The morning after the anomaly vanished into the sea, Japan did not wake peacefully.
Emergency frequencies hummed across national channels. News stations looped shaky footage of the light that streaked across the sky before crashing into the Pacific. The ocean near Musutafu's coastline glowed faintly for nearly three minutes before going dark — like the world had taken a deep breath and held it.
And now, everyone waited to see what would exhale.
U.A. Emergency Council Room
The usually bright meeting chamber had been sealed off. The lights were low, holographic displays shimmered across the room, showing data feeds, live surveillance, and world communication lines.
Nezu sat at the central console, paws folded, his sharp eyes darting between streams of data. Beside him stood Aizawa, silent, arms crossed. All Might, in his thinner form, leaned against the far wall, face drawn and serious.
Nighteye adjusted his glasses, scanning the large holographic projection showing the oceanic coordinates. "The energy surge registered across every satellite we have access to. The wave intensity wasn't destructive — but it was… precise."
All Might frowned. "Precise? You mean deliberate?"
"Yes," Nighteye replied, voice steady. "The intervals between pulses — 4.7 seconds each. Repeating. Too regular to be random, too weak to be a weapon. It almost reads like…"
"…a signal," Nezu finished softly.
The word lingered.
Aizawa finally spoke, his tone flat but sharp. "Has there been any movement since?"
Nezu shook his head. "None. Surface temperature has stabilized. No seismic aftershock. But radar still reports distortion around the entry zone."
All Might straightened slightly. "And the coastal area?"
"Evacuated," Nezu answered. "Hero Commission took over immediately. They're forming an investigative response. We'll be looped into their command channel soon."
Nighteye turned to one of the auxiliary screens. "Any civilian footage?"
Aizawa pressed a key — a short clip played, recorded from a fishing vessel that had drifted too close to the impact radius. A column of mist rose from the water, glowing faintly blue. Beneath it, just barely visible, a humanoid outline moved within the fog — suspended, unmoving, as though staring back at the surface.
Then static.
The feed cut abruptly.
Hero Public Safety Commission
The main situation room looked like a war command center. Rows of analysts spoke in hushed tones, holo-feeds flickering around the perimeter.
Endeavor stood near the central map table, towering and impatient. His flames burned low — controlled, but visible.
Hawks leaned beside him, wings folded tight, his usual smirk replaced by rare seriousness. "The ocean readings are all over the place," he muttered. "Magnetism's gone haywire. Drones can't stay stable past fifty meters."
Across the room, Best Jeanist studied a projected topographic map. "The Hero Satellite Grid can't get a full visual. Whatever that thing was — it's emitting something that blinds every major sensor model."
"Could be electromagnetic interference," offered Edgeshot, stepping closer, voice quiet and calm. "Or… something we've never measured before."
Endeavor's eyes narrowed. "Then we find out."
Before anyone could reply, the holo-screen flickered. The feed expanded to reveal Nezu, All Might, and Nighteye joining via secure connection.
"Good to see you all still in one piece," Hawks greeted lightly. It didn't make anyone smile.
Nezu began without preamble. "We've analyzed your field data. The entity's entry vector doesn't match any atmospheric object. No re-entry burn, no debris, no heat distortion."
"All of that means it wasn't falling," Nighteye said. "It arrived."
Silence.
Endeavor's voice was low. "You're suggesting controlled descent."
"I'm suggesting," Nighteye replied, "that it chose to come here."
Nezu's screen displayed a rotating digital model — the ocean near Musutafu, dotted with red interference zones. "The Hero Commission requests your team to proceed to the site for direct investigation. Drones and satellite telemetry are unreliable. We'll provide aerial support and live relay."
Endeavor grunted. "Understood."
Hawks whistled softly. "So, we're diving into unknown waters chasing something that makes satellites blink out. Fun day."
"Treat it as reconnaissance," Nezu cautioned. "No engagement. Observation only. If it's hostile, retreat."
All Might stepped forward, his shadow long against the holographic glow. "If it's watching us, then we need to know why."
His voice, calm but edged with unease, carried the weight of experience — the tone of a man who'd seen too much to dismiss anything as coincidence.
Global Feeds
On the large display wall at Hero Commission HQ, smaller screens flickered to life — encrypted international communications joining the conference.
A stern-faced woman appeared — Star and Stripe's U.S. Commanding Officer, framed by the American flag. "Our satellites picked up your anomaly, Japan. We lost lock at the exact same timestamp you did. We're monitoring atmospheric residuals, but… nothing. Whatever it is, it's not conventional."
Next appeared Director Klaus, representing the European Hero League. "We detected it entering global orbit before descent. It crossed multiple nations' airspace in under three minutes. That kind of velocity without sonic impact is—"
"Impossible," Aizawa finished over the line.
"—unrecorded," Klaus corrected tightly. "We're treating it as a global-level anomaly. Keep us updated. Europe's ready to deploy support if needed."
