The elevator hissed as it slowed to a stop, a dull chime echoing off the walls. When the doors slid open, Itami followed the others out into the chilled corridor—lit dimly by strips of overhead white light.
This wasn't a hallway. It was a spine, carved deep into the mountain itself. Functional, cold, and unshakably quiet. Like the people who walked it.
"Welcome to our hole in the ground," a calm voice said beside him. Halo walked with his hands in his pockets. He carried himself like someone who'd seen the worst and stayed soft anyway.
"You'll get used to it," Halo added. "Eventually."
Ahead, the squad fanned out into what looked like a common operations hub. A wide open space, half lounge, half armory. Lockers lined one wall, weapon racks and custom equipment stations another.
A few metal tables stood between. This place didn't have decor. It had purpose.
Each member peeled off into their element. Then Halo spoke again. "Let me introduce you to us, my name is Sauske Wrym. I'm the healer of the group, light affinity."
They walked together as they stood at the center, where a giant circular desk and chairs perfect for the amount of people in the room laid still.
Taking a seat Sauske pulled a seat beside him. Itami following the lead sat down next to him with Sauske pointing at Volt-Viper. "His name is Riven Amphiptere," Halo said, nodding toward the tall figure crouched over a half-disassembled drone across the room.
"Codename: Volt Viper. Scout, tech specialist, and the guy who makes us all look ten steps behind when planning. And you can probably guess, lighting and wind affinity."
Riven didn't look up, but offered a two-finger salute from behind his gear. "I prefer more efficient."
Halo chuckled. "Sure you do."
He turned slightly in his seat, gesturing toward the corner where another figure slammed down a heavy barbell with a metal clang.
"That's Kael Draco—codename: BlazeForge. Fire and earth affinity, and basically the muscle of the squad. He's... well, you'll see."
Kael looked over, wiping sweat from his brow with one of his massive gauntlets. "Your built like a twig, try not to get in my way."
Itami raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Halo leaned in a little closer. "Don't mind him. He warms up to people. Eventually. I think."
"Barely," Riven muttered without looking up.
"And," Halo continued, motioning to the back of the room where a mist curled softly at floor level, "that's Lira Coatly. Codename: Wraith. She's stealth, recon, and has both water and wind affinitys. But in general, a pain in the ass."
Lira gave a small, slow wave with her dagger still twirling between her fingers. "You forgot charming and extremely beautiful."
"And always humble," Halo deadpanned.
She smirked at Itami, her voice velvet-smooth with an edge. "So you're the rookie with the hero complex. Cute."
Itami didn't respond. Just met her gaze for a moment, unreadable.
"And then there's Drex," Halo said, his tone straightening slightly as he gestured toward the terminal at the far end of the room. "Obsidian Fang. He's the one who decides if we live long enough to be annoying."
Drex said nothing, fingers still tapping through mission files, his silhouette calm and immovable.
Halo leaned back, finishing the round. "This is Scale Shadow. We do the jobs no one else can—because we don't have the luxury to fail."
The room then settled into a quiet hum. A few monitors flickered. Someone's comm clicked on and off.
Then Drex finally spoke, voice steady and low from across the table.
"Briefing in five. Stop what your doing and sit down."
Slowly the group sat in the center table, the room still quite as when five minutes passed, Drex walked up to the table tapping at his wrist mounted display.
The holographic screen flickered to life, casting a cool blue glow across the room. A 3D rendering of a multi-level estate appeared—grand, symmetrical, with elegant terraces and guarded entry points. A family crest hovered in the corner.
Drex stood at the head of the table, arms behind his back, stance solid.
"This is a formal protection op. Three-day prep window. High-profile gala hosted by the Yaoyorozu family. Private security will be present, but we're the quiet insurance."
He tapped a control on his wrist display. The map rotated, highlighting a few key zones: lobby, ballroom, service exits, and private guest corridors.
"No masks, no insignias. This is a masquerade event, so you blend with the elite. Stay sharp, stay quiet. No room for error."
