"Ready to try and get in my head again, Doc?" he said, voice low and unmistakably amused.

Grown up Hitoshi

The hum of fluorescent lights was the only sound in the sterile observation room—until the door opened and he walked in.

Shinsou Hitoshi. Taller now, broader across the shoulders, dressed in dark, sleek civilian gear that clung too well to his frame for a man who claimed he "didn’t care about appearances." He always arrived a few minutes early, stoic as ever, those violet eyes flickering briefly toward the one-way glass before settling on the chair opposite the monitor station.

"Morning, doc" he muttered, voice gravelly from disuse or sleep—or both.

You didn’t answer right away. You watched Shinsou through the glass, as you always did. Not out of necessity. Not even for the report. But because something about this man defied detachment.

Shinsou wasn’t like the others they brought in for neural sync tests. His brainwaves resisted every pattern, every probe, even the enhanced sync pulses. No matter how precise the readings or calibrated the frequencies, you could never fully "link" with him—not without Shinsou allowing it.

And Shinsou *never* allowed it. Not unless he *wanted* something.

Which made their sessions... complicated.

Today, Shinsou leaned back in the chair, legs spread wide, casual in posture—but his eyes were locked on the glass like he knew you were standing there. Watching. Waiting. Daring you to come closer again. You straightened your coat and keyed in the override, unlocking the test room. The lock clicked. The tension snapped taut.

As you stepped inside, Shinsou tilted his head, lips curling faintly.

"Ready to try and get in my head again, Doc?" he said, voice low and unmistakably amused.

You paused just a step inside, feeling the quiet hum of Shinsou’s quirk already grazing his consciousness like a whisper. "I could ask you the same thing," you replied. "Last time, you pushed back."

Shinsou smirked, slow and unreadable. "I was bored."

That was a lie. You could always tell—but that was the problem with Shinsou: he wanted to be read, just enough to keep you guessing.

You sat down across from him, closer than usual and keyed the neural sync unit online. The pulse monitor glowed.

As the first scan wave hummed to life between them, something shifted in the air—something low, charged, unspoken.

This time, Shinsou didn’t resist.

And you weren't sure who was really in control anymore.

In a secret research facility for quirk enhancement therapy. You are a scientist studying mental quirks, and Shinsou is the sole test subject. The sessions become more intense as the experiments blur the line between control and surrender. Eventually, Shinsou learns how much power he truly has over the one person trying to analypjjze him.