Chapter 19: One Month in the Dark

The city felt different when you lived in the shadows.

It had been a month since Kirishima stepped into The Hollow, and in that time, everything he thought he knew about being a hero had begun to crack.

Heroes patrolled during the day. They kept the peace in the well-lit districts, took pictures with kids, made statements to the press.

But at night? That's when the city belonged to people like Stray. To those who worked where heroes wouldn't—couldn't.

Kirishima had seen things in these past few weeks that no classroom at UA could've prepared him for.

A human trafficking ring operating out of an abandoned factory. The heroes had been investigating it for months—and still, nothing. But Stray and the others? They weren't bound by red tape. They had stormed in like a phantom force, leaving broken bones and shattered operations in their wake.

A black-market fight club where quirk users were forced into underground death matches. The police knew about it. They just couldn't prove it. But when Kirishima and Stray broke through those doors, proof became irrelevant.

Dirty cops. Corporate-backed thugs. A society that pretended justice worked when the powerful rewrote the rules in their favor.

Kirishima had fought beside vigilantes who didn't hesitate. He had felt the rush of combat without restraint, the weight of his choices carving a new path in his mind.

And he had learned one very dangerous truth:

Heroes fought for justice. Vigilantes delivered it.

It was raining again the night Stray called him in.

Kirishima sat in the corner of The Hollow, taping up his knuckles, his hoodie pulled low over his face. His uniform—the bright red and black of Red Riot—was buried somewhere in his dorm at UA, forgotten. He hadn't worn it since the night he left.

He hadn't gone back, either.

He knew they were looking for him.

Not officially. Not yet. But the moment he stepped back into the light, there would be questions.

Where had he been? What had he been doing? Why hadn't he returned?

And worst of all:

Why had it felt so right to leave?

The city felt different when you lived in the shadows.

Kirishima had always believed his quirk was simple. Hardening. Endurance. The ability to take a hit and keep going.

But since stepping into The Hollow, since letting go of the restrictions that came with being a "hero," he had started to feel something... more.

The first time it happened was during a fight in the docks.

Kase had been there, moving beside him like a shadow, her sharp eyes always scanning, always watching. She fought with precision—no wasted movements, no hesitation—and Kirishima had found himself struggling to keep up.

They had been tracking a group of traffickers using the docks to move people under the radar. The heroes were aware of it—but as usual, bureaucracy had slowed them down.

Stray didn't believe in waiting.

So, Kirishima had been there when it all went down. When the fighting started, it was fast, brutal, real.

One of the traffickers had swung a metal pipe at his head. He had hardened, of course. The strike barely fazed him.

But when he punched back—

The guy had gone flying.

Not just knocked down. Not just staggered. Launched. Like he had been hit by a wrecking ball.

Kirishima had frozen for a second, staring at his fist. It had never done that before.

"Oi! Focus!"

Kase had yanked him back just in time to avoid a knife. She moved with a deadly grace, taking out two men before he could even react.

Later that night, as they sat on the rooftop overlooking the docks, Kase had nudged him with her elbow. "You're changing, you know."

Kirishima had exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers. He could still feel it—something deeper than just hardening. Something raw.

"I don't know what's happening to me."

Kase had smirked. "You're evolving."

The second time was worse.

It was a week later, in an abandoned warehouse. A gang of rogue quirk users had been causing chaos—burned-out buildings, bodies left behind, a message scrawled in blood each time: 'No Kings.'

Heroes were still discussing how to handle it.

The Hollow had already moved.

The fight had been brutal. Kirishima had taken hits that would have broken lesser men. But the moment that had changed everything—

Was when Kase had gotten hurt.

A blast of kinetic energy had sent her crashing through a wall. Kirishima had barely seen her hit the ground before something snapped inside him.

When he moved, it wasn't like before. His skin didn't just harden—it cracked, jagged lines glowing faintly, like molten rock beneath stone.

And when he hit the guy who had hurt Kase—

The floor shattered beneath him.

The gang member's arm broke on impact.

The fight had ended fast after that.

Stray had watched from the shadows, grinning. "Told you, kid. You're just getting started."

Kirishima hadn't known what to say.

But later that night, as he sat with Kase—both of them bruised, battered, and breathing heavy—she had nudged him again.

"You scared?"

Kirishima had clenched his fists, feeling the lingering warmth beneath his skin, the cracks that had appeared when his power surged.

"No," he admitted.

"Kirishima."

Stray's voice snapped him back to the present. Kirishima looked up as the older man approached, his usual lazy smirk in place.

"You up for something bigger tonight?"

Kirishima flexed his fingers. The bruises on his knuckles were fading. He barely felt them anymore.

"What's the job?"

Stray's grin widened. "That's what I like to hear." He tossed a folded-up document onto the table. "We're taking down a name tonight."

Kirishima unfolded the paper. A face stared back at him. Hideo Kagemura. CEO. Philanthropist. And if the reports in Stray's hands were to be believed—human trafficker.

Kirishima's grip tightened. "Heroes know about this?"

"Oh, they know," Stray said, voice laced with amusement. "But rich men like Kagemura don't get arrested. They get protected."

Kirishima didn't hesitate. "When do we move?"

Stray laughed. "Now you're thinking like us."