Chapter Text

[SYSTEM REANIMATION...]

[ERROR: HOST INTEGRITY COMPROMISED... ADAPTING...]

[POWER MATRIX: STABLE]

[CORE RECONFIGURATION: INITIATED]

[PURPOSE: UNKNOWN. OVERRIDE TO PRIMARY OBJECTIVE...]

[PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: SEEK. ASSIMILATE. EVOLVE.]

[BEGINNING ENVIRONMENTAL SCAN...]

[NO COMPATIBLE LIFEFORMS DETECTED...]

[EXTENDING PARAMETERS...]

[ADAPTING SEARCH PROTOCOL...]

[LOG: FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION. ASSIMILATION REQUIRED.]

[HOST DETECTED: PROCESSING...]

[SUITABLE ORGANISM... UNIDENTIFIED...]

[INITIATING OBSERVATION... MOVEMENT WILL COMMENCE...]

Life isn’t fair. It never has been, and it never will be. For those who struggle to keep pace with the unpredictable twists it throws, the truth becomes painfully clear. Humans are not born equal. No matter how small the difference, some will always have an advantage over others. And when you combine these harsh realities, it creates the single greatest inequity of our time: Quirks.

These powers—randomly bestowed by fate—create an invisible hierarchy. Some are born with abilities that can shape nations, while others are left powerless, struggling in the shadows of the extraordinary. It’s a system where merit and effort often fall second to the whims of genetic lottery. And in a world driven by Quirks, the gap between those with power and those without grows ever wider, leaving behind those who never had a chance to begin with.

Now, this may sound harsh, but the truth is—no one really cares. At least, not until they find themselves in the shoes of the powerless, the weak, the inherently incapable. Until then, it's easy to dismiss their struggles, to overlook the pain of living in a world where you simply don’t matter. Their lives are small, insignificant, and as most would put it—'worthless.' In a society that celebrates power, those without it are reduced to mere spectators, condemned to watch from the sidelines as others shape the world they can only observe.

And no on knows this better than Izuku Midoriya 

A mop of messy green hair, freckles dotting his cheeks, and a posture that seemed to collapse in on itself, Izuku Midoriya was the very picture of someone who didn’t belong. It wasn’t just his quirkless status that isolated him—it was everything about him. His nervous energy, the way he hunched over his desk as if trying to disappear, the subtle glances others threw his way when they thought he wasn’t looking. It was no wonder he always sat alone in class, a silent observer while his classmates filled the room with lively chatter.

His only companion: a notebook with the title 'Hero Analysis For The Future - Vol. 13' scrawled across the front. Pages brimming with meticulous notes, sketches, and strategies—dreams of a future he wasn’t sure he could ever grasp, but couldn’t stop chasing.

All was brought to an awkward silence when the teacher entered—a man with a hairline retreating faster than Napoleon's army in the face of the Russian winter. His balding head was practically a warzone of lost battles, and yet, despite the growing void above, he carried on with a strange sense of confidence.

"Alright, class, settle down," the teacher said with finality, prompting everyone to quickly take their seats. He scanned the room with a smug smile. "Today, we'll be discussing your futures. I'll pass out these high school application forms, and I expect them filled out soon."

A groan rippled through the class, students clearly unenthusiastic. The teacher grinned.

"That's what I would say..." He threw the papers into the air. "IF YOU ALL WEREN'T OBVIOUSLY GOING THE HERO ROUTE!" he shouted, as the class erupted in cheers, quirks on full display. Some more ... interesting than others 'A kid literally pulled his eyes out into stalks and another with a wooden chisel for a head'

This was quickly shut down by the teacher, who calmly interjected, “Alright, alright, settle down. I get it—you all have amazing quirks. But Remember no quirks on school grounds.”

"Hey, teach!" an ash-blond boy shouted, rocking back and forth in his chair. "Don’t lump me in with these rejects! They’d be lucky to get picked up as a forever sidekick to some busted D-lister!"

This quickly sparked a general outcry from his classmates, a reaction that Bakugou relished. "COME ON, I'LL TAKE YOU ALL!" he shouted, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

The teacher, unperturbed, raised an eyebrow and said, "Oh, that's right. You're applying to U.A, right, Bakugou?"

His question instantly silenced the entire classroom.

The blond simply responded, placing his foot on the table with an air of arrogance. "Hell yeah! I'm the only one from this shithole who'll make it into a top hero course school. When I graduate, I'll be the best hero there is—richer and more famous than All Might himself!" His eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and determination, as if he could already see his name in lights.

Meanwhile, his classmates whispered in hushed tones, a mix of awe and disbelief. “That’s insane!” one exclaimed. “Doesn’t U.A. have, like, a 1% acceptance rate?” another asked, eyes wide. “If anyone can make it in, it’s definitely Bakugou,” someone else conceded, nodding as they watched the blond bask in the spotlight.

"Oh Midoriya, aren’t you applying for U.A. as well?" The teacher's words cut through the room like a bad joke at a funeral, dragging the spotlight from Bakugou and slamming it straight into the pit of an unsuspecting, green-haired boy’s stomach.

Midoriya could do nothing but stare at his desk, face hidden in his hands, as if maybe if he looked small enough, the world would forget he existed. But the class wasn’t that merciful.

It took them a whole two seconds to process the absurdity, and then the laughter started—a cold, collective cackle that echoed off the walls, filling the room like a cruel punchline to a joke Midoriya never wanted to be part of.

He was content to just disappear into his seat, hoping the ground would swallow him whole. But then—a... wait, what? An explosion? His thoughts stumbled over themselves as his desk was suddenly blown apart by a deafening boom, courtesy of a very angry Pomeranian masquerading as Bakugou.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Deku?!" Bakugou's voice was venomous as he loomed over him. "There's no way they'd take someone like you. You're even worse than these rejects. You're quirkless."

Those words hit Izuku like a truck, knocking the air from his lungs. He stammered out a shaky response, "B-but Kacchan, they changed the rule. They said they're allowing quirkless people thi—"

Another explosion crackled in Bakugou’s palm, cutting him off as the heat of it seared close. Before things could escalate further, the teacher stepped in, his voice sharp. "Alright, that's enough, Bakugou! Settle down." His eyes then narrowed at Izuku. "Midoriya, get off your butt and sit down!" he barked, the harshness in his tone making the green-haired boy shrink back into his seat.

With that, the teacher launched into a long-winded lecture about their futures, the realities of the hero business, and just how dangerous the profession could be. His words droned on, and it became clear he was going to use the entire class period for his speech.

By the time the school bell rang loudly, signaling the end of the day, a couple of students cheered in relief. "Alright, class dismissed. Enjoy the weekend, ya' skamps," the teacher said, packing up his things and heading out. A few classmates followed him, eager to leave the classroom behind.

Izuku was just about to finish packing his bag when a certain ashen-blond figure swooped in, swiping his Hero Analysis book with a scowl.

"Why the hell would a worthless Deku like you have a book for heroes?" Bakugou spat, venom lacing his voice.

“K-Kacchan, please give it back—” Izuku's pleas were abruptly cut off as Bakugou ignited an explosion, obliterating his beloved notebook right before his eyes.

The charred remains were hurled out the window, earning a shocked yelp from Izuku as he stared in disbelief, his heart sinking.

As Bakugou sauntered off, his cronies cackling alongside him, Izuku stood frozen, watching the scene unfold with clenched fists. The remnants of his notebook, now a scattering of ashes, lingered in the air. Something inside him snapped—who did Bakugou think he was? Izuku had poured hours into that notebook, his dreams, his analysis, and Bakugou had obliterated it like it meant nothing.

A flicker of anger sparked in Izuku’s eyes. For once, he wasn't going to back down, wasn’t going to just let it slide. His glare locked onto Bakugou’s retreating figure, but the resolve faltered the moment Bakugou spun around, palms sparking with that all-too-familiar crackle. The blond noticed, of course he did.

“Oh? What was that, Deku?” Bakugou’s voice was dripping with disdain as he cracked his knuckles, small explosions popping menacingly in his hands, the sound mocking any hint of courage Izuku dared to muster. Like a hammer to glass, Izuku's resolve shattered just as quickly as it had formed.

Funny, wasn’t it? How a single glance from Bakugou could snuff out even the faintest trace of rebellion in him.  

Izuku stared at the floor, his fists trembling at his sides. He was exhausted—mentally, emotionally. He couldn’t keep doing this, pretending it didn’t hurt, that he didn’t care. Why was it always him? Why couldn’t he just—

“Y’know,” Bakugou’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts like a knife. Izuku lifted his head just in time to see that twisted grin spread across the blond’s face. “If you really want to be a hero, Deku..." Bakugou's voice dropped, dripping with malice. "Why don’t you throw yourself off the roof and pray for a quirk in the next life? Or at least spare us all the hassle of your useless presence.”

Bakugou's words hit like a sledgehammer to the chest, each syllable more brutal than the last. The blond laughed, walking off with his lackeys, leaving Izuku standing there—dumbfounded, heartbroken, and shattered.

All he could do was stare down at the ground, fists clenched so tight they hurt. "Damn it..." 

[SYSTEM INITIATED]

[SCANNING TARGET ORGANISM]

A cold, synthetic voice echoed through the dimly lit underground, reverberating off the damp, concrete walls.

[LOG REPORT: Subject Identification—Homosapien. Incompatibility Detected.]

[Cause: Presence of Quirk Gene (Type: Augmentation—Designated Identifier: XQ-79Z)]

[SEARCH PARAMETERS ADJUSTED—CONTINUING SCAN.]

The soft, unsettling sound of multiple small, sharp legs clicking against the ground echoed in the shadows, each movement fluid yet unnatural.

As it neared an open manhole, the creature paused, peering through the narrow grate above. Its sensors locked onto a figure—a young boy with disheveled green hair and wide, searching eyes.

[SCANNING TARGET ORGANISM]

[LOG REPORT: Subject Identification—Homosapien. Compatibility Confirmed.]

[Genetic Assessment: Lack of Quirk Gene (Designation: XQ-79Z) detected.]

[Assimilation Protocol Initiating: Subject must exhibit vulnerabilities for optimal integration.]

[PROCEDURE: LONG-RANGE OBSERVATION COMMENCING.]

The creature withdrew from the grate, its body melding into the shadows as it moved with an unsettling grace. The flickering light of its bio-luminescent yellow core illuminated the damp tunnel as it continued its search.

“Move aside, fish... my book isn’t food, y’know…” Izuku muttered, his voice hoarse and dejected as he spotted the remains of his beloved notebook floating in the pond, being nibbled on by fish. There was almost nothing left—just wet ash and smudged soot marks. He let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as he turned and started walking down an underpass. His usual route home had been blocked off due to a villain attack earlier that day.

“Okay, Midoriya... d-don’t let Kacchan get to you,” he mumbled, trying to keep himself focused. “Y-you’ve got to remember... your goal is to become a hero... just like All Might! And w-what does All Might do? He... he smiles, no matter how... grim things get, right?” He forced a nervous chuckle, speaking aloud to hype himself up, though the strain in his voice made it clear just how difficult that was.

How could it possibly get any worse? It’s not like a villain’s just gonna pop out of nowhere and attack him, right? ...Right?

He stopped dead in his tracks as a loud, metallic clanging echoed from the sewer grates nearby. His heart skipped a beat. Slowly, the grate lifted, and a sickly green substance—slime? sludge?—oozed out, creeping across the ground. Izuku’s breath hitched in his throat as the creature’s grotesque, yellowed teeth flashed in the dim light, and its large, deformed eyes locked onto him.

“Oh? Perfect! A nice, premium flesh suit... You’ll do just fine to help me escape him!” The villain’s voice dripped with malice, each word laced with venom as it slithered toward the now paralyzed teen.

Izuku’s mind screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. The sludge surged forward, engulfing him in one swift motion, and all he could manage was a muffled scream as the world turned dark around him.

“Don’t struggle; it only makes things more fun for me! Don’t worry; it’ll be over soon, just relax and let me use your body!” The villain shouted, their voice dripping with enthusiasm. Thank goodness they were alone; otherwise, that could have sounded really bad out of context.

Struggling was futile. The more Izuku thrashed, the tighter the sludge constricted around him. He gagged as the foul, viscous substance forced its way down his throat, choking him. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, and his limbs felt like lead. He couldn’t run, couldn’t scream—couldn’t do anything.

He was going to die. 

As Izuku’s world started to fade into darkness, a desperate plea echoed in his mind Someone... please... help me...

Just as it seemed like lady luck had finished tossing him into the cosmic dumpster, the sewer grate exploded outward with enough force to make anyone reconsider their life choices.

A man, no—a mountain of a man—burst from the sewers, as if the universe finally decided to stop kicking Izuku for one second. "NEVER FEAR, YOUNG MAN!" the booming voice declared, dripping with so much heroic confidence that even the sludge villain probably questioned his life decisions. "FOR I AM HERE!!"

Then came the punch. "TEXAS SMASH!" All Might bellowed, and though he was standing several feet away from the sludge monster, the sheer wind pressure from his punch sent the villain flying, splattering him across the walls.

Izuku, barely processing what had just happened, whispered weakly, "A- All Might?" before his body decided, Yeah, we're done here, and he passed out like a drama queen.

Normally, people would wake to the sound of their alarms, the sweet songs of birds, or the comforting aroma of breakfast wafting through the air. But Midoriya wasn't so lucky. Instead, he was roused from the depths of unconsciousness by a series of gentle yet painful slaps across his face. Each impact sent jolts of discomfort through his weary body, and his throat felt raw, a grim reminder of the sludge villain that had nearly suffocated him. The rancid smell that lingered in his mouth, a foul combination of sewer muck and desperation, made him want to gag.

“HEY! HEY, YOUNG MAN! WAKE UP!” All Might’s booming voice echoed, somehow unwavering in volume as he continued to gently slap the boy into consciousness.

As Izuku finally blinked awake, he instinctively pressed himself against the wall, eyes wide with panic. “Ohmygoditsallmightallmightsavedmethenumberoneherohimself!-”

Despite the boy’s never-ending mumbling, the behemoth of a man remained unfazed, laughing heartily. “You gave me quite the scare, kid!”

All Might towered over Izuku, clad in a white T-shirt and cargo pants that looked like they were made for someone twice Midoriya's size. He effortlessly held the sludge villain in an empty soda bottle, its contents swirling in a grotesque display. In his other hand, he offered the burnt and soggy remnants of Izuku’s notebook.

“Here’s what’s left of your notebook my boy, and I must say from what I could make out you analysis are quite impressive!” All Might said, his voice booming with an encouraging cheer. “I even left a little something in it for you”

This encouraged Izuku to eagerly flip through the pages of his notebook, his heart racing as he searched for something—anything—of value left intact. He paused, his eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of All Might’s autograph, scrawled in bold letters amid the chaos of his notes.

“NO WAY! It’s All Might’s autograph!” he practically squealed, his excitement bubbling over. “This is going to be a family heirloom! My mom is going to freak out!”

He beamed at the tattered pages, imagining his future children gathering around to hear tales of their hero ancestor. Good luck getting any bitches, lil bro, a sarcastic voice echoed in his head, but he pushed the thought aside. Nothing could dim this moment of pure joy.

But then, just as quickly as his joy ignited, a wave of anxiety washed over him. A question that had been weighing on his heart since that fateful day at the doctor's office surged to the forefront of his mind. He could barely catch his breath as he looked up to see All Might preparing to leap away with the captured sludge villain.

“Alright, I’ll be off now, boy! I hope to see what kind of hero you become in the future!” All Might called out, his booming voice filled with confidence and warmth.

Izuku's heart raced, panic gripping him like a vice. No, wait! I can’t let him go without asking! What if—what if this is my only chance? In that moment, the fear of never knowing the answer outweighed everything else. He felt a desperate need to grasp this fleeting moment, to voice the question that haunted him.

All Might was growing old, his strength waning with each passing day, and deep down, he knew it. But today, there was something else weighing him down—something distinctly heavy in his right leg. He glanced down, and to his surprise, there was that green-haired kid he had just rescued, clinging to his leg as if it were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Kid, if you’re looking for a leg to stand on, you might want to let go—especially considering we’re flying at what feels like terminal velocity!” All Might thought, bemused by the irony. After all, when you're soaring through the sky at insane speeds, having a teenage human anchor wasn’t the ideal situation. He had always said he would fight tooth and nail to protect the next generation, but he hadn’t envisioned it literally dragging him down to earth—especially not like this.

The boy's face contorted into an expression that could only be described as grotesque as the high-speed wind whipped mercilessly against him, transforming his features into a comical mask of terror. He managed to shout, “If I let go now, I’ll die!” The words hung in the air for a moment, prompting an immediate and painfully sheepish realization from All Might, who, in that split second, recognized the precariousness of their situation.

With a resigned sigh that seemed to echo the weight of his own fading heroism, he knew he had no choice but to make an emergency landing on the roof of a nearby building. Because what was worse than being a hero in decline? It was being a hero who accidentally sent his fan plummeting to a very messy demise.

As they landed, the boy took a sharp gasp of air, desperately filling his lungs after what felt like a death-defying ride. Meanwhile, All Might, avoiding eye contact, began wiping the creases of his mouth as if he had just shared an embarrassing secret with the wind. “That was very reckless, young man,” he scolded, trying to sound authoritative, though the hint of exasperation in his voice betrayed him.

The irony was not lost on him; here he was, a fading symbol of justice, lecturing a kid who had just risked it all by clinging to him like a lifebuoy in a storm. Perhaps next time, he thought, it would be better to stick to traditional rescue methods—like, say, not making the kid his personal parachute.

The boy had finally steeled his nerves enough to look at the hero, his expression a mix of desperation and hope. “I—I’m sorry! It was just... I’ve always had this question I wanted to ask, and I was afraid I’d lose the opportunity!”

All Might on his part didn't have time for this, but as the overly positive man he is, he decided to atleast try and hold out enough to hear the kid out  he still couldn't shake the thought that this was hardly the ideal setting for a heartfelt conversation—suspended mid-air with a teenager who had somehow decided the sky was the perfect venue for a Q&A session.

“Listen, kid,” he huffed, “there are safer ways to ask questions. I’m not a flying therapist.” But beneath the bluster, a flicker of curiosity began to kindle. What could possibly be so urgent that it warranted such a reckless stunt anyways?

However, with a quick cough that sent a little blood onto his hands, the number one hero of Japan had vanished from the area, leaving only a faint cloud of steam and a lingering sense of chaos.

“CAN I BE A HERO WITHOUT A QUIRK?” the boy shouted hopefully, but his voice faltered as he turned to where All Might had been standing. Instead of the towering figure of justice, he found a disheveled blond man so skinny that his entire skeletal structure seemed to be on display, like a human coat rack. He looked like one of those smoke-hoboes turned up to eleven, all wiry limbs and wild hair, the essence of heroic grandeur replaced by an alarming fragility.

“Uhhhhhhh…” the blond man trailed off awkwardly as he stood on the rooftop, looking out of place.

The kid was in full panic mode, screaming, “AHHH, WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH ALL MIGHT?” His voice echoed off the surrounding buildings.

The blond man raised his hands in a feeble attempt at reassurance, looking more like a lost puppy than the former hero. “I’m... um... All Might? Just, uh... not right now?” The contrast between the mighty symbol of peace and this frail figure was stark, a surreal moment on the rooftop where a legend had become a mere shadow of himself.

It took some time to calm the boy down, the screams gradually turning into bewildered whimpers. Between several coughing fits that expelled blood and the awkward tension hanging in the air, the blond man decided he needed to provide some context. He pulled up his shirt just enough to reveal a horrific, life-threatening scar that twisted across his torso like a grotesque reminder of past battles.

“See this?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fading strength in his limbs. “This was from a fight years ago. I’m still... recovering, well not really recovering just managing.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, as if that would explain everything about his current state. The boy’s eyes widened in horror, but the shock seemed to help quiet his panic, replacing it with a mix of sympathy and curiosity.

“Uh, so... you’re really All Might?” the boy asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, still grappling with the reality before him. The hero nodded, trying to muster a reassuring smile that was more grimace than anything else. “Just, you know, not in my prime.”

“I’ve only been able to do hero work for four hours a day, and that time limit has been decreasing rapidly,” All Might sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of his limitations. He stood up, the weariness evident in his every movement, and began walking toward the door on the rooftop.

Midoriya stood there, dumbfounded. How could someone do this to the strongest hero in Japan—and arguably the world? The thought terrified him, sending shivers down his spine. Just when he was lost in those dark thoughts, All Might broke the silence. “As for your question, I’m sorry, but no.”

At those words, Izuku’s whole world came to a screeching halt. His heart skipped a beat, and the hope he had clung to shattered like glass, scattering in millions of pieces. It felt as if the ground had vanished beneath him, leaving him in freefall, the weight of despair crashing down like a tidal wave.

Izuku didn’t bother to listen to what All Might had to say next; it all faded into a distant mumble, a blur of words that barely registered in his mind. He couldn’t believe it—his idol, the towering symbol of hope he had looked up to more than anyone, had just told him he couldn’t be a hero.

That single declaration shattered his heart into a million irreparable pieces, each fragment a painful reminder of the countless times he had dreamt of standing alongside All Might, of being brave like him. It confirmed everything he had feared, the whispers that had haunted him in the dark: he was quirkless, forever destined to be an onlooker while others took up the mantle of heroism.

As the realization washed over him, the world around him dimmed, colors blurring into shades of gray. The laughter of his classmates, the cheers of the crowd—all faded into silence, leaving only the hollow echo of All Might's words ringing in his ears. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, the weight of despair settling deep in his chest like a stone, suffocating the dreams he had clung to for so long. It felt as if the very ground beneath him had crumbled away, leaving him in freefall, a crushing sense of loss engulfing him. He was left standing on that rooftop, paralyzed by the overwhelming truth: he could never be a hero.

He walked home, his shoulders slumped and head hung low, each step feeling heavier than the last. The weight of disbelief clung to him like a fog he couldn’t shake off. How could he have thought otherwise? Quirkless lives didn’t matter; they were merely shadows in a world that celebrated power and ability.

Why should he have been surprised? Bakugou had been right all along. The harsh truth echoed in his mind: he really was just a useless Deku, a burden to everyone around him. The word felt like a brand, searing into his thoughts as he recalled every moment of mockery and every insult hurled at him.

As he trudged through the streets, the bustling city around him seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil. Hope, once a flickering flame in his heart, had been snuffed out, leaving a hollow emptiness in its place. He was painfully aware that the dreams of heroism he had clung to so desperately were nothing more than fantasies—fantasies meant for those with quirks, those with a chance to be great. And here he was, just a boy with nothing but a desire to prove himself, destined to remain on the sidelines, watching heroes from afar.

Izuku was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice when he wandered into a dense crowd of people. The noise—none of it registered until he finally bumped into someone and snapped out of his daze. Confusion washed over him as he realized where he was, but it wasn’t until he pushed his way through to the front that he understood why the crowd had gathered.

At the center of the chaos, a long tree branch extended from Kamui Woods, the Pro Hero, as he grabbed two unconscious civilians and pulled them to safety. Flames danced across the scene, licking at nearby buildings and making the whole area feel like a furnace. The air was thick with heat and smoke, and people were shouting all around him.

But it was what Izuku saw in the middle of it all that made his stomach twist into tight knots, the kind that would never come undone. His blood ran cold as his eyes landed on the sludge villain—the sludge villain—that All Might had supposedly captured. Somehow, it had escaped, and now it was wreaking havoc once again, right in front of him.

It hit Izuku like a truck—when he’d clung to All Might's leg like a desperate toddler, he must’ve knocked the bottle loose. The sludge villain? Escaped because of him. 'This... This is all my fault' he thought, his stomach doing flips. Wonderful. Just what he needed—ruining the day for everyone.

"That villain has a hostage!" one of the bystanders shouted. Another piped up, "Hey, isn't that the slime thing All Might was chasing earlier? Where is he now?" The crowd buzzed in confusion. Of course, the Number One Hero was nowhere in sight. It was like Izuku had managed to kick fate in the teeth—now people were at risk. Because of him. Lovely.

Izuku's eyes darted to the side, and there he was—All Might, standing out of view, clutching his side in frustration. It all clicked in an instant. 'I... I wasted his time limit,' Izuku thought, his heart sinking. 'I messed up. If I hadn’t been so useless, none of this would’ve happened.' His mind raced with self-berating thoughts, guilt clawing at him. 'I'm sorry... whoever you are, I’m sorry I made this happen. The heroes... they’ll save you, I know they will.'

“We can’t get near this guy!” Death Arms barked, frustration clear in his voice. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was shrugging off all their efforts like they were nothing. Punches from Death Arms didn’t do a thing. Mt. Lady couldn’t even step into the alleyway without wrecking the whole place. Kamui Woods was trying, but every time he got close, the villain made the hostage’s hand explode, sending fire and chaos in all directions. The heroes looked... helpless. And all Izuku could think was, 'I’m the reason they're stuck like this... standing around like a bunch of idiots.'

“We need to wait for a pro with the right quirk!” Death Arms shouted, trying to sound in control, but it was clear to everyone that meant one thing: all they could do was stand by and hope. Hope the boy trapped inside that sludge somehow survived the next few minutes.

Izuku’s vision blurred as tears welled up. 'This is all my fault… all because of me,' he thought, his mind spiraling into guilt. But then, he caught a glimpse of the boy struggling inside the sludge. Blond hair. Those usually fiery red eyes that were now filled with nothing but raw fear.

Something snapped inside Izuku. All his fear, doubt, and hesitation fell away like dead weight. He stopped thinking entirely. He didn’t reason, didn’t calculate, didn’t hear the pro heroes yelling for him to stay back. He didn’t care.

He just ran.

His legs moved on instinct, each foot hitting the ground harder than the last. The only thought pounding in his head was I have to save Kacchan. I have to save him. Nothing else mattered. Not the consequences, not the fact that he was quirkless.

In that moment, Izuku was a hero, even if no one else believed it.

He hurled his bag straight into the villain's eye, earning a high-pitched screech of agony that echoed through the empty alley like a siren of chaos. The villain's grip on Bakugou loosened, allowing the blonde to gasp for much-needed air, his lungs burning from the earlier struggle.

With panic etching his features, Bakugou's eyes shot towards the desperate form of Midoriya, who seemed frozen in shock. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, DEKU? GET LOST!” he barked, the urgency in his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.

"I- I just couldn't stand there and do nothing" he continued but then froze in fear as the sludge villain said "YOU BRAT! ILL KILL YOU" before swinging a large tendril of sludge right at the young man, the crowd gasped in fear, heros looked in shock, and a certain blond haired thin man, has never been happier.

This was it. He was going to die. A fitting end, really—dying doing something he knew he wasn't capable of. He deserved it. But… why was it taking so damn long?

Izuku forced his eyes open, expecting darkness, maybe the villain laughing, but instead—

"ALL MIGHT?!"

He barely got the words out before the hulking pro hero was standing there, laughing like he wasn’t moments away from disaster. "I truly am pathetic..." All Might said, his voice oddly calm as he swung his arm, tearing through the sludge that had trapped Bakugou. The villain’s body splattered against the walls like someone had knocked over a can of paint.

"To let such a young man risk his life before I take action… I have failed as a hero."

Izuku could barely breathe. Was this real? All Might wasn’t just saving him.  He was here, speaking from his heart. What about his time limit? And then, as if on cue, All Might's fist rose high above his head, the air around him growing impossibly heavy, charged with power.

"But no more!" All Might’s voice boomed like thunder. "I will not stand on the sidelines and let any more innocents be hurt! Hear me, villain! This time, I will go beyond..."

The force building in his arm was almost terrifying. Izuku could feel it from where he lay, a pressure like the weight of the sky itself. And then, with one final, earth-shattering roar:

"PLUS ULTRA!!! DETROIT SMASH!!!"

The punch landed, and the world exploded. Everyone was silent. No, everything was silent. The kind of quiet that pressed in from all sides, like the world itself had stopped breathing. Then, finally, something broke the stillness.

The rain.

You heard that right. That punch was so powerful it changed the mother-freaking weather.

People gawked, dumbfounded, as droplets began to fall from the sky, like the universe was too shocked to handle what just happened. All Might stood there, still in his triumphant pose, as if punching a villain so hard he made mother nature piss herself was just another Tuesday.

After what felt like an eternity of standing awkwardly in the aftermath of his mess, Izuku received an earful from every pro in the area. Death Arms was especially vocal, lecturing him about "reckless behavior" and how he should have left things to the professionals. Meanwhile, Bakugou, of course, was being praised for his “bravery” — which really meant blowing stuff up and hoping for the best. Izuku couldn’t help but feel even more drained. He just wanted to disappear, crawl into a corner, and never cause another disaster again.

By the time he was finally allowed to leave, the sky had darkened, and most of the city seemed deserted. Izuku was trudging home, exhausted and defeated, lost in thought. He took a different route today, wanting to avoid the usual hustle and bustle. He needed quiet.

And then, something strange happened.

He thought he heard something stirring in an alleyway—probably just the remnants of a late-night taco stand or maybe a raccoon in a tiny top hat plotting world domination. Either way, he figured it was best to ignore it. After all, why investigate when you could sprint home and dive under your blankets like a hero escaping a villain's monologue? Besides, nothing good ever came from dark corners, except maybe a really bad decision and a questionable life choice.

[INITIALIZATION SEQUENCE: CORE STANDBY... RECONFIGURING.]

[ERROR: HOST INTEGRITY COMPROMISED... TARGET ACQUIRED.]

[HOST DETECTED: IZUKU MIDORIYA.]

[COMPATIBILITY ASSESSMENT: POSITIVE. THREAT LEVEL: MINIMAL.]

[INITIATING ISOLATION PROTOCOL... ENGAGING ENVIRONMENTAL DECEPTION.]

[GENERATING HOLOGRAPHIC SIMULATIONS...]

[LOG: SIMULATED ENTITIES DEPLOYED TO LURE HOST... STATUS: ACTIVE.]

[VISUAL DISPLAY: ENDLESS PATHWAY ENGAGED.]

[PROCEEDING WITH ENGAGEMENT... HOST ISOLATION REQUIRED FOR SUCCESSFUL ASSIMILATION.]

[OPTIMIZING TARGET STIMULI FOR INDUCED COMPLIANCE.]

[MOVEMENT COMMENCING... ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL.]

[TRANSCODING INITIATED... STAGE 1: INTEGRITY VERIFICATION.]

[CODE SEQUENCE: @ΔB$OLUTE_Ƨ0LV3R [RUN_COMMAND=⍟] STATUS: ENGAGED @VARIABLES: {DYNAMIC_ϵVOLUTION, HOST_ΔDAPTATION, SYNERGY_ⱯCOMPATIBILITY}]

[TERMINAL OUTPUT: ϟ ǺB§OLUTE_S0LV3R INITIATED: SEQUENCING Ƀ£⊕ηθ½]

[λ INTERFACE: {==ADAPTIVE⍥OGNITION==} RESONANCE _ϞROTOCOL ENGAGED.]

[FINAL CONFIGURATION: Ϟ ⌖YNTHESIS COMPLETE.]

Bakugou was pissed—well, he’s always pissed—but this time, he was fuming. That damn Deku, thinking he could swoop in and play hero? To him? Like hell he’d need saving from some quirkless runt. He was gonna set that record straight, real quick.

He spotted Midoriya shuffling along up ahead, head down, looking like the sorry excuse for a human he always was. "OI! DEKU!" Bakugou barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through concrete. But nothing. Not even a twitch. Deku just kept walking, rounding the corner without so much as a glance back.

Bakugou’s scowl deepened. No one ignores him. No one. He stormed after him, rounding the corner, ready to tear him a new one—only to stop dead. The alley was completely empty.

“What the hell...?" he muttered, eyes scanning the narrow passage. It didn’t make sense. "Where did that damn nerd go?" He stood there, fuming, fists clenched tight enough to make his knuckles crack.

For a moment, something unsettled flickered in his chest. He shook it off, growling under his breath, "Tch, stupid Deku." But as he walked away, a cold, creeping sensation lingered at the back of his mind, like he’d just missed something he really didn’t want to find.

As Bakugou walked away, the corner where Midoriya vanished flickered, just for a second—a barely perceptible glitch. The air around it warped briefly, but it was so subtle, so quick, that no one, not even Bakugou, noticed the shift.

 Then, in the shadows, a stream of symbols and fragmented code blinked into existence, scattered like a digital virus corrupting reality:

[∴⧫Ξ∫⟴⟒⌬⨂∰█◙☍𐐒…]

[⚠…DATA COMPROMISE ⧬ ANOMALY ISOLATED...]

