Chapitre 70: 70: Arlen Ackerman [Part I]
[A few weeks ago]
Arlen Ackerman stepped off the plane at Narita International Airport with a quiet intensity about him. His sharp features and piercing grey eyes scanned the bustling terminal as he adjusted the strap of the worn leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
Unlike most travellers, there was no trace of excitement or fatigue on his face—only a steely resolve. The Japanese air was crisp, a stark contrast to the dry, windy plains of Paradis he had left behind.
From the moment he arrived in Japan, Arlen had a singular focus: adapt, observe, and stay under the radar. His mission was self-imposed—a mix of exile and reconnaissance, though he'd never admit to the former.
The hero community here, with its intricate systems and rigid hierarchies, fascinated him. It was unlike the chaotic, often brutal world of Paradis, where power dictated survival.
For Arlen, this was a new battlefield, and he intended to master it.
Arlen's first day in Tokyo began early. After a quiet train ride into the city, he arrived at a modest apartment he'd rented under a pseudonym.
The building was unremarkable, tucked away in a nondescript neighbourhood. He chose it specifically for its anonymity, a place where no one would pay him much attention.
The apartment was small, furnished with the bare essentials. A single bed, a small table, and a kitchenette filled the space. It was leagues away from the opulence of Paradis, but Arlen found comfort in its simplicity.
He unpacked quickly, his belongings minimal—a few changes of clothes, a notebook filled with scribbled observations, and a set of meticulously maintained weapons hidden in false compartments within his duffel bag.
By mid-morning, Arlen was out on the streets, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Tokyo was overwhelming in its sensory overload: neon signs flashing above crowded streets, the chatter of countless voices blending with the hum of traffic.
Arlen's pace was deliberate, his movements calculated. He wasn't here to gawk like a tourist. Every corner he turned, every shop he entered, was a potential source of information.
He spent the afternoon at a local café, sipping black coffee while eavesdropping on conversations and scanning the news on his phone.
He noted the names of prominent heroes mentioned in passing, the locations of hero agencies, and any whispers of underground activity.
By the time he returned to his apartment, his notebook was filled with notes and sketches, a preliminary map of his new environment.
The following days saw Arlen slipping into a routine. Mornings were spent jogging through the city's back alleys, familiarising himself with the layout.
His afternoons were dedicated to gathering intel—visiting hero agency headquarters, observing training sessions from a distance, and frequenting locations where heroes and villains often clashed.
Nights were reserved for training.
Arlen's quirk, Chrono Shatter, was both a blessing and a curse. In the confines of his apartment, he practised meticulously. Slowing down time in short intervals to dodge imaginary attacks, creating temporal distortions that briefly destabilised objects in his living room.
Sweat dripped down his brow as he pushed his limits, each session leaving him more drained but slightly more in control.
It was during one of these nights that Arlen had his first encounter with Japan's hero community. He'd ventured into a quiet park, hoping to test his abilities in a more open space.
The park was deserted, or so he thought. As he created a localized time distortion around a tree, causing its leaves to shudder unnaturally, a voice called out.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
Arlen turned sharply. A young hero-in-training stood a few meters away, her uniform pristine, her expression wary. Arlen sized her up in an instant—confident but inexperienced.
"Just... experimenting," he replied coolly, his hand subtly readying a small, concealed blade.
The girl frowned but didn't approach. "You're not supposed to use quirks in public without permission. It's against the law."
Arlen tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Noted."
Before she could respond, he activated Chrono Shatter, freezing her in a temporal stasis for a fraction of a second—just long enough for him to vanish into the shadows.
Arlen's curiosity about the hero system grew. He began frequenting areas where heroes patrolled, studying their methods and strategies. He noticed the rigid structure of their operations, the reliance on teamwork, and the limitations imposed by their rules.
It was a stark contrast to Paradis, where individuals like him thrived on unpredictability and raw power.
One evening, he stumbled upon a fight between a group of low-level villains and a pro hero. Arlen watched from the shadows, his sharp eyes analysing every move.
The hero was skilled but constrained by protocol, hesitating to use excessive force.
It was frustrating to watch, and Arlen's fingers twitched, itching to intervene. But he held back, knowing that exposure could jeopardise his plans.
By the third week, Arlen decided it was time to establish a presence. He couldn't remain a shadow forever. Through careful observation, he identified a small underground fighting ring—a place where quirks were used freely, away from the prying eyes of the Hero Commission.
The fights were brutal, the audience a mix of criminals, disenfranchised quirk users, and thrill-seekers. Arlen entered the ring under the alias "Spectre." His first fight was against a brawler with enhanced strength.
The crowd jeered as Arlen seemed to struggle, dodging the man's powerful blows with minimal effort. But when he activated Chrono Shatter, the jeers turned to gasps.
Time slowed, and Arlen delivered a series of precise strikes, incapacitating his opponent in seconds.
Word of his prowess spread quickly. By the end of the week, "Spectre" was a name whispered in the underground, a mysterious newcomer who fought with surgical precision and eerie control over time.
It was during one of these underground fights that Arlen encountered someone unexpected—a pro hero operating undercover. The hero, known as Red Razor, was investigating the ring, searching for connections to a larger criminal network.
Arlen recognised him immediately, having seen his profile during his research. Their fight was intense, the arena buzzing with anticipation. Red Razor was skilled, his quirk granting him enhanced reflexes and speed.
But Arlen's mastery of Chrono Shatter proved superior. He slowed time to evade Razor's attacks and created distortions that threw the hero off balance.
In the end, Arlen won, but he sensed Razor had intentionally held back.
After the fight, Razor approached him privately. "You're good. Too good to be down here. What's your angle?"
Arlen shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Just testing my limits."
Razor's eyes narrowed. "If you're not careful, the Commission will come knocking. They don't take kindly to unregistered quirk users with your... skill set."
Arlen smirked. "Let them try."
As the days turned into weeks, Arlen found himself increasingly torn. On one hand, he relished the freedom of operating independently, away from the constraints of Paradis and its expectations.
On the other hand, he couldn't ignore the pull of his heritage, the responsibility that came with his bloodline.
Late at night, as he sat in his apartment staring at the city lights, he thought of his sister, Elara, and the life he'd left behind. The distance had given him clarity, but it hadn't lessened the weight of his choices.
Arlen knew his time in Japan was temporary, a chapter in his journey. But for now, it was his battlefield, and he intended to leave his mark.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone