A Certain Aura

Caspian and Genos sat at the living room table, which was buried under a mountain of fan letters delivered by parachute from the Hero Association.

"Master, you've received three letters." Genos handed the envelopes to him.

Caspian took them, raising an eyebrow. "Only three?"

As he tore open the first letter, Genos asked, "What does it say? Surely they must be praising you."

Caspian's expression stiffened. "'The Paradise Group shall rise again under your leadership!'" He crumpled the letter and tossed it into the small garbage bin nearby. "What the hell is this?"

"Didn't you tell me your ninja stalker dealt with them?" Genos tilted his head.

"Apparently not all… Could there be another survivor besides Hammerhead? Never mind—next one."

Caspian's eye twitched as he read the letter. "'Follicle Fury XT-7: Guaranteed hair regrowth in 72 hours. Failure to reply will result in permanent classification under 'Glare Hazard' in your official hero registry file. Respond promptly.'"

He crushed the paper in his hand, his grip tightening with every word. "Who is responsible for this targeted scam? This isn't the hate mail I had been expecting!"

"How dare they! I will find out who sent it and then…"

"Don't bother—onto the next."

Caspian smiled. "'Dear hero Caspian, thank you!'"

"Do you have any idea who it could be from?" Genos asked.

"I have a hunch."

"Well, I'm sure it's from someone you saved somewhere."

Genos reached under the table. "Master, here's another letter for you. It fell beneath the table. Oh, this one is from the Hero Association itself."

Caspian stood up after receiving the letter. "I'll be back later. A promotion is in order."

¤ ¤ ¤

Ring

Always contacting me at the most inconvenient times.

Sweet Mask sat at a round table, his laptop open in front of him as he answered a video call from the Hero Association.

"Hello, I'm in the middle of a soap opera shoot right now, so… Try to make it quick."

A suited man on the other end spoke, "Thank you for taking the time. We really appreciated it.

This time, it's a C-Class Hero that wishes to move up to B-Class.

As always… We would like you to decide whether to allow it or not…"

Again with this type of nonsense.

Sweet Mask frowned. "Promotion to B-Class, huh? You don't need my permission for something like that. I couldn't care less about C-Class or B-Class matters."

The suited man sweat nervously. "I see… But you know we agreed on it in the Executive Committee.

That in order for our Association to gain the support of the public, you, Mr. Sweet Mask, would help us as our advisor in organization matters."

Sweet Mask glared at the screen, his expression tightening with irritation as he said, "I only wanted to have a say in the management of heroes that are in A-Class and higher as they tend to have a strong influence on our public image.

I can't allow the display of inappropriate behavior in public as it'd end up hurting my image too.

But okay, let me take a look at him."

His laptop screen changed and displayed a bald man sitting in an office chair.

"He's being interviewed right now. C-Class Rank 1 Caspian, no hero name yet."

Sweet Mask lurched forward, his emotions surging. It's him!

He had been investigating Caspian since the moment he left the udon shop. To his growing irritation, the man operated like a ghost—appearing just long enough to obliterate a monster, only to vanish before witnesses (or surveillance drones) could pin him down. The pattern was infuriatingly consistent: a smoldering crater where a threat once stood, a blur of motion on grainy footage, and nothing left to track. Sweet Mask had never wasted his time on B or C-Class affairs, dismissing them as beneath his attention—an arrogance that now cost him many hours. All this time, he could've simply pulled Caspian's file from the Hero Registry.

Perhaps he should've dug deeper into S-Class Hero Genos' background, searching from that angle. But alas, time was a luxury he didn't have enough of to split further than he already had with Caspian. His priority remained publicity work, both for himself and the Hero Association, to bolster the popularity of heroes.

"Is everything okay?" The suited man's voice carried through the laptop speaker.

Sweet Mask realized his ruthless, bloodthirsty side was surfacing at the thought of someone knowing his other self. Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair and refocused on Caspian on the screen.

"Yes. He gives off a certain aura... Send me all the information you have on him. And let him move up to B-Class."

¤ ¤ ¤

After his promotion to B-Class Rank 101, Caspian stepped out of the Z-City Hero Association Building. The moment his foot hit the sidewalk, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Dr. Genus. The call he'd been anxiously waiting for.

"The Mosquito Girl project has reached its final state before completion. Get here as soon as you can."

Caspian wasted no time, rolling up his hero promotion certificated and placing it in his shorts' back pocket before heading straight for W-City.

He weaved through the crowded streets of the city, making his way toward the House of Takoyaki.

As he approached, he noticed the closed sign hanging on the door, swaying slightly from a draft. The streets outside were eerily quiet, the usual chatter of customers absent.

They must all be downstairs.

For the first time in a while, excitement stirred in him. His senses were sharp, attuned to even the faintest fluctuations within himself. Now that he was here, and with Mosquito Girl involved, he felt certain that his assumptions were correct!

Walking inside, he passed the takoyaki table, the faint scent of oil and batter still lingering in the air. His fingers lightly brushed against the counter as he moved, his gaze locked onto the basement entrance ahead.

Step by step, he descended. The wooden stairs groaned beneath his feet. At the bottom of the stairway, light from various electronics flickered across the dark concrete floor.

Caspian's heartbeat fluctuated. This… this is the feeling I've been missing.