"…Who are you?"
The voice was faint—barely above a whisper—but it pierced the silence like a needle.
Arata's eyes opened slowly. The girl had finally woken up.
He turned toward her. Her eyes were still hazy, her thoughts clearly scrambled by everything that had happened. She stared at him—her brows drawn, confusion swirling in her emerald eyes.
Arata chuckled softly and twirled a strand of her turquoise hair around his finger.
"Who do you think?" he said with a wry grin. "Your man."
That woke her up.
Her eyes snapped wide open, and she jolted upright, taking in her surroundings—dim lights, the cold cellar floor, Arata sitting calmly beside her with his shirt still off. Realization hit, and she let out a sharp, startled scream.
"Ah!"
The cry echoed off the concrete, bouncing against the insulated walls. It was loud—but not loud enough. The cellar was reinforced to keep sound from getting out. No one was coming. No one would hear.
Arata winced at the noise but didn't move. He tilted his head as she recoiled from him, clutching the torn remains of her uniform.
"Tch. You're loud for someone who almost died."
The girl—Fujikawa Hana, if he remembered right—gasped, her face flushed red with embarrassment and shame. Tears welled up in her eyes. She glared at him, her whole body trembling.
She knew who he was. Everyone at school did.
Yaoyorozu Arata.Momo's younger brother. Cold, distant, brilliant—and now somehow even more terrifying.
The anger in her eyes was burning, but she said nothing. No threats, no accusations. Just quiet tears dripping onto the stone floor.
Arata sighed and reached out. His fingers brushed away the tears from her cheeks with surprising gentleness.
Then he stood up, grabbed his shirt, and threw it on with casual ease.
"The door's on the right," he said without looking back. "You can go. Just… pretend this never happened."
Hana blinked, stunned.
"…You're letting me go?" she asked softly, as if she couldn't believe her own ears.
"Yeah," Arata replied coolly. "But if you talk—if you tell anyone what you saw, or what I did—"
He raised a hand. Five fingers extended like a blade.
Crack—!
With a sharp movement, he slashed through the air.
A deep gouge, half a foot into the concrete wall, ripped open behind her with surgical precision.
Hana froze. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Arata didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to.
Trembling, she threw on what was left of her clothes and ran out the door without another word.
Arata watched her go.
She staggered slightly as she reached the hallway—disoriented, scared, and likely still in pain. But she was alive. She'd walk out of this mansion tonight.
That, in itself, was mercy.
He turned his gaze to his hand. The skin—once blistered from the strain of Quirk activation—was already healing. The redness was fading into pale white, and the faint ache had been replaced by a cool numbness.
Not just healed—reinforced.
Even without testing, Arata could tell. His palm had grown tougher. Stronger.
"Looks like the analysis wasn't wasted," he murmured.
His Smart Chip Quirk had worked—and then some.
[S-Class Quirk: Smart Chip – Module Active]
— Analysis / Synthesis:
Parses Quirk data from nearby individuals and, through cognitive simulation, synthesizes compatible traits into the host's body.
The rules were still rough. He'd learned a few things already:
First, the subject had to be unconscious or asleep. Their resistance—even unconscious instinct—could interfere with the analysis. The process was delicate.
Second, the Quirks needed to be compatible. Too many conflicting traits, and the host body would break down. Even now, the Super Healing he'd synthesized would collapse if he tried to combine it with something fundamentally opposite—like fire.
Third—and most limiting of all—he could only perform the synthesis a limited number of times. Three, maybe four, if his body adapted well. That was it.
No re-rolls. No retries.
That meant every choice had to be perfect.
He'd already ruled out his sister Momo'sCreation Quirk. Too massive. Too unstable. The data density of an S-Class Quirk like that would overwhelm even the Smart Chip's logic grid—and destroy him from within.
Power is only power if you can wield it.
He exhaled, pushing away the lingering pressure in his head. Now wasn't the time to overanalyze. He'd figure out more in time.
For now, there was only one thing left to do.
With a faint flick of his foot, Arata vanished into the shadows of the hallway, melting into the dark like a wraith. His steps were silent, his breath steady. A shadow against the wall.
He followed her.
Not to stop her. Not even to threaten her. He just wanted to make sure she made it out.
The door at the end of the hallway opened into a side street—one of the old alleys behind the mansion district.
Hana stumbled out into the night, hugging her torn sleeves, still barefoot. The world outside was dim and hazy, lit only by the distant glow of streetlights. She didn't look back.
Arata watched from above, crouched low against the rooftop, moving like mist between shadows.
For a moment, he felt something twist in his chest.
He should've found her a better outfit. At least something warm.
But then he hardened his expression.
Sentiment will only slow you down.
Whether she lived through tonight or not—it was no longer his concern.
Without a sound, he turned away and disappeared into the city's darkened skyline.