Academy Administrative Wing — Moments Earlier

  The sound of synchronized footsteps echoed through the corridor outside Shoto's office, growing louder with each passing second. Three distinct sets of mechanical movement, accompanied by something lighter—human footsteps that clicked against the marble floor with the casual confidence of expensive leather shoes.

  Shoto rose from behind his desk, his calculating eyes fixed on the door. Beside him, Kenji abandoned the tactical displays he'd been monitoring, his body tensing as he felt the approaching mana signatures.

  The door didn't open. It simply ceased to exist—carved apart by a blade that emerged from a dark blue mechanical arm, the pieces clattering to the floor in a heap of splintered wood and twisted metal.

  Regis Valentine stepped through the ruined doorway as if entering a ballroom, his immaculate suit pristine despite the chaos consuming the Academy below. Three cyborgs flanked him—one glowing with faint magenta energy, another pulsing dark blue, and the third bearing crimson accents that seemed to shimmer with barely contained velocity.

  Shoto's eyes blazed magenta as psychic energy gathered around him. Kenji surged his own mana, reinforcing his body as he shifted into a defensive stance.

  "Calm down."

  Regis's voice was almost bored. He didn't even look at them directly, his attention focused on adjusting the cuffs of his designer suit, brushing away imaginary dust with fastidious care.

  Kenji's brow furrowed in confusion. The Academy was under siege. Heroes were dying in the courtyard below. And this man—this invader—was worried about his appearance?

  The three cyborgs moved into position behind Regis, their optical sensors sweeping the room with mechanical precision. Kenji analyzed the situation rapidly, cataloguing exits, distances, potential advantages. Shoto did the same, his psychic senses probing for weaknesses in their opponents' defenses.

  "Why should we listen to anything you have to say?" Shoto demanded, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "You've invaded our Academy. Attacked our heroes. Give me one reason I shouldn't crush you where you stand."

  Regis sighed—the sound of a wealthy man forced to explain something tedious to those beneath his station.

  "I'm only here to get paid for my services," he said, finally deigning to look at them. His eyes held the flat disinterest of someone discussing quarterly earnings rather than life and death. "I never accept a job I can't complete. Failure is... unprofitable. And I despise working more than necessary."

  He paused, adjusting a diamond-encrusted ring on his finger.

  "I'm here to retrieve the Haikito files. And potentially the Vessel's records as well." His lips curled into a thin smile. "Hand them over, and I'll be on my way. Simple transaction."

  Kenji's eyes snapped to Shoto, a glare that carried years of suspicion and months of suppressed accusations. The Vessel's files. Rei's files. Why would the Underworld want those unless...

  Shoto met his gaze without flinching. "Any information on public heroes is accessible online," he said smoothly, addressing Regis while ignoring Kenji's silent accusation. "And whatever the Underworld needs is none of our concern. You'll find nothing here."

  The three cyborgs shifted into offensive stances, weapons systems humming to life. Regis raised one hand slowly, placing it over his mouth as he observed the standoff with detached curiosity.

  "I don't like to repeat myself," Regis said, his voice dropping to something colder. Flatter. "I know who you are, Shoto. You've had your hand in the cookie jar with the Underworld for quite some time." His eyes glittered with cruel amusement. "Tell me where the files are, and I'll be on my way."

  The words hung in the air for barely a heartbeat.

  Then Shoto's eyes blazed brilliant magenta.

  The magenta cyborg lifted off the ground involuntarily, its systems shrieking warnings as psychic force wrapped around its frame. Before it could compensate, Shoto's telekinetic grip slammed it into the dark blue unit with bone-crushing force—or what would have been bone-crushing, had they possessed bones.

  Metal screamed against metal as the two machines collided, sparks showering across the office floor.

  Kenji moved the instant Shoto attacked, his body surging with mana reinforcement as he closed the distance toward Regis. The wealthy Sin hadn't moved from his position by the door, hand still raised to his mouth, watching the chaos unfold with infuriating calm.

  Take him down, Kenji thought, and the cyborgs lose their commander—

  Before Kenji's fist could connect, the magenta cyborg tore itself free from the wreckage.

  Its optical sensors blazed with psychic energy—the same magenta hue as Shoto's eyes. In an instant, invisible force wrapped around both Kenji and Shoto, arresting their momentum and lifting them off the ground.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Kenji struggled against the hold, his muscles straining uselessly against power that had no physical form to resist. Beside him, Shoto's face contorted with shock and fury as his own concept was turned against him.

  An esper. The machine was an esper.

  "Oh, what is this? I love the irony!"

  The voice that emerged from the magenta cyborg's speakers wasn't mechanical—it was gleeful, childlike, dripping with smug satisfaction.

  "Allow me to introduce myself," the voice continued with theatrical flair. "I am Katashi of the Seven Deadly. And standing by your door is my associate, Regis Valentine." A laugh echoed through the speakers. "Now that pleasantries are concluded..."

  His tone sharpened.

  "Shoto, Shoto, Shoto. What a wonderful pawn you've been for my creations. Did you really think your dealings with the Underworld were ever free?"

  Kenji's blood ran cold.

  "Creating crime," Katashi continued, savoring each word. "Paying villains to attack the city so the Academy could maintain its relevance. Manufacturing threats so heroes would always be needed. I must admit, your dedication to self-preservation is almost admirable."