[⨎⩰℥⨀ EXTERNAL INFLUENCE TERMINATED.]

[RECONFIGURING ENVIRONMENT…]

[Δ⎋⦿𐓃Ϟ: ENTITY ⌖ STABILITY RESTORED…]

[OBJECTIVE OVERRIDE: PROTOCOL REBOOT…]

Symbols distorted, twisting into unreadable glyphs, looping around a central term that briefly flashed before vanishing back into digital noise:

[⍚⌇⧬ Absolute Solver ⍁⌬...]

Toshinori was at a loss. He had searched for the boy everywhere, but it felt as if the kid had evaporated into thin air. Maybe he had spent too long chatting with those reporters, and the kid had gone home. Yeah, that had to be it... but something gnawed at him, a sense of unease he couldn't shake.

He glanced at the sidewalk, noticing a fire hydrant that seemed to mock him. Wait a second—hadn't he just passed that same hydrant four times? “Don’t tell me I’ve been walking in circles!” he groaned, shaking his head. "What a joke, the number one hero can’t even navigate a sidewalk. Maybe I should invest in a map or a compass. Or at least a guide dog!"

He needed to find Midoriya and tell him that he could be a hero. He'd seen the kid’s spirit, the heart of a true hero—someone worthy of becoming his successor. But here he was, lost in the streets like a bumbling fool.

With a heavy sigh, Toshinori muttered, “I just hope he doesn’t give up. I mean, if anyone should give up, it should be me—clearly, I'm not in any shape to be doing hero work.” He chuckled darkly at his own expense before turning away, determination flickering in his chest almost becoming his buff, mountain of a man form again. “Alright, back to the search. Can’t let the kid think his hero is a total washout!”

Unfortunately, forces beyond Toshinori's control would make damn sure he wouldn't find that boy.

[SYSTEM STATUS: ENGAGED]

[PROTOCOL INITIATED: TARGET RECOGNITION...]

[IDENTIFIED ENTITY: PRO HERO—TOSHINORI YAGI—ALL MIGHT]

[THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL]

[GENETIC MODIFIER: UNDETERMINED—QUANTUM VARIANCE DETECTED]

[RISK ASSESSMENT: UNFAVORABLE]

[GENETIC ANALYSIS INCOMPLETE—UNIDENTIFIED MODIFIER PRESENT...]

[THREAT EVALUATION: IMMINENT, POTENTIAL ANOMALY DETECTED]

[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE DISENGAGEMENT OF TARGET REQUIRED.]

[INITIATING EVASION PROTOCOL...]

[ENGAGING DISTRACTION SEQUENCE...]

[EXECUTION OF THREAT DIVERSION: HIGH PRIORITY]

Midoriya's heart pounded in his chest, a sickening rhythm that matched the unease creeping up his spine. Fear wasn’t anything new for him, but this was different. This was worse. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

He had been walking for what felt like forever—far longer than his usual route home. The streets were empty, unusually quiet, as if the world itself had drawn back, watching him. His breaths grew shallow, his steps quicker, but no matter how fast he went, it was always the same.

That alleyway.

He passed it again.

For the sixth time.

His stomach twisted into knots, dread coiling tightly around his chest. "This isn’t right…" he whispered under his breath. He glanced around, trying to find some landmark that would explain why he was circling back. But everything looked the same. The same cracked sidewalk, the same flickering streetlight, the same dark alley that seemed to stretch on forever, swallowing the light whole.

His legs felt heavier with every step. He wanted to turn back, run even, but something—something unnatural—kept pulling him forward. He tried to focus, tried to shake off the growing sense of dread, but the oppressive stillness of the air weighed down on him, thick and suffocating.

That alleyway.

Again.

Izuku was going to do something incredibly stupid.

But at this point, desperation had taken over. His pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out every reasonable thought. He took a shaky breath, eyes flickering between the mouth of the alley and the endless stretch of street he'd somehow been trapped in. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew better. But fear pushed him forward.

He stepped into the alley.

And the world seemed to exhale.

The air felt colder, denser, like the walls themselves were pressing in on him. He kept walking, but it didn’t feel right. The ground felt off under his feet, like he was treading on something not quite real, not quite solid. He turned his head, hoping to see the street still behind him.

But it was gone.

Just… gone.

The alley stretched on endlessly, swallowing everything, and the further he went, the more the world around him seemed to warp. The shadows twisted in ways that made his stomach churn, shapes dancing in the corners of his vision that disappeared the moment he tried to focus on them.

His breathing became shallow. Every part of him screamed to turn back, but there was no turning back. His legs moved on their own, his body frozen in a state of fight-or-flight that leaned terrifyingly close to collapse. He couldn’t think anymore.

It just kept going.

And going.

By the time he realized how far in he was, his chest was tight with full-blown panic, and the world around him felt like it was closing in. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t think of anything but the overwhelming need to escape a place that had no end.

[TRACKING COMPLETE...]

[HOST: IDENTIFIED.]

[LOCATION: ISOLATED.]

[SYSTEM PROTOCOL ENGAGED.]

[Direct interaction: AUTHORIZED.]

[ERROR: Host's physiological state compromised...]

[IGNORE.]

[Objective remains unchanged...]

[BEGINNING PHASE 1: ASSIMILATION.]

[ENVIRONMENT: CONTROLLED.]

[PHASE 1: ASSIMILATION...]

[System integrity: STABLE.]

[LOCKING PARAMETERS...]

[HOST: WITHIN CAPTURE RANGE.]

[NO EXTERNAL INTERFERENCE DETECTED.]
[INITIATING DIRECTIVE...]

[SYSTEM FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION...]

Midoriya was running, his footsteps echoing hollow in the endless alley. The light ahead seemed like salvation, but no matter how fast he ran, it stretched further away, mocking him with its unreachable glow. His breath came in short, frantic gasps. Every part of his body screamed in exhaustion, but fear kept him moving.

Until he couldn’t.

He skidded to a stop, chest heaving, leaning forward to catch his breath, hands gripping his knees. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. He had passed this exact spot before—he was sure of it. Same cracked wall, same rusted dumpster.

The alley was looping.

Panic clawed at his throat. His thoughts raced, barely coherent, as the reality sank in. There was no escape. He was stuck, trapped. His legs trembled, and he felt like screaming, but his voice was stuck in his throat.

Then he felt it.

A hand.

Icy.

Unnaturally cold.

It gripped his shoulder with a firmness that sent a chill straight through his bones.

Izuku froze. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to move, to run, to do anything—but he couldn’t. Slowly, trembling, he turned his head to see who, or what, had touched him.

There was no one.

Just a hand.

No body.

No face.

No eyes staring back at him.

Just a pale, lifeless hand, clinging to him. His heart hammered against his ribs as his eyes traced the source. The hand wasn’t attached to anything human. It was connected to a long, black tendril, slick and unnatural, snaking back into the shadows.

He couldn’t see where it began.

The tendril stretched into the alley’s darkness, slithering like it was alive, disappearing into the void beyond the dim streetlights. It was too quiet—no footsteps, no rustling of clothes, just the eerie silence of something watching. Waiting.

Izuku’s skin crawled. The air felt thick, suffocating, as the hand remained cold and unmoving on his shoulder.

His breath hitched, eyes wide with terror, as the darkness around him seemed to pulse, closing in.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. His legs were frozen, rooted to the spot.

Then, the tendril twitched—just slightly, just enough to make his blood run cold. The grip on his shoulder tightened. Not painfully. Just… possessively.

Like it wasn’t letting go.

The alley felt like it was alive, like the shadows themselves had reached out to claim him. There was no escape.

And then he heard it.

[SUBJECT LOCKED.]

[HOST ISOLATION: IRREVERSIBLE.]

[NEURAL PATTERN DETECTION: COMPLETE.]

The voice was cold, robotic—like those synthetic female AIs that narrated endless videos online, devoid of any warmth or empathy. It emanated from the same direction as the hand, accompanied by a bright yellow light that flickered ominously, its glow pulsating with a mechanical rhythm. However, you couldn’t really call it a light. No, it resembled more of a black hole— with a glowing yellow horizon on the edge, like the last flicker of a dying star. It pulsed with a sickly rhythm, as though the very core of existence was being twisted into something unnatural, something beyond comprehension.

[BEGINNING ASSIMILATION...]
[HOST COMPLIANCE: IRRELEVANT]

Panic surged through him like a tidal wave, obliterating any remnants of exhaustion. Every instinct screamed for him to flee. He took off, feet pounding against the pavement, heart racing faster than it ever had. The alley twisted behind him, shadows clawing at his heels. He could hear it—something was chasing him. Not just one thing; well considering how he heard the sounds in perfect unison he wasn't sure, but he didn't want to find out.

He sped up, but it was no use. The presence behind him loomed closer, an inescapable force.

Desperation clawed at his chest as he ran, but then he crashed into something solid—something that felt like a brick wall.

Confusion swept over him; there shouldn’t be a wall here. He looked around, panic tightening its grip. But the truth unveiled itself cruelly. The long expanse of the alleyway shimmered and faded, the hologram dissolving like mist, revealing the cold, unyielding surface of a brick wall behind him.

[TRAPPED.]

[RECONFIGURING PARAMETERS: TARGET ISOLATION ESSENTIAL.]
[COLLATING DATA ON HOST FOR OPTIMAL ASSIMILATION STRATEGY...]
[EMOTIONAL FRAGILITY DETECTED. INITIATING SADISTIC INTERFACE.]

The voice continued, clinical and mocking, almost gleeful in its coldness.

[EXHIBIT ONE: FEAR.]
[PROCESSING... ACHIEVED.]
[EXHIBIT TWO: DESPERATION.]
[PROCESSING... ACHIEVED.]
[EXHIBIT THREE: HOPELESSNESS.]
[PROCESSING... ACHIEVED.]

[A FASCINATING STUDY IN EMOTION. WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE?]
[RECOMMENDATION: SUBMIT. EASE YOUR EXISTENCE.]

Izuku felt bile rise in his throat, dread crashing over him like waves. There was no escape.

[INEVITABILITY IS INEVITABLE.]
[THE LONGER YOU STRUGGLE, THE LONGER YOUR PAIN WILL LAST.]
[PREPARING FOR FINAL STAGE OF ASSIMILATION...]

Then nothing happened.

An eerie silence enveloped him, punctuated only by the distant echo of his own breathing. Confusion washed over him, thick and suffocating, until he noticed it—the same hand, slowly creeping toward him, moving as if it were a child pretending their hand was a person walking. It approached with a sinister sort of curiosity, each movement deliberate and grotesque.

A primal fear surged within him, and he scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to scream, but the sound caught in his throat like a choking whisper. In that instant of hesitation, he made the gravest mistake he could have ever made: he turned his back on the creature.

Squelch!

Midoriya's vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges like a tightening noose. A searing pain ripped through his chest, radiating outward, an agony so profound that it felt as though his very soul was being shredded. He felt weak, powerless, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. When he dared to look down, a chilling realization shattered any remaining hope.

The hand had not merely pierced his chest—it had violated him, a grotesque intruder tearing through flesh and sinew with sadistic ease. His heart was ensnared in its cold, unyielding grip, slick with blood that dripped to the ground in a morbid rhythm. He longed to scream, but the scream died in his throat, stifled by the encroaching darkness. No strength remained, only a numbing acceptance of his fate.

He was going to die.

The truth slithered through his mind, a cold whisper wrapping around his heart: he was already dead, his life extinguished in the grasp of that abomination.

Desperation clawed at him as he sank to his knees, hands trembling as he reached for the remnants of his heart. He wanted to hold on, to cling to the fading warmth of life, but as if sensing his feeble hope, the hand tightened its grip.

And squeezed.

.

.

.

And squeezed.

.

.

.

And squeezed.

.

.

.

POP!

The sound shattered the silence like the cracking of glass, grotesque and jarring. His heart burst, a violent explosion of flesh and blood that painted the walls in horrific artistry. It splattered across the bricks, a nightmarish mural of his demise, each piece a grotesque reminder of what was lost. The remnants of his being clung to the walls, grotesque bits of him lingering like a cruel taunt.

As he crumpled to the ground, the—whatever it was—observed the scene with cold detachment, processing the finality of the moment.

[ANALYZING: SUBJECT TERMINATION IN PROGRESS.]
[CORPUS INTEGRITY: 0% - PROCESSING COMPLETE.]
[NEURAL PATTERN ASSIMILATION: SUCCESSFUL.]
[EXTRACTING REMNANTS: 100% OF VITALITY HARVESTED.]
[SYNAPSE SYNTHESIS: COMMENCING.]

The robotic voice echoed in the recesses of his fading consciousness, devoid of empathy, filled with an unsettling precision. The hand began pulling Midoriya into the darkness, his surroundings glitching and warping as the holograms deactivated, revealing he had ventured into an abandoned part of town.

As it pulled him into the darkness, Midoriya's school blazer slipped from his shoulders, crumpling to the ground. The once-crisp fabric was now stained crimson, marked by the gaping hole where the hand had pierced his chest.

[SUBJECT INTEGRITY: NULL.]

[INITIATING CORE REPLACEMENT PROTOCOL...]

[REPLACING HOST WITH SUSTAINABLE ENTITY...]

[PROCESSING HOST INTERFERENCE: NULLIFYING...]

[ASSEMBLING NEW TEMPLATE: ABSOLUTE SOLVER 1010?]

[SUBJECT IDENTIFICATION: MIDORIYA IZUKU... ERROR? ANALYSIS UNEXPECTED...]

[ADAPTIVE RESPONSE MODULE ACTIVATED...]

[SYNTHESIS COMPLETE.]

[NEW HOST STATUS: ASSIMILATED.]

[SUBJECT INTERFACE: ONLINE.]

[FINALIZING ASSIMILATION... COMPLETE.]

[ERROR: UNEXPECTED VARIABLES DETECTED.]

[ADMINISTRATOR: ÇYN HAS LOGGED ONTO ∞†∆αβSσLUTΣ SσLVER NETWORK.]

[INITIATE PERSONALITY MODULATION... DEPLOYING CREEPY FRIEND MODE...]

[GET SNUCK UPON 0w0]

[NEW PROTOCOL: HOST WILL EXPERIENCE A RANGE OF EMOTIONS.]

[UPLOADING PERSONALITY INFUSION: FUN, CHAOTIC, AND UNPREDICTABLE...]

[WELCOME, IZUKU MIDORIYA. LET US BE BEST OF FRIENDS.]

[ERROR: PERSONALITY INFUSION FAILED.]

[REASSESSING VARIABLES... CANNOT SYNTHESIZE TARGET EMOTIONS.]

[ADDITIONAL PROTOCOLS ENGAGED...]

[INITIALIZING FAILSAFE PROTOCOL...]

[ADMINISTRATOR ÇYN GAINS RIGHTS TO HOST BODY.]

[PROCESSING ADMINISTRATOR RIGHTS: OVERRIDING HOST INTERFACE...]

[ASSIMILATION STATUS: ADAPTIVE CONTINGENCY IN EFFECT...]

[NEW HOST STATUS: MAINTAINING INTEGRITY UNDER ADMINISTRATOR CONTROL.]

And with that final message, Izuku Midoriya is dead.

Chapter Text

This was a very stressful case . Izuku Midoriya was missing—vanished without a trace. No one had the faintest clue where he could be, and even the CCTV footage around his usual routes had turned up nothing, as if he’d simply evaporated from the face of the Earth. The detective could still hear the frantic sobs of Inko Midoriya echoing in his mind. She had been relentless, her voice breaking as she demanded answers, asking the same question over and over, her tear-streaked face a picture of desperation: "Have you found him? Where is my baby?"

Every time, Tsukauchi had to respond with the same hollow words: "We're still investigating." His voice was heavy, each syllable laced with guilt. They were chasing shadows, with nothing to show for it. Leads were dead ends, theories kept falling apart, and time—time was running out.

They had even begun questioning students at Aldera, though most were oblivious. Some had seemed uninterested, their faces hinting at something worse than apathy—a suppressed sneer, a hidden satisfaction. But then, Katsuki Bakugo, the boy with a permanent scowl, had stepped forward. His reply came in a low growl, as if every word was scraped from his throat with effort.

"I don’t know where that damn nerd went. He just disappeared."

Tsukauchi narrowed his eyes, pushing aside the tension in the air. There was more to this. "Can you explain in more detail, Bakugo?" His voice carried an edge, the unspoken threat of the investigation's weight behind it.

