Kyudai Garaki had finally finished distributing the samples. He had meticulously selected the orphanages, sorting them by their "climate": some were warm and nurturing, others were cold, neglected pits of misery. He needed to observe how these environments would shape the accumulation of malice or altruism, and ultimately, how they would trigger the awakening of their Quirks.
Only one remained. Subject 03. The one he had saved for last.
Suddenly, the child's eyes snapped open. There was no confusion, only a raw, focused fury. He began to lash out, his small fists cracking the reinforced glass of the vat. His face was a mask of precocious malice, possessing the sharp, angular features of a natural-born villain. Garaki hurried to release the pressure.
As the glass slid away, the Third tumbled out. He collapsed onto the cold floor, his limbs atrophied from months of floating in the nutrient suspension. Garaki watched in silent awe; this child possessed an incredible, primal will to live that none of the others had shown.
The scientist turned on the sterile spray to wash away the viscous fluid. The boy flinched, shielding himself with his thin arms, his eyes never leaving Garaki—distrustful, calculating, like a cornered animal. Only when the warmth of the water hit his skin did he relax, if only slightly.
Garaki chuckled. The boy's suspicion was a good sign; it was the mark of a predator. He decided not to brand him with a tattoo just yet. To mold this one, he first needed to earn his absolute trust. As the child began to shiver in the air-conditioned chill, Garaki took the first step: he gently draped a soft sheet over his shoulders.
The Third stared at the empty vats with an unreadable gaze as Garaki plotted their next move. For now, the boy would be moved to the Jaku General Hospital under the pretext of treating his muscle atrophy.
While Garaki spent the night destroying evidence in the wooden house, the child watched his every move. He was a sponge, adopting the scientist's habits, his gait, and the way he handled his tools. The Third seemed to view the vat as the womb he had been stolen from, and Garaki as the being that had disturbed his peace—his "parent." It was a primitive imprinting, like a hatchling seeing its first living creature. He looked at the other empty vats, instinctively realizing there had been others like him, but he lacked the language to voice the question. He had no words, only instincts.
Garaki began to douse the house in fuel. The Third followed him, his eyes tracking the glint of a silver lighter. Seeing the child's interest, Garaki slowed down, speaking the words clearly in Japanese.
— Lighter.
Click. A flame bloomed.
— Fire.
The Third reached out, fascinated by the dancing orange light. He touched the heat and recoiled instantly, hissing.
— You cannot study the world without getting burned, —Garaki mused. —Risk is the silent partner of research. We are all students of pain.
— O... O-fire...— the boy repeated, his voice raspy and new.
— Correct.
— Co-et...
Kyudai led the boy to his truck. The Third didn't try to run. To him, the world was a void, and Garaki was the only solid thing in it. As they drove away, the boy watched the house vanish into a roar of chaotic orange flames.
— "Fire. House full of fire," the child whispered.
Garaki realized he had struck gold. Most students were a burden, but this child was a prodigy. At this rate, he would be more articulate than most five-year-olds within months. They drove through the night toward Jaku. Garaki knew he had to balance his dual life: the devoted Head Doctor by day, and the architect of evil by night.
He watched the boy sleep in the passenger seat. He was unsure how to raise an heir to the Demon King. If he was too strict, he would lose the boy's trust; if he was too soft, he would produce a weakling. The heir needed trials to forge his own principles. Garaki decided he would only provide the foundation—the rest would be up to the Third.
The rehabilitation began in a private wing of Jaku Hospital. Garaki moved through the legal shadows, forging a birth certificate and adoption papers. In the eyes of the law, "Daruma Ujiko" didn't exist. There was only Dr. Kyudai Garaki, the esteemed head of medicine.
The Third was given a name: Taiko Garaki.
The hospital staff suspected nothing. They saw a brilliant doctor adopting a disabled orphan—a grand gesture of charity. In his office, Garaki sighed over the mountain of paperwork. He loathed the bureaucracy, his heart remaining in the dark labs where the real secrets of Quirks lay buried.
He went to check on Taiko. He had deliberately placed the boy in a common room with other children undergoing physical therapy. Standing behind the observation glass, Garaki watched. The other children played loudly, simple and boisterous. Taiko stood apart, watching them for several minutes.
At first, his eyes held curiosity, but that quickly curdled into arrogant disgust. He seemed to realize, even at his age, that their games lacked intellect or purpose. The depth of his perception was chilling—it was a direct echo of All For One's cunning.
Taiko's gaze settled on the loudest, most annoying child in the room. To Garaki's surprise, the boy's expression shifted; he made his face "simple" and "silly," blending in. He crawled over, offered a toy, and with a series of subtle, calculated movements, caused a minor accident that left the bully screaming in tears. By the time the nurses arrived, Taiko was back in his corner, looking perfectly innocent.
Garaki smiled behind the glass. This was the spirit he had been looking for. He had received reports from the other orphanages via bribes; none of the other sixteen survivors showed this level of rapid development.
The Third was the true successor. He was divine, crafted from the blood of a king.
There was only one lingering shadow of doubt: All For One's original Quirk, the ability to steal and grant power, had not manifested in any of the clones. It seemed the trait had "dissipated" or failed to replicate through the generations of cellular cultivation.
But as Garaki watched Taiko manipulate the room, he realized it didn't matter. The power would come. For now, the genius was enough.