My Mangekyo Sharingan Can't Save My Hero Academia

Chapter 194 191 Tales Of The White Fang 4

With local hero agencies folding under heavy casualties and the government enforcing strict, paralyzed curfews, the demand had shifted from underground criminal syndicates to terrified everyday citizens. Ordinary people were now actively seeking the drug to defend their homes, turning a black-market narcotic into a desperate neighborhood defense strategy.

"You really think he's just a rogue quirk user?" one of the rifle-bearing guards asked, his eyes still glued to the static-heavy television screen. "The media says he took down the entire Saitama vanguard by himself. Not much to go on but that's still over thirty guys."

"Media likes a story," the head dealer countered, his jaw shifting as the jagged, crystalline growths along his skin scraped together with a dry click. "Think about it logically. Where was this 'White Fang' before Tokyo? Nowhere. The guy had zero reputation before Tokyo."

"Zero presence. Zero known affiliations."

The dealer began counting money again. "Then the country goes to shit, the distribution lines open up, and suddenly some masked bastard is running around with enough physical juice to crack spines left and right."

The crystalline protrusions on his jaw clicked together as he grinned. "Sounds like textbook Trigger abuse to me, doesn't it?"

He gestured toward the crates surrounding them.

"Every idiot with a weak quirk suddenly wants power."

"Every neighborhood watch wants power."

"Every wannabe vigilante wants power."

His grin widened. "So what makes this White Fang special?"

Nobody answered. The dealer answered his own question. "Nothing." He jabbed a thumb at the television. "He's probably some loser with a mediocre quirk who's been pumping enough Trigger into his bloodstream to kill a horse."

Several laughs echoed through the warehouse.

The civilian salaryman shuddered, his fingers hovering inches away from the single vial of dark, swirling liquid on the table. The realization that even the people supposed to be fighting the chaos might just be drug-fueled anomalies did nothing to settle his absolute terror.

"Now then, let's get back to business."

The dealer turned back, smile disappearing. "I don't got all day. Are you buying, or not?"

The civilian stared down at the vial. Five seconds later, he gritted his teeth and handed over the money.

The dealer smiled. "There we go. Now you're thinking like an adult." He brought a package containing several vials over. They were all low grade enhancers. The type that caused extreme damage and weren't even up for circulation in the black market.

The ignorant civilian however, clearly didn't know a thing. The moment his fingers touched the package, a voice spoke from above, carrying unconcealed amusement.

"Funny. I've been called a lot of things this week."

The entire warehouse froze. The guards instantly stiffened, their pupils shrinking to pinpricks as they violently swept their gazes upward. Sitting on a thick, suspended cargo chain twenty feet above the floor was a singular figure. He wore a dark, featureless mask, a standard green tactical jacket, and a mass of unruly spiky white hair.

His legs swung lazily over the edge of the iron links, his posture completely relaxed, as if he were merely observing an uninteresting conversation from a park bench.

"Being called a junkie is a first for me."

"Who the hell ..."

The head dealer spat, his jaw violently expanding as jagged, razor-sharp crystal formations erupted along his cheekbones. "Kill him! Drop the bastard!"

The first guard fired immediately. A burst of automatic gunfire erupted through the warehouse.

The moment the first bullet was released, the White Fang vanished, moments before the bullets hit empty steel. The guard barely had time to widen his eyes when a blur descended from above.

CRACK.

The rifle folded in half. The thug was unfortunately folded with it as his body hit the concrete, laying completely motionless.

Chaos exploded.

"SHIT!"

"OPEN FIRE!"

"HE'S HERE!" Gunfire erupted from every direction. The warehouse became a storm of muzzle flashes as bullets shredded crates, tore through hanging tarps and sparked violently against steel supports. Unfortunately, none of it hit. The panicked response of the remaining thugs was entirely predictable. In a world dominated by genetic anomalies, firearms were typically the desperate refuge of the bottom tier individuals whose quirks were either non-offensive, structurally useless, or too weak to compete with modern hero standards.

Yuta's clone was of course not going to give them the time to activate their quirks even if they had good ones. One moment he was standing beside an unconscious guard.

The next he wasn't. A body shot straight into the wall at the end. Something crashed through three stacks of shipping crates. Another man swung a metal pipe.

The vigilante casually ducked beneath it and drove his elbow into the man's ribs.

CRUNCH. The thug folded in half before collapsing.

Then things became strange.

Very strange. A heavily built criminal suddenly crouched. Yuta almost ignored him. Then something emerged from behind the man.

Yuta froze. His brain requiring a full second to process what he was looking at.

"..."

"...Is that a butt cannon?"

The criminal's face reddened. "It's not called that!"

A metallic appendage unfolded from his backside like some kind of artillery platform. As long as his eyes weren't deceiving him, that was ... For all intents and purposes a butt cannon.

'What in the quirk ..'

BOOM! A concussive blast of compressed air and black powder erupted from the bizarre biological artillery piece.

The clone simply leaned his torso to the left, letting the shockwave ripple his green tactical jacket.

The blast continued into the distance and punched a crater through a shipping container.

"Huh."

