Nobody moved.
The dock lights flickered above the river, turning the water into broken strips of black and yellow.
Cargo containers rose on either side of the narrow pier like blunt, rusting towers.
Eraser Head stood at the centre of Red Team with his eyes burning red.
Rampart’s barriers vanished wherever his gaze held.
The air still remembered them.
Cold pressure lingered against Aizawa’s skin.
The warped reflections around the containers straightened, but only while he refused to blink.
Across the dock, Rampart smiled.
His organisation waited around him.
Men and women stood on warehouse roofs, between shipping containers, aboard moored vessels and behind parked cargo vehicles.
Some wore work clothes.
Others wore partial hero equipment, police armour or masks designed to conceal the shape of their faces.
There were too many to count cleanly.
Fifty, perhaps sixty.
The number mattered less than their arrangement.
They were not a crowd.
They were a machine.
Hushline stood at Aizawa’s left, her Quiet Field spreading across the nearest section of dock.
The river continued moving, but its sound faded until each wave struck the pilings in near silence.
Threadhound remained closer to the boat’s cabin, one hand pressed against his injured side.
Inspector Kuroda and three vetted officers covered the gangway and the narrow path leading towards the warehouses.
Behind them, inside the cabin, Izuku’s torn All Might T-shirt rested on an evidence sheet.
Blood darkened one side.
Aizawa could feel its presence without looking.
At U.A., Midnight watched through his body camera.
The video trembled slightly each time he breathed.
“Red Team,” Nezu said through the encrypted channel.
“Maintain formation.
Do not advance.” Rampart tilted his head.
He could not hear Nezu through the earpieces.
He did not need to.
“You are being told to retreat,” he said.
Aizawa did not answer.
Rampart’s gaze drifted towards the camera attached to Aizawa’s uniform.
“Principal Nezu, I presume.” At U.A., Nezu sat at the communications desk beside Midnight.
Four screens showed the dock from different body cameras.
A fifth displayed the remaining team positions.
A sixth held the frozen image of Izuku’s bloodied shirt.
Mitsuki stood behind them with both hands pressed against the back of a chair.
Masaru kept one arm around Katsuki.
Katsuki held Izuku’s small All Might figure against his chest.
Rampart looked directly towards Aizawa’s camera.
“And Midnight.” Midnight’s hand went rigid above the console.
She could still feel the false nurse’s injector entering her arm.
She could still hear the stretcher wheels leaving the hospital room.
Rampart continued.
“How is the recovery?” Present Mic’s voice burst through Blue Team’s channel.
“Don’t answer him.” Midnight had not intended to.
Rampart smiled as if her silence confirmed her presence.
“You promised the boy you would stay, didn’t you?” Aizawa’s capture weapon shifted.
“Where is Izuku?” Rampart ignored him.
“I wondered how many broken promises it would take before the child stopped trusting heroes entirely.” Midnight’s breath caught.
The U.A.
control room narrowed around her.
The monitors became hospital walls.
Izuku’s hand reached towards her from the stretcher.
You said you’d stay.
Her fingers slipped from the keyboard.
Nezu’s paw landed beside them.
Not touching.
Present.
“Midnight,” he said quietly.
“I’m here.” Her voice sounded wrong.
“You are at the console.” “I know.” “Tell me what you see.” She forced her eyes towards the feeds.
“Rampart.
Fifty-plus hostiles.
At least three elevated ranged positions.
Mobile group behind the northern container line.
Possible additional forces inside the warehouses.” The facts returned shape to the room.
Nezu nodded.
“Continue observing.” On the dock, Rampart spread his hands.
“You call this an investigation,” he said.
“I call it following instructions.” Aizawa’s eyes watered.
Rampart’s Quirk remained suppressed.
The villains around him did not move, but several adjusted their footing.
Ready.
Waiting for permission.
“You left the warehouse for them,” Aizawa said.
“I left enough.” “The clinic.” “Useful medical waste.
A child-sized restraint.
Police materials.
