to represent it aren't as pure as they appear."
"An interesting perspective." He leaned back in his chair, studying her with eyes that seemed far older than his face. "Most people prefer simple answers. Heroes are good, villains are bad. The system works because it has to work."
"The world isn't that simple," she said. "People aren't that simple. Sometimes good people make bad choices, and sometimes bad people have good reasons."
"And sometimes the system that's supposed to protect people ends up becoming the thing they need protection from."
The words hung in the air between them. Tsuyu felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rainy weather. There was something about this stranger that resonated with thoughts she had been trying not to think, doubts she had been trying not to voice.
"You sound like you speak from experience," she said quietly.
"Don't we all?" He took a sip of his coffee, and she noticed that his hands were steady despite the intensity of their conversation. "Have you ever had your faith in something tested? Really tested?"
Tsuyu thought about the Commission's dismissive attitude toward her report, about the classified operations and excessive secrecy, about the way Undertow had moved during their fight—like someone trained to protect, not to harm.
"Recently, yes," she admitted. "It's unsettling when things you've always believed start to seem less certain."
"What did you do about it?"
The question caught her off guard. "I... I'm not sure yet. It's hard to know what to do when you're not even sure what questions to ask."
"Maybe that's the first step," he suggested. "Learning what questions to ask."
They sat in silence for a while, watching the rain stream down the windows. The storm seemed to be intensifying, with occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the darkened street.
"Can I ask you something?" Tsuyu said eventually.
"Of course."
"Your sister—when she died, did you ever think about giving up on what she believed in? About walking away from the ideals she fought for?"
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Every day."
"But you didn't."
"No," he said softly. "I chose a different path."
'One that would have horrified her, I think. But I couldn't just pretend that everything was fine, that the people responsible for her death deserved to continue living their lives unpunished.'
There was something in his voice—a darkness that made Tsuyu's instincts prick with unease. Yet at the same time, she found herself understanding his perspective in a way that surprised her.
"Sometimes I wonder," she said carefully, "if the people who claim to uphold justice are really just protecting their own interests. If the heroes and the organizations we trust are as pure as they claim to be."
"And what conclusion have you reached?"
"I'm still working on that." She looked at him directly, noting the intensity of his gaze. "But I'm starting to think that maybe the most heroic thing isn't always following orders or trusting the system. Maybe sometimes it's asking the questions that everyone else is afraid to ask."
"That's a dangerous way of thinking," he said, but there was approval in his voice. "Questions can lead to answers that change everything."
"Is that necessarily a bad thing?"
"That depends on what you're willing to do with the answers."
The rain was beginning to lighten, and Tsuyu realized that their conversation had continued far longer than she had expected. She glanced at her phone, noting the late hour.
"I should probably head home," she said, standing and gathering her things.
"Of course." He rose as well, and she noticed again how he moved—controlled, precise, clearly someone who had been extensively trained in physical disciplines. "Thank you for the conversation. It's rare to meet someone who thinks beyond the surface of things."
"Thank you too," she replied. "It helped me clarify some thoughts I'd been struggling with."
As she prepared to leave, she realized she didn't even know his name. "I'm Tsuyu, by the way."
"Shino," he replied without hesitation. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Tsuyu."
"Likewise."
She left the cafe feeling oddly unsettled yet somehow clearer about things that had been troubling her. The stranger—Shino—had articulated thoughts she had been afraid to voice even to herself. His perspective on justice and the system had been darker than her own, but there had been something compelling about his conviction.
As she walked home through the rain-washed streets, Tsuyu found herself thinking about heroes and villains, about the organizations that claimed to serve justice, and about the questions that everyone seemed afraid to ask.
Shino remained in the cafe long after Tsuyu had left, staring out at the rain with an expression of deep thought. The conversation had been unexpected in more ways than one. He had come to the memorial to visit the place where his sister's name should have been listed among the fallen heroes, only to find it absent—erased like everything else about her sacrifice.
The cafe had simply been a refuge from the weather, but the young woman who had shared his table had proven to be something else entirely. Her questions had been insightful, her doubts about the system both surprising and encouraging. Most heroes he had encountered were either blindly loyal to the Commission or willfully ignorant of its flaws.
But Tsuyu—he tested the name in his mind—seemed different. She was questioning things, seeing cracks in the facade that most people accepted without examination. There had been an intelligence in her eyes, a depth of thought that went beyond simple hero worship.
For a moment, he almost regretted the deception. She had been honest with him, sharing doubts and fears that she probably hadn't voiced to anyone else. Meanwhile, he had been playing a role, carefully guiding the conversation while hiding his true identity.
But such regrets were pointless. He had chosen his path three years ago when he picked up his sister's badge from her lifeless hand and decided that the system couldn't be reformed from within. It had to be torn down and rebuilt, and that required someone willing to be the villain in other people's stories.
Still, as he finally left the cafe and disappeared into the rainy night, Shino found himself hoping that when the truth finally came out, Tsuyu would be among those who chose to act.
The rain continued to fall, washing the city clean and carrying away secrets in its flow. But some secrets had a way of resurfacing, no matter how deeply they were buried.
And in the darkness between lightning flashes, a storm far greater than the weather was building momentum, driven by the collision of ideals and the hunger for justice in a world where truth had become a luxury few could afford.