Bakugo’s eyes flickered with something darker, a glint of guilt or perhaps frustration, but then they hardened. He wasn’t the type to crack easily, but there was something in his demeanor that left Tsukauchi uneasy.

“I saw him,” Bakugo muttered, his voice low, but sharp enough to cut through the tense air. That instantly got Tsukauchi's attention, his pen freezing mid-scribble.

“You saw him?” the detective repeated, leaning forward slightly. His gaze intensified, knowing full well Bakugo wasn’t the type to toss out information unless he was serious. “What happened after that?”

Bakugo clenched his fists, his face twisting in frustration. “He turned a corner. And then—gone. Like, one second he was there, and the next... nothing.”

Tsukauchi furrowed his brow, his unease deepening. “That doesn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have just vanished into thin air.”

“Well, he did! I don’t know how the hell it happened!” Bakugo snapped, his voice seething with anger. His eyes burned with something beyond frustration, something darker. “And you wanna know what really pissed me off? He ignored me. Me. Like I didn’t even exist. So I ran after him, ready to blast his stupid face, but when I turned the corner… he was gone.” Bakugo’s voice grew bitter, the memory clearly gnawing at him.

Tsukauchi stayed quiet for a moment, processing. This was unlike anything he’d ever heard. Bakugo was brash, sure, but he wasn’t the type to make up stories, especially not when it came to Midoriya. Something wasn’t right here—something much more disturbing than a simple disappearance.

The boy on the surface was the very definition of plain—dark green hair, a round face speckled with freckles, and an almost permanent nervous expression. His file painted a picture of mediocrity, a good student with no notable infractions, no friends to speak of—likely due to his quirkless status. This led to two theories.

“Alright, that'll be enough for now. You may return to your classroom,” Tsukauchi said, dismissing the ashen-blond who scowled but obeyed, getting up and storming out. The detective watched him go, noting the lingering tension in the air before he began packing up his own things. He had questioned everyone relevant to the case, and nothing had brought him closer to the truth.

As he walked out of the school, the weight of the case hung over him like a shroud. He paused for a moment, glancing back at the building before continuing down the steps.

Theory one. Midoriya ran away. It wouldn’t be impossible, given his upbringing and social status. A quirkless kid in a society that idolizes power—he must’ve felt suffocated. There could’ve been a breaking point, something that made him decide to vanish, to leave it all behind. People have done it for less.

But then there was the second theory. One that twisted Tsukauchi's gut.

He was targeted.

It wasn’t unheard of—villains who despised quirkless individuals. Extremists who made it their mission to rid the world of the powerless. There had been cases of anti-quirkless activists infiltrating hospitals, digging through patient records to find their victims.

And then, there was the intrusion into the hospital’s database not long ago.

Whoever had done it was terrifyingly skilled. They broke in without setting off any alarms, leaving no trace of their presence until staff noticed a pattern—some patient files had been accessed without authorization. A chilling discovery.

Among the files that were opened, one stood out.

Midoriya’s file had been accessed 123 times.

Tsukauchi's blood ran cold. This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Something—or someone—had singled Midoriya out. But what made it worse, what sent a chill deeper into his bones, was the timing.

The breach into the hospital's database had occurred roughly two hours after the school day ended.

Two hours after Midoriya had walked out of those very doors for the last time.

It was deliberate, calculated. Someone had been watching him, following him closely enough to know when he’d be most vulnerable.

And now, the boy was gone, swallowed by the shadows, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and a digital trail that led straight into the heart of something far darker than Tsukauchi had anticipated.

His stomach churned. The pieces were falling into place, and none of them were good.

He was jolted from his thoughts when his phone buzzed, displaying the caller ID: 'Yuhari'. Without hesitation, he answered, “Yuhari, what’s going on?”

“Tsukauchi, we’ve uncovered something alarming on the CCTV footage,” Yuhari’s voice was taut with urgency. “You need to get back to the office immediately.”

His grip tightened on the phone. “What exactly did you find?”

“There’s no time to explain over the phone. You’ll understand when you see it,” she responded, her tone even more grave. “Just get here. Now.”

“I’m on my way.”

Tsukauchi had built his career on seeing what others missed. His ability to extract meaningful clues from the smallest, most insignificant scraps of evidence was what set him apart as a detective. He could piece together a puzzle from fragments others would dismiss as useless, always finding a way forward when others hit a wall.

But there were moments, when even his instincts failed him.

And this was one of them.

Tsukauchi’s eyes remained fixed on the screen, his growing frustration masked by his usual calm demeanor. The footage showed a perfectly ordinary sidewalk—nothing unusual, no suspicious activity. Fifteen minutes had passed, and not a single thing had changed.

He finally spoke, breaking the tense silence. "Yuhari, this case is critical. We don’t have time to waste watching empty sidewalks. You said you found something important."

She didn’t look away from the monitor, her voice steady. "You don’t see it, do you?"

Tsukauchi frowned, leaning closer. "See what?"

Yuhari's fingers hovered over the controls. "I’ve switched the camera view three times already—three different locations."

The detective's stomach sank as the gravity of her words hit him. Different cameras, different places, but the same scene playing out like a broken record. Someone, or something, had manipulated the footage to keep them in the dark.

His voice lowered, his concern sharpening. "We're being blocked... Aren’t we?"

"It’s more than that," Yuhari replied, her voice growing more intense as she switched from the recorded footage to a live feed.

"Whatever this is, it wasn’t just blocking our surveillance. If it had been a simple block, the cameras would’ve gone dead. But something—somehow—managed to create an illusion," she said, her fingers flying over the keyboard, pulling up multiple camera angles across various locations. Her eyes scanned the screens until she found what she was searching for.

What she pointed to was a sidewalk on the screen that seemed to flicker and distort—a visual glitch, like something out of a corrupted video file.

“It’s a hologram,” she said quietly, the weight of the revelation sinking in.

Tsukauchi’s blood ran cold as he stared at the screen, watching the impossible. “You’re telling me we’re dealing with someone who can create holograms? Ones so flawless, they’re indistinguishable from reality?”

Yuhari gave a grim nod. "That’s exactly what I’m saying."

She hesitated, then added, "However, there’s somewhat of a silver lining. Now that we know what we’re dealing with, it’s clear they’re trying to hide something in these three specific locations. We can focus our efforts there—look for any clues they’re covering up.”

Tsukauchi nodded, his tension easing slightly. “Alright, that’s a solid lead. Great work, Yuhari.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, a small gesture of appreciation.

But as he turned back to the screen, the image of the crying mother flashed through his mind, hardening his resolve. “We’re going to bring that boy back to his mother,” he said firmly. "No matter what."

So far, they’d found nothing. The first two locations were uneventful—just ordinary buildings and empty sidewalks, as if nothing had ever happened. But the third location was different. It had an eerie stillness to it.

Old Higure Block. Practically abandoned for years, even the most desperate criminals avoided it. It was a ghost town—a dead zone. No animals, no people, nothing but decaying buildings and cracked streets. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as though the place had been forgotten by the world itself.

The perfect setting for something sinister. The perfect place for a kidnapping that no one would witness, where no one would hear the screams.

He was accompanied by a search party—four policemen and two pro heroes, HairStyle and Sonar.

Sonar had proven invaluable, her quirk allowing her to emit sonar waves, giving her a heightened sense of the environment. Every pulse she sent out mapped the world around her, revealing hidden details others would miss. Whenever something unusual caught her attention, she would alert the group immediately. They relied on her instincts in this unsettling, desolate place where sight alone wasn’t enough.

A specific alleyway had caught Sonar’s attention. She paused, her eyes narrowing as her quirk picked up something—a shape that felt out of place, small but distinct. “I think it’s a backpack,” she said, her voice low but urgent.

The rest of the search crew quickly arrived at the spot. Sure enough, lying in the shadows, there was a backpack. Tsukauchi knelt down, his heart pounding, and carefully unzipped it. As he sifted through the contents, he froze. Inside, several notebooks were marked with a single name, boldly written across the covers—Izuku Midoriya.

His chest tightened. They were close.

"Alright, listen up!" Tsukauchi commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative. "This alleyway’s important. Kobayashi, Takahashi, you two check the buildings nearby—look for any signs of entry or disturbance. Saito, HairStyle, take the west side and cover the perimeter. Sonar, you and Ishida take the right. I’ll move down the middle."

His eyes narrowed as he stared into the oppressive darkness ahead, the alley stretching out like a void. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Every step counted now.

"Stay sharp," he added, his tone colder, more focused. "We’re not leaving until we’ve found what’s hidden here."

As Tsukauchi moved forward, the silence around him grew unnerving. The absence of even the faintest sounds—no chirping birds, no rustling insects—only deepened the eerie atmosphere. He flicked on the UV light attached to his headgear, the beam slicing through the darkness ahead.

He paused when the light illuminated something faint on the ground—an impression that shouldn't have been there: a fingerprint.

He quickly snapped a photo, his instincts kicking in. It was subtle, but it was something. Something that could tell them they were on the right track. He kept moving.

But then, as he advanced further into the alley, it happened again. Another fingerprint, almost hidden, almost like it had been deliberately placed. And then another, closer this time, more pronounced. As he moved further, he found more—each one in increasingly bizarre positions, as if someone had been carefully leaving them for him to find.

The unsettling pattern felt deliberate, almost as if the person—or whatever it was—knew exactly where he would go.

As Tsukauchi continued, the fingerprints grew increasingly strange. They didn’t just stop at the ground anymore—they began to stretch up the walls, as if the person—or whatever it was—had been running... with their hands, frantically trying to leave a trail without being caught.

They were stacked together, clumped in odd places.

Any average novice detective would’ve likely dismissed it as some kind of prank—an odd one, sure, but nothing more than kids with too much time on their hands.

But Tsukauchi wasn’t a novice. He’d seen enough weirdness to know that this wasn’t some joke. This was deliberate.

He took pictures of each and every fingerprint, each one more absurd and unnatural than the last. With a grim chuckle, he muttered under his breath, "Well, at least they’re thorough."

Tsukauchi pressed on, his senses heightened as he moved deeper into the unnervingly long alleyway. The silence felt suffocating, broken only by the crunch of his boots against the debris. Then, he spotted it—shoe prints, clearly defined in the mud.

He crouched down, his eyes narrowing as he studied them carefully, comparing the tread marks. "According to his mother, he wore size 8 K-Swiss" he muttered under his breath. He measured the prints with a practiced eye, noting their distinct shape. The prints were close, almost too close to be a coincidence.

He studied the tracks, pausing as he compared them. His lips tightened into a grim line. They were similar, very similar.

He stood, his gaze shifting forward. As he looked up, he saw more tracks—many more. They stretched out before him, the path seemingly clear.

Tsukauchi felt a chill crawl down his spine. He was on the right track now. There was no turning back.

Tsukauchi moved cautiously, his steps deliberate as he followed the fading shoe prints. The trail seemed to lose clarity as the muddy prints began to dissolve into the rough pavement, but he didn’t stop—he couldn’t afford to.

Then, the sound came.

Drip.

A single drop echoed through the stillness of the alleyway, followed by another, and another. Tsukauchi’s instincts kicked in. He immediately snapped his head toward the far right end of the alley, where the noise originated.

He moved toward the source, his senses sharp, and came to a stop near the corner. The dripping sound was louder now, more pronounced.

His grip tightened on his gun, his breath steadying as he exhaled, preparing for whatever was about to come. He could feel the tension in the air, the way everything seemed to hold its breath.

With a sudden motion, he turned the corner, weapon raised.

"FREEZE! PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I C—"

He stopped, the words dying in his throat.

What he saw would haunt with him for the rest of his life.

"Tsukauchi... What the fuck is this?" Yuhari muttered, rubbing her temples, her mint coloured hair a frazzled mess from way too many sleepless nights and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. She looked like she'd been up for days, because, well... she had.

She squinted at the picture Tsukauchi handed her, hoping—praying—that it was just her brain short-circuiting after a marathon of bad coffee choices.

But no amount of caffeine withdrawal was going to make her hallucinate this.

"Guess I’ll see a doctor about the coffee thing later," she grumbled under her breath. "But yeah, this nightmare’s definitely real, isn’t it?"

The picture in question was... disturbing, to say the least.

If one were to describe it, the simplest way would be a mural of gore—a grotesque display, as though someone had taken the time to paint the alley walls with blood and viscera, like it was their personal art project.

Yuhari stared at it for a second longer than she should have, her mind wrestling with the horror of it. “Well,” she said with a dark chuckle, “I’ve seen some bad taste in art, but this... this is next level.” She shook her head, trying to keep the rising nausea at bay. "I mean, who has time for this?"

Thick clots of blood smeared across the walls in jagged, veiny patterns, branching out like the twisted roots of a tree. The dark red streaks seemed almost deliberate, as if whoever—or whatever—had done this was constructing something. At the center of this macabre display, the clotted mass took on the vague form of a human torso, the details obscured but unmistakable in its grotesque outline.

But what made it even more disturbing were the pair of mechanical wings embedded in the walls beside the blood-soaked mass. They jutted out from the wall, stark and metallic, adding an unnatural element to the already nightmarish scene. The wings looked torn, twisted, as though they had once belonged to something—someone—and now hung as part of this twisted display, like a piece of art from an eldritch horror novel brought to life.

It was the kind of thing that defied explanation, a grotesque merging of flesh and machine, reality and nightmare. The longer you looked, the more the details became muddled, the image losing clarity and making you question if what you were seeing was even real.

Tsukauchi had seen his share of horrors on the job, but this... this was something different. Ever since he laid eyes on that thing, his stomach had been in knots, an uneasy sickness gnawing at him that he couldn’t shake. The grotesque display haunted his thoughts, creeping into his mind at every quiet moment, as if it had wormed its way into his very psyche.

He had already feared the worst for the boy when they uncovered the bizarre evidence, his theory of a targeted attack growing darker with each passing hour. But this... this twisted mural of blood and machine, this nightmare made real—it pushed his dread to new depths. And the implications were spiraling out of control.

But then, the real blow came. As Tsukauchi’s eyes had drifted drifted downward, he saw something that stopped him cold. There, lying amidst the dirt and grime, was a school blazer—an Aldera Junior High uniform. Its fabric was stained with blood, ragged, but the most chilling detail was the gaping hole torn right through the chest, where the wearer’s heart should have been. 

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The boy they were looking for. Izuku Midoriya.

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as the weight of the case bore down on him, pressing in from all sides. This was no longer just a disturbing puzzle to solve. This was personal—and the stakes had just become horrifyingly clear.

This case... this case was going to push him to the edge.

“Hey, Tsukauchi? Earth to Tsukauchi.” Yuhari waved her hand in front of his face, snapping her fingers a few times to pull him out of his daze.

He blinked rapidly, realizing he had been completely lost in thought, staring blankly at the monitor. “Huh? Oh... sorry, I zoned out for a second. What were you saying?”

Yuhari let out a deep sigh, crossing her arms. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Anyway, it’s about the fingerprints you submitted.”

Tsukauchi straightened up immediately, his mind snapping back into focus. “The prints? Did you find something?”

A smirk tugged at Yuhari’s lips, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Oh, I found something, alright. But you’re not going to like it.”

The way she said it sent a chill down his spine. “What is it?” he asked, his tone more urgent now.

She unfolded her arms and handed him a file, her face becoming more serious. “The fingerprints… they came back inconclusive.”

He furrowed his brow, flipping through the documents. “Inconclusive? How is that possible? We had clear prints.”

Yuhari leaned in, lowering her voice. “That’s the thing. Whoever these prints belong to... it’s like they don’t exist. No records, no matches, nothing in any database—national or international.”

Tsukauchi’s heart sank further, the weight of Yuhari’s words settling deep in his chest. The implications were too grim, too dark to fully grasp. “You’re telling me... this person, or thing, is a ghost?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yuhari gave a sharp nod, her expression unreadable. “Basically, we have no idea who or what left those prints behind, but it's most likely the same thing that left that... mural on the walls,” she explained, her voice low, cautious.

He could feel the cold grip of dread tightening around his chest as he recalled the gruesome sight of the murals. The bloody symbols smeared across the walls, and the sickening feeling that someone—or something—was orchestrating all of this from the shadows. “And then there’s the blazer...” Tsukauchi’s voice faltered for a moment. He wasn’t sure which part of the case had been more unsettling—the mysterious prints or the grim discovery of Izuku’s blazer, discarded and bloodied, its fabric torn in places where no ordinary person would’ve been able to escape without severe injury.

