Late Night, A Shabby Motel on the Outskirts of San Francisco.

The fluorescent light flickered irregularly at the end of the hallway as the reporter stood in front of a stained mirror.

His red hair was matted and wet, and his clothes were torn and stained.

Bad humans? Sentinels?

The reporter tilted his head at the message sent by the squirming black lumps on his shoulders and back.

The Sentinels, always kind and known as the protectors of San Francisco, were being called "bad humans."

Of course, the reporter also sensed that something was suspicious about the situation.

There was no reason for the Sentinels to be at this motel at such a late hour, especially in this remote place.

[Eliminate bad humans!]

[Preemptive strike!]

Even though the black lumps, suspicious yet friendly, were urging for an attack, it didn’t seem right to act immediately.

The black lumps were in a state of heightened excitement, clearly feeling something about the Sentinels.

That intense emotion transferred through the reporter’s body.

"Wait, wait! Stop!"

The reporter tried to calm the black lumps, who seemed ready to rush out.

As the reporter gently pressed down on the black lumps that had exposed sharp teeth, they hesitated for a moment.

[....]

The black lumps then fell silent, staring at the reporter.

In their silence, he could sense dissatisfaction and warning.

Their eyes seemed to say, You’ll regret it, and the reporter flinched.

The reporter, still staring at the black lumps, began to speak his thoughts and plans.

“Let’s escape. And we need to get into the Alexander Group headquarters again.”

[Alexander Group?]

The reporter quickly summarized the information he had gathered so far.

The mysterious last informant, the notes indicating plans to infiltrate the Alexander Group.

[?]

The black lumps merely tilted their heads in confusion, not fully understanding.

[Let’s go.]

[Okay.]

[Mom might be there.]

Somehow, the reporter’s earnestness seemed to reach them, and despite their confusion, the black lumps agreed to his plan.

Carefully, the reporter peeked outside through the window, searching for an escape route.

His heart began to race.

The Sentinel was still standing in the parking lot, and men in black suits were moving around the motel rooms, seemingly searching for something.

They really came to capture me...

The reporter stood before the mirror, quickly tidying up his torn and stained clothes, running his fingers through his hair.

He then pulled a hat down over his head and covered his mouth with a mask.

This should be enough to pass by unnoticed from a distance.

Just as he was about to leave the motel room, the whispers of the black lumps reached his ears.

[Disguise?]

[We disguise well.]

“What?”

At that moment, the black lumps began to surround the reporter’s body.

Startled, the reporter closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, a completely different person stood before the mirror.

A well-built man with dark skin.

The ragged clothes were gone, replaced with a neat black T-shirt and black pants.

Aside from the fact that his clothes and skin matched, the figure was completely different from the reporter, with no resemblance to him at all.

Body type, gender, and hair color.

None of them matched, so anyone who saw him wouldn’t notice.

[We disguise well, right?]

“Y-yeah…”

The reporter, feeling a bit awkward, massaged his muscular forearms and slowly left the motel room.

Creak, creak.

Passing down the old, squeaky stairs and stepping into the parking lot, he nearly screamed in surprise.

The Sentinel, who should’ve been in the center of the parking lot, was right in front of him.

He was exactly the same as always.

Friendly smile, warm-looking eyes.

But now, everything about him felt threatening.

“Good evening. Sorry for the late hour.”

The Sentinel spoke.

The reporter’s whole body tensed, and his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.

The other person was the Sentinel, the so-called ultimate superhuman.

If he was caught, he would be subdued in the blink of an eye.

“...”

The reporter silently bowed her head, trying to keep quiet so as not to give herself away.

Slowly, very slowly, she passed the Sentinel.

The feeling of his gaze on her back felt like a sharp blade.

Just as she was about to leave the parking lot.

“Ah, excuse me.”

The Sentinel’s voice froze the reporter’s steps.

The black lumps began to grow excited.

[Bad human!]

[Preemptive strike?]

The reporter slowly, very slowly, turned her head.

Her eyes met the Sentinel’s.

Something suspicious seemed to flicker in his gaze.

“Have you seen a woman with red hair and this height?”

The reporter’s heart stopped.

She nodded her head as naturally as possible.

Then she took another step forward.

One step, two steps.

She could feel the Sentinel’s gaze boring into her back.

Three steps, four steps.

Before long, cold sweat began to run down her back.

Five steps, six steps.

Please, please…

Finally, as she stepped out from the shadows of the motel, the reporter was able to exhale.

“Ha…”

Then, she began walking again.

Toward the heart of San Francisco, toward the Alexander Group headquarters.

By the time the sun had risen, the streets of San Francisco were bustling with activity.

The reporter sat on a familiar street, gazing at the 'Alexander Group' headquarters building in the distance.

On a nearby TV screen, her face was streaming out.

I never thought I’d get famous for something like this...