Kael leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "So... we're party favors?"
Lira smirked. "Speak for yourself. I like parties."
Drex ignored them both. "Our job is too protect the Yaoyorozu family at all cost. Since they are hosting this event, we're providing VIP coverage. Shadow-level discretion. No engagement unless it's unavoidable."
Riven glanced at one of the data screens. "Any known risks?"
Drex didn't blink. "None confirmed. No chatter, no flagged intel. Could just be rich people showing off—but we treat it like it isn't."
Halo tapped the table lightly. "Big families like this don't hire us unless they expect something."
Drex didn't respond directly. Just moved on. "Itami."
Itami straightened.
"You'll be assigned directly to Momo Yaoyorozu. Daughter.Heir. U.A. Student. Looking into the Quirk registry, we flagged her as high-value target. Stay close and don't draw attention."
A faint murmur passed around the table. Riven raised a brow. Lira's smirk lingered.
Itami gave a short nod. "Understood."
"Attire is being handled," Drex added. "You'll be briefed again before we head on site.."
He tapped the control again and the hologram faded out.
"The event is in seven days. Use the time to prep, adjust, and memorize the layout. Questions?"
Silence.
"Good. Dismissed."
Chairs scraped. Black Scale moved like clockwork—professional, quiet, confident. Only Itami lingered a moment longer before standing.
Halo clapped him lightly on the back. "You'll do fine. Just don't trip in dress shoes."
Lira added in a mock-whisper as she passed, "Try not to fall for your vice-class representative."
Kael cracked his knuckles and walked off, muttering, "Hope there's good alcohol."
Riven said nothing—just offered Itami a subtle nod before walking to the back room.
As the team dispersed, Halo turned too Itami, gesturing toward a row of lockers lining the far wall. He stopped in front of one, its surface unmarked except for a small, engraved emblem—a subtle design resembling intertwined flames and lightning bolts.
"This one's yours," Halo said, entering a code. The locker hissed open, revealing a neatly arranged set of gear: a sleek, dark uniform tailored for mobility and discretion, and a compact device resting on a velvet-lined shelf.
Halo picked up the device—a slim, matte-black wristwatch with a minimalist design. He handed it to Itami.
"This is your link to us," he explained. "It syncs with our network, alerts you to debriefings, missions, and any critical updates. It's streamlined for efficiency—no unnecessary distractions."
Itami examined the watch, noting its lightweight feel and the subtle glow of its interface. As he fastened it to his wrist, the screen briefly displayed a familiar sequence of code—one he'd seen before.
"This interface... it reminds me of something," Itami murmured.
Halo offered a faint smile. "You're observant. Let's just say someone with a knack for tech had a hand in its design."
Itami's thoughts briefly drifted to Kaze, recalling the intricate gadgets and devices his friend often tinkered with. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.
"Thanks," he said, securing the watch.
"Get familiar with it," Halo advised. "It'll be your lifeline when things get hectic."
With that, Halo turned, leaving Itami to acclimate to his new gear and the responsibilities that came with it.
What am I in for?...
The morning sun cast a warm glow over U.A. High as Itami stepped through the gates, the familiar buzz of student chatter filling the air. He adjusted the sleek, matte-black watch on his wrist—a recent addition from Scale Shadow—and took a deep breath.
The weight of dual responsibilities pressed on him, but today, he was just another student returning to class.
As he approached the classroom, familiar voices drifted through the open door.
"Hey, Itami!" Kirishima's enthusiastic greeting was the first to reach him.
"You're back," Momo added, her tone a mix of relief and curiosity.
"We were starting to think you'd transferred out," Kaminari chimed in with a grin.
Itami shrugged. "Sorry for the sudden absence. Just got checked out the hospital yesterday. "
"How did your arm heal that quickly?! Did Recovery girl heal you!?" Ochaco asked,amazement in her eyes.
"Yeah... you can say that " he replied, taking his seat.