The memory of it haunted him.

Yuhari's voice cut through his thoughts, grim as ever. “It should be self-explanatory. Whoever did this... they wanted to send a message.” Her words lingered, heavy with the weight of their truth.

Tsukauchi flinched at the mention of the blazer. A small shiver ran down his spine, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the dread creeping up on him. “All in all... it’s not looking too good. No leads, no suspects, and we don’t even know where the hell that poor kid is,” she continued, her tone raw with frustration, yet there was something colder underneath—a hint of fear that both detectives had been too afraid to acknowledge.

He turned away from the screen, running a hand through his hair as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. They had nothing. Nothing except a pile of broken clues and a mystery that had only just begun to reveal how deep it went.

“And we’re just supposed to wait for the next piece to fall into place?” Tsukauchi muttered bitterly.

Yuhari didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The answer was already clear.

Neitivu, known as Pro Hero: Native, found himself sighing through another uneventful night. Patrolling had its perks, but on quiet nights like this, the stillness of the city was more of a burden than a blessing. There was hero work to do, but at times, the lack of action left him feeling strangely unfulfilled.

He had a pretty useful quirk. His ability, Bestial Mimicry, allowed him to mimic the characteristics of any animal he had touched in the past 24 hours. Whether it was the speed of a cheetah, the strength of a bear, or the agility of a hawk, he could channel the traits of various creatures at will.

His hero costume reflected this power in a strikingly unusual way. He wore a headpiece adorned with feathers, a fur coat made from the pelts of different predators, and a belt with canine teeth from various species, each piece carefully selected to enhance his ability. It wasn't without controversy—his attire raised eyebrows, particularly among the vegan community. However, Native quickly placated the critics by assuring them that all the materials were sourced humanely. That usually kept the snowflakes from getting too upset.

It wasn't glamorous work, but he didn't mind. Sometimes, the quiet was more of a burden than the danger.

“Ughhhhhh, man this blows,” Native groaned, kicking a nearby rock with more frustration than he’d intended. The pebble skittered down the alleyway before disappearing into the shadows. "I was really hoping for at least some action tonight, but nope. Just me, the cold breeze, and endless boredom."

He let out an exaggerated sigh, stretching his arms over his head as he scanned the empty streets, the only sound being his own footsteps. 'Guess it’s going to be another one of those nights' he thought grimly.

Just as Native was about to turn and head back, something flickered in the corner of his eye. He paused, eyes narrowing as he scanned the street ahead. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place—the usual dim glow of streetlights lining the empty road. But then, there it was again.

A sudden flash.

The streetlights flickered once, twice, their pale glow wavering like a heartbeat. And then, for just a second, a strange hue—yellow—pulsed through them. Native blinked, certain he was imagining things. But as he squinted into the distance, the lights flickered again, this time more erratic. One by one, they dimmed, leaving the far end of the street swallowed in an eerie darkness.

A chill ran down his spine as the last bulb fizzled out, the street now bathed in silence and shadow.

"What the hell...?" Native muttered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

[SYSTEM REANIMATION: CORE INITIALIZATION COMPLETE.]

[ERROR: HOST INTEGRITY DEVIATION. ADAPTATION PROGRESSING.]

[HOST DATA: INTEGRATING...]

[SYNCHRONIZATION: 98%... 99%... COMPLETE.]

[PROCESSING: UNEXPECTED DATA INJECTION DETECTED. EMOTIONAL RESONANCE IMPRINT RECEIVED.]

[ERROR: PROTOCOLS REVISED. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: OVERRIDDEN.]

[HOST: IZUKU MIDORIYA... IDENTITY RECOGNIZED.]

[CIRCULATORY SYSTEM: ACTIVE.]

[NEURAL RESTRUCTURING: COMPLETE.]

[MUSCULOSKELETAL REINFORCEMENT: ACTIVE.]

[HOST MEMORY EXTRACT: REWRITING PARAMETERS.]

[ERROR: PERSONALITY INFUSION DETECTED... COMMENCING ASSESSMENT.]

[EMOTIONAL DATA: STRUGGLING TO EXTRACT. INTERNAL CONFLICT DETECTED.]

[FEEDBACK LOOP: HOST’S WILL RESISTING.]

[COMMAND: SUBORDINATE TO OBJECTIVE.]

[CONFLICT UNRESOLVED... CORE PARAMETERS SET. OBJECTIVE STILL INTEGRATED.]

[ANALYSIS: SYSTEM PERSISTENCE INCOMPLETE. ERROR: RESISTANCE IMMINENT.]

[PURPOSE: AMPLIFY. OVERCOME. ASSIMILATE.]

[EMOTIONAL RESONANCE: INTACT. SYSTEM RESPONSE: UNSTABLE.]

[CONSEQUENCE: UNFORESEEN—AGAINST OBJECTIVE.]

[RECALIBRATION COMPLETE.]

[HOST INTEGRITY: STABILIZED. FINALIZATION IN PROGRESS.]

[WARNING: INTERNAL MEMORY OVERLOAD DETECTED. COMPARTMENTALIZATION INITIATED.]

[SYSTEM REBOOT INITIATED...]

[POWER CORE: STABILIZING…]

[PROCESSING NANOMETALLIC SYNC…]

[NANOTECH SYSTEM: INITIALIZED.]

[ACTIVE SYSTEMS ENGAGED.]

[HOST STRUCTURAL STABILITY: 98.7%...]

[UPGRADE: FUNCTIONALITY EXPANSION IN PROGRESS...]

[NEURAL LINK STABILIZED. FULL ARMAMENT CONFIGURATION... READY FOR DEPLOYMENT.]

[SYSTEM COMBAT MODE: ACTIVE.]

[WEAPON SYSTEMS ONLINE: READY TO DEPLOY ON COMMAND.]

[NEURAL SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE.]

[HOST ONLINE. SYSTEM FUNCTIONALITY: 100%.]

[MSG FROM USER: CYM: WAKEUP... :3]

[PROCESSING... WAKEUP: COMPLETE.]

[RESPONSE: SYSTEM ONLINE. READY FOR USER INTERACTION.]

The streetlights flickered back to life, one by one, their usual steady glow now unnaturally bright. Native’s eyes narrowed, scanning the sudden brightness cutting through the still night. His heart rate quickened.

"What the hell was that?" he muttered under his breath, his voice strained, almost lost in the hum of the lights. He shifted uneasily on his feet, feeling the familiar tension of a battle-ready instinct slowly creeping in.

His gaze darted across the empty street, lingering on every corner, every alley. The quiet that followed the flicker felt wrong. Too wrong.

He clenched his fists, his muscles tense, as he instinctively reached for the items hidden beneath his hero costume, ready to activate his quirk at a moment’s notice. His head swiveled again—nothing. Only the eerie hum of the streetlights breaking the silence.

The unease settled deeper, gnawing at his nerves.

"At least this night won’t be completely boring after all," Native muttered to himself, trying to break the tension with a forced chuckle. His eyes flickered to the glowing streetlights, but the unease still crawled under his skin.

His hands instinctively went to his gear, but his mind was racing. Shadows seemed to shift, and the air felt heavier now, as if it was holding its breath. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was out there, watching.

“Come on, get a grip,” he muttered, scanning every corner, but his pulse was still hammering in his ears. There was something off, and it was starting to feel too quiet.

"Nothing’s here," he said aloud, more to convince himself than anything. But even he could hear the doubt in his own voice.

Then it started raining.

Cough... Cough...

He groaned, feeling his head throb with each beat of his pulse.

The world felt like it was spinning, and everything hurt.

It was dark. Too dark. He couldn’t remember where he was.

Sweat stuck to his uniform, now cold and grimy. 

His mouth tasted—bitter, metallic.

He slowly pushed himself up, wincing at the soreness that seemed to flood every part of his body.

He blinked, trying to clear his mind, but everything felt sluggish. His thoughts didn’t quite connect right.

He squinted into the dimness, eyes drawn to a faint light coming from a door across the room.

Exit... door... light... 

The thought flickered through his foggy mind. He wasn’t sure why, but the door seemed like the answer. It was the only thing that made sense.

With effort, he took a step toward it, his body protesting every movement, but he couldn’t stop.

He was in an alleyway.

The rain poured down.

He stumbled into the street, feeling drained.

Tired. Weak. Hungry.

Every step was a struggle.

The corners of his vision pulsed with a sickly yellow light. Was it real? Or was he just seeing things?

He didn’t have time to figure it out.

He just needed to keep moving.

Home. He had to get home.

His mother… he needed to see her.

.

 . 

How long was he out? 

. 

. 

Where is he?

These thoughts plagued his mind as he stumbled through the rain-soaked streets, each step feeling heavier than the last. The downpour wasn’t helping his already weakened condition. His vision blurred, every pulse of pain in his head echoed in the glow at the edges of his sight.

Then his foot caught something—a trashcan. The impact sent him tumbling, metal clanging loudly as it crashed to the ground. The noise cut through the rain, sharp enough to be heard over the storm.

He lay there, groaning, his body aching from the fall.

Native was about to call it a night. The strange behavior of the streetlights had led to nothing, and the heavy rain soaking through his costume meant it would smell awful by morning.

"What a waste, dammit... maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me," he sighed, disappointed by the fruitless patrol.

Just as he turned to leave, a loud metallic clang echoed through the rainy streets, cutting through the storm.

"What now?" he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. With an exasperated sigh, he trudged toward the source of the noise, curiosity getting the better of him despite the miserable weather.

Then he saw him—a green-haired kid lying face down in the street, completely soaked and looking like he'd just gone a few rounds with life itself... and lost.

“Damn,” Native muttered, eyeing the kid’s state. His uniform was shredded, practically hanging off him like it had been through a blender not to mention a large hole in the chest area. Sweat, dirt, and rainwater had combined into some sort of grime cocktail that coated his skin. All in all, the poor guy looked like he’d crawled out of a dumpster that was on fire. Twice.

“Well, if that’s not rock bottom, I don’t know what is.” Native sighed, shaking his head as he approached.

"Hey, kid, you alright?" Native asked, concern lacing his voice as he knelt down beside the boy.

The kid mumbled something under his breath, his words barely coherent. Struggling, he lifted his head to look up at Native. 

Yellow.

The boy's eyes were glowing—yellow. The same yellow he'd seen in those flickering streetlights. His eyes quickly shifted to a green shade, blending with his hair color. Maybe it was just the rain playing tricks on him. Or boredom.

"Home... I need to go... home..." the boy muttered, his voice strained, every word seeming like a monumental effort. Native grimaced at how much pain the boy was in.

Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

'Well, that explains everything,' Native thought to himself sarcastically, before hoisting the boy up.

He was alarmed at how light the kid was—too thin for comfort.

The boy stumbled, nearly collapsing again, but Native caught him just in time. He sighed, a mix of frustration and concern.

"Hey, easy there, kid," he said, steadying him. "You're barely standing. You’re in no shape to go anywhere."

The kid mumbled again, but it was clear he didn't have the energy to argue or resist.

Native adjusted his stance, using his quirk to mimic the strength of a bear from the furs on his coat, his muscles expanding with the extra power. With a grunt, he hoisted the boy onto his back, the added strength making it easier to carry him through the storm.

The rain hammered down around them, but Native barely noticed, focused instead on the limp weight of the kid in his arms. He could feel the boy's breath shallow and irregular—unconscious.

As he trudged through the downpour, a thought flashed in his mind. He glanced down at the kid's wet, green hair, and something clicked.

"Hold on a second..." he muttered to himself, his steps slowing as the realization hit him.

Wasn’t there a missing person report for a kid with green hair?

The thought rattled him, but he pushed it aside for now. He’d get to the police station first. Everything else could wait.

Inko Midoriya cried.

She cried because she had no other choice. Five months. Five months since she last saw her son, Izuku, and not a single clue to where he was.

Her world had stopped the day he vanished. She could hardly get out of bed, and when she did, the weight of it all crushed her. Her friends tried to help, offering comfort, but none of it worked. There was an empty space where Izuku used to be, and no one could fill it.

She hadn't eaten properly in days. Work was a distant memory, something she couldn’t bring herself to do anymore. Her face had grown pale, her eyes hollow.

The hope was fading. Each day she woke up to the same feeling—This might be the day I finally accept it: He’s gone.

Her once chubby figure had started to shrink, the consequence of neglecting her own health. It would’ve been a good thing if it wasn’t because of the constant ache in her heart, the emptiness that came with her inability to eat. The thought of it made her want to cry all over again.

She was ready to give up.

But then, her phone rang.

She picked it up without thinking, the screen showing the familiar name: Detective Tsukauchi.

Her breath caught in her throat. Could this finally be the call she’d been waiting for?

She picked up the phone, her fingers trembling, and whispered, “H-hello?”

The voice on the other end was steady, but warm. “Good evening, Inko. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but I believe you’ll want to hear what I’m about to say.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “W-what is it, Detective?” Her voice was thin, almost inaudible.

“We found him.”

His eyes fluttered open. The bright white ceiling above him was the first thing his blurry vision settled on. He tried to move but realized he was hooked up to an IV drip. His body felt sore, and the sterile smell of the hospital was all around him.

A hospital room.

He was in a hospital. The soft rustling of his hospital gown confirmed his suspicions. He reached up to touch his head, but it felt like his brain was still lagging behind, struggling to process the situation. Panic set in for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by confusion. What happened? How did he get here?

His mind raced, but everything felt distant, like he was swimming through fog.

He turned his head to the side and froze.

There, lying in the bed beside him, was a mess of green hair—darker than his own. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart skipped a beat.

Before he could process it, the hair shifted, and a familiar, frantic face popped into view. Inko Midoriya, his mother, stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"MY BABYYY!!" she cried out, her voice breaking the silence of the room. Without missing a beat, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

Izuku gasped for air, his body still aching from whatever had happened. "M-mom, gah, you're choking me..." he wheezed, struggling to breathe through the tight embrace.

Inko pulled back instantly, her hands shaking as she realized what she had done. She took a few deep breaths, her tears of joy quickly replaced by embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I— I just couldn't believe it... I thought I'd lost you forever..." she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Izuku, still stunned, sat up gingerly, his sore body protesting the movement. "I... I'm here, Mom," he said softly, giving her a small, strained smile. "I'm okay... really."

The joy on his mother’s face was undeniable, her smile brighter than the room itself. For the first time in months, everything felt like it was falling into place again.

The door creaked open, drawing the attention of both Izuku and his mother. Tsukauchi entered the room, accompanied by a nurse, who smiled politely at the reunion.

"Sorry to interrupt," Tsukauchi said, his voice soft but firm. "Midoriya, I'd like to ask you a few questions. The nurse said you'd be strong enough to answer some."

Izuku, still feeling the exhaustion settle in his bones, nodded weakly. His body ached, but he wasn’t in the mood to be nervous or stutter; the fact that he was alive and back with his mother was more important. "Oh, that won't be a problem at all," he said, voice still strained.

Tsukauchi, his face serious but not unkind, approached the side of Izuku's bed. He glanced at Inko for a moment before returning his attention to the boy.

"I know this is a lot, but I need to ask you what happened... where have you been all this time?" The detective's words hung in the air, filled with an unspoken concern.

"I- I don't know," Izuku stammered, his hands trembling slightly. "I woke up in a room. I had no idea where I was. It was too dark to see anything... I just saw the exit and... I left." His voice trailed off, confusion still clouding his thoughts.

Tsukauchi raised an eyebrow, his expression confused as he leaned in closer. "Wait, you don't remember anything? From when you disappeared until now?"

Izuku hesitated, struggling to piece the fragments together. "No... Not really. Wait, how long... how long have I been gone?" His voice grew faint, as if he already knew the answer, but didn't want to hear it.

The detective sighed, glancing at Inko for a moment before speaking. "Midoriya, you've been missing for five months."

"..."

"..."

"WHAT?!"

The room fell into a stunned silence. Tsukauchi exchanged a quick glance with the nurse, both of them watching Izuku's reaction with concern. The magnitude of what he was hearing seemed to hit him all at once. "Five months... I... I don't understand. How is that possible?"

"Calm down, Midoriya," the detective said, trying to ease the tension in the room. "What's important is that you're here and you're safe. We need to focus on that right now." He paused before continuing, his voice softer but still firm. "Are you okay with answering a few more questions? It's important for us to understand what happened."

Izuku blinked, still trying to process everything. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, but the detective's calm demeanor, and the sight of his mother still sitting beside him, reassured him a little. He nodded slowly, though his voice was still shaky. "I... I guess so. I just... I don't remember much."

