However, with the stunt pulled by that darned League, that was no longer the case. To appease public outrage, those with more severe crimes of murder would immediately get the death penalty instead of incarceration in Tartarus.
"Let's keep this simple," she said. "Just answer what you can."
"The jaw. Was it wide?"
"No. Narrow," Murasa grunted. "Pointy chin. Square face and smug grin. He had a bit of a goatee I think."
"Anything else?"
"Small mustache."
She nodded, sketching.
"Cheekbones?"
"Normal. Nothing weird."
She paused. "Nose?"
"Average. Maybe crooked?"
"Eyes?"
Murasa frowned. "Hard to say. He wore glasses. Tinted. Didn't take 'em off."
"Hair?"
"Black. Not sure how accurate that is. It was too dark to tell if it was anything else but it wasn't a noticeable brighter shade."
"Mouth?"
"Thin lips. Always had this smirk on." Murasa's expression soured. "And he always—always—had a cigarette in his mouth. Never saw him without one."
"Wore dress pants and a scarf."
"Any visible scars? Birthmarks? Tattoos?"
Murasa thought. "Nothing on his face. But he wore long sleeves and gloves, so..." He shrugged. "Could've had something under all those layers so none I could see."
"Build?"
"Average height. Maybe 170, 175. Lean."
"Distinctive mannerisms? Speech patterns?"
"The smoking, obviously. Smug speech. Always smiling for no reason whatever. Sinister vibe."
The artist worked for another thirty minutes, making adjustments based on Murasa's corrections, refining proportions, adding subtle details.
Finally, she turned the tablet around. "Is this him?"
The image was coming together—a face that looked both unremarkable and deeply untrustworthy.
Murasa stared at the composite sketch. Sharp cheekbones. Narrow eyes behind yellow-tinted glasses. Messy dark hair with gray streaks.
A cigarette suggested even in the static image.
It wasn't perfect as digital composites never were but the face staring back at him was unmistakably the man who'd tried to recruit him.
"Yeah," Murasa nodded. "That's the bastard. That's Giran."
The artist saved the file immediately. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Murasa."
She stood, tablet in hand, and headed for the door.
"Hey," Murasa called after her. "That deal you mentioned ..."
One of the officers spoke up. "If this leads to the League's capture, you'll get everything discussed. You have Detective Tsukauchi's word."
Murasa nodded, leaning back in his chair.
'Sorry, Giran. Better you than me.'
_
NATIONAL POLICE AGENCY, TOKYO COMMAND CENTER
The composite arrived at 9:56 PM.
Tsukauchi stared at the screen as the image rendered—clean lines, neutral expression, tinted glasses, brown overcoat. Ordinary. Almost forgettable.
Which was exactly the problem.
"Run the match against the Kamino Ward surveillance grid. I want a ninety-day backtrack."
The technician's fingers blurred across the keyboard. "Loading parameters. Setting confidence threshold to seventy-five percent. Cross-referencing with height and gait analysis based on the the testimony. Beginning scan now."
Cameras across Kamino Ward came online—street corners, convenience stores, transit hubs, parking garages. Tens of thousands of faces, compressed into data streams.
A progress bar appeared on the screen: 0.2% ... 0.5% ... "This ... It's going to take time, Detective," the technician said.
"How long?"
"Five hours give or take. We're scrubbing through petabytes of raw street-level footage."
Tsukauchi anticipated this. "Get me coffee. We're not leaving this room until that scan finishes. Also, get me the positions of all available teams at the ready."
"Yes sir." The officer moved immediately.
_
[KAMINO WARD – 10:34 PM]
The rain in Kamino was a cold, industrial drizzle that turned the asphalt into a dark, oil-slicked mirror.
Kendo Rappa pulled his hoodie tighter and stomped down the narrow side street, his bandages itching under the damp fabric.
The drizzling rain only served to worsen his mood as he walked to his destination under the cover of night.
No surprise, the man was fuming. Hours ago, the "pit" he'd been frequenting in the neighboring ward ... an underground fight club where he could at least stretch his muscles had been swarmed by police. He'd had to bowl through a dozen officers just to get out without being detained. And he hadn't even gotten to finish his round with the guy who had the 'Quake' quirk.
'Damn heroes. Damn cops. Damn everything.'
He turned down an even narrower alley, checking over his shoulder out of habit before finally arriving at his destination.
The bar looked abandoned with boarded windows and faded signage. Rappa approached the back entrance, a rusted door that looked like it hadn't been opened in years. He knocked twice, paused then once more. A lock clicked.
The door opened slightly the next moment, followed by the sight of Kurogiri's yellow eyes gleamed from within the darkness.
"Rappa."
"Yeah, yeah. It's me. Let me in before I catch pneumonia out here."
The door opened wider. Rappa ducked inside, water dripping from his hoodie onto the floor. Walking down the hallway, they reached the interior bar that was dimly lit, passing by the sleepy drunk Deidoro in one of the passing rooms.
