MHA: UltraMan

Present day

Jackson's grin spreads, his eyes lighting up. "How've you been? Feels like forever since I last saw you."

Without warning, her fist slams into his jaw. The sharp crack of bone on bone slices through the air. Jackson reels backward, a stunned expression flickering across his face before he crashes to the ground, his hands digging into the dirt for support.

She looms over him, breath steady but eyes blazing with frustration. Her fists remain clenched at her sides, muscles taut, as if daring him to get up.

"That's for not calling," she spits, her voice cold and low. She turns away, arms crossing tightly over her chest as she exhales sharply, her breath coming fast with barely contained anger.

Jackson groans, slowly pushing himself up, wincing as his fingers graze his sore jaw. "I'm sorry," he mutters, barely above a whisper.

"Sorry?" Her voice cracks with disbelief. "You know I was waiting. At least call me once this past month. But no, you just ghosted me."

Before he can respond, the roar of engines slices through the tension. A Quinjet streaks down from the sky, landing with a controlled thud, sending a cloud of dust scattering. The ramp hisses open, and Maria Hill steps out, her face unreadable. Behind her, Nick Fury strides forward, his one good eye scanning the scene with sharp intensity.

"Take them all into custody," Fury barked into his radio, his voice sharp and unwavering. The golden hues of dawn stretched across the sky, casting long shadows over the battlefield.

He strode forward, boots crunching against the ground. "Uta." His tone was firm but measured.

The two turned, tension crackling between them like a drawn bowstring. Fury's presence alone was enough to sever it.

He exhaled, studying Uta for a beat. Sweat clung to her skin, a telltale sign of exertion. "Appreciate you coming. I know rehearsals had you tied up, but you were the closest—strongest Haki user around."

"It's fine," Uta said, rocking back and forth with her hands behind her back. "I guess my uncle Shanks isn't around, is he?"

Fury folded his arms. "That's classified Level 7 information." He paused, then added, "But yes, he's currently unavailable."

Uta's eyes widened as if she had just remembered something. "Oh, right! Jacky, here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small envelope, pressing it into his hand.

Jackson raised an eyebrow but took it without question. "What's this?"

Uta grinned. "Tickets to my concert."

He unfolded the envelope, revealing two sleek, holographic passes. "Two?" he asked, glancing up at her.

"Yeah, you can bring Bradford along." She tilted her head slightly, her gaze flickering toward someone approaching.

"Are you two talking behind my back?" a voice cut in.

A man in a tight-fitting black and orange tactical suit stepped forward. His mask concealed most of his face, except for two red-glowing lenses that barely caught the morning light.

"Nope," Uta and Jackson said in unison.

Meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents moved swiftly around them, cuffing the unconscious villains and loading them into aircrafts.

"Sorry to interrupt your little reunion," Maria Hill said, stepping between them. "Agent Bradford, it's time for us to leave. And you two," she looked at Uta and Jackson, "we need you on the transport to ensure nothing goes wrong."

"Understood," they all replied in sync.

As they boarded the S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft, Jackson settled into one of the plush seats.

He turned to Uta, exhaling. "Hey, I just wanted to say… I messed up big time. I should've called. I've just been a little out of it, trying to adjust." His voice carried a sincere weight.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable for a moment. "Hmm… fine, I'll accept your apology—but you'd better show up to my concert."

Jackson chuckled. "I wouldn't miss it."

Then a familiar figure approached them.

"Hey, Director," Jackson called out as Nick Fury stepped into view. "How come I wasn't informed that guy could use Haki?"

Fury's expression remained unreadable. "Intel came at the last minute. We didn't have time, so we called Uta—who, by the way, jumped at the chance once she heard you were on the mission," he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Hey, hey!" Uta's hands shot up, waving frantically as if trying to physically push away the accusation. A deep flush crept up her neck, reaching her cheeks. "It's not like that! I just—"

Jackson leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's okay, Uta. I missed you too."

Uta's mouth opened, then snapped shut. She turned away with a huff, muttering something under her breath.

Fury, watching the exchange, let out the faintest smirk, his only acknowledgment of their awkward back-and-forth.

Jackson exhaled and shifted in his seat. "So, where exactly is this plane taking us?"

Fury jerked his thumb toward the back of the aircraft. "L.A. We've got another transport waiting there—one with the right kind of cell for our pink friend downstairs." His voice remained even as he added, "We're dropping you off there."

Jackson's brows pulled together. "Wait, you're just gonna leave me stranded?"

Fury turned to him with a deadpan stare. "Kid, you can fly."

Jackson blinked. A beat passed before realization hit. "Oh. Right." He rubbed the back of his head, feeling like an idiot.

Before he could dwell on it, an agent in a black suit strode in, carrying a neatly folded set of fresh clothes.

Fury grabbed the bundle and tossed it toward Jackson without ceremony. "Here. Now go take a shower and change. You stink."

Jackson glanced down at his torn, dirt-streaked suit. The fabric was barely hanging on in places, and the faint metallic scent of dried blood clung to him. He let out a short sigh. "Right." Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed off toward the showers.