After their stroll through the Public Safety Commission building—and that uncomfortable conversation with the unnerving director—Mewtwo and Lady Nagant stepped outside to begin their patrol. With some luck, they might catch a criminal in the act, but realistically, neither expected to run into the kind of targets they were truly after.
As they moved through the city streets, Mewtwo couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and awe.
It quickly became clear just how popular Lady Nagant was. Posters bearing her image hung on shop windows, kids asked for autographs, and many heads turned as they passed. It wasn't just admiration—it bordered on fascination. Most of the attention came from teenagers, young adults.
'You draw a lot of stares,' Mewtwo said telepathically as he scanned the sidewalks and rooftops.
'Just shut up,' Lady Nagant shot back mentally, her eyes narrowing in annoyance as she gave him a sharp side glance.
Flying slightly ahead of her, Mewtwo let a grin creep onto his face, then shifted back to a more serious tone.
'I've been thinking… what if I try reading someone's mind inside the bureau?' he asked suddenly, gliding beside her as they continued their route through the city.
'Don't be stupid,' Lady Nagant replied without missing a beat. 'That's dangerous. If they catch you doing that, you'll be in more trouble than either of us can handle. We can't afford to take that kind of risk right now.'
Mewtwo sighed, but this time, he wasn't planning to follow her advice. Not fully.
He understood the danger, but he also knew they didn't have the luxury of waiting. Waiting meant months of empty surveillance and red tape. He hadn't come here just to be part of the system. This was infiltration, not passive observation. He wasn't here to play by the rules—he was here to uncover the truth, and maybe stop something terrible from happening.
Even though he often claimed this mission was about helping Kaina, the truth ran deeper. The serum. The scientists behind it. That was the real reason he couldn't sit still.
If that formula was ever used on someone again—or worse, replicated and distributed—it wouldn't just be a problem. It would be a disaster. Sure, it might lead to stronger heroes, possibly even create new top-tier defenders. But would that really be a good thing? And what about the counterpart formula—the one still considered "lost"? If there was even a hint about its whereabouts, it would be in this place.
Pushing those thoughts aside for the moment, Mewtwo returned his attention to the city. He scanned the streets below and rooftops above, but everything seemed calm—too calm. With two pro heroes in the area, even if one was still technically in training, it was unlikely any criminal would be foolish enough to make a move. Not unless they were desperate or just plain stupid.
'Kaina, should I take to the skies and survey from above?' he asked, floating slightly higher.
She gave him a glance and replied telepathically,'Just a few more greetings first. We need to play the part. These little interactions—they help people see us as more than just law enforcement. It builds trust.'
Mewtwo nodded silently, understanding her point but already itching to move. Trust was important—but so was the truth. And he wasn't going to find it shaking hands and smiling for cameras.
At the same time, Mewtwo nodded silently. Yoroi Musha's words echoed in his mind—how the old hero had once told him that heroes were more than just fighters. They were seen as police, soldiers, celebrities—sometimes even idols.
Society placed them on a strange pedestal, with their faces stamped on everything from action figures to fashion magazines. Being a hero meant navigating that wide spectrum.
"Alright," Mewtwo muttered through their mental link, forcing a polite expression as he took pictures with fans.
For the next thirty minutes, he stayed grounded, greeting people and shaking hands while Kaina smiled for the cameras.
Eventually, she gave him the nod to go. Without hesitation, the boy launched into the sky, rising fast until the rooftops looked like stepping stones. Below, Kaina followed with ease, leaping from building to building like it was second nature.
Watching her move so effortlessly reminded Mewtwo just how far he still had to go.
Her physical strength and agility were no joke. If he wanted to match her speed and power, it might take a power boost, the kind that pushed his body to its limits.
From high above, Mewtwo flew in wide arcs, staying just low enough to keep a sharp eye on the streets while avoiding too much attention.
He scanned the alleys and sidewalks for signs of trouble, and sure enough, he spotted something in a narrow side street—a man clutching a bleeding eye, with a frightened woman standing behind him. Not far ahead, a thief was making his escape.
Mewtwo frowned. With a subtle burst of telekinesis, he yanked at the thief's shoes, sending the man sprawling face-first into the concrete.
The fall mirrored the condition of the man he'd just robbed—poetic, in a way. Without missing a beat, Mewtwo floated down and used a flexible support rod from his suit to bind the thief's wrists tightly behind his back.
Then he tapped the communicator built into his helmet and called it in to the police.
But the thief wasn't finished.
With a grunt, the man's body began to change—swelling, reddening, skin thickening and stretching. His transformation warped the bindings, which groaned under the strain.
Without a word, Mewtwo used confusion and hit the man straight in the head.
