Six months passed.
The results were sobering: out of the original hundred, only seventeen infants survived the full term. As they floated in vats filled with accelerated-growth nutrients, Garaki meticulously compared their vitals, deciding which of them would be "culled" to narrow the field. Once the survivors developed distinct physical characteristics, he carefully transplanted them into larger maturation chambers. It was a surgical operation of the highest order, requiring absolute sterility to mimic the sanctuary of a womb.
The second key milestone had been reached. Ten candidates—four boys and six girls—had formed perfectly. They were healthy, robust, and devoid of genetic defects. Thanks to the accelerated-growth technology, these year-old embryos now possessed the physical forms of three-year-olds.
Garaki knew he had to hurry. The "selection" needed to enter its third stage before All For One grew suspicious. The Doctor was already spending an inordinate amount of time in this "private" lab. The stakes were suffocatingly high; he now possessed ten potential vessels for his master's power, and he knew Sensei would not tolerate rivals. If discovered, All For One would likely force Garaki to incinerate his life's work.
— I must move them... my creations, you will be safe.
The only person Garaki could trust was a loyal underworld fixer, a dark-haired man who had served the syndicate for years. Even so, the Doctor hesitated. He had to convince the man to commit treason against the Demon King.
Soon after, the fixer arrived at the secluded facility.
— You called, Doctor?
— Indeed. There is a matter of grave importance, but first, answer me this: have you noticed how Sensei is gradually being pushed back?
The man paused, weighing his words. — "The recent skirmishes with the Hero Association were... unpleasant. But that doesn't mean Sensei is weakening."
— Unlike previous setbacks, this involves Nana Shimura,— Garaki countered, his voice low. —She bears the Quirk that is the polar opposite of Sensei's power. She is demonstrating superiority across multiple prefectures. This isn't just hitting All For One; it's hitting his empire. Market confidence is crumbling. Even Rikiya is starting to look elsewhere.
The Doctor saw the flicker of doubt in the man's eyes and moved in for the kill.
— We need a contingency plan. That is why I cloned All For One.
The fixer's eyes widened. — You did what?!
— See for yourself.
Garaki led him to a restricted sector—a ghost wing of the lab that didn't exist on any official blueprint.
— Are these... his clones?— the man whispered, staring at the rows of glowing vats.
— They are his children. The true heirs to his spirit and his crown.
— Do they possess the Quirk?
— It is too early to tell, but the probability is high. I need your help to transport them. Sensei is beginning to watch me too closely."
The fixer looked at the small faces behind the glass. He was loyal to the cause, but the idea of a "successor" was intoxicating.
— I'm in.
— I've secured a location far from the city, —Garaki explained. —Your job is to manage the logistics for ten children. Keeping them together will accelerate their Quirk manifestation through competition. Then, we will see who truly inherited his will.
Some time later.
Chaos erupted in the underworld. Nana Shimura had been spotted in Musutafu, and shortly after, her husband was assassinated. The Heroes launched a massive, coordinated raid against All For One's syndicate. To protect her own son, Nana made the agonizing choice to leave him with a foster family, ordering Gran Torino and Toshinori to never seek him out. Bases were falling, supporters were being hunted, and the Demon King's grip on Japan was slipping.
In the basement of a nondescript village house, Garaki watched as his ten subjects reached the physical age of four. With the Heroes breathing down their necks, keeping them in one location was no longer a risk—it was a death sentence. He decided to scatter them among various orphanages across the country, keeping a secret ledger of their locations.
The fixer, helping with the final transport, noticed something strange. All the clones were silver-haired, red-eyed mirrors of Sensei. All except one. Subject 03 had shocking black hair and eyes the color of emeralds. For a split second, the fixer thought he saw the boy's finger twitch, despite the heavy sedatives.
— Doctor, you said you'd give them to families? I want to take this one, —the fixer said suddenly. He had never had a family; his life had been nothing but blood and service. The idea of raising All For One's blood was an honor he couldn't pass up.
— It's too risky, — Garaki snapped, eyeing the boy. He was puzzled by the mutation. "He isn't an exact copy. Black hair... green eyes. It's a random deviation.
— He doesn't look like Sensei. That makes him safer.
— You know nothing of raising children," Garaki said, his glasses flashing menacingly. "I will handle this one personally. His differences may serve as the perfect camouflage. Sensei will never suspect a green-eyed child."
Garaki's plan was calculated: by placing them in different environments, he could study how upbringing influenced Quirk awakening. But his decision to keep Subject 03 was also a safeguard—he wouldn't let his most "unique" specimen fall into the hands of common bandits.
— You, raising a child? I don't recognize you, Doctor.
— They are my masterpieces. I alone know what they require. Now, go. If you wish to be involved, you may visit the hospital occasionally.
The fixer bowed and left. As the door closed, Garaki quietly activated a tracking bug he had planted on the man's coat. "Slippery fool. I'll be keeping you on a very short leash."
Finally, it was time to wake them. Garaki pressed a sequence on the console. The last vat, Subject 09, hissed open. The nutrient fluid gushed out, swirling into the floor drains. The small, pale child slumped forward, barely conscious.
Garaki sighed, his breath hitching in his chest. He threw a sterile sheet over the boy and rolled a stretcher over. After securing the child's limbs, Garaki picked up a needle.
On the pale skin of the boy's neck, he began to ink a small, indelible mark: 09. Just in case they tried to change their names. Just in case they tried to forget who they belonged to.