When Mewtwo woke, the world around him felt muted—soft light creeping through the curtains, dust floating in still air. His first instinct was to scan the room, searching for anything out of place.
Everything seemed normal.
Then his eyes fell to his arm.
The skin still glowed faintly blue, a dim, pulsing 23 etched into it like a brand of light. He blinked hard, more than one level at once, but it didn't fade. His breath hitched as he turned toward Emi. She was already awake—sitting up on the futon, hair messy, her face pale and dazed.
She looked at him in confusion. "...Did we fall asleep?"
Raiden's gaze shifted to the clock beside her. 5:03 a.m. Dawn. Almost time to wake up for real.
But before he could answer, it hit him.
A sharp, splitting pain tore through his skull. His vision blurred. Every muscle in his body clenched like he was being electrocuted from the inside. The ache wasn't physical—not exactly—it was deeper, like his mind and body were being pulled in different directions.
He collapsed backward, sinking into the futon, his breathing shallow.
The pain spread. His bones throbbed, his veins burned, and beneath the roar in his head he felt something—something moving just above him.
Through gritted teeth, Raiden reached up. His hands brushed something solid, smooth… curved.
Horns.
He froze.
They were there—real, tangible—the same, arching round horns from his transformed state. Only this time, he wasn't transformed at all.
The pain ebbed gradually, dulling until only a pressure remained at the base of his skull. He waited until the throbbing stopped, then sat up slowly. Emi said something in the background, but her voice barely reached him. His focus was locked on the two new shapes crowning his head.
"...What the hell…" he muttered.
He tried to reverse it immediately—to will the horns away, to deactivate whatever part of his Quirk had gone rogue. But nothing happened. The horns stayed.
Permanent.
Maybe a side effect of that new state, he thought or maybe evolution.
He wasn't sure which idea scared him more.
If it was evolution, then his body was changing to handle power he hadn't yet learned to control. If it was a side effect, then it meant something inside him had broken during that last surge in the dream.
That fight—the transformation—he had pushed everything beyond the limit. He remembered the raw, limitless energy flooding his body, the heat, the sound of his own mind cracking open. If that had been the real world, he knew he would've died.
Here, in reality, just remembering it made his pulse spike. He wasn't sure he could even attempt that again without his body tearing apart.
Still, another thought surfaced. In that state, he hadn't once relied on physical strength. No punches. No kicks. No tail strikes. Every movement, every instinct had been purely mental—psychic precision over brute force. The idea of attacking with his body hadn't even crossed his mind.
"...What was all of that?" Raiden whispered, still running his fingers along the edges of his new horns.
'Everything about this feels wrong,' Raiden thought, pacing slowly as the dawn mist rolled through Emi's garden. From the very beginning—none of it made sense. Was that my true form? Or something else?
His hand brushed against the horns again. They were real. Permanent.
And now what?
He looked back toward the house, through the open window where Emi sat on the futon rubbing her eyes and looking at him with worry.
I can't risk him coming after her again.
If the Symbol of Fear attacked a second time, Emi wouldn't survive. The villain's quirk didn't just kill—it played. It broke minds before bodies. And if he had targeted her once, he could do it again.
Raiden clenched his jaw.
He tried to kill me because I was an unknown variable.
In the dream, his intrusion must have caught the villain's attention—someone who could interfere inside the domain of another mind. That alone made him dangerous. The Symbol of Fear would want him gone.
But there was something else.
If I won that fight... if I woke up and he bled, then he's hurt.
His eyes widened. That's it.
Raiden shot to his feet, startling Emi. "I'll be right back," he said quickly, already halfway to the door before she could ask.
Outside, the early air was sharp and cold, carrying the faint hum of waking city streets. He stepped into the yard and pulled out his phone, dialing the one person who would answer no matter the hour.
Lady Nagant.
The line rang once before a tired voice answered.
"…Raiden? It's five in the morning. What happened?"
"I fought him," Raiden said flatly. "The Symbol of Fear. I have a rough idea of what his Quirk does—and if I'm right, we can catch him tonight. He's wounded, badly. If we act fast, he'll need medical help before sunrise or he'll die."
There was silence. Then—an explosion of disbelief.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Kaina snapped, her voice sharp even through the static. "How could you have fought him? He's the most elusive villain in Japan! We've been chasing him for years and don't even have a face! The only thing we know is that his victims' nightmares become real. The few survivors we've found are traumatized beyond reason. How the hell did you get information on him?"
Raiden took a slow breath. "Because I was inside one of his nightmares," he said. "That's why there are no witnesses—he erases memories of the dreams once he's done. Only when he's finished playing, when he gets bored, do the victims wake up remembering everything. That's when the trauma starts."
