Chapter Text
It was an ordinary day.
Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu were sent on a mission: to destroy an ancient artifact.
"Chibi, do you see that?" Dazai drawled, pointing out a bright light in the corner of the old room.
"If you mean that light, then yes. And stop calling me Chibi!" Chuuya shouted back.
While Chuuya kept watch to ensure they weren't interrupted, his partner decided to touch the artifact, assuming "No Longer Human" would nullify its effects if it had any. However, he didn't expect the artifact to glow even brighter, a light that first blinded him and then Nakahara.
The next moment, they were lying in some alleyway. The artifact was gone. Dazai, who woke up first, was already on his feet, surveying the surroundings and his faithful dog.
"Hey, Chibikko, you alive?"
Getting no answer, Dazai shrugged, once again noting that his partner bore no injuries.
"We're in an alley where there's pretty much nothing but trash. Huh? Is that a small shop over there? We should go check it out, but we can't leave him alone—who knows, he might wake up and cause a scene. Better not attract attention, given what's happened. Although, if you look at the sign, it has Japanese characters... We're most likely still in Japan, but I don't recognize this place, even though I know the map of Yokohama by heart. Maybe we've moved to another city or district? In any case, we should wait for the slug to wake up."
And at that moment, Chuuya woke up, disoriented.
"Damn Dazai, where are we?"
"Ah, you're finally awake. I was starting to think I'd have to leave without you, since you fell into such a deep sleep."
"Cut the jokes, what happened? How did that artifact work on you? If it were an ability, you would've nullified it. So it's not an ability. Then what is it?"
"I don't understand it myself, but we're most likely in Japan. See that shop over there? Let's ask the locals for some information,"
Dazai said, sharing his thoughts as he pointed to the right. Chuuya saw a shop about three hundred meters away, which the mackerel was already heading towards.
Approaching the shop, they saw an old woman arranging fruit on a stall. She, in turn, noticed them and raised her eyebrows in surprise. Her gaze slid over their clothes—the classic Port Mafia suits, which stood out starkly against the passersby in simple, functional clothing made of strange, shimmering fabrics.
"Oh, young men, what... unusual styling you have!" she smiled, adjusting her glasses. "Heading to a historical festival?"
Dazai instantly put on his most charming, innocent expression.
"Ah, you're too kind! We're just a little... lost. Could you tell us where we are? And... what year is it?"
The old woman laughed as if he'd said something funny.
"The year? Oh, you're a joker! Why, it's 23**, of course. You're in Musutafu, Sector 'Old Harbor.' To be more precise—the old port district."
23**. The words hit like a thunderclap. Chuuya felt the ground drop from under his feet. Dazai merely narrowed his eyes slightly, his smile unwavering.
"I see," Dazai said with a calmness that made Chuuya's insides tighten. "And 'Musutafu'... is that the name of a city?"
"City? Kids, did you really just fall from the moon?" The old woman looked at them with growing concern. "Musutafu is the metropolis. The only megacity on the Japanese Archipelago since the dawn of the Age of Quirks." She paused for a few seconds, then continued, "Alright, you clearly need to go to the 'New Arrivals Adaptation Center.' It's in the central sector. But in those clothes..."
Her words were cut off by a piercing, soul-chilling siren wail that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the buildings. The holograms on the façades switched to a stern warning: "INCIDENT LEVEL 'BETA.' SECTOR 7-G. ALL UNPROTECTED PERSONNEL—EVACUATE STREETS IMMEDIATELY. HEROES—COMMENCE CONTAINMENT."
The old woman gasped and, throwing them one last frightened glance, ducked inside the shop, slamming a reinforced door shut behind her.
"Heroes..." Chuuya repeated, watching as the crowd on the street scattered in panic, yet without utter chaos, hiding in womb-like building entrances. "There are heroes here?"
