Mewtwo and Lady Nagant moved swiftly through the building, striking down anyone who crossed their path.
One by one, people dropped to the ground, unconscious before they even had time to react. Not a single person was killed. That wasn't their goal.
Even when the bureau assigned Lady Nagant for lethal operations, the body count was kept to a minimum. If twenty people suddenly vanished, the fallout would be too big to contain. Questions would be asked and rumors would spread. That wasn't an option right now.
So instead, they made sure everyone inside the building was rendered unconscious before they could grasp what was happening.
By the time they reached the upper floors, the element of surprise was fully on their side. But what they found there was unexpected.
Inside a large corner office stood a group of four pro heroes.
Shock spread across their faces as they turned to face the intruders.
None of them had been briefed. As far as they knew, Lady Nagant and Mewtwo had already returned to the bureau hours ago.
"L-Lady Nagant?" stammered the Pro hero in the center, visibly sweating. "What are you doing here? I—I'm sorry for the mess. No one told me you were coming. This is... this is strange."
He forced a nervous laugh and adjusted the collar of his costume. The man was Extra-Strike, the pro hero officially in charge of this agency.
Ranked 235 in the national registry—not weak, certainly stronger than the average hero—but nowhere near the level of someone like Lady Nagant. And in this particular case, not even close to Mewtwo.
Raiden, read his mind if possible, Kaina said to Mewtwo telepathically, her tone calm but sharp.
Got it, Mewtwo responded silently, turning his attention to the man before them.
He extended his psychic senses, expecting to slip in as he had done with the others earlier. But the moment he tried, he hit resistance—strong resistance. Much stronger than he anticipated.
This wasn't like the minds of the people they had interrogated before the raid. Those individuals had been worn out—physically broken, mentally drained. It had been easy to sift through their thoughts using subtle techniques, almost like lifting memories from water.
But Extra-Strike was different. This man was healthy and alert. The moment Mewtwo tried to enter and read his mind, he saw it.
A crystal dome.
He found himself standing inside the hero's mindscape, as clearly as if it were the physical world. It appeared like a quiet, organized town, small and deceptively peaceful. But surrounding it was a massive, translucent dome—a barrier shielding everything inside.
Mewtwo pressed his hand against the shimmering dome, only to be immediately pushed back by its resistance. Gritting his teeth, he focused harder, unleashing a stronger surge of psychic energy.
The barrier trembled under the pressure—and then, with a faint crackling sound, it finally began to fracture. Unlike the others he had encountered earlier, this mind didn't give in easily. It fought back.
Outside, the man flinched violently, grabbing at his head as a sharp pain struck him like a blade between the eyes.
Lady Nagant and Mewtwo both noticed his reaction. But Mewtwo didn't relent. He kept pressing, channeling his energy with precision. Finally, fragments of the man's surface thoughts began to slip through the cracks.
"Shit, shit, shit— They're going to find out everything. I had to send them away. I had to make sure my people kept quiet. Why the hell didn't anyone warn me they were coming? Shit, shit— and why does my head feel like it's splitting open?"
Mewtwo's expression tightened as he caught something else—blood. A thin trickle leaked from the man's right eye. The mental intrusion wasn't just invasive; it was physically damaging. He had pushed too hard. The strain on the body was clear, even if the hero himself didn't yet fully understand what had happened.
Confused and alarmed, Extra-Strike wiped the blood from his eye and locked eyes with Mewtwo. Those glowing, unwavering eyes gave him all the answers he needed.
No one else in the room could have done something like this. He knew the Quirks of everyone on his team—none had psychic abilities strong enough to cause this kind of pain, this kind of damage. And it wasn't Lady Nagant either. That left only one possibility.
"Oy! What the hell did you just do to me?" he barked, his voice rising in panic. "Are you using your Quirk on me?! Who the hell do you think you are?!"
His outrage wasn't just fear—it was fury at being violated, at having the invisible walls of hero protocol shattered. Using a Quirk against another pro hero wasn't just illegal—it was a disgrace.
But Mewtwo didn't even flinch. He ignored the yelling completely, speaking only to Kaina through their mental link.
"They're all involved. Every single one of them. I couldn't dig too deep, but the fear was real. They know they're exposed. There's probably solid evidence somewhere in here—and with everything we found downstairs, we have more than enough. Should I just take them down?"
Lady Nagant didn't answer with words. She gave him a single nod.
In that instant, Mewtwo sent a powerful mental message to everyone in the room. His voice echoed inside their minds, calm but absolute.
"You are all under arrest for corruption and aiding known criminals. Under the authority of the Public Hero Safety Commission, you are ordered to stand down, surrender your gear, and wait for formal judgment."
The silence that followed was heavy with dread. The moment the message reached their minds, it shattered the fragile illusion they had all clung to. The idea that they were untouchable. That their secrets would remain buried. That no one would come for them.
They had been wrong.
Extra-Strike didn't think. He acted. The moment the psychic words echoed in his skull, he spun toward his subordinates and shouted, "Attack!"
It was pure instinct—an order barked out of desperation. He knew, the second Mewtwo spoke, that they only had two options: fight and run… or be locked away forever.