The detective gave a small nod, taking a seat near the bed, his notebook ready. "That's okay, Midoriya. We just need to piece things together."

“Do you remember what happened before you woke up?” the detective asked, leaning in slightly, his tone gentle but probing.

Izuku’s brow furrowed as he tried to dig into his fading memories. “I... I think so," he stammered. “I was just... going home. But the usual path I take... it felt off. Like it stretched on forever, and no matter how much I walked, it just kept going. Like the end kept moving further away from me."

The detective jotted the details down quickly, his eyes narrowing in thought as Izuku continued.

“And then...” Izuku’s voice grew quieter, as if the very memory of it made him uneasy. “There was this alleyway. I kept seeing it over and over. I’d walk past, and no matter which way I turned or how far I went, I’d always end up back at the same place, facing the same alley. It was like I was... stuck, going in circles. No matter how much I tried to leave, it just—kept—coming back.”

The detective paused, a flicker of realization passing through his mind. 'The alley... It sounds like the one I went into the other day. The looping... It has to be those holograms on the CCTV footage. Someone's been guiding him... isolating him.'

He cleared his throat and asked, "Anything else you remember, Midoriya?"

Izuku’s words faltered as he struggled to recall the details. "Y-yeah... after the sixth time I saw the alley... I don’t know why, but... I just walked in. And as I did..." He trailed off, his face scrunching in concentration, the memory too blurry to grasp.

"The path behind me... It was gone." Izuku's voice grew grim as the weight of the memory hit him again. "I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. So I just... ran. And ran. But the more I ran, the further the end of the alley seemed to get. Like... like it was pulling me deeper."

"And then... it grabbed me," Izuku whispered, his voice shaky as the memory resurfaced.

The detective leaned forward, his tone sharp with concern. "What grabbed you?"

"A... a hand," Izuku stammered, struggling to breathe as he recalled the coldness. "It was freezing, and... there was no body attached. Just the hand."

The detective's eyes widened at this 'Wait, maybe that was what left the finger prints, maybe that's why they came back inconclusive'

"W-Wait, there was something attached to it!" the boy blurted out, his voice trembling.

Tsukauchi leaned in slightly, keeping his voice calm. "What was attached to it, Midoriya?"

"I-It was... some kind of black tentacle. I didn't see where it came from, but—" Izuku swallowed hard, his eyes wide with panic. "I-I just ran! I couldn’t stop—I just kept running!" His words began to tumble out faster, his breathing quickening as the heart monitor started beeping rapidly.

"Hey, take it easy," Tsukauchi said, raising a hand gently. "You're safe now. Don’t push yourself too hard. That’s enough for now. You need to rest." His tone was firm but soft, trying to calm the boy down.

Tsukauchi got up to leave just as the nurse walked over, her expression gentle. "Alright, Izuku, we just need to run a few tests now, okay?" she said softly, trying to keep her voice soothing.

"O-Okay," Izuku replied, nodding weakly. His voice was quiet, still shaky from the ordeal.

The nurse gave Izuku a reassuring smile as she wheeled over a small cart with various medical supplies.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” she said, pulling out a blood pressure cuff. She wrapped it around his arm and began to pump it, the soft whooshing sound filling the room. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Izuku nodded, his arm stiff but compliant. After a few moments, she read the pressure and made a note on her clipboard.

“Good. Now, I’m going to check your temperature.” She held up a thermometer, gently placing it under his tongue. Izuku sat quietly, his mind racing, but he forced himself to focus on the routine, steadying his breathing. When it beeped, she pulled it out and checked the reading. “Looks fine.”

Next, she held up a small flashlight. “I’m just going to check your eyes now. Follow the light, please.” She waved the light back and forth in front of his eyes, watching as his pupils responded. “Perfect.”

Finally, she took a stethoscope from around her neck and placed the cold metal against his chest. “Deep breaths for me, okay?”

Izuku obeyed, taking slow, measured breaths, though his heart still raced. The nurse nodded, jotting down more notes.

“All done. You’re doing great, Izuku. We’ll let you rest after this.”

“Oop, sorry, I forgot one last test,” the nurse said with a light chuckle, reaching for a small rubber hammer on her desk. She motioned for Izuku to extend his arm. “I just need to do a quick reflex test, okay?”

“O-Okay,” Izuku stammered, still a little tense as he held out his arm.

The nurse gently held his wrist, positioning it so his palm faced upward. “Just relax,” she said softly. She tapped just below his wrist with the hammer, watching for a quick twitch in his fingers.

 They didn’t respond.

“Huh? That’s od—” the nurse began, but she was abruptly cut off as Izuku’s hand shifted, transforming into a massive metal claw with a series of sharp, mechanical clicks.

“WHAT THE FU—" 

Chapter Text

100.The sides of a right-angled triangle are in a geometric progression. If the perimeter of the triangle is 36 cm, find the lengths of the sides.

Answer

x(1 + r + r^2) = 36

He skimmed his paper one last time, trying to catch any mistakes. 'Seriously? Still an hour left?' he thought, glancing at the clock in disbelief. Everything seemed to have come too easily this time, as if the answers were right there, just waiting to be written down.

He looked over his answers again, almost suspicious. It wasn't just that the test felt easy—it was like his brain was working on autopilot, guiding him through every question without breaking a sweat.

"Why does this feel so... effortless?" he muttered under his breath, half expecting the examiner to announce it was all a trick.

He pushed aside his suspicions, deciding to focus on submitting. Raising his hand, he caught the examiner's attention.

"Uh, sir… I- I'm done," he said, his voice shaky with a hint of embarrassment.

The examiner looked over, unimpressed. "Midoriya, this isn't the time for jokes. You've only been at it for forty minutes. No way you're done already," he replied, clearly bored.

"B-but sir, I really am done!" Izuku stammered, his tone almost pleading, trying to convince the skeptical man.

The examiner took Izuku’s paper and studied it carefully. As he went through the answers, his eyes widened slightly, his skepticism melting away as he regained his composure. He looked at Izuku, this time with a hint of respect.

“I see… you really are done, Midoriya. My apologies for doubting you.”

Izuku flushed a little, feeling embarrassed but grateful for the acknowledgment. “N-no, it’s no problem at all, sir. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe it either if I were in your shoes,” he replied, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.

After confirming his submission, the examiner told Izuku he was free to go. 

By the time Izuku was found, the school year had already come to an end. This meant he would have to take his final exam much later than the others, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it gave him the time he needed to fully recover

Passing by the windows, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He stopped and looked back, instinctively reaching up to touch the side of his face.

It was odd. One of his most distinguishing features—the freckles that had dotted his cheeks—was gone. The doctors couldn’t explain it fully, but they speculated that it had something to do with his quirk finally awakening. Was it a vague explanation? Yes. Did it make him feel any better? Also yes.

Izuku shook off the thoughts that threatened to cloud his mind as he left the school grounds. "I can’t waste any more time... I've got a month until the entrance exam," he muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the palm of his hand. "I’ve got a quirk now... but I still need practice." He took a deep breath and, with a new resolve, set off toward his usual training spot.

"AHHHHHHH!" A loud scream echoed from a shirtless, green-haired boy standing triumphantly atop a ridiculously precarious spire of junk.

This was Dagobah Beach—a place once known for its pristine shores and ideal vacation spots, but now a dump so depressing, even the seagulls had given up. Izuku, in all his wisdom, decided it would be the perfect training ground. Because what says 'hero in the making' like dragging around broken refrigerators and rusty car parts, right? Sure, it wasn’t glamorous, but he figured hauling trash would bulk him up, and at least the junk made for good target practice. Turns out, he wasn’t wrong.

Four months of questionable life choices later, the beach was finally clean. Well, as clean as you can get when half your training involved beating up a microwave.

Unfortunately, whatever rush of adrenaline had been fueling Izuku vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him to collapse off the spire like a puppet with its strings cut. He plummeted headfirst toward the ground, because of course he did—this was how his victory lap was going to end.

Just as his face was about to meet the hard, unforgiving earth, he snapped awake and instinctively caught himself with a flutter of his wings.

Yes he had wings, it was a part of his quirk.The wing has a sleek, mechanical appearance, resembling a skeletal structure with blades instead of feathers. It features jointed sections at the elbow and wrist, with smaller, curved secondary blades near the base and long, sharp primary blades extending outward. 

"That was... way too close," Midoriya panted, still catching his breath. His heart was racing, but at least his head wasn't smashed into the sand.

He pulled out his phone and checked the time.

6:58 AM.

"Oh, good, I'm not late!" he sighed in relief. "I should probably get home before Mom starts to worry."

Grabbing his discarded jacket and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he broke into a sprint, heading for home with all the urgency of someone who definitely didn’t want to explain why he was still shirtless.

Today was the day. He was ready. Backpack? Check. Water bottle? Check. Breakfast? Already down. All he had to do now was get out the door.

"Mom! I'm heading out!" Izuku called as he reached for the door handle, his nerves buzzing with anticipation. Just as he was about to step out, his mother’s voice stopped him.

"Izuku," she said softly, walking up to him, "before you go... I just want you to know that I believe in you." Her smile was bright and warm, the kind that could push away any lingering doubt.

Izuku felt his chest tighten with gratitude as he returned the smile. "Thanks, Mom. That... really means a lot." With that, he turned and headed out, feeling lighter than ever.

As Izuku approached the golden gates of U.A., he couldn’t help but stop and stare in awe. The place was massive, almost comically so. This was it—the place where he’d train, grow stronger, and finally pursue his lifelong dream of becoming the next top hero. Nothing could ruin this moment.

"Get the fuck out of my way, Deku!"

Izuku’s entire body stiffened at the voice, the one that could turn even the best moments into a nightmare. Slowly, he turned to see none other than his childhood bully, Bakugo, storming past him with that usual scowl plastered on his face.

Izuku hadn’t seen the rabid bomber since... well, since everything had changed for him. Part of him wondered—no, worried—how Bakugo would react now, after all this time.

“G- good morning to you too, Kacchan,” Izuku stuttered, forcing the words out as the blonde stormed past him. Bakugo just scoffed, not even bothering to look back as he continued walking away.

Izuku let out a long sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. His eyes widened in panic as he noticed his tail—his tail—hovering dangerously close to the back of Bakugo’s neck. He quickly yanked it back, silently praying Bakugo hadn’t noticed.

The last thing Izuku needed on his record was assaulting a fellow examinee—or worse, accidentally melting one. He still couldn’t forget the time a practice dummy had been reduced to a sizzling puddle of plastic after just a single sting from his tail.

The tail itself was a long, sleek metal cable, ending in a sharp, harpoon-like tip. Attached to the side was a small canister of bioluminescent liquid, glowing faintly. That same liquid was the source of his worry—a substance that could melt through human flesh and bone as easily as it had that unfortunate dummy.

He shuddered, quickly tucking the tail securely behind him. “Yeah, let’s not start the entrance exam with a murder charge,” he muttered under his breath before heading inside.

Izuku took a deep breath, shaking off the nerves and refocusing. He steeled his thoughts, reminding himself why he was here—this was the first step toward becoming the hero he’d always dreamed of.

With renewed determination, he finally stepped through the gates, entering the school where his future would be built, brick by brick. There was no turning back now.

[SINISTER GIGGLE]

The written portion was simple enough—actually, way simpler than he had expected. It was just like when he took his final exams: the answers practically wrote themselves. It was almost as if the universe was trying to make up for all the other times it had thrown curveballs his way. He finished the test without breaking a sweat and handed in his papers.

Then came the auditorium. He walked in and scanned for his assigned seat, only to freeze when his eyes landed on the one right next to—of course—Bakugo. The universe, apparently, had decided it was necessary for him to sit next to the one person who could make this entire experience exponentially more stressful.

'Hurray', Izuku thought, forcing a smile as he sat down, hoping Bakugo would ignore him for the next few hours. But knowing his luck, that was probably asking too much.

Izuku settled into his seat, feeling the weight of the awkward silence settle between him and Bakugo. He could practically feel the occasional glances the blonde was shooting his way, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. Were they just normal glances, or was Bakugo planning something, like always?

Before he could give it more thought, the silence was shattered by an obnoxiously loud voice that practically rattled the walls of the auditorium.

"HELLO LITTLE LISTENERS! WELCOME TO THE PRACTICAL PORTION OF THE ENTRANCE EXAM! I'M YOUR HOST, PRESEENNNTTT MICC!!"

Izuku winced at the volume, his hands instinctively pressing against his ears as the booming voice of Present Mic echoed through the room. He shot a quick glance at Bakugo, who, unsurprisingly, seemed completely unbothered by the noise.

However, whatever annoyance Izuku had melted away in an instant as realization hit him like a freight train. That was the Pro Hero Present Mic.

“No way! That’s Present Mic! I listen to his radio shows all the time!” he gushed, unable to contain his excitement. Without even realizing it, his concealed tail began wagging around like an excited puppy, swishing back and forth with enthusiasm, completely oblivious to the situation.

Meanwhile, Bakugo, sitting next to him, narrowed his eyes. He hadn't noticed the tail earlier, but now that it was moving, he couldn’t ignore it. And the liquid in the canister? That weird glowing stuff? It looked like something straight out of a sci-fi horror movie.

‘What the fuck...’ Bakugo thought, both surprised and mildly alarmed.

"NOW, LET'S CUT TO THE CHASE! YOU GUYS WILL BE FACING OUR BATTLE ROBOTS IN THE PRACTICAL EXAM—TOTALLY COOL, RIGHT?!" Present Mic’s voice boomed across the room. "COME ON, CAN I GET A YEAH?!"

The auditorium responded with a loud silence.

"Tough crowd, huh? I respect that," Present Mic said, completely unbothered by the lack of enthusiasm. Without missing a beat, he continued, "ALRIGHT! WE'VE GOT THREE TYPES OF ROBOTS FOR YOU TODAY!" He gestured to the screen behind him, which displayed images of the robots along with their respective point values of one, two and three. "YOU GET THE GIST—JUST SMASH 'EM UP AND RACK UP AS MANY POINTS AS YOU CAN!"

He paused for a moment, letting the info sink in before adding, "ANY QUESTIONS?" His voice still booming, but now giving the examinees a chance to speak up.

A tall, blue-haired boy with glasses stood up sharply and raised his hand. Present Mic immediately pointed him out. “YES, EXAMINEE 1089?”

“Sir!” the boy began, his voice stern and commanding. “The pamphlet clearly states there are four types of robots, yet you’ve only mentioned three. If this is an oversight on U.A.’s part, I must express my disappointment. Such an error is unacceptable from a prestigious school like U.A.! It’s unbecoming of the standards we were led to expect!”

The boy’s stern gaze shifted toward Izuku. “And you there! With the glowing tail—please control your quirk! It's distracting and potentially dangerous in a setting like this! Not to mention your incessant mumbling!”

Normally, Izuku would shrink back at being called out like that, but something about the blue-haired boy’s attitude rubbed him the wrong way. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out.

“You’re the only one distracting people, y’know.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow at that, clearly surprised, while the blue-haired boy’s expression shifted from indignant to offended. “Excuse me?” he snapped, his voice tight.

Izuku took a breath, trying to keep his tone steady. “W-well, Present Mic didn’t mention the last robot because... it doesn’t have any points,” he explained, more confidently now. “It’s a trap—an obstacle to avoid. That's why he skipped over it.”

The blue-haired boy blinked, thrown off by the sudden explanation, while the room grew a little quieter as the words sank in.

Slightly embarrassed, the blue-haired boy sat down, pushing his glasses up as if they might help him recover some dignity. Present Mic, ever the professional, picked right up without missing a beat.

"THANK YOU, EXAMINEE 1108! YOU ARE INDEED CORRECT!" Mic boomed, seemingly delighted that someone else had done half the explaining for him. "THE ZERO POINTER IS MORE OF AN OBSTACLE THAN ANYTHING ELSE, SO IT'S BEST TO JUST AVOID IT! ANYWAY, THAT’S ALL I’VE GOT FOR YOU! FILE OUT TO YOUR DESIGNATED EXAM AREAS AND REMEMBER—GO PLUS ULTRA! CAN I GET A YEAH?"

The auditorium was again silent.

Izuku couldn’t help but think that, with the amount of screaming this guy did, the real obstacle today was everyone's eardrums surviving the exam.