Disturbing, but hardly decisive.” “The training facility.” Rampart’s smile sharpened.
“That one was sentimental.
I thought Midnight deserved to know how carefully we studied her.” Midnight’s vision blurred.
Mitsuki leaned towards the screen.
“You watched her helping children.” Rampart could not hear her.
Midnight could.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The photographs from the training facility remained inside her mind.
Midnight kneeling beside injured civilians.
Midnight shielding children during villain attacks.
Notes beneath each image.
Will remain with vulnerable target if team divides.
Rampart continued speaking to the body camera.
“You developed an attachment quickly, Midnight.
Admirable, in a way.
Predictable in another.” Aizawa took one step forward.
Hushline moved her arm across his path.
“Don’t,” she whispered inside the Quiet Field.
Rampart noticed the movement.
“The hospital was elegant because each of you behaved perfectly.” Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.
“Perfectly?” “Present Mic ran towards reports of mass casualties.
You investigated the system irregularities personally.
Midnight remained with the child.” His expression held something worse than pride.
Satisfaction.
“You did not make mistakes.
You acted exactly as heroes are trained to act.” At U.A., Present Mic had gone silent in the Blue Team vehicle.
His hands closed around his knees.
Nezu spoke through every team channel.
“He is attempting to redefine your strengths as weaknesses.
Do not assist him.” Rampart paced slowly across the dock.
Aizawa tracked him with his eyes.
Every step risked shifting the angle of Erasure.
Every movement of Rampart’s men demanded attention Aizawa could not give them.
“Then there was the search,” Rampart said.
“Four locations.
Four teams.
Four colours.
Very efficient.” Katsuki looked towards the coloured markers on the map.
Red.
Blue.
Green.
Gold.
His small fingers tightened around the All Might figure.
Rampart stopped near the digital timer’s empty place on the crate, though he had not yet revealed it.
“The warehouse gave you transportation.
The clinic gave you medicine.
The training facility gave you planning.” “And the docks?” Aizawa asked.
Rampart glanced towards the boat.
“The docks gave you hope.” Aizawa’s capture weapon lifted by another centimetre.
“The shirt was planted.” “Placed,” Rampart corrected.
“Words matter.” “Whose blood?” Rampart’s gaze returned to him.
“You know whose shirt it is.” “That wasn’t my question.” “No.” “Whose blood?” Rampart did not answer.
The refusal struck harder than any lie.
At U.A., Mitsuki dug her nails into the chair.
“That bastard.” Masaru’s hand settled on her shoulder.
She shook it away.
Katsuki looked at Midnight.
“Is it Deku’s blood?” “We don’t know.” “Rampart knows.” “Yes.” “Make him say.” Midnight looked at Eraser Head’s red eyes.
“He wants us to try.” Rampart walked towards the evidence cabin.
Aizawa’s capture weapon snapped forward.
The cloth wrapped around Rampart’s wrist before he could take another step.
Rampart stopped.
His men shifted.
Dozens of bodies preparing to attack at once.
Nezu’s voice sharpened in Aizawa’s ear.
“Red Lead, release and withdraw.” Aizawa tightened the cloth.
“Where is the child?” Rampart looked down at the capture weapon.
“You found his shirt because I wanted you to find it.” Aizawa’s eyes burned.
The blood vessels along the whites had begun to rupture.
Rampart leaned slightly towards him.
“You saw the blood because I wanted you angry.” “Shouta,” Midnight said.
Her voice trembled.
Aizawa heard the fear beneath it.
Rampart did too, somehow.
Perhaps he recognised the change in Aizawa’s expression.
Perhaps he merely knew the line he had pulled.
“I knew you would struggle to obey an order after seeing it,” Rampart continued.
“Men like you hide behind calmness.
You imagine restraint is the absence of emotion.” He twisted his wrist.
The capture cloth remained tight.
“But restraint means very little when someone finally chooses the correct wound.” Aizawa pulled.
Rampart moved half a step forward.
The defensive ring around him shifted into formation.
Three fighters moved closer without attacking.