"I hate the color red," he muttered, stepping back as the thief collapsed.
Satisfied that the man was truly out cold, Mewtwo hovered just long enough to see the police approach.
The protocol allowed heroes to leave apprehended villains behind as long as they were no longer a threat—and Mewtwo was certain this one would be unconscious for hours. He'd even given a detailed report during the call, just to be safe.
With that handled, he rose into the sky once more, resuming his patrol.
The city looked peaceful from above, but he knew that peace was only temporary. As he drifted over rooftops and streets, Mewtwo made a decision.
It was time to practice. His Quirk, like any skill, depended on constant refinement. If he could train hard enough, maybe he'd gain the ability to read surface thoughts without resorting to manipulation—like he'd done back in the interrogation room. More importantly, he wanted to learn how to do it undetected.
He extended his psychic reach toward the people below, slowing his flight to better concentrate.
Even if someone sensed something strange, there was no real way they could trace it back to him. His presence was subtle, undetectable—there was zero chance they would realize someone was probing their thoughts from above.
His first target was a woman walking alone on the sidewalk.
She seemed distracted, glancing around with no clear purpose. That made her a good candidate—what he needed was a wandering mind, one not on high alert. The less focused a person was, the easier it became to slip in unnoticed.
As his consciousness connected with hers, he felt immediate success. Her mind wasn't just unguarded—it was drifting miles away from her surroundings.
Mewtwo began to pick up fragmented, surface-level thoughts.
Fleeting impressions. Where to go shopping next. Judgments on how poorly someone nearby was dressed. A quick mental jab at a man's weight. Harsh thoughts about another woman's looks. Even a flash of self-satisfaction as she compared herself to someone younger—though in reality, the woman she was mocking looked younger than her.
What a shallow way to think, Mewtwo noted, his brow furrowing. Every thought was superficial—clothes, appearances, comparison. She was the picture of a stereotypical, self-absorbed person, obsessed with how others looked and how she believed she ranked above them.
Deciding he'd learned enough, he moved on to another mind.
This time, he chose a man in his mid-twenties, wearing glasses and carrying a backpack. From his overall look and posture, Mewtwo guessed he was a college student. At least, that's the impression he gave.
He focused, reaching out. But this one was different.
Unlike the woman, the man's thoughts weren't so easy to read. There was resistance—not an active defense, but a natural mental complexity.
It wasn't impossible, just more difficult. Navigating his mind felt like working through a narrow maze, each step requiring effort and precision. Mewtwo had to slow down, and adapt his approach.
Interesting, he thought, shifting from one person to the next, testing the limits of his ability. Each mind was unique. Some people had no natural defenses at all—open books, unaware of the intrusion. Others instinctively sensed something was off the moment he tried to enter, even if they couldn't understand what was happening. The variety fascinated him.
But this was more than curiosity. It was practice. Each attempt taught him something new.
He made a few important discoveries.
First: he could connect to any mind within range. That much was certain. But actually reading their thoughts? That was an entirely different matter.
Up until now, he'd only done it with willing subjects—communicating telepathically with people who had given their consent. Mind-reading without permission was far trickier.
Accessing a mind was one thing. Interpreting its thoughts was another.
And he was just getting started.
Second, he noticed that every person had a different level of mental defense.
He wasn't sure if this was something they were born with or if it developed over time, but the variation was clear. Some minds were easy to slip into, like walking through an open door.
Others were more complicated—winding and unpredictable, like trying to find a path through a dense labyrinth.
A few even had barriers, vague but solid, like invisible walls guarding their thoughts. It was strange. He could almost picture himself standing inside their minds, searching for a route inward, like a ghost wandering a maze.
And third—perhaps the most important discovery—even if he gained access to someone's mind, he could only read the surface.
It was like standing above a vast ocean: he could see the fish that swam near the top, but anything deeper remained hidden in the darkness.
He could catch their present thoughts, the ones they were actively thinking about, but the reasons behind those thoughts—the deeper layers, the memories, the emotional roots—were unreachable for now.
Still, occasionally, other thoughts would drift upward on their own, like bubbles rising from the depths. These moments gave him hope. He was convinced that with more training—or perhaps as his powers grew—he'd eventually be able to dive deeper. Not all the way, maybe, but deeper than he could now. That alone could make a difference.
Now that I can recognize the types of barriers protecting each mind, Mewtwo thought, I might be ready to try it at the Bureau. As long as I avoid forcing my way through strong defenses... at least until I know I can do it without being noticed.
He paused, considering the possibilities.
For now, I'll focus on the vulnerable ones—the minds with the weakest defenses. From there, I can work my way forward and start identifying the weakest link.
A small surge of confidence rippled through him.