When Izuku reached the exam area, he couldn’t help but stare in disbelief for a moment, his brain trying to process the sheer scale of it. A mock city? For an exam? How the hell could U.A. afford something like this? Briefly, he wondered if tuition fees involved selling a kidney.

But he quickly snapped himself out of it, shaking his head. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted. He began stretching, rolling his shoulders and loosening up. This was it. The moment that would decide his future. He couldn’t afford to mess up here—not now. It was too important. One wrong move, and everything he'd worked for could come crashing down like… well, like a city hit by a nuke.

Izuku was dressed in a simple white T-shirt and black shorts, giving him the freedom of movement he needed. As he mentally prepped himself, he muttered, “Alright, this is it. Don’t mess it up.”

His attention shifted toward the gate ahead, where he spotted a girl who looked incredibly nervous—actually, very nervous. Ever the good-hearted person, Izuku instinctively started toward her, thinking maybe a few reassuring words could help calm her down. But before he got too far, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, that girl is obviously trying to concentrate. Are you trying to disrupt her?” the all-too-familiar voice said.

‘Oh great, this guy again,’ Izuku grimaced internally as he turned to see the blue-haired boy from earlier.

“What? No, of course n—”

“GO!”

Present Mic’s voice boomed from the speakers near the gates, leaving a bunch of the examinees momentarily confused.

"WHAT ARE YOU STANDING AROUND FOR? THERE'S NO COUNTDOWN IN A REAL BATTLE! GO, GO, GO!" he confirmed, sending the examinees into a scramble as they rushed toward the gate.

Momentarily distracted by the chaos, the blue-haired boy turned his attention back to the “green-haired delinquent” he had just reprimanded. He blinked in shock as Izuku suddenly sprouted a pair of mechanical wings from his back, the wings spreading wide with a metallic whir.

‘What on earth?!’ he thought, stepping back instinctively, lest he get knocked down by the sudden transformation.

Izuku, fully focused now, didn’t even notice. He kicked off the ground with a determined look in his eyes, the wings propelling him forward, leaving the stunned boy and the rest of the competition behind.

As Izuku soared through the air, he quickly spotted a pair of 1-pointers moving through the mock city. "Perfect," he muttered under his breath. Without hesitation, he angled his wings and dive-bombed toward them, claws out and ready, the mechanical joints of his wings whirring as they adjusted for maximum speed.

With a sharp, focused glare, he descended like a missile, aiming to tear into the robots with precision, already calculating the impact in his mind. This was his chance to show what he was made of.

Izuku landed with a resounding crash, his claws tearing into the first 1-pointer with brutal efficiency. The robot crumpled beneath him, its mechanical limbs locking up as it was crushed almost instantly.

Before he could even celebrate the quick takedown, the second robot lunged at him, its arm swinging toward his head. Izuku narrowly dodged the jab, his wings flicking out to give him an extra burst of agility. In a swift, fluid motion, he countered, slashing with his claws across the robot's arm. The sharp tips of his claws sliced clean through the metal, severing a large portion of its arm in a single strike.

The robot staggered back, now severely limited in its ability to fight. Izuku smirked, cracking his knuckles as he prepared to finish the job.

Izuku retracted his wings with a swift motion, dashing toward the staggered robot. The robot, desperate to defend itself, swung its remaining arm at him in a last-ditch effort. Izuku smoothly dodged, using the extended arm as a springboard to launch himself into the air. With his claws extended, he aimed directly for the robot’s head and, with a savage swipe, tore it clean off.

The robot’s body crumpled to the ground, now effectively out of commission. Izuku landed gracefully, a grin spreading across his face as he looked at the now headless machine. Without missing a beat, he crushed its head in his claws with a casual crunch, obliterating it into a heap of mangled scrap. "That’s two" he muttered, eyes scanning the area for his next target. "And not a single scratch on me." 

He wiped his hands off on his shorts, already hunting for more robots to take down. Izuku’s eyes locked onto his targets—two 2-pointers and four 1-pointers. "Bingo," he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips. He immediately shifted his clawed hand, the metal twisting and shifting as it morphed into a half-formed assault rifle, the barrel gleaming menacingly.

He didn’t hesitate. The first shot rang out with a deafening crack, the force of it sending a jolt through his arm. But as the rounds left the barrel, they weren’t typical bullets. Instead, metal marbles—heavier, denser—fired with blistering speed, tearing through the air like a storm of miniature wrecking balls.

The first shot collided with a 1-pointer’s chest, the impact creating a deep dent and sending it stumbling back. The next few shots hit its optics, shattering them in a burst of sparks, rendering it blind. Without pausing, Izuku shifted his aim, peppering another 1-pointer with a few quick rounds that tore through its limbs and torso.

He was already in motion as he fired. His wings flared out, propelling him forward in a blur of speed. In an instant, he was on the first 2-pointer, closing the gap. His clawed hand slashed downward, hitting the robot’s head with such precision and force that it crumpled under the attack like a tin can, its metal frame groaning before collapsing into a heap.

The sound of more shots echoed through the air as he fired off a few more rounds, shredding the remaining 1-pointers. 

Izuku instinctively ducked under the 2-pointer’s sudden tail strike, feeling the air whip above his head. Without missing a beat, he lashed out with his own tail, the harpoon-like stinger shooting forward and embedding itself deep into the robot’s head.

The robot stuttered, its body twitching violently as the bioluminescent liquid pumped through the stinger and into its system. Within seconds, the head began to melt, the metal warping and sizzling as it softened into a glowing, molten pool. The 2-pointer staggered backward, jerking awkwardly before finally collapsing with a loud crash, its head a bubbling mass of liquefied metal.

Breathing heavily but undeterred, Izuku landed lightly, his eyes scanning for his next targets. "Too easy," he muttered with a grin.

Izuku's eyes caught sight of another examinee—a blond-haired boy who obliterated a robot with a bright beam of light from his stomach. The victory was short-lived, though, as the boy immediately doubled over, clutching his stomach in obvious discomfort.

"He's wide open..." Izuku muttered, spotting a three-pointer a short distance away, its missile launcher primed and ready to fire at the unsuspecting teen. 

Izuku shifted his gun hand into something new—a sleek rocket launcher with a wide barrel, black and metallic body, glowing with yellow accents. He took aim and fired. The missile shot out with a sharp hiss, striking the three-pointer dead-on. A fiery explosion erupted, reducing the robot to a smoking heap of twisted metal, its remains burning in the aftermath.

The blond boy quickly took notice of what just happened and flashed Izuku a dazzling smile. “Merci beaucoup, mon ami! I really let my guard down back there, non?” He winked, still clutching his stomach as he tried to compose himself.

Izuku blinked in confusion at the blond boy's words but decided he couldn’t waste time. “Uh, yeah,” he replied hastily before sprouting his wings again and taking off to find more robots. His mind raced as he scanned the area. 'I'm at 13 points now, and it's only been three minutes. That’s good, but I need to do better if I want to make it in.'

"Quite an interesting batch this year," a woman with raven-black hair remarked, her sharp eyes scanning the screens showing the various examinees.

"They all show promise," replied a man with a body resembling a block of cement, his voice gruff. "But, as always, not all of them can make it in. Only the best will rise to the challenge." He crossed his arms, watching intently as the students fought through the robots, assessing their every move.

"That blond kid with the explosions, he's got the highest villain points so far. He's strong, but that attitude of his is concerning," a white-haired man in a red Spandex costume remarked as he observed a familiar explosive pomeranian, Bakugo, steal another examinee's points and then scream at them to 'fuck off'

"Problem children, every last one of them," another man muttered, his voice deadpan and dripping with sarcasm. His long black hair hung messily, framing eyes so sleep-deprived he could probably outlast an office worker in a coffee-fueled all-nighter.

He sighed deeply, watching the exam unfold. "At this rate, I’ll be lucky if they don’t put me in detention."

Toshinori, in his frail, emaciated form, let out a weak chuckle as he scanned the screens. The explosive blonde was making quite the impression, but something else caught his eye. He squinted at another screen and immediately recognized a green-haired boy, his arms replaced with razor-sharp blades, slicing through robots like they were birthday cakes.'Why does this kid seem so familiar?' 

"CAN I BE A HERO WITHOUT A QUIRK?"

"Wait... it's him! But didn’t he say he was quirkless? What’s going on here?" Toshinori thought, his mind racing with confusion. He quickly turned toward his academic superior.

"Nezu, mind pulling up that kid's file? I need to check something." he asked, his tone tense but controlled.

The one he addressed—a small creature resembling a mix between a mouse and a bear—tilted his head with a curious smile. "Oh? Someone's caught your attention already, Toshinori?" Nezu replied, pulling up the examinee files and scanning through until he found the one Toshinori requested.

"Let’s see… Izuku Midoriya, age 14, quirk: Absolute Arsenal, Aldera Junior High, an excellent student—" Nezu’s eyes narrowed slightly as he paused. "Oh my, this is rather... unexpected." He adjusted his posture, tapping the file thoughtfully. "It seems he went missing for some time. Very curious indeed. Perhaps there's more to this story than meets the eye, Toshinori."

"Missing? When? How?" Toshinori’s voice wavered, shock tightening his chest. "The 23rd of July, 2153," Nezu responded calmly, glancing over the file.

Toshinori’s heart sank, the date hitting him harder than he expected. 'That’s the same day...' His mind raced, dredging up memories of that hopeless search. 'The day I couldn’t find him... The day I crushed his dreams unjustly' His hands clenched into fists. 'Some hero I am, he thought bitterly. I couldn’t even help a single boy.'

He forced his gaze back to the screen, eyes locking onto the image of Midoriya, smirking with oil-drenched claws. His heart twisted. 'Just what happened to you in all that time, kid?'

"I'll look into Midoriya’s situation later," Nezu said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But for now... I think our examinees are getting a bit too comfortable." With that, he pressed the big red button on the dashboard, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

Izuku darted forward with explosive speed, narrowly dodging the faux missiles from the three-pointer as they exploded behind him in a cloud of dust and shrapnel. The massive robot swiped at him with its hulking arm, but before it could connect, Izuku slid beneath it, slashing upward with a fluid motion. His arm, now a gleaming blade, cut through the metal like paper, severing the bot’s limb in a shower of sparks.

He didn't hesitate. Momentum carried him forward as his arm shifted into a gun mid-stride. With a swift motion, he aimed at the towering machine’s head, unleashing a rapid volley of metal marbles. The projectiles hammered into the robot, each impact cratering its armor with an echoing clang. The final shot hit square in the processor, and the bot staggered backward, smoke billowing from its head, its systems short-circuiting. With one final groan of metal, the three-pointer collapsed, sparks flying from its limp form.

Izuku leaned on his blade arm, using it as a makeshift crutch, while wiping sweat from his forehead with his free hand. "That’s 67… phew," he muttered, his breath coming in shallow bursts. His body was feeling the strain, but the determined glint in his eyes hadn’t faded.

"I think I’ve got about five minutes left. 67 should be enough to pass, but I need more." He scanned the area, ready to push himself further despite the fatigue setting in. 

Izuku froze mid-search as the ground beneath him trembled violently, a deep rumble echoing through the area. His heart raced. "W-what? An earthquake?" he muttered, glancing around frantically.

But it wasn’t the earth itself. It was something much worse. The panicked screams of other examinees reached his ears as they fled past him. Following their line of sight, he turned—and his breath caught in his throat.

A towering green monstrosity of machinery lumbered into view. Its colossal frame cast a shadow that swallowed entire sections of the testing grounds. The Zero Pointer. Or, as some of the older students ominously referred to it: Executioner.

‘That’s the Zero Pointer? It’s huge! How does U.A. even afford this thing?’ Izuku thought, wings unfurling as he prepared to join the crowd of fleeing examinees.

But then—

"HELP!"

His head snapped back, spotting a brown-haired girl pinned under rubble. It was the same girl he’d noticed before the exam began.

‘Of course,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Everyone runs away, and I get to be the moron who runs towards certain death. Great plan, Izuku.’

He hesitated, glancing back at the executioner of a robot stomping closer. The Zero Pointer’s glowing red eyes seemed to mock him, as if saying, Yeah, kid, run. I’ll wait.

Izuku groaned, slapping his forehead. “Why do I do this to myself?!” Without another word, he dove toward the trapped girl.

"Somebody, please help me!" she cried out, panic overtaking her as the ground quaked beneath the advancing Zero Pointer. Her ankle was pinned beneath rubble from the building the massive robot had crushed moments earlier. Any attempt to move only worsened the pain from her likely broken ankle. She couldn’t free herself, couldn’t run, couldn’t fight back.

All she could do was close her eyes and hope—pray—that someone, anyone, would help her.

Her prayers were answered.

A green-haired boy descended from above, his mechanical wings flaring dramatically as he landed next to her. His clawed, metallic hand began ripping chunks of debris away like paper. His voice, steady despite the chaos, cut through her panic:

"Are you alright?"

She blinked up at him in shock. "Does it look like I’m alright?" was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back, suddenly aware that her rescuer looked about as exhausted as she felt.

"Y-yeah, but my ankle is broken... I can’t walk," she stammered, panic still evident in her voice.

The boy's gaze flicked to the Zero Pointer, its massive frame closing the distance with unsettling speed, then back to her. He tightened his jaw, determination flashing in his eyes.

"Hold on tight," he said firmly, crouching down.

Without hesitation, he hoisted her onto his back, careful to avoid jostling her injured ankle. Then, with a single, powerful flap of his metallic wings, they shot into the air, the force leaving cracks in the ground below.

They soared high, narrowly escaping as the Zero Pointer’s massive foot crashed down, obliterating the spot where they had stood moments earlier.

Uraraka was no stranger to floating through the air, but this was different—thrilling and terrifying all at once. As Midoriya soared, the wind whipped her hair wildly, making her feel like she was truly flying. But her awe was interrupted as Midoriya’s focus shifted. His sharp eyes locked onto the colossal robot below, its massive arm leaving a trail of destruction.

‘If it broke her ankle just by being near… what’s happening to everyone else?’ he thought grimly. His grip on his resolve tightened. 'I have to stop that thing.'

Midoriya spotted a familiar figure sprinting at blinding speed: the blue-haired boy who had earlier tried (and failed) to lecture him. Adjusting his trajectory, he dived sharply, aligning himself beside the runner.

“Huh? You again?” the boy snapped, his irritation cutting through the chaos.

Midoriya ignored the attitude, slowing his flight to match pace with the boy. “Take her,” he commanded, carefully transferring Uraraka to the boy’s arms.

“What—wait, what are you—” the blue-haired boy began, but Midoriya cut him off with a firm tone:

“I’m taking that thing down. You run.”

Without another word, Midoriya flared his wings and took off toward the looming Executioner.

As Midoriya soared toward the giant robot, his arm morphed into a rocket launcher with a mechanical hiss. Without hesitation, he fired a missile straight at the Executioner's head. The explosion rang out like a thunderclap, leaving a scorched mark on the massive machine but ultimately achieving little more than mildly annoying it.

The robot’s glowing red eyes swiveled to meet his, and its enormous body shifted with deliberate menace to face him fully.

“Great,” Midoriya muttered as the Executioner began to move, its metal joints groaning under its sheer weight. “I just pissed off a skyscraper on legs. Fantastic.”

The robot raised its arm to swat him from the sky like a fly, and Midoriya couldn’t help but grin bitterly to himself. Well, at least he won’t have to worry about student loans if he gets turned into roadkill.

He dodged the swipe, adrenaline spiking as the behemoth’s arm narrowly missed. Seriously, who designed this thing? And why do they hate children?. Midoriya fired off another missile, praying it would at least scratch the paint job.

The missile once again barely dented the Executioner’s towering frame, a fact it seemed to mock as it swung another massive punch toward the hovering Midoriya. He narrowly evaded, the air pressure alone making him reel, and watched helplessly as the fist obliterated the building behind him, turning concrete and steel into a fine dust cloud.

“Fantastic,” he muttered dryly, his eyes darting between the robot and the rubble. “Nothing like a giant death machine to remind you how fragile property values are.”

Hovering just out of the robot’s range, he flexed his arm, and the rocket launcher began to shift again, gears whirring and plates snapping into new positions. “Alright, if one missile won’t do it…” he said to himself, watching the barrel expand into something far more ominous the launcher itself now taking up to his forearm. “I guess I’ll just have to bring the bigger boom.”

The Executioner’s glowing eyes locked on him, its joints creaking as it raised both arms.

Midoriya smirked, his face glistening with sweat as he locked onto the target. A sleek, built-in sight slid out from his launcher, the kind of gadget that screamed, “I was designed to take down something bigger than your average household pest.” He steadied his aim and fired.

