It began with silence.
Then, flickers.
Across Japan, whispers slithered through back alleys, abandoned bunkers, and encrypted villain forums.
Yujiro Hanama was not only alive—he was thriving. Stronger. Sharper. The boy who defied entropy.
And now they wanted him more than ever.
In an underground hideout lined with reinforced obsidian walls, Null stood before a table where three figures watched him from the dark.
One wore an iron mask over half a burned face.
Another was draped in tattered green robes, mechanical arms twitching beneath the cloth.
And the third—silent, small, childlike in stature—had no face at all, only a screen embedded in their chest flashing an endless heartbeat pattern.
"You failed," said the iron-masked one.
"Correction," Null replied, his synthetic voice stable. "We tested the weapon. We now know its range. Its threshold. Its resistance. He bleeds."
"And that makes him vulnerable?" the robed one asked.
"No. That makes him real. And real things break. Eventually."
The small figure with the heartbeat screen stepped forward.
"Then we move. Now."
Back at U.A., the next morning carried a weight.
Though the sun rose clear, the sky felt pale. Students in 1-A filed into homeroom, quieter than usual.
Tension buzzed under the surface.
Yujiro sat at his desk, arms folded, eyes closed. Not sleeping—listening.
Midoriya entered with a bundle of notebooks, his eyes darting to Yujiro.
"Rumor is, we're being pulled into special training. Combat scenarios. Real missions."
Yaoyorozu added from her seat, "Security's increased around the dorms. More sensors. More patrols."
"They're preparing us for war," Todoroki said bluntly.
Iida tapped his desk. "Then we must train like it's already begun."
"Speak for yourself," Bakugo muttered. "I've been ready since day one."
Aizawa entered moments later, eyes tired, hair more disheveled than usual.
"Pack your bags. You're moving into active rotation. Starting today, Class 1-A joins Patrol Protocol."
Whispers exploded.
"But we're first-years—"
"Are we allowed to—"
Aizawa silenced them with a glance. "Villains don't care about your year. Neither does reality. You'll be paired with pros. Real patrols. Real recon. And yes—real danger."
His eyes met Yujiro's.
"And some of you are already in the line of fire."
That afternoon, the class divided into teams.
Midoriya, Todoroki, and Yujiro were assigned to Hawks.
"Cool-headed. Smart. And one living war cry," Hawks said, tapping his chin. "This'll be fun."
Bakugo grunted. "Let me guess, I'm with Endeavor?"
"You volunteered for it," Nezu said from the monitor room.
Hawks' patrol took them into Naruhata, a dense urban sector with alleys known for black market activity.
The pro hero hovered overhead, speaking casually into the comm.
"Eyes open. This is where the threads move. And Yujiro—try not to break anything unless it moves first."
Yujiro simply replied, "Noted."
Midoriya took point on data scanning. Todoroki monitored heat signatures.
Yujiro stalked the ground. Quiet. Watching everything.
Then, it happened.
A pulse.
His skin tightened.
His instincts howled.
And he turned—just as a black drone zipped overhead.
Todoroki reacted. Ice shot up.
The drone dodged—barely—but not before Yujiro leapt, grabbed it mid-air, and ripped it down.
Inside: a chip. Still pulsing with heat. Embedded with the same frequency used by Null's operatives.
"They're watching us," Yujiro muttered. "Always were."
That night, in a darkened lab, Null inserted a new data drive into the core server.
The screen filled with Yujiro's face. Paused at the moment he looked up.
A file name appeared: GHOST PROTOCOL — PHASE TWO
The shadows were no longer watching.
They were planning to strike.