Two others backed towards the containers.
A screen.
The machine adjusting.
Aizawa noticed.
He did not release Rampart.
Nezu saw the same pattern through the feeds.
“Red Team, they are repositioning.
Withdraw immediately.” Inspector Kuroda stepped closer to Aizawa.
“We need to go.” Rampart smiled at the officer.
“Inspector Kuroda.
Personally vetted.
How reassuring.” Kuroda’s weapon remained steady.
“Hands where I can see them.” “My hands are visible.” “Your organisation is surrounded by evidence linking it to kidnapping, witness intimidation and police corruption.” “Evidence gathered during an unofficial search led by emotionally compromised heroes.” “You can explain that in custody.” “Whose custody?” Rampart glanced towards the police officers.
“Your department has become rather confused about loyalty.” One of Kuroda’s officers hesitated.
Only for a fraction.
Rampart saw it.
“Do you know which of your commanders approved the detectives who questioned the child?
Which administrator released their credentials?
Which officer removed the stolen nurse’s report?” Kuroda’s jaw tightened.
Rampart’s voice softened.
“Do you know whether the warrant in your pocket is genuine?” “It is.” “Because Tsukauchi told you?” “Yes.” “And who verified Tsukauchi?” “Enough,” Aizawa said.
Rampart’s gaze returned to him.
The distraction had worked.
Aizawa’s focus shifted for one instant towards Kuroda.
One blink.
The barriers returned.
They appeared with violent cracks throughout the dock.
A translucent wall sliced between Hushline and Threadhound.
Another rose behind the officers.
A third locked the gangway against the boat.
The capture weapon went slack as an invisible plane forced it from Rampart’s wrist.
Aizawa’s eyes opened again.
Red.
The barriers vanished.
Rampart had moved six metres away.
His people now stood in different positions.
They had gained ground without throwing a single punch.
“Control,” Hushline said.
“They’re building the field around his blink pattern.” “We see it,” Midnight replied.
Rampart spread his arms.
“Every step has belonged to me.” Nezu leaned towards the microphone.
“Incorrect.” Rampart could not hear him.
Aizawa could.
“You chose the hospital,” Nezu continued.
“You chose the properties.
You chose this battlefield.
That means you require control.” Rampart waited across the dock.
Nezu’s voice remained level.
“People who require control become vulnerable when reality refuses to obey.” Aizawa breathed slowly.
He loosened the capture weapon.
Not retreating.
Not attacking.
Waiting.
Rampart watched the change and understood that someone had spoken.
His smile thinned.
Midnight found her voice.
“He wants you looking at him.” “I know.” “The tracker could already be moving.” “I know.” “Then look past him.” Aizawa’s gaze remained fixed on Rampart to suppress the barriers, but his attention shifted.
The group behind Rampart had changed arrangement twice.
Several attackers watched Aizawa.
Three watched the officers.
One narrow man near a blue container watched the river.
A woman beside him moved whenever he moved.
Protection.
Possibly.
Not enough.
Rampart’s smile returned.
“Better,” he said.
“You are trying to think again.” Aizawa’s voice became quiet.
“Where is Izuku?” “You are still asking the wrong question.” “What is the right one?” Rampart reached inside his coat.
Red Team reacted as one.
Kuroda raised his weapon.
Hushline expanded her Quiet Field.
Threadhound crouched.
Aizawa’s capture cloth snapped through the air.
Rampart removed a small black object and held it between two fingers.
Not a weapon.
A timer.
“You found the shirt because I wanted you to find it,” he said.
He placed the device on the crate.
“Now let me show you what else I brought.” The timer displayed six numbers.
00:36:18 The final number changed.
00:36:17 Then again.
00:36:16 Nobody spoke.
Even the men surrounding Rampart seemed to become quieter.
The countdown gave the night a new rhythm.
A small electronic pulse beneath the river.
Midnight stared at the screen.
Her mind rejected the numbers before understanding them.
Thirty-six minutes.
Thirty-six minutes until what?
Rampart adjusted the device so Aizawa’s body camera captured it clearly.
The digits continued falling.
00:36:09 “Stop the timer,” Aizawa said.
“I can’t.” Rampart’s answer contained no strain.
“What does it control?” “Nothing.” “Then what is it measuring?” Rampart looked towards the river.
“The remaining breathable oxygen inside the boy’s container.” Midnight’s chair struck the floor behind her.
She had stood without realising it.
The control room tilted.
Nezu caught the edge of the console before her knee struck it.
Masaru pulled Katsuki against him.
Mitsuki went completely still.
Aizawa’s face did not change.
Only his eyes did.
The red around them deepened as more vessels ruptured.
“What container?” Rampart looked almost disappointed.
“The metal one.” Present Mic’s voice erupted through Blue channel.
“Rampart!” Nezu muted the shared transmission before the shout reached Red Team’s open speakers.
Rampart continued.
“Reinforced steel.
Watertight.
Heavy enough to sink quickly.” Aizawa’s capture weapon moved.
Hushline caught it this time.
“Wait.” “He put a child in a coffin.” “I heard him.” Rampart looked towards the timer.
00:35:42 “The air estimate is conservative.
Children consume oxygen at variable rates, especially when frightened.” Midnight covered her mouth.
Izuku in darkness.
Izuku hitting metal.
Izuku calling for his mother.
Izuku unable to run.
The image arrived so completely that she could hear his hands striking the lid.
“No.” Katsuki struggled against Masaru’s arms.
“What does that mean?” No one answered immediately.
He looked towards Midnight.
“What’s in the box?” She could not speak.
Mitsuki turned on Nezu.
“Tell him.” Nezu looked at Katsuki.
“Izuku is trapped inside a sealed metal container beneath the water.” Katsuki stared.
“Can he breathe?” “For now.” “What happens when that reaches zero?” Masaru closed his eyes.
Nezu answered with painful care.
“Then Izuku will not have enough air to breathe.” Katsuki looked towards the timer.
His face changed.
Not understanding death fully.
Understanding enough.
“Make more air.” Midnight’s breath broke.
Mitsuki gripped the table.
“Find him.” “We are beginning,” Nezu said.
“You should have begun.” “We did.” “Not calculations.
Find him.” At the dock, Aizawa’s voice had become dangerously flat.
“Where is the container?” “Offshore.” “Coordinates.” “Unavailable.” “What vessel transported it?” “Not this one.” “Name.” Rampart smiled.
“The crew turned off the navigation system before departure.
No positioning record.
No tracking beacon.
No automatic route log.” “Who gave the order?” “I did.” “Where did they drop it?” “I instructed them not to record their coordinates.” Kuroda stepped forward.
“Your people know the route.” “Some remember pieces.” “Then we arrest them.” “By all means.” Rampart gestured towards the organisation surrounding him.
Fifty or sixty people.
Some smiled.
Others remained expressionless.
A few looked nervous.
One of them knew.
Perhaps several.
Aizawa scanned their faces.
Rampart watched him do it.
“The container was marked before it left,” Rampart said.
“A material resonance.
Undetectable to ordinary equipment.” Threadhound’s head lifted.
“What kind of resonance?” “Unique.” “Quirk-made?” “Yes.” Aizawa followed Rampart’s gaze towards the surrounding fighters.
Rampart opened one hand.
“One of these fine individuals can sense it.” Midnight froze.
Nezu began writing immediately.
A tracker.
A living coordinate system hidden inside an army.
Rampart continued.
“One person here can lead you directly to the boy.” Several members of the organisation shifted.
Too many deliberately.
A tall woman near the river smiled.
A masked man raised his hand.
Another shouted, “It’s me.” Two more laughed.
False claims.
Tracker screen.
Prepared.
Aizawa looked towards Threadhound.
The underground hero had already started studying movement patterns.
Rampart’s smile widened.
“You need only determine which one.” 00:34:51 “Then survive me long enough to ask.” At U.A., Midnight forced herself back into the chair.