Yuta looked mildly impressed. "That's actually kinda—"

The criminal fired again. Yuta vanished.

The thug was instantly alarmed, then suddenly found the White Fang standing directly in front of him.

"Oh." CHOP.

The edge of Yuta's hand struck the side of his neck.

The man's eyes rolled back instantly.

Before gravity could claim him, Yuta grabbed his face.

And introduced it to the floor.

WHAM.

The concrete cracked.

The butt cannon vanished. "Definitely a butt cannon."

Then chaos erupted again.

"GET BACK!" One of the remaining smugglers grabbed the terrified salaryman. A pistol pressed against the civilian's temple.

The man's entire body froze. "Don't move!" The thug's voice cracked. "I said don't move."

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "I don't think he's moving."

"I'm talking about you, you freak!" The thug roared through gritted teeth. "If you move even an inch, I'll blow this guy's head off .. " The thug's words barely departed his lips before the concrete directly beneath his boots violently ruptured.

A sharp, jagged spire of solid earth shot upward from the floor like a piston, driving directly through the forearm holding the firearm.

SCHLICK. The thug screamed as the sheer kinetic force shattered the bones in his wrist. The gun clattered harmlessly into the darkness while the guard screamed in agonizing pain, collapsing backward onto the rubble.

Meanwhile, at the far end of the warehouse, the head dealer was backed against a stack of overseas shipping crates. Realizing his entire operation had been dismantled in under two minutes by a single entity, a manic, feral look took over his eyes.

With his left hand, he fished a reinforced glass syringe containing a pure, unrefined concentrate of the continental Trigger from his vest pocket.

"You think you can just walk in here and ruin my livelihood?!" the dealer roared, plunging the needle directly into the side of his neck and slamming the plunger down. The reaction was instantaneous and violent.

The dealer's eyes turned a deep, bloodshot crimson, the blood vessels across his neck bulging into thick, blackened cords. He let out a ragged, agonizing shriek as a thick, sulfurous puff of green smoke exhaled from his mouth. But instead of his standard crystalline quirk expanding, the raw chemical corruption of the foreign drug forced a catastrophic genetic mutation.

Ever since birth, his quirk was a rare mutation that combined the quirks from his mother and father's side. Sure enough, his physical mass began to destabilize, his flesh and bone rapidly dissolving into a massive, swirling vortex of living, sentient mist, filling the warehouse.

The warehouse lights flickered. The man grew. And grew. And grew. Until a towering humanoid figure composed entirely of swirling dark mist stood before him. The creature's eyes burned red.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Those were its last words before charging forward to attack.

Five minutes later ..

THUD. The giant smoke monster crashed face-first into the ground.

The transformation unraveled instantly. Following which, the dealer returned to human form.

Or what remained of it. His body twitched weakly. Completely spent.

Testing the unstable variant, it was quite clear that the Trigger had burned through everything he had.

"Well, that was difficult," Yuta thought, running a gloved hand through his messy white hair as he squatted near the unconscious body of the boss.

Technically speaking, it really had been. This had been his first time dealing with a target capable of turning their entire physical anatomy into a gas.

The experience had felt suspiciously similar to fighting a Logia-type devil fruit user from an old manga—completely immune to standard physical strikes.

Which was not a sentence he ever expected to think seriously. Standing again, he surveyed the warehouse. There were bodies everywhere.

Broken crates. Destroyed contraband. Scattered Trigger.

The civilian salaryman was long gone by this point, likely halfway across the district by now.

Every other thug in the building was completely knocked out, snoring or groaning silently on the oil-stained concrete. Well... almost everyone.

"Alright," Yuta said aloud, standing up and casually dusting the gray concrete powder off his green tactical jacket. "Thank you so much for waiting," he said, without particular direction. "Not every day you meet people with that kind of patience."

He spoke into the open vacancy of the warehouse, his tone completely flat, seemingly addressing no one in particular. No one responded. The silence hung heavy in the air.

Yuta raised an eyebrow beneath his featureless mask, turning his head slightly toward a darker alcove behind the primary crane assembly. "Hmm? Not coming out?"

A beat passed. Then another. Finally .. "I have to say." A woman's voice drifted through the darkness. "I'm quite offended." Following the sound, a tall, elegantly dressed woman stepped out into the dim halogen light of the warehouse, completely unfazed by the unconscious bodies. Sporting a pair of pitch black eyes. Flashy clothing, and a camera hanging from one shoulder.

She was in her early thirties. Long, pale lilac hair, Blue skin. Completely dark sclerae and green irises. A notebook tucked beneath one arm.

Coupled with her overall demeanor, it felt strangely out of place in this whole scenario. She stopped fifteen meters away, her smile widening.

"I waited nearly twenty minutes for that." She glanced around at the destruction.

"Honestly. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to arrange this interview with you?"

Yuta stared. Then looked around. Then back at her.

"...Interview?"

"Interview."

The woman smiled brightly. "I am Chitose Kizuki. A journalist from Shoowaysha Publishing. I believe you must have heard of me through the articles I wrote about you." Chitose watched the man opposite her whose brows suddenly furrowed.

"... I have articles about me?"

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