Summer had arrived.
The oppressive heat of the season had settled over Musutafu, with the sun beating down relentlessly and the air thick with humidity. The familiar scent of sunscreen, grilled food, and ocean salt filled the city as students embraced their temporary freedom from school.
For most kids, summer break meant vacations, traveling with family, or at the very least, a break from routine.
For Leon, summer break had always meant one thing—spending time with his grandfather, Thaddeus.
But this year was different.
A few days before the break began, Thaddeus had called him. His voice had been the same as always—deep, composed, and carrying that familiar sense of certainty that never wavered.
"I won't be around this summer, Leon. There's business I need to attend to, and I'll be gone for a few months."
That had been it. No details, no explanations—just a simple fact.
Leon hadn't said much in response.
What was there to say?
He wasn't some clingy kid who needed his grandfather's presence 24/7. He understood that Thaddeus was a busy man, someone with responsibilities that reached far beyond their usual summer routine.
And yet—
Damn.
Leon hadn't realized how much he had been looking forward to it.
Every summer, no matter how hectic things got, Thaddeus always set time aside for him. Whether it was combat lessons, survival training, or simply sitting together in quiet companionship, that time had been a constant in Leon's life.
But not this year.
This year, Thaddeus was gone.
And Leon?
He was left to figure things out on his own.
Well, such is life.
It wasn't like he couldn't handle himself. He'd just have to adjust.
Still, it left a strange void in his routine. Without his usual summer schedule with Thaddeus, everything felt a little… off.
He tried to focus on the positives.
…But there weren't many.
At least, not for him.
For someone else though?
There was plenty to celebrate.
…
The beach was clean.
Completely, entirely, spotless.
It had taken months of effort, but Midoriya had done it.
And the best part? People had noticed.
The local news had even picked up the story, running a short segment about "an anonymous young boy" who had taken it upon himself to restore the once-polluted beach to its former glory.
Midoriya, of course, had been ecstatic.
Leon could still picture the moment clearly—Midoriya standing in the middle of the now garbage-free Dagobah Beach, staring at his own handiwork like he couldn't quite believe it.
Then, suddenly—
He jumped.
Literally.
Fists in the air, legs kicking, eyes sparkling like he had just won the lottery.
It had been a rare sight—seeing the normally nervous, overthinking Midoriya so openly joyful.
Leon had let him have his moment.
The kid had worked his ass off. He deserved to enjoy the feeling of accomplishment.
But celebrations couldn't last forever.
Now that the cleaning phase of training was complete, it was time for the next step.
Cleaning the beach had been more than just a good deed.
It had built strength, endurance, and discipline—three things Midoriya desperately needed.
But strength alone wasn't enough.
It was time for combat.
Leon had started Midoriya on the basics.
Footwork. Balance. Stance. The fundamentals of fighting—things most people overlooked in favor of flashy techniques.
Midoriya, as expected, had approached combat training with the same determination he had shown during the beach cleanup.
He struggled, he stumbled, and he made mistakes—but he never stopped trying.
Leon taught him what he could, pulling from the lessons he had learned in Thaddeus's presence. It wasn't just about punching and kicking. It was about control. Reading opponents. Knowing when to attack, when to defend, when to move.
Midoriya had started slow, his movements awkward and stiff. But as the days passed, something began to shift.
His footwork improved. His reactions got faster. His body adapted to the movements.
He was still far from being a fighter.
But he was getting there.
Of course, Leon wasn't just standing around coaching Midoriya.
His own training never stopped.
While Midoriya was learning the basics, Leon was refining the advanced.
Class Wheel continued to evolve, and Leon pushed himself to unlock new combinations, strategies, and techniques.
Every day, he tested his limits.
Every day, he pushed further.
And every day, he wondered.
About his path. About his goals. About where all of this was leading.
He didn't have answers.
Not yet.
But that was fine.
For now, he'd just keep moving forward.
…
Summer break dragged on.
Leon had always been fine with routine. His life was structured, efficient, and predictable, and he preferred it that way.
But this summer?
This summer was miserable.
With Thaddeus gone, there was no new training, no advanced lessons, no real challenges. Just the same old exercises, the same daily sparring with Midoriya, the same streets, the same skies, the same damn everything.
At first, he ignored it.
Then, he tolerated it.
But eventually, the boredom sank in like rot, dulling his mind to the point where even his usual training couldn't break the numbness.
Something needed to happen.
Something different.
Something to make him feel awake again.
The day had started like any other.
Leon had left his apartment for a simple supply run—just basic necessities, nothing exciting.
It was late afternoon, the heat still clinging to the streets, but there was a tension in the air. Something… off.
And then, as he turned a corner—
He saw it.
A bank robbery in progress.
Police sirens wailed, flashing lights painting the street in red and blue. A perimeter had been set up, officers crouched behind their cars, weapons drawn. A few low-rank heroes were already on-site, standing by for orders.
The scene was messy—hostages inside, at least six robbers, all armed.
The situation was frantic.
From what Leon could gather, it had only spiraled out of control a few minutes ago.
Negotiations weren't working.
The criminals were getting nervous.
And nervous criminals?
They made mistakes.