  No. Kenji strained against the psychic hold, his mind racing. This can't be—

  "I pity you, really. Being subdued by your own concept." Katashi's laugh echoed through the speakers, high and mocking. "An esper defeated by an esper. The element of surprise is the strongest factor in war, wouldn't you agree? The poetry writes itself."

  The words crashed over Kenji like a tidal wave. Everything Kage had said months ago—the accusations about Academy corruption, about blood on institutional hands—it was all true. Shoto had orchestrated attacks on innocent people. Had paid criminals to create chaos. Had built his career on manufactured suffering.

  And Kenji had worked beside him for years, never knowing.

  "Consider yourselves fortunate," Katashi continued, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. "Regis Valentine is a professional. He's only here for the files—nothing more, nothing less. Had Varkas or Sister Envy been assigned this task..." A theatrical pause. "Well. Let's just say the cleanup would have been considerably more extensive."

  The cyborg's speakers crackled as Katashi's voice swelled with self-satisfaction.

  "Every move has been calculated, you see. I know exactly who remains at the Academy. I orchestrated the removal of your five-star heroes—sent them chasing shadows across Kyoto while we struck at your heart. And I know precisely when to play my trump cards."

  His laugh built to a crescendo before cutting off abruptly, leaving only the hum of machinery in its wake.

  Regis hadn't moved throughout the entire exchange. He stood by the door like a statue, hand over his mouth, watching the suspended heroes with the same detached interest one might show a mildly entertaining street performance.

  "My duty—" Shoto's voice emerged through gritted teeth, strained but defiant. His magenta eyes burned brighter, psychic energy building despite the opposing force holding him captive. "—is to protect the Academy and its heroes."

  The air around him began to distort.

  "You foul creatures will never win!"

  Something shattered.

  The magenta cyborg's hold broke like glass, its esper concept overwhelmed by Shoto's desperate surge of power. Kenji dropped to the ground, gasping as control returned to his limbs.

  They were free.

  But the fight was far from over.

  Shoto didn't waste a moment. His telekinetic force seized the magenta cyborg and drove it downward with devastating power, plummeting the machine through the office floor in an explosion of marble and steel. The building shuddered from the impact.

  The dark blue cyborg responded instantly, closing the distance to Shoto with surprising speed for its bulky frame. Its fists swung in heavy arcs—not fast, but carrying a weight that made the air itself seem to compress around each strike.

  A brawler, Shoto analyzed, weaving between the mechanical punches. Relies on raw power rather than technique. Manageable.

  Across the room, the red cyborg launched itself at Kenji.

  Fast—

  The thought barely formed before the machine was on him, crimson-accented limbs blurring with impossible velocity. Kenji raised his guard, but the cyborg's fist slipped through, raking across his cheek and drawing blood.

  "Woah—" Kenji stumbled backward, barely maintaining his footing. "That was way faster than the other cyborgs!"

  He reset his stance and engaged, trading blows with the red machine in a desperate exchange. But something felt wrong. His movements seemed sluggish, delayed, as if the air around him had thickened into syrup.

  It's not just fast, Kenji realized as another blow connected with his ribs. It's making ME slower.

  The red cyborg pressed its advantage, driving Kenji backward until his shoulders slammed against the wall. Pain exploded through his spine, but he refused to fall.

  Through it all, Regis Valentine remained motionless by the door.

  Hand over his mouth. Observing. Calculating.

  The wealthy Sin watched the combat unfold with the dispassion of a man reviewing investment portfolios. To him, this was trivial—a minor errand, barely worth his attention. The files were what mattered. The payment that awaited him upon completion.

  Fighting was for those who couldn't afford to delegate.

  Kenji's mind raced even as his body struggled against the speed-draining assault. He'd been watching Regis since the moment the man entered—and more importantly, he'd been listening.

  That Katashi said something, Kenji thought, blocking a strike that still managed to drive him deeper into the wall. The element of surprise. We were thrown off by these cyborgs and their concepts.

  His eyes flicked to Regis, still standing idle.

  But that bastard by the door noticed it too. He hasn't made a single move this entire fight. He's waiting. Observing. Kenji gritted his teeth as the red cyborg's fist grazed his temple. He won't reveal his concept because he doesn't know mine.

  The realization cut both ways.

  And I can't be careless either. I don't know what he's capable of. If I show my hand too early and he counters it...

  The red cyborg's systems hummed as it charged another attack, its speed manipulation pushing Kenji's perception to a crawl. Time seemed to stretch as the mechanical fist drove toward his stomach—

  Impact.

  Kenji doubled over, blood spraying from his mouth as the blow connected with crushing force. His vision swam, darkness creeping at the edges.

  But he didn't fall.

  With a roar that tore from somewhere primal, Kenji straightened and swung—putting every ounce of mana-reinforced strength into a single devastating punch. His fist connected with the red cyborg's chest plate, and the machine rocketed backward, crashing through Shoto's desk in an explosion of splinters and scattered documents.

  Kenji stood hunched over, blood dripping from his chin, breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes locked onto Regis's impassive form—the man who still hadn't moved, still hadn't revealed anything.

  Two unknowns facing each other, Kenji thought grimly. Waiting for the other to blink.

  His fists clenched at his sides.

  At the final second. The absolute, final second.

  That's when I'll use my concept to win this fight.