Tomura Shigaraki sat in the interior, next to the position the bar table used to be. 'Another one gone again, huh?'
Their entrance certainly didn't go unnoticed.
"Hmph. If it isn't our brawling muscle." Shigaraki's spoke up, voice laced with irritation. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Out." Rappa pulled back his hood, water droplets flying. "Getting my fix since you lot haven't given me anything worth punching in weeks."
"Your 'fix' nearly got you arrested." Kurogiri closed and locked the door behind him. "The Yokohama fighting ring was raided by police two hours ago."
"I know. I was there." Rappa dropped onto a barstool with enough force to make the wood creak. "Had to bail before they boxed me in. Wasted a perfectly good fight."
Shigaraki's scratching resumed as always. "Bail? You didn't get followed, did you?"
"Do I look stupid?" Rappa glared. "Lost them in the subway. Doubled back three times. Changed trains four times. Came in through the back like always. I'm clean."
"You'd better be." Shigaraki stood, chair scraping against the floor. "Because if you led heroes to our door ..."
"I said I'm clean." He said with increasing intensity. "You want to question my professionalism? Maybe you should try going a month without a single real fight and see how patient you stay."
Kurogiri cleared his throat diplomatically. "Nevertheless, perhaps it would be wise to... limit external activities for the time being. Until this crackdown subsides."
"Limit?" Rappa's glare intensified. "I joined this outfit for FIGHTS. Real ones. And all I've gotten is sitting in this dump listening to him ...." he jabbed a thumb at Shigaraki " .... whine about All Might."
"Watch it," Shigaraki warned.
"Or what? You'll give me another speech about 'patience'?" Rappa stood up.
Kurogiri materialized between them, mist swirling. "Gentlemen. This accomplishes nothing."
"It accomplishes me not decaying his face,"
"And it accomplishes me not breaking yours," Rappa shot back.
"Enough." Kurogiri's cut in. "Rappa, perhaps it would be wise to remain here for the next few days. The police crackdown is reaching its peak. Every underground venue in the city is under surveillance."
Rappa snorted, giving Shigaraki one last contemptuous look before heading for the basement stairs, his heavy footfalls shaking the dusty floorboards of the bar. "When you've got something worth my time, let me know."
Shigaraki's scratching intensified as he watched him leave. "That gorilla is going to get us caught."
"He is not to blame Tomura. You have not kept to your end of the bargain made upon his joining." Kurogiri said calmly. "And as long as he returns here, his value remains. Though I do agree his ... extracurricular activities are becoming concerning."
"Whatever. It's not my fault the Nomu are more useful than he is" Shigaraki growled.
"Just make sure he doesn't lead heroes to our door. If we get discovered because of this buffoon wanted to punch a few low-lives, I'll let the Nomu use his ribcage as a chew toy."
Shigaraki stormed away as well, leaving Kurogiri in the bar area.
None of them noticed the razor-thin shadow clinging to the underside of the bar's exterior ventilation duct
_
Edgeshot, the No. 4 Hero, was flattened against the corrugated metal, his Foldabody Quirk making him nearly two-dimensional. He had been tailing Rappa since the Yokohama raid, maintaining a silent distance as the brawler navigated the subway and alleyways. The trail had led him here, to an abandoned-looking bar in a forgotten corner of Kamino.
Stretched thin as a thread, he clung to the underside of an exterior ventilation duct. From his position, he could peer through the narrow slats and catch fragments of the conversation below.
"... accomplishes me not decaying his face .."
Edgeshot's eyes narrowed. Decay quirk. That could only mean ... " ... Not breaking yours ..."
"Tomura, perhaps it would be wise—"
Tomura.
Edgeshot's mind raced through Hero Commission briefings. Tomura Shigaraki. Leader of the League of Villains. Decay quirk. Wanted for USJ attack, Hosu incident, and— The Yamanote Line massacre.
" .... not my fault the Nomu are more useful ..."
He saw them clearly: the mist-bodied warper, Kurogiri, and the pale, scarred youth, Shigaraki Tomura.
This was them.
He detached from the vent and retreated onto a neighbouring rooftop of the building opposite the bar.
Far enough to be invisible in the rain and darkness. Close enough to maintain visual on all exits.
There was three of them, possibly more and only one of him. If the warper sensed a threat, they would vanish in seconds. Hence, a solo engagement wasn't an option.
He activated his comm unit. "Edgeshot to Command. Priority Alpha."
In HPSC command center, a restricted high priority channel set up for emergency sightings came active.
Everyone was stunned.
Tsukauchi, who had been staring at the agonizingly slow progress bar of the facial recognition scan, nearly knocked over his coffee as he lunged for the headset.
"This is Tsukauchi. Report."
"Target confirmed," Edgeshot's voice came through. "Kamino Ward. District 4. Abandoned bar, intersection of 5th and Kirin."
His eyes turned to the bar opposite. "I believe I have found the location of the League Of Villains."
__
Meanwhile, Manila ...
__
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