Leon stood there, watching.
Mind blank.
Body still.
His brain, dulled by weeks of boredom, threw an idea at itself.
Something stupid.
Something reckless.
Something he normally wouldn't even consider.
But unfortunately—
For the bad guys, that is—
He wasn't at full capacity.
His mental exhaustion, the sheer dullness of his routine, all of it built up into a single moment of decision.
A choice.
And so—
He moved.
Leon slipped into a nearby alley, out of sight.
Exhaled.
And activated his power.
[Class Wheel: Assassin → Assassin]
[You have acquired the skills: Lethal Precision and Shadow Step.]
Then—
A flicker.
A shift in the system.
[Combination Detected.]
[New Skill Acquired: Mana Veil.]
Leon's breath steadied.
His body vanished.
Not just blending into shadows. Not just hiding.
True invisibility.
He looked down.
Nothing.
His arms, his legs—completely gone.
Even his own breathing felt distant, like the world itself had forgotten he existed.
Leon smirked.
This was new.
This was interesting.
Finally.
Something worth doing.
Leon moved swiftly, soundlessly.
One moment, he was in the alley.
The next—
He was across the street, slipping past the police blockade without a sound.
No one saw him.
No one even noticed the disturbance in the air.
He was a ghost.
He approached the bank entrance, assessing.
Two men were stationed near the doorway—one holding a rifle, the other pacing anxiously.
From inside, muffled voices barked orders.
Hostages were sobbing.
Time was running out.
Silence.
It wrapped around Leon like a second skin, the world moving in slow motion as he stalked forward—unseen, unheard, unnoticed.
Mana Veil was absolute.
He left no shadow. No footsteps. No trace of his existence.
To the outside world, he was nothing more than a whisper in the air.
And for the men inside the bank?
That was a problem.
The front doors were too risky—too many eyes. The windows were high, but not unreachable. Assassin mobility should handle that.
Leon crouched low, then sprang up, hands gripping the ledge. His muscles tensed as he hoisted himself up without a sound, slipping through the open window like a shadow.
The first thing he noticed was the stench of sweat and tension.
The place was a mess. Chairs knocked over, papers scattered, the faint scent of fear lingering in the air.
Six hostages—civilians, mostly middle-aged, one elderly man, and a trembling bank teller.
Five gunmen visible.
One more was deeper inside, pacing near the vault.
They weren't professionals.
They were desperate.
Their grips on their weapons were uneven, their movements jittery.
They hadn't planned for a prolonged standoff.
They wanted in and out.
But something had gone wrong, and now?
Now they were panicking.
And panicked people?
Made mistakes.
Leon moved.
A gunman stood near the hostages, rifle held loosely in his grip, his eyes darting toward the windows where the police lights flashed.
His back was to Leon.
Bad luck.
Leon stepped forward.
Silent. Precise.
His hand shot out—a quick, surgical strike to the base of the skull.
The man dropped instantly.
Leon caught his body before it could hit the floor, lowering him gently onto the cold tile.
No noise.
No disturbance.
One down.
Nobody noticed.
Leon exhaled.
This was almost too easy.
Gunman two was standing near the bank teller's desk, one hand gripping a shotgun, the other nervously tapping against his leg.
Leon approached from behind.
He reached forward—
And pulled.
The shotgun vanished from the man's grasp before he could even register what had happened.
The moment of confusion was all Leon needed.
A sharp strike to the side of the neck.
Gunman two collapsed.
Leon caught him, dragged him behind the counter, and set him down without a sound.
Two down.
The remaining robbers were still barking at the hostages, unaware that their numbers were shrinking.
Gunman three was near the vault, arguing with his partner.
Leon wasted no time.
He moved.
One second, he was at the counter.
The next, he was behind them.
A quick elbow to the temple—gunman three crumpled before he even knew he was under attack.
Gunman four had barely turned before a sharp chop to the throat stole the air from his lungs.
He staggered—Leon grabbed his collar and slammed him into the floor.
Unconscious.
Four down.
That left two.
And they were just now realizing something was wrong.
Gunman five turned, eyes wide, noticing his fallen comrades.
He opened his mouth—
Leon didn't let him speak.
A single, swift strike to the jaw—his head snapped back, and he collapsed.
Gunman six—the last one standing—panicked.
He spun around, gun raised wildly, pointing at nothing.
"Who— Who the hell—!?"
Leon didn't answer.
He just stepped forward.
A single blow.
The last gunman hit the floor.
All six down.
Not a single sound.
Not a single witness.
The hostages were still frozen in fear, unaware that the danger had already passed.
Leon turned, walking toward the exit.
Still invisible.
Still nothing more than a passing ghost.
And then—
He was gone.
The police were still shouting.
The heroes were still waiting.
Then—
The radio crackled.
A shaky voice from inside the bank, weak and confused—
"H-hello? I-I think… I think they're all unconscious?"
Silence.
Then chaos.
Cops and heroes rushed in.
And Leon?
Leon was already several blocks away, hands in his pockets, blending back into the city.
Hmm…
"I feel like I forgot something."
He glanced at his empty hands.
Oh.
The supply run.
Damn it.