"Seems like an evolved form of our concept of abilities," Dazai quickly speculated, already analyzing the situation. His gaze fell on a burst of flame and plumes of smoke about three blocks away. "An incident. Crime in a world of order. An interesting anomaly. Shall we go take a look?"
"What's the point of sticking our necks out?" Chuuya grumbled, but his legs were already carrying him after Dazai towards the source of the chaos.
What they saw reminded them of Yokohama, but... refracted through a lens of super-technology. A small bank (or something resembling a data vault) was engulfed in flames not from an explosion, but from the work of someone's ability—a manifestation of liquid thermoplasma. Three criminals in anonymous masks and armored suits, clearly technologically enhanced, were carrying glowing ingots of some material out of the building. They were being opposed by two "heroes"—young people in bright, form-fitting support suits. One was firing ice projectiles, the other creating force barriers, but they were clearly losing in terms of firepower and real combat experience. Nearby, pressed against a wall, was a group of terrified civilians—a family with a child, cut off from their escape route.
"Too much pomp, not enough efficiency," Dazai observed, watching as one hero parried a plasma shot but failed to notice a second criminal taking aim at the civilians. "Damn amateurs."
Instinct acted faster than thought. The moment an energy charge shot towards the child, a red glow enveloped Chuuya. Time stretched for him. He didn't use his ability at full power, merely reacted with inhuman speed, shoving the family into a safe alcove and leaping back himself, barely avoiding the blast.
That movement, that flash of a non-standard, unregistered ability, did not go unnoticed.
On the roof of a neighboring building, in the shadow of a giant ventilation unit, stood a tall man in a simple, dark, slightly worn suit, with a long white scarf and a stern gaze. Shouta Aizawa, also known as the Hero Eraserhead, narrowed his eyes. His "Erasure" hadn't activated—he was too far, and the target was unclear. But he saw everything: the unnatural speed, the control over gravity (as he assumed), the complete lack of fear or panic. And most importantly—their complete absence from the database. No licenses, no costumes. Two total unknowns with wildly powerful, non-systemic Quirks.
"Interesting..." he whispered to himself, pulling a communication device from his pocket.
The fight below ended quickly. The unexpected intervention threw the criminals off, and the heroes, seizing the moment, managed to subdue them. By the time a police cruiser arrived, Chuuya and Dazai had melted into the chaos as if they'd never been there.
A few hours later.
Dazai was sitting on a rusty fire escape in one of the abandoned industrial quarters of the "lower level," fiddling with a strange device that resembled a cross between a phone and a tablet, "borrowed" from a not-so-vigilant passerby. Chuuya was gloomily watching the shining skyline of Musutafu.
The device vibrated. Not with a ringtone, but with a series of strange, encrypted pulses. Dazai raised an eyebrow and, after a few seconds of "playing" with the interface, accepted the message. There was no number on the screen, only a laconic, direct text:
"Your actions in Sector 7-G have been noted. Your Quirks are unregistered, which is a violation of the law. However, your potential... is of interest.
You are offered an alternative: enroll at U.A. High School as students. This will grant you legal status, access to information, and... the possibility of finding answers to your questions.
Coordinates are attached. You have 24 hours to decide. Do not come if you are not prepared for the most difficult exam of your lives."
N.Sh.n
Dazai slowly shifted his gaze to Chuuya, and that familiar, unsettling hunter's smile appeared on his lips—the smile of someone who has just caught the scent of truly big game.
"Well, Chibi... Looks like we've just been officially invited to play heroes," his eyes gleamed. "I wonder if this 'N.Sh.n'... knows who they're dealing with?"
"What do we do?" Chuuya asked, his voice devoid of panic, filled only with a cold readiness for action.
"What else..." Dazai stood up, brushing the dust from his coat. "We'll go, of course. After all, the best way to understand a cage is to be inside it. And then... we'll see who tames whom."
He deleted the message, but the coordinates were already sealed in his memory. The game was truly beginning. And the stakes were higher than ever.