He paused, pressing a hand to his temple. "But he can't erase my memories. My Quirk resists mental interference. And from what I saw... he's powerful, yes—but not perfect. Inexperienced."
"Explain," Kaina said immediately, her tone all business now.
"His powers work entirely within dreams," Raiden began. "There are three core aspects. First—he can invade someone's dream, but I think he needs some form of connection. Maybe he has to know his target, or at least be near them. That means he's here—in the city."
He looked up toward the pale light breaking over the rooftops. His expression hardened.
"And if I'm right," he continued quietly, "he's already bleeding, hurt somewhere in it."
"Second," Raiden continued, pacing the edge of the garden, "he can manipulate dreams—but that control has limits. It depends on what he knows. Inside the dream, I fought almost every top hero—All Might included—but they were weaker than their real counterparts. That's how I won. He can fabricate anything he understands, but only within the scope of his knowledge. He's like a limited god inside his own world… but unfortunately for him, he met someone else who governs the mind."
Kaina's tone sharpened. "And the third?"
Raiden hesitated for a moment, his expression hardening. "Everything that happens there—psychological or physical damage—it all carries over into the real world. And that includes him. In the last fight, he tried to collapse the dream around me to erase me completely, but I overpowered him. That means the feedback should've hit him just as hard. He'll be in pain right now, maybe dying. He'll need help."
Kaina cursed softly. "He won't go to a regular hospital. Someone like that'll have underworld connections—black-market medics, safe houses. He'll hide until he stabilizes." Then, after a pause, her tone shifted, half-gruff, half-proud. "Still… damn, kid. Two of the worst villains in Japan, and you're still in your first year? Not even All Might had that kind of start."
Raiden huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, but he didn't have nightmares trying to kill his friends."
Her voice turned firm again. "Listen. Start with the hospitals nearby—see if anyone suspicious shows up asking for off-hours treatment or heavy anesthesia. I'll mobilize some contacts to watch the underworld clinics and hero-friendly black markets. If your theory's right, we'll corner him before dawn. You've got your orders—move."
The call ended with a sharp click.
Raiden exhaled, his pulse still racing. Then, without hesitation, his body shimmered—his form twisting, lifting from the ground. The transformation came slower than usual, his muscles straining, his aura weaker.
He hovered above Emi's house, the sky tinted gold with the rising sun. From that height, the city looked calm, unaware of the hunt beginning.
'I'm still exhausted from that dream,' he thought, scanning the horizon. His body bore no wounds, but the fatigue ran deep, echoing in his bones, they were broken just a moments ago.
Still, his eyes hardened.
Mewtwo hovered above the rooftops, eyes narrowed, his aura pulsing faintly through the morning haze. He stretched his psychic sense outward, probing the streets, the homes, the passing thoughts of early risers—searching for anything wrong.
But there was nothing.
He could feel the heartbeat of the neighborhood—the quiet hum of lives waking up, the faint emotions of people half-asleep—but no trace of the presence he was looking for. No dark pulse, no signature that matched the one from the nightmare.
He kept moving, gliding soundlessly above the streets, following the soft glow of streetlights still fading against the dawn. His gaze flicked toward the nearest hospital, and he changed course, scanning every building, every alley, expanding his psychic field with every breath.
Still nothing.
'Range… most Quirks need a functional range,' he thought, his mind running through possibilities. But if it were that simple, he'd be easy to find. It has to be something else—something that lets him hide in plain sight.
He hovered over a block of apartments, the scent of asphalt and morning rain rising below. His mind spun. A place where people sleep, but where no one asks questions. Somewhere full of temporary names, no registrations, no paper trail…
Then it hit him.
The red-light district.
It was just two kilometers away—close enough to stay within range, far enough to blend among hundreds of strangers. A perfect place for someone whose power relied on sleep and secrecy. If he had to rest between attacks, that was where he'd do it.
Without hesitation, Mewtwo darted toward the district, cutting through the wind, the cityscape streaking beneath him. Neon lights still glimmered faintly even as the sun climbed higher, the remnants of nightlife fading into morning silence.
He slowed near the edge of the district, lowering himself between narrow rooftops. From here, he could see the maze of alleys and back doors where the city's secrets hid. He scanned the streets again—and froze.
A man stumbled out of a side exit, his steps uneven, one arm pressed against his ribs. Blood darkened his sleeve. His clothes looked like they had once been neat, now torn and stained.
Mewtwo's pulse quickened.
The man wasn't looking around—just walking, slow, deliberate, as if every step hurt.
'Weak… bleeding… using the side door to avoid being seen,' Mewtwo thought, eyes narrowing.
He floated silently higher, his psychic aura coiling like mist.
Found you.