And a hero in prison wasn't like any other inmate. They were targets. A symbol of betrayal to both the public and the criminals they once helped capture. Unless they were placed in maximum security, their chances of survival were slim. Most didn't last long.
And these heroes—once respected, now exposed—knew it.
In a heartbeat, chaos erupted.
The corrupted hero lunged forward, and his five sidekicks followed suit, charging straight at Mewtwo and Lady Nagant. Yet, despite the incoming threat, Lady Nagant didn't flinch.
She didn't even raise her weapon. She simply stood her ground calmly, she didn't bother fighting.
Mewtwo, on the other hand, moved instantly.
With a sharp thrust of both hands, he unleashed two bursts of Psyshock, the psychic energy shimmering violet as it crashed into the first two attackers. The force struck them squarely in the head, sending them stumbling back.
Without missing a beat, Mewtwo followed up with Confusion, directing the attack toward the remaining three. Each strike landed with precision.
Two of the sidekicks dropped to one knee, blood trickling from their noses as they clutched their heads. The other two staggered aimlessly, dazed, their eyes spinning, limbs twitching as if they were trying to walk in multiple directions at once.
Without pausing, Mewtwo advanced on the principal corrupted pro hero. With a fluid motion, he spun and brought his tail crashing down across the man's face—a clean hit with Iron Tail. But the hero didn't fall. Instead, he responded instantly, throwing a punch with practiced precision, his posture tight and disciplined in a classic boxing stance.
Then something strange happened.
The tail and fist collided, but the outcome made no sense. Mewtwo should have overpowered him—his strength was higher, he was sure of it. Yet somehow, he felt not one but two impacts. One from the initial clash, and another that struck the exact same spot on his tail a split second later. His tail had never moved. The hero's fist had never pulled back. Yet Mewtwo had clearly been hit twice.
Both fighters were pushed apart by the clash, skidding back across the floor.
It was bizarre. But Mewtwo didn't let it rattle him. He didn't panic.
Whatever the nature of this Quirk was, he would adapt and counter.
Gathering physical energy in his legs, he launched forward with a lightning-fast upward kick aimed straight at the man's chin—a powerful Mega Kick meant to end things fast.
But the hero reacted just in time.
Twisting his body, he blocked the blow with an elbow, again creating that strange double-wave of impact.
Mewtwo felt the force hit twice unnaturally. But this time, Mewtwo's blow was too strong. The Quirk couldn't fully absorb or deflect it. The hero grunted in pain as he stumbled back.
Behind them, the sidekicks began to recover and attempted to rejoin the fight—only to be slammed to the ground by an invisible force. A psychic wave radiated through the room as Mewtwo's eyes lit up, glowing deep, electric blue. The pressure was overwhelming like gravity itself had turned against them.
The corrupted hero saw his chance and threw a high kick aimed at Mewtwo's head.
But something had changed.
The power behind the attack fizzled the moment it reached its target. Mewtwo didn't even blink. He raised his tail and deflected the kick effortlessly, as if swatting away a leaf in the wind. There was no reaction, no strain.
For the first time in his life, the hero realized—his Quirk wasn't working, for the first time he felt Quirkless.
And Mewtwo wasn't done yet.
At the same moment, Mewtwo channeled the raw power in his tail and, with a swift, no-frills motion, struck the pro hero square in the chest.
The impact was like being hit by a wrecking ball—sending the man sprawling to the ground. Before he could react, Mewtwo spun and slammed his tail again, this time across the hero's face, launching him backward like a ragdoll. His body crashed into the far wall with a heavy thud, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the concrete.
From the pro hero's perspective, it was surreal. One second he was fighting back, the next he was flying through the air like a helpless civilian caught in the middle of a villain attack. He couldn't move. He couldn't defend himself. It wasn't just the strength behind the blow—it was something deeper. Somehow, his Quirk had stopped working. Just... vanished.
And then, darkness.
For a brief moment, everything went black. No pain, no sound—just emptiness. When he opened his eyes again, the room was still, but the sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine. His sidekicks, all five of them, were scattered across the floor. Unmoving. Unconscious. They weren't struggling anymore. They weren't even groaning. They were out cold.
He was certain he hadn't seen it happen. He had looked at the clock when Lady Nagant had first entered with the others. Barely two minutes had passed since the first attack.
Two minutes.
He did the math in his head—he must have blacked out for only a few seconds. And in that tiny window, Mewtwo had managed to defeat not just him, but all five of his sidekicks.
The pro hero wasn't among top-ranked, but he wasn't weak. He had been through dozens of battles, seen and fought villains, held his ground when others ran. But now, for the first time, he felt fragile.
Powerless. Like everything he thought he knew about combat had just been shattered.
The last thing he saw was Mewtwo levitating toward him, eyes glowing with an eerie light. Then, without warning, a sudden psychic force struck him on the side of the head. His world went dark again.
The next time he opened his eyes, he was seated under harsh fluorescent lights, a cold table in front of him—and three stern faces across from him.
He was being interrogated by agents from the Public Hero Safety Commission.