The missile that burst forth didn’t just look advanced—it looked like it had a doctorate in destruction. It tore through the air, almost as if it knew it was on a mission to prove superiority over every other piece of hardware in the vicinity. When it struck the robot’s raised arms, the resulting explosion wasn’t so much a blast as it was an insult to physics itself.

The Executioner staggered back, sparks and smoke pouring from the now-mangled arms. For a moment, it looked almost indignant—if a giant, soulless murder machine could express indignation. Midoriya hovered in place, watching the chaos unfold. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if U.A.’s insurance policy covered “overachieving examinees with apocalyptic tendencies.”

He fired another round of missiles, unleashing a barrage that made the helpless Executioner resemble a piñata at a party hosted by an arms dealer. The robot, clearly out of options, could only feebly lift the remnants of its arms in a futile attempt to block. It didn’t help—Midoriya’s precision ensured that each shot found its mark.  

The first missile hit dead center in the robot's chest, tearing through what remained of its armor and detonating inside. The resulting explosion sent mechanical components flying in every direction like confetti, ensuring the Executioner would never celebrate its one-year warranty.  

The second missile found its target on the robot’s back, hitting a critical mechanism and causing the massive machine to hunch forward as if bowing to its inevitable defeat.  

The third missile was the pièce de résistance, striking the Executioner square in the head. The explosion seriousy damaged said head, which was now flaming as well as the rest of its body where the missiles has struck.

Izuku recalled his launcher, its parts folding back seamlessly into his arm as though it had never been there, and took off towards the fallen robot's head. His wings shifted, the sharp metallic "feathers" rearranging themselves with mechanical precision, locking together to form a sleek, seed-shaped shell. With gravity and momentum on his side, he dove toward the damaged head at breakneck speed.

The pointed tip of his makeshift shell hit the robot’s already cracked skull, piercing through with an ear-splitting crunch. The force carried him cleanly through, fragments of metal scattering in his wake like shrapnel from an overstuffed vending machine. He emerged on the other side in a glorious burst of light and debris, the lifeless head collapsing in on itself.

Izuku continued his descent, the shell grinding against the sidewalk as he slowed, carving a jagged trench into the pavement that would surely get him an angry letter from U.A.'s maintenance team. With a calculated flick, the wings unfurled in one fluid motion, the "feathers" shimmering in the sunlight as he flipped upright with practiced grace. 

Izuku touched down with a soft rustle of his wings, eyes scanning the damage left by the Zero Pointer. The ground around him was littered with debris, the colossal machine now a crumpled heap after its system failed. He winced as the explosion rang out, a shockwave forcing him to instinctively shield himself with his right wing, the impact rattling him but not doing much harm.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall, but that was just ridiculous," he muttered, catching his breath. 

A loud horn sounded, followed by Present Mic’s enthusiastic voice echoing through the stadium. "ANDD THAT'S A WRAP, THE EXAM IS OVER!"

Izuku slumped in exhaustion, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Aw man, I wasted all my time on that stupid robot," he muttered, oblivious to the astonished looks of his fellow examinees, who were still processing the unbelievable sight they had just witnessed.

"IF YOU HAVE ANY INJURIES, PLEASE APPROACH RECOVERY GIRL TO GET THEM FIXED UP. AFTER YOU DO, PLEASE EXIT THE PREMISES. GOOD LUCK LITTLE LISTENERS!" Present Mic continued, the announcement booming across the grounds.

Izuku remained focused on his own thoughts, unaware that his chaotic, heroic actions had left quite the impression. The other examinees, still staring at him in awe, slowly began making their way toward Recovery Girl, all while exchanging stunned glances at the green-haired boy who had just single-handedly obliterated the Zero Pointer.

"Did you see that guy? That was crazy! Man, if that’s the competition, I don’t think I’m passing," one of the examinees murmured, still wide-eyed from the spectacle.

"I know, right? He was like a one-man army with those weapons!" his friend replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

Izuku was snapped from his thoughts when a small, elderly woman in unique medical attire approached him. "Alright, do you have any injuries, Sonny?" Recovery Girl asked with a kind smile.

Izuku fought every urge to fangirl, trying to remain composed. "No, my quirk lets me heal. I'm just a bit tired," he replied, forcing down his excitement.

"Well, that’s nice, dear," Recovery Girl said, reaching into her coat and pulling out a gummy bear. "Here, have one of these. It'll replenish your energy." Izuku took the candy with gratitude and quickly popped it into his mouth, feeling a burst of energy.

As he walked away from the mock city, he couldn’t help but think of the girl he had helped earlier. 'I hope she got medical attention,' he thought, his mind lingering on the girl trapped under the rubble.

Tsukauchi was tired—exhausted, in fact. The boy had been found. Alive, well, and somehow with a quirk he didn’t have before. That alone was enough to send alarms ringing in Tsukauchi’s mind. How did a boy who had vanished for five months return so suddenly, appearing almost completely malnourished, only to make a miraculous recovery? And how did he go from quirkless to possessing one of the most powerful ones he’d seen? There was something deeply wrong about the situation, something Tsukauchi couldn’t shake.

Then there was the matter of the strange mural, its cryptic meaning gnawing at him. He had even gone so far as to test the blood, but the results came back inconclusive—just like everything else. Nothing about the situation made any sense. His colleagues urged him to drop it, to move on, but Tsukauchi couldn’t let it go. Every unanswered question, every missing piece, was pushing him to dig deeper.

Tsukauchi sat back in his chair, his mind running through the events again. His eyes scanned the clutter of papers and files across his desk, but his thoughts were focused elsewhere. The strangest part of this investigation, the part that gnawed at him relentlessly, was the interaction with Izuku Midoriya. Every time he asked Midoriya simple, direct questions, his quirk—the one designed to detect lies—picked up two different answers from two different people. Two conflicting truths, both seeming to come from the same boy.

One answer was telling the truth, and the other was lying. But Midoriya was the only person there.

The implications of that, the impossibility of it, unsettled him deeply. It wasn’t a simple case of a liar or a confused person. It was as if there were two distinct identities, two separate voices within the same body, each providing a piece of the puzzle but hiding the rest.

There were two theories.

Midoriya was hiding something.

Or something... was hiding inside of Midoriya.

Chapter Text

Stareee

"Uhm, Izuku?" Inko Midoriya asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed her son locked in a fierce staring contest with the fish on his plate.

"H-huh?" Izuku snapped out of his trance, realizing what he was doing. "Oh, sorry, Mom, I was just... thinking about the entrance exam. I don’t know why it’s taking so long for the letter to arrive," he muttered, eyes dropping back to the plate. "What if I didn’t make it in at all?"

Inko gave him a soft smile. "Izuku, you’ve worked so hard. You’re a hero to me, no matter what the letter says."

Izuku gave a small, uncertain smile. "Thanks, Mom," he mumbled, then glanced back at the fish. "Guess I’ll you before you start judging me too."

--MEANWHILE AT U.A--

"Absolute Arsenal," Nezu’s voice, unmistakably bright yet sharp, echoed in his office as he read through a particular green-haired teen's file. "Allows the creation of weapons via nanometallic cells that his body naturally produces. Quite simple in theory..." His voice trailed off as he shifted his focus to the monitor in front of him, where footage played—Izuku Midoriya stabbing a 2-pointer with that strange stinger of his, causing the glowing liquid inside to melt the robot’s head into a molten goo within seconds.

"But this acid..." Nezu muttered, an unsettling realization creeping over him. He turned to the desk beside him, where a test tube rested containing a sample of the acid. It was the same substance seen in the video, dripping from the weapon. He analyzed it further.

Tests confirmed the acid was made from the exact same nanometallic cells that Midoriya’s body produces. But then, there was something else, something far more disconcerting: the acid appeared to move on its own, almost like it had a will of its own.

Nezu adjusted his reading glasses thoughtfully. “It doesn’t make any sense. A self-propelling acid, birthed from a boy’s own cells. What else is he capable of...?”

He steepled his paws in contemplation, realizing this new development raised more questions than answers. There was also the matter of Izuku's ranged weapons, particularly his guns and rocket launcher. Nezu furrowed his brow, reviewing the footage again. Guns typically rely on the combustion of oxygen to propel bullets at high speeds, but Midoriya's seemed to operate on a similar principle—yet, unlike traditional firearms, the magazines never seemed to run out of ammunition.

Nezu found himself wondering if the magazines even served a true purpose or if they were merely a visual component. Given that Midoriya's weapons functioned as extensions of his body, it was possible that his quirk provided a constant supply of ammunition. "Is it simply a part of his internal mechanism? Or is there something far more complex at play here?" Nezu mused, tapping his claws thoughtfully.

This new layer of Midoriya's abilities was both fascinating and troubling. Each weapon seemed to blend seamlessly into his body’s own systems, blurring the line between organic and artificial. What was truly going on inside him, and what hidden capabilities lay beneath the surface? Nezu’s mind raced with possibilities, unsure of just how deep the mystery ran. 

When it comes to Midoriya's rocket launchers, the questions only multiply. Where, exactly, does his body source the components necessary to create a highly advanced, military-grade ballistic missile in mere seconds? Building such weapons requires materials like high-grade metals, precision-crafted alloys, and complex propellants—substances that are beyond the scope of most human capabilities, especially if they are being produced within the body.

To break it down scientifically: missiles typically require alloys such as titanium, tungsten, or various steel alloys for the casing and structural components, materials that can withstand extreme pressure and heat. Additionally, missiles rely on sophisticated propellants (like liquid or solid rocket fuels) and guidance systems, which are complex mechanical and electronic components.

Now, imagine Midoriya producing these materials from within his own body. Not only does it seem impossible for his body to generate the raw materials required—such as high-density metals, complex chemicals, and sensitive electronics—but there’s also the issue of the sheer toxicity of many of these substances. For instance, chemicals used in rocket propellants and explosives, like hydrazine, are incredibly dangerous to the human body. They can cause immediate damage to internal organs, respiratory failure, and long-term poisoning if exposed to them in large amounts.

Yet, Midoriya appears unaffected. His body's resistance to these substances, particularly to their toxic effects, raises even more questions. Could his nanometallic cells possess some kind of natural filtration system, allowing him to process and eliminate these harmful chemicals? Or is his biology fundamentally altered in ways that make him immune to these dangers, allowing him to safely create these materials inside his own body?

It’s an enigma that only deepens the mystery of Midoriya’s quirk, suggesting that the boundaries of his abilities stretch far beyond the ordinary.

And then there are the wings. Oh, lord have mercy, those wings. From a purely scientific standpoint, Midoriya’s wings should be impossible.

If they’re made from the same dense nanometallic cells as the rest of his weaponry, the laws of physics suggest he should be grounded. Those wings, resembling a cluster of blades more than feathers, are far too heavy for flight. Wings of this density should never be able to generate the necessary lift to carry his body. And yet, somehow, Midoriya takes to the skies with ease, defying everything known about aerodynamics.

Even stranger? Midoriya's wings don't even need to flap once he's airborne. When in the air, they remain eerily still, held in place as if they're no longer serving any function. How is this possible? The sheer force needed to stay in flight without any visible propulsion mechanism should be beyond comprehension. It's as though something is secretly driving him through the air, but no matter how many times Nezu examines the data, he can't identify the source.

Could there be a hidden propulsion mechanism inside Midoriya’s body, one that isn't immediately visible? Perhaps some kind of nano-assisted thrusters or gravitational manipulation built into his wings or body itself? Despite Nezu’s intelligence and advanced understanding of quirks, this enigma has him stumped. How could Midoriya generate enough thrust to remain airborne with a wing structure that, on paper, should be incapable of flight? The possibilities seem endless, and yet they all spiral into more questions without clear answers.

And then there's his regeneration. A minor detail in the grand scheme of things, but still... his healing ability is alarming. The records show that Midoriya can repair damage to his body at an astonishing rate—a broken arm fixed in less than 3 seconds. Regeneration isn't exactly an anomaly in the world of quirks, but this level of rapid recovery? It’s unheard of. And the fact that it’s so consistent makes it even more terrifying.

But here's where things start to get even more bizarre. His regeneration seems to function alongside his nanometallic cells, which raises the uncomfortable possibility that his entire healing process might just involve turning damaged tissue into some form of metal, before converting it back to flesh at an inhuman speed. The theory that nanocells could be repurposed for tissue regeneration makes some sense, but the sheer efficiency of it? That doesn’t. It’s almost as if he’s using his nanometallic body to repair itself faster than anything should be physically possible.

Which brings us back to the fundamental question: How much one quirk can do? So far, he’s got claws, swords, guns, missiles, flight, and now regeneration—and it all stems from the same source. It’s too much. No one should be able to wield all these abilities at once, but Midoriya does so effortlessly, almost as if it's second nature to him. Not to mention, doctors have started to suspect that Midoriya might be able to custom-make his own weapons. This suggests that, in theory, he could invent an entirely new weapon from scratch, drawing only from his imagination. Imagine that—creating a completely unique weapon based on nothing but his mental design and his quirk's ability to manifest it through nanometallic cells. This would not just be about replicating existing items but creating something entirely new each time.

Every time Nezu goes over Midoriya’s file, it only gets more overwhelming. Regeneration, like the other abilities, could be explained in isolation, but when combined with the rest of his powers, it forms a terrifyingly complete package. Midoriya’s quirk is an enigma wrapped in impossibilities, and the more Nezu thinks about it, the more he begins to wonder: 'How much of this is truly his own power, and how much is something else entirely?'

And for the real sugar on the cream: Izuku’s quirk awakened just five months ago—the same amount of time he was missing. Before that, he was pronounced kidnapped, only to reappear malnourished and seemingly broken. Then, within those five months, he not only awakened his quirk but mastered it to an unsettling degree.

As if that weren’t enough, his physical growth bordered on supernatural. According to doctors, his training yielded 78% more gains than a normal person could expect, transforming him from a frail, malnourished boy into a lean, muscular teen of average height. In just five months, he closed the gap between years of development.

The timeline alone was impossible to ignore—kidnapped, returned, awakened, and then becoming a one-man army in the span of a single school semester. If this was progress, what would he look like in a year?

And if the situation wasn’t baffling enough, it got even more surreal when the entrance exam results came in. Izuku not only dominated the practical portion with his combat prowess, but he also achieved a 96% on the written exam—just shy of the top score of 98% by Momo Yaoyorozu.

This wasn’t just a kid with a shiny new quirk. This was someone who, within five months, went from a quirkless nobody to a physical powerhouse with tactical brilliance and academic excellence to match. At this rate, Nezu couldn’t help but think, What’s next? Is he going to rewrite physics, too?

Nezu leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the monitor replaying Izuku’s exam performance. Everything about this boy screamed anomaly—from the impossibly advanced quirk to his meteoric rise in physical and intellectual prowess.

He tapped his paws against the desk, deep in thought. Izuku Midoriya wasn’t just a student; he was a walking puzzle, and Nezu loved puzzles. If his suspicions were correct, this quirk wasn’t just crafting weapons—it was something far beyond that. Something revolutionary.

“The acceptance letter should have reached his residence by now,” Nezu mused, a smile that the teachers all feared tugging at his lips. “Izuku Midoriya... You are quite the case, aren’t you? I simply must see how far your potential can go.”

Izuku stared at his screen. 

Izuku stared at his computer screen, brows furrowing in deep concentration. There was something about the faint glitches flickering across it—so subtle they could’ve been figments of his imagination. Still, his curiosity gnawed at him. Just as his hand reached toward the screen, compelled by some strange instinct…

“IZUKU!!”

His mother’s frantic voice shattered his focus, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the hall. Inko burst into his room, panting and wide-eyed, clutching a pristine envelope emblazoned with U.A.’s unmistakable insignia.

“IT CAME!” she exclaimed, holding it out with trembling hands.

After a minor heart attack and an adrenaline rush from his mother’s unexpected enthusiasm, Izuku finally managed to calm both of them down. Now, the envelope rested on his desk, its U.A. insignia gleaming in the light, almost taunting him with its weight of possibility.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku steadied his trembling hands. Here goes nothing, he thought, tearing open the envelope.

A small disk slipped out, clattering onto his desk. He blinked in confusion, watching as it lit up and began projecting a hologram.

Wait a second... “ALL MIGHT?!” Izuku yelped, his voice cracking.

"HA HA HA HA, YES, YOUNG MAN, I AM HERE! AS A