The classroom buzzed with energy, conversations overlapping as students discussed training regimens and strategies. Itami leaned over to Momo.
"Did I miss something important?"
She looked at him, surprised. "You haven't heard? The U.A. Sports Festival is in two weeks."
Itami blinked. "Sports Festival?"
"It's a big deal," she explained. "A chance for students to showcase their abilities. Pro heroes from all over come to watch."
"Sounds intense," he murmured, the weight of his dual commitments pressing heavier.
Before the conversation could continue, Aizawa entered the room, his usual tired expression in place.
"Settle down," he instructed. "I'd like to welcome back Itami, and I'm sure some of you informed him on what he missed so I'll get straight to the point. Don't waste time use it wisely."
As the day progressed, Itami found himself immersed in discussions about training, strategies, and the upcoming festival. Yet, beneath the surface, his thoughts drifted to the impending Black Scale mission.
Balancing both worlds would be a challenge, but he was determined to rise to the occasion. The classroom emptied fast after homeroom.
Some students grabbed notebooks and bolted for the gym. Others stretched, chattering about mobility drills, quirk enhancement reps, or sparring. It was an unspoken agreement—free time after lessons meant self-improvement.
Bakugo stormed out first, explosions popping faintly in his palms.
"Don't follow me," he growled as Kaminari trailed too close behind.
Midoriya lingered by his desk, scribbling notes even as Uraraka and Lida wait for him.
Shoji and Ojiro headed toward the outdoor rings, while Jirou and Momo split off toward the training labs. Everyone had a rhythm.
Itami didn't.
He stayed in the classroom a moment longer, watching them all peel off into their personal regimens. Focused. Driven. Determined.
He stood. Then walked out in the opposite direction.
To train alone.
The gym was empty when he got there—just enough quiet to think.
He cracked his knuckles, stepping onto the dirt floor. He focused on the fire first—summoning it from his left hand. The burn was familiar now. He shaped it, compressed it into arcs and points, letting it flow over his palm like molten glass.
But his right hand,Still numb. Still cold. He raised it anyway.
Tried again.
Nothing.
"Still not working," he muttered.
He dropped into a low stance, sliding forward, launching a small burst of flame from his feet. He pivoted, shot out a wide arc of fire. The left hand obeyed.
The right hand stayed cold.
But he kept moving.
Again and again, forcing precision through pain. Forcing silence through noise.
Every burst. Every dodge. Every frustrated exhale.
It was better than sitting still.
He dropped low and rolled, blasting himself forward with a weak burst of flame from his left. He swung upward with his right—and nothing came out but sparks. His body twisted with the motion, off-balance.
He hit the dirt. Hard.
Groaning, he pushed himself up, dragging his knuckles through the dust. Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound echoed—no source. No direction. But real.
"Still chasing power you don't understand...?"
The hairs on his neck lifted.
"You think training can fill the gap? You think sweat can help you reach that level of power?"
He didn't turn. He didn't answer. But the voice slithered through his skull like smoke.
"You had but a taste of my power. Come over here and get it. "
A flicker of cold spread through his chest—something ancient just smiled inside him.
"You'll come back. They always do."
Then silence again.
Just the wind and his own ragged breath.
He stood. Shaky. Burned. But still standing. He continued training.
[Fast forward – one week later]
A sharp crack of flame echoed off stone walls. Then another. And another.
The Wyvern clan's private training yard flickered with light from the fire arcs Itami launched, blasting targets in rotation—each one harder than the last.
Both Misaki and Hanzo stood in the distance, watching silently. Itami didn't notice them. Too focused on his own training.
He was faster now. Cleaner. But still off-balance with his right. He adjusted. Pushed harder.
Every time he moved, thunder rumbled faintly through his fingertips—unrefined, but there. The lightning was waking. And beneath it all, something else stirred.
Watching. Waiting—
"...Did you feel that?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure he won't get taken over by it?."
"I know he won't."