Her knees shook.
She touched every Red Team camera.
Aizawa.
Hushline.
Threadhound.
Kuroda.
Three officers.
Seven feeds.
Sixty suspects.
One tracker.
Nezu began issuing tasks.
“Tsukauchi, cross-reference every visible face.
Midnight, catalogue observed Quirks and protection patterns.
Blue Team redeploy to the docks.
Gold Team prepare full clone deployment.
Green Team begin maritime reconstruction.” Present Mic’s response came immediately.
“Blue moving.” Ectoplasm answered.
“Gold moving.” Tsukauchi’s voice entered from Green Team’s vehicle.
“I need clear facial captures.” Midnight enlarged the Red Team feeds.
Her fingers trembled across the controls.
“Give me ten seconds.” Mitsuki leaned over her shoulder.
“You don’t have ten seconds.” Midnight’s composure cracked.
“I know.” The word came out as a shout.
Mitsuki stopped.
Midnight stared at the timer.
“I know exactly what every second means.” Silence.
Then she returned to the controls.
“Red Team, rotate body cameras across the crowd.
Slow sweep.
Do not fix on anyone long enough to reveal interest.” Rampart looked towards the body camera.
“You are scrambling now, Midnight.” Her hand stopped.
Nezu spoke beside her.
“He cannot hear you.” “He knows.” “He is guessing.” “He knows what I’m doing.” “Then do something he cannot use.” Midnight swallowed.
She opened a private channel to Threadhound.
“Do not look for the person claiming to be the tracker.” “Already assumed.” “Look for the people everyone else keeps clear.” Threadhound’s camera moved across the dock.
“The tracker will be protected differently from the fighters,” Midnight said.
“Find the person everyone unconsciously makes space around.” “Understood.” Rampart watched Aizawa.
“The clock is real.” Nezu’s ears lifted at U.A.
Aizawa said nothing.
Rampart tapped the timer.
“I imagine your headmaster is explaining that the presentation is manipulation.
He will tell you to separate the threat from the theatre.” Nezu stared at the feed.
Rampart smiled directly at the camera.
“He is correct.” The digits fell.
00:33:58 “The countdown is genuine.
The way he is presenting it is the manipulation,” Nezu said.
“We separate the two.” Rampart had predicted the sentence before Nezu spoke it.
Midnight felt the room lose another degree of warmth.
“How far ahead is he?” Present Mic asked over the channel.
Nezu did not answer the fear inside the question.
“Not far enough.” At the docks, Aizawa kept Rampart’s Quirk erased.
His eyes burned.
The tracker might be the woman watching the water.
The narrow man protected by two fighters.
The silent worker near the boat.
The masked attacker who had not moved since Rampart revealed the clock.
Too many.
The timer reached 00:33:31.
Aizawa looked towards the river.
Rampart saw him.
“You left him once because you heard gunfire.” Aizawa’s capture weapon tightened around his shoulders.
“Now I only needed a clock.” Midnight’s hands slipped from the console.
Mitsuki struck the desk.
“Force him to talk.” Nezu turned towards her.
“That is precisely what Rampart wants.” “My nephew is drowning in a box.” “Not yet.” “Do not correct me.” “I am correcting the timeline because panic wastes it.” Mitsuki’s face twisted.
“You can sit there and count.” “I am counting because Izuku requires us to use every second, not merely fear it.” Katsuki climbed from Masaru’s arms and stood beside Midnight.
“Make more air,” he said again.
Midnight looked at him.
“We can’t reach the box yet.” “Then find the person.” She turned towards the monitor.
“Yes.” The word steadied her.
Find the tracker.
Find the route.
Find Izuku.
Aizawa’s eyes watered.
He blinked.
Rampart’s barriers exploded into existence.
One cut Hushline away from Threadhound.
Another slammed Kuroda against a container.
A third sealed the gangway.
At the same instant, Rampart lowered two fingers.
His organisation moved.
The timer continued falling.
00:32:59 Then the dock erupted.