The rain was heavier than usual that night, cold, relentless and uncaring.
Perched on the edge of a high rise, Dante crouched with his wings unfurled, barely even moving in the downpour. His body was drenched in blood, his own and Kaijin's. His shirt was clinging to him like a second skin, torn from gunshots. The holes where the bullets struck were oozing, his regeneration slowly healing him, but he didn't flinch.
His eyes, bloodshot, red and sharp, glared out over the city like he was going to burn it all down.
His fists clenched. His jaw was tight. His breath came through gritted teeth. His face was still streaked with tears, but he was done with everything.
He was mad. Really mad.
Rain poured down his face, mixing with blood and grief, along with the weight of a promise that he was going to keep even if it cost him his life.
Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out the small ziplock bag that Kaijin had given him, hands trembling, fingers still from the cold. He opened it with care, even as the wind howled.
He took out the old piece of paper, holding it under his wing for shelter. His hands were wet, the ink was already smudging.
He pulled out his phone, thankfully the bullet hadn't hit it and he slowly punched in the coordinates. The touchscreen hated the rain, water interfering with every swipe.
"Come on…" he muttered, thumbs shaking.
It took him a few tries, but eventually, the GPS blinked to life. A red marker dropped on the map.
It looked to be in the middle of the street. North industrial sector of Mustafu.
He stared at it for a moment, "Is it in the sewer?"
Then he lowered the phone.
His wings flexed behind him, muscles preparing.
He slid the note back into the bag. Folded the bag and tucked it into his pocket.
His eyes narrowed.
"Okay."
And with a powerful flap of his wings, Dante launched into the sky, lightning flashing behind him.
He flew through the night air for about fifteen minutes before his phone notified him that he was near.
Dante then slammed down to the ground, crashing down into the middle of the street with a heavy thud, the concrete beneath his feet cracking from the impact. His wings flexed then folded with a sharp rustle, rain dripping from his body as the surrounding civilians screamed and scattered.
"Is that a villain—?!"
"Someone call a hero!"
Dante didn't even glance at them, they were all just noise.
He walked through the puddles, ignoring the pointed phones and wide eyed stares. The city lights reflected off the blood streaking down his arms.
He found what he was looking for, he found a rusted manhole cover hidden near a crumbling alley wall. With one hand, he gripped the lid and tore it free, slamming it to the side before dropping in, his wings folding close to his body as he fell into the shadows below.
The stench of the sewer hit instantly, but Dante didn't react. He pulled out his phone again, the screen glowing dimly in the darkness. The signal was spotty, but the location still pulsed on the map. He followed it down the sewer.
Step after step, his boots splashed through the water and grime. Rats scattered as he neared. Pipes everywhere. And then, he stopped.
He noticed it, a strange, smooth patch of wall. Different than the other walls. Embedded almost seamlessly. But Dante saw the outline of something man made and just above the ground, a small keyhole.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the brass key and knelt down.
*Click!*
A sharp hiss echoed through the tunnel as the section of the wall split open, revealing a descending corridor, it was cold, dry, metallic. Lights flickered to life along the walls, illuminating the inside of a hidden passage.
Dante raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "…Huh."
He stepped inside.
The moment he crossed through the doorway, the door sealed shut behind him and soft white lights hummed to life along the ceiling.
"This place… it's… huge."
The corridor opened into a sprawling underground facility, part dojo, part home, part tech lab. The floors were clean. The air was filtered. Old combat dummies lined the walls next to workbenches and racks of various martial arts manuals, worn punching bags, a small kitchen, a tucked away bed. There were multiple screens lining the far wall, dormant as of right now.
Dante slowly turned in a circle, taking the whole room in.
"…Kaijin," he muttered. "You really kept all this down here?"
Everything was clean. Tidy. Maintained.
"Did you come down here… just to clean sometimes?"
There was a warmth to the place, despite the metal and tech. It felt… lived in. Like someone cared for it. Like it was a dog waiting at home for their owner to come back.
He stepped carefully through the underground home, his bare feet quiet against the steel floor. He moved carefully out of respect. This place felt untouchable, like it was sacred. He didn't want to track blood or dirt onto the floor Ryujin once walked.
Turning down one hallway, he spotted a small sign on a door that simply read "Washroom." He pushed it open, half expecting to see dust or broken tiles, but it was immaculate.