The reporter had become a notorious criminal who killed dozens of Alexander Group security members.

But that news broadcast only reinforced her certainty.

It meant that the soldiers who shot at her were from the Alexander Group.

[Dizzy…]

[Can’t see anything.]

But there was a serious problem.

Just like at the motel on the outskirts of San Francisco, the closer she got to the center, the more the black lumps were complaining about dizziness.

The black lumps' strength, transformation ability, and their signature black color were serious issues for the reporter as she planned to infiltrate the headquarters building.

The reporter couldn’t scold the black lumps, who kept muttering about dizziness.

She had shared their senses before, and she knew how overwhelming it was.

The sensation of everything spinning, where even the sky and ground flipped and everything around her was a blur, was something she could never forget.

Her senses, including her sight, had become completely mixed up, so the black lumps’ complaint of dizziness had to be tolerated.

As she waited for nightfall, the mini Shinigami began to crawl toward the reporter’s table.

Human...?

The golden Shinigami, swaying drunkenly as if dizzy, and the completely melted black Shinigami, were both looking at her.

Dizzy.

Human...? Something’s different?

The mini Shinigami, who seemed to be trying to speak, staggered drunkenly, then fell backward with a thud.

The golden Shinigami, who had fallen and was rubbing its head, soon lost interest and sprawled out on the floor.

The reporter, seeing that, couldn’t help but laugh quietly, making sure to keep it low.

Then she turned her gaze toward the setting sun, slowly sinking beneath the horizon.

Under that sunset, the superhumans of the Superhuman Association were continuously gathering toward the 'Alexander Group' headquarters building.

Deep within the Mini Shinigami Garden, Marshmallow Plains.

I was playing volleyball with the golden Shinigami, using a white jaw as the ball.

Kyu-hing-hing.

My powerful spike hit the corner of the court and bounced out, followed by the frustrated cry of the white jaw.

Mom is strong!

After fusing with the golden Shinigami, my poor athletic skills had dramatically improved.

I could now play volleyball against the fused golden Shinigami, who were my size!

After I scored, the 1-meter golden Shinigami swarmed toward me.

Mom, I love you!

Mom is so kind!

As I was buried under the golden Shinigami, their fusion time expired, and one by one, they began to separate.

Ah!

The golden Shinigami, now back to their mini size, clung to my body, continuing to smile happily.

Suddenly, a strange thought crossed my mind.

Lately, I’ve been playing with the mini Shinigami too much...

Playing with the golden Shinigami.

Acting in plays with the yellow Shinigami.

Making giant golems with the blue Shinigami.

Having a martial arts match with the black Shinigami, and so on.

Realizing this, I decided to remove the golden Shinigami from the fusion and separate it using the Fusion Halo.

No!

The golden Shinigami bounced out, flailing its arms as if disappointed.

As the fusion ended, the golden Shinigami, now clinging to my body, began to annoy me.

There were so many golden Shinigami that I could barely move.

Seeing the golden Shinigami’s bright eyes, I knew they hoped that the "kind mom" would stay.

But I tightly controlled my body and slowly began to spin.

No!

The golden Shinigami held on tightly, as if afraid that the kind mom would disappear forever.

But as I spun like the blades of a blender, they all flew off in every direction like popcorn.

No!!!

The golden Shinigami, looking as if they had lost their country, flew away, and the jaws chuckled at the sight.

It was a peaceful day in the Mini Shinigami Garden.

...

I tore apart a defiant white jaw and teleported to the isolation room.

It had been so long since I held the TV remote.

Although it wasn’t true, it felt like dust had gathered on it since it had been so long.

Click.

Breaking the long silence, a faint light emerged from the TV.

As the screen brightened and sharpened, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

[???]

The scene on the screen was beyond anything I could have expected.

The trembling voice of the anchor filled the room.

[This is an urgent broadcast. A massive unidentified Object has appeared in San Francisco, wreaking havoc on the city.]

The camera shook as it captured the city from above.

There, in the distance, was a very familiar shape of an Object.

With long arms, rooted legs, and two eyes with nine pupils.

Aside from being slightly smaller, it was the same appearance of the ancient god that should be asleep inside the Immutable Sphere.

No way?

The black Object revealed its sharp teeth and let out a mighty roar.

The intangible pressure spread out, warping even the TV screen.

The broadcast, which was being transmitted live from the United States, played a faint background noise in English.

The screen plunged into static before showing the Object again.

The Object was now approaching the Golden Gate Bridge.

Has something happened to the Immutable Sphere?

The recent instability of the Immutable Sphere made me wonder, but there was no time to ponder that theory.

As the Object’s sharp claws tore through the steel of the Golden Gate Bridge, the TV screen went black and the signal was lost.

I closed my eyes and stretched out my senses, hastily searching for a Mini Shinigami near San Francisco.