Finally, a calm voice joined from Beijing. Dr. Rui Chen, head of China's Quirk Regulation Bureau, spoke with careful precision. "Our quantum radar arrays detected pattern echoes under the sea floor. Not mechanical. Not biological. But something responding to deep electromagnetic pressure."
Nezu's ears twitched. "Responding?"
"Yes," Dr. Chen said. "As though it's… adjusting."
The line fell into silence.
Then All Might spoke. "If it's adjusting… then it's still alive."
No one wanted to agree aloud.
The Hero Public Safety Commission's private aircraft waited at dawn — silver, unmarked, and fitted with deep-sea sensor systems.
Endeavor stood near the ramp, his cloak flickering faintly. "Team, brief check."
Hawks lifted his visor. "Wings operational. Comms set."
Best Jeanist tightened his carbon-weave harness. "Environmental resistance at 70 percent. Threads prepped for water drag."
Edgeshot, already in partial stealth form, nodded. "Entering observation mode once submerged perimeter reached."
The engines began to hum — low and smooth.
From the control room, Nezu's voice crackled through the comms. "Primary objective: confirm visual contact. Secondary objective: record all sensor data. Do not attempt communication. Maintain distance."
Endeavor's response was curt. "Understood."
The craft rose from the tarmac, slicing through dawn's haze. Below, Tokyo's skyline glowed faintly. Above, the sea of clouds stretched endless.
Nighteye stood beside Nezu and All Might, watching the telemetry streams. Data lines flickered, numbers fluctuating erratically.
"The magnetic field is unstable again," Nighteye muttered. "Same frequency as before."
All Might frowned. "Could it be trying to jam us?"
"Or warning us," Nezu said softly.
Aizawa crossed his arms. "Warnings imply communication."
Nezu's tone was unreadable. "Exactly."
At Sea
Waves broke gently against the aircraft's hull as it hovered above the designated coordinates.
"Deploy drones," Endeavor ordered.
Hawks tapped a control pad. "Four in motion. Visual and sonar feed active."
The screens filled with grainy underwater images — deep blue haze, shadows moving like ghosts in the current.
Edgeshot's voice came through comms. "No turbulence detected. Water pressure constant. Wait… one of the drones picked something up."
Hawks zoomed in. A shape — distant, humanoid — floated within the dark. Not drifting. Stationary.
"Enhance the image," Endeavor commanded.
The picture sharpened. Light caught along faint contours — metallic? No. Organic? Hard to tell. The being's posture was upright, head tilted slightly downward, as though… listening.
Jeanist murmured, "That's not debris. It's intact."
Then — the drone lights flickered.
Static filled the comms.
All four feeds cut to black.
HQ
"Signal lost," Nighteye said immediately, adjusting knobs. "All channels severed simultaneously. Power surge from below the surface."
"Reboot secondary relays," Nezu ordered. "Now."
Technicians scrambled. Static filled the air.
Then, faintly — one image returned.
It was dark. The camera, half-functional, caught only silhouettes and faint ripples. But in that grainy picture, the entity turned — slowly — facing directly toward the lens.
Nighteye's eyes narrowed.
"It's aware of us."
Then, white light — and the feed collapsed.
Around the world, every nation's radar briefly went blind.
Air traffic controllers in Los Angeles. Satellite operators in Paris. Oceanic researchers in Manila. All reported the same anomaly — a complete, synchronized blackout lasting precisely 6.4 seconds.
When visibility returned, the ocean near Japan appeared unchanged. No glow. No readings. No trace of anything alive or mechanical.
It was gone.
Tokyo HQ
Silence reigned over the command room.
Endeavor's voice crackled faintly through the line. "The water's clear. No heat. No movement. Whatever it was — it's not here anymore."
Nighteye exhaled through his nose. "It didn't retreat. It simply vanished."
All Might leaned closer to the console. "Are you sure?"
Hawks' voice came next, subdued: "If it's still here… it doesn't want us to know."
Nezu's gaze remained fixed on the dark display. "Then it learned."
Global Conference
Later that night, multiple nations reconnected via secure link.
Dr. Rui Chen reported calmly, "Our radar blackout occurred in perfect synchronization with yours."
Director Klaus added, "Europe experienced the same. No seismic shifts. No detonation. Just… absence."
The American officer nodded gravely. "Which means it's not an isolated phenomenon. This thing interacts with planetary systems directly."
All Might folded his arms. "We can't protect against something we can't see."
Nezu's voice remained steady. "Then we prepare for when it wants to be seen again."
No one replied.
For a few seconds, the only sound was the faint hum of static from the open channels — like the ocean breathing.
At the same time, far out in the Pacific, a lone underwater drone drifted through the dark. Its battery almost depleted, its camera flickering.
For just a moment — it caught a faint shimmer deep below.A silhouette moved again, faint, gliding through darkness like a patient hunter.
And then, without warning, the feed died for good.
Back at the surface, the ocean rippled once — and went still.