White tiles. A mirror. A working sink. A compact shower unit in the corner. No soap scum, no grime, no mildew. Everything was still stocked with folded towels, toothbrushes still in sealed packaging, fresh bandages tucked into a wall cabinet.
"…Alright," Dante muttered, brushing a few strands of wet hair from his face.
He didn't come here for comfort. He wasn't here to unwind. But the blood on his body, the dust on his chest, the dried tears on his cheeks, they all felt wrong here.
So, out of a strange sense of respect, he turned the tap on.
SHHHHK.
A spray of cold water hit the floor.
He stepped in without flinching.
It wasn't pleasant, ice cold even, but that didn't matter. He wasn't here to relax or get warm, if anything he wanted to just break down crying in the middle of the building. But he, out of respect, decided to clean himself up before he dirtied the place.
As the water poured over him, streaks of red and black ran off his skin, swirling into the drain. He scrubbed it all off, his hands, his chest, his face, rinsing the blood of friends and enemies off. He wasn't crying anymore.
He just stood there… silent.
When he stepped out, he dried off quickly, wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped back into his boxers. Steam clung to the mirror, blurring the faint image of his tired eyes.
He stepped back into the main room, hair still dripping a little as he moved deeper in. He wondered how this place had electricity, but then he noticed the subtle wiring in the ceiling running upward.
"…are we… leeching electricity from the skyscraper above?" He muttered.
Smart. Pretty illegal for a hero, but smart. He let a smirk cross his lips for half a second. Kaijin and his son were both peas in a pod.
Continuing forward, he found a wall of photos framed in black wood.
His steps slowed.
One photo showed Ryujin as a child, perched on Kaijin's shoulders. Another had them wearing matching martial arts uniforms, posing side by side after a tournament. There were candid shots, Kaijin laughing, Ryujin asleep on the couch, Kaijin's wife in the background with a small cake.
Dante stared.
His throat tightened again.
He reached up to the picture and traced Ryujin face gently with his thumb, blinking as tears started to fill his eyes again.
"…You looked so happy," he whispered before he looked at the next picture.
It was a picture of Dante, Kaijin and Kazuya. Dante looked unimpressed, Kaijin's hand on Dante's head with a smirk as Kazuya was posing like an idiot.
He let out a shaky breath, then finally turned away, walking deeper into the facility.
Next, there was a side space, its floor padded with reinforced mats. Weapons lined the walls, non lethal training gear, real swords, old wooden staffs and even a pair of sapphire blue curved swords mounted proudly above a shelf of trophies. At the far end, a dummy made of reinforced alloy stood, cracked in multiple places from years of training.
There was a control panel to adjust the difficulty and resistance, Ryujin really wanted this to become a hero agency, he had all of the training equipment needed. He truly was a good man.
Dante brushed a hand along one of the scarred practice dummies. The material was dense, tougher than most of those at U.A.
Down the next hallway, he entered what looked like some kind of library, bookshelves packed with scrolls, worn martial arts manuals, strange ancient texts and evecn handwritten notes. One shelf was labeled "Kaijin's observations."
Notebooks. Both lined and dated.
Another section was marked "Ryujin's progress."
There were folders filled with growth logs, combat evaluations and even sparring footage. Kaijin kept everything. Dante would have to dive deep into this at some point, when he had the strength. At the end of the library was a single tape labeled "The Dragons Last Stand." Dante immediately knew what it was, he would have to bring himself to watch this later.
Next was the kitchen, it was surprisingly modern, well stocked. Vacuum sealed food lined one shelf. The fridge still hummed. There was a single ceramic mug on the counter, with the worlds "Bright Red Dragon's #1 Fan" printed in faded red letters.
Dante couldn't help but smile bitterly at that.
The bedroom was small, it just had a simple bed, neatly folded blankets. A framed photo of Kaijin's family sitting together in front of the gym.
By the time Dante had explored everything, he stood back at the center of the sanctuary, towel still clinging to his waist. Water dripping from his hair.
This place was Ryujin's legacy.
And now it was Dante's.
"I will rid this world of those villains." He whispered.
And then he moved to the next room, the hero gear room.
He was going to be a hero. He didn't care that he didn't have a license, he didn't care if the world would label him some kind of vigilante or criminal. He was going to be a hero by his standards. He would save people and anyone who'd prey on the weak.