The soft, rythmic click-clack of Atsuhiro's polished dress shoes echoed faintly against the brick walls. He was enjoying a rare, quiet stroll after a long meeting with Shigiraki—a moment to simply breathe the crisp night air and appreciate the theatrical stillness of the city Then a sound broke his reverie It wasn't the scurry of a stray cat or the rustle of trash in the wind. It was a sob. Small, choked, and heavy with a kind of despair that shouldnt belong to anyone so young. Curiosity, mixed with a sudden tug of genuine sympathy, guided his steps. Atsuhiro turned a sharp corner into a narrow, shadowed alleyway. There, huddled beside a stack of waterlogged cardboard boxes, sat a child. He didn't need a detectives quirk to piece together the story. A tear stained note sat in a puddle nearby, ink running, but the harj words still legible: We wanted a normal child. A rare, quirkless blessing. Not another freak.

With a flick of his wrist and a soft pop, a brilliant, glowing blue marble appeared between his fingers. He tossed it into the air, caught it on he back of his hand, and with another swift motion, transformed it into a beautiful, fresh red rose. He offered it forward with a soft chuckle.