MHA: LAW OF MOTION

CHAPTER THREE

Tachypsychia.

A neurological phenomenon where someone's perception of time in a traumatic situation or under great physical exertion is temporarily heightened. In this state, the world seemingly stops or slows down drastically.

This wasn't it, though. This was something else entirely, something different.

The world went still—not metaphorically but literally. The subdued explosion on the muzzle of the gun, the slowly moving bullet tearing through the air, the shell of the bullet being slowly ejected. I could see this and much more.

I had never felt so alive, like heavy shackles on my mind and body had been lifted. Violent energy, like lightning, coursed through my veins as I gazed coldly at the scene, taking in all that was happening immediately.

My mother still looking up at the pointed gun in horror, the cold detachment of the robber after pulling the trigger, my brother outside pressing his face against the glass of the car as he looked at the store in fear.

I immediately walked toward the bullet but turned pale as I felt immense resistance pressing down on me from all directions. The air became dense, like mercury. I willed my body to move, to press on against the resistance, but it was like wading through mud.

Shit—air resistance. I didn't account for this. The air resistance meant I was going so fast—at least 50 meters per second—but if I could only go that fast, there was no way my information-processing speed could be this quick. A bullet moved so much faster than that.

This wasn't a situation I couldn't salvage, though. I could still fix this. I could save my mom. I could save everyone.

Accounting for the speed of the bullet, analyzing its trajectory, and then positioning a knuckle in the path of the bullet to slightly redirect it to an angle with no one in the way. With a great burst of energy and calculations complex enough to make most college students dizzy, I immediately carried out those actions.

And then the world resumed. All everyone saw was a blue blur flashing, and with a ding, the bullet ricocheted off a shelf and struck the boss of the robbers straight in the neck.

"Didn't think that would work." I sighed in relief. "I'm glad you're safe, Mom." That was all I could let out as overwhelming fatigue hit me, and I immediately passed out.

Everyone watched in stunned silence at what had just happened. The robbers stared in confusion as their leader clutched his throat, blood pooling beneath him. The customers were still frozen in shock—too many things had happened too fast for them to process.

Izumi, meanwhile, was desperately trying to plug the wound in her husband's chest, her hands covered in blood as she sobbed. She was torn—torn between her dying husband and checking on her unconscious son.

The two remaining robbers froze, unsure what to do.

Like a puppet suddenly freed from its strings, Tatsuo bolted out of the store, screaming, "THE COPS ARE ALREADY HERE, GODDAMN IT! I AIN'T GOING BACK TO THE SLAMMER!"

With that, the other two robbers abandoned their boss's motionless, ice-cold corpse and ran, disappearing with their stolen bounty.

A moment later, Takeru burst into the store with so much force that the glass doors shattered—but he couldn't care less. His family—his mom, his dad, his little brother—where were they? Were they okay?

Then, his eyes landed on the carnage.

Blood splatters. A lifeless body frozen in disbelief as it clutched its own throat.

Then—he saw them.

His mother, kneeling beside his heavily bleeding father.

His brother, sprawled on the floor. His fate unknown.

For a brief moment, an uninformed observer might have mistaken him for a mannequin. Absolute stillness. A completely neutral expression.

Then—his mind shifted. Priorities locked into place. He rushed to his brother.

The sight that greeted him sent a fire roaring through his chest.

A child so thin his skin seemed to hang off his skeletal frame. His left hand coated in blood.

A crushing sight. This wasn't something he should be seeing. Horrors like this belonged in war documentaries of a third-world country.

Not on his brother. Not on a cute kid like Rio.

An emotionless void cracked open inside him. A chaotic storm of anger, hatred, and self-loathing fought for dominance. He crushed it down. Now was not the time.

Now was not the time to grieve.

Now was not the time to be angry at the monsters who had done this.

Now was the time to act.

His brother and father needed to be taken to safety—a hospital. Immediately.

As he turned to get his mother moving, the loud exclamations of the crowd snapped him out of his tunnel vision. He hadn't even noticed the uniformed officers rushing in.

One of them extended a hand toward them, likely to offer help.

Takeru wasn't having it.

His rational mind told him the danger had long since passed. That he was safe now.

But another part of him—the primal part, the one that had just watched his world nearly shatter—screamed at him to stay alert.

It saw everyone in this room who wasn't family as a threat.

A threat that needed to be dealt with.

He would not be caught off guard again. He had to be better. He would be better.

Then—

"Oh my god, look! It's the Pro Hero Wash!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"Finally! We're safe!" another voice cried in relief.

A figure stepped into the store.

A person of average height, clad in a costume resembling a washing machine, with arms and legs protruding from the shell. Two strained eyes peered out from the lid. His arms were covered by thick gray hoses, ending in yellow rubber gloves with green grips. His lower half was dressed in waterproof pants, secured with a belt, and large boots with a subtle wave pattern around the soles.

At the base of his feet, bubbles began to rise.

The senior detective on the scene, Higuchi Yoshiro, saluted Wash. "Have you apprehended the robbers? We couldn't catch up to them."

Wash immediately gave an affirmative nod and a thumbs-up. "Umu, Washa!"

Higuchi sighed in relief, glad that the perpetrators of one of the worst crimes in his district hadn't escaped. "Good. We'll interrogate them as soon as possible. I'll need your help getting a statement from the kid over there—he's the one who made the call." He gestured toward Takeru, who was tending to his unconscious younger brother.

Wash's smile faded beneath his suit. A brave child, clearly in distress. He wouldn't feel right just walking past without easing the boy's pain.

Taking a deep breath, he prepped himself. If there was one thing he was good at, it was helping children feel safe.

With slow but deliberate footsteps, he approached Takeru, who remained motionless, cradling his little brother.

"Washa! You were a really brave boy, weren't you?" His voice was gentle yet upbeat. "Everyone here is safe because of you. You did good today, Washa!"

The only response was vague muttering and the faint sound of grinding teeth.

Undeterred, Wash continued, his tone warm and reassuring. "We'll make sure everyone here gets home safe, Washa. The injured are already loaded up in the ambulances."

"Then get him to the hospital too."

It was a low growl—one barely audible.

Wash blinked. "Huh? I couldn't quite hear you, Washa. You'll need to speak up a little bit!"

"I said get him to a hospital, you incompetent halfwit of a hero!"

The words exploded from Takeru like a gunshot.

Wash's body stiffened. Only now did he really look at the child in Takeru's arms—and horror gripped him.

The frail, skeletal frame. The blood-streaked hand. The hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.

This was a sight straight out of a war movie.

His body moved before his mind could catch up—instinct kicking in. He shot out a bubble, encasing the boy on the ground, and prepared to call for the paramedics.

And then—

A blur of motion.

Takeru charged at him.

A screwdriver clutched in his trembling hand. Eyes locked onto Wash's own.

Aiming straight for them.

"Jesus Christ, kid—CHILL OUT! I'm trying to get him to safety!"

Wash yelped, breaking character entirely as he barely managed to subdue the rabid boy.

Takeru collapsed, the weight of the day crushing him at last.

Wash sighed. "Washa... what a crummy way to end the day."

A mountain of paperwork was waiting for him back at HQ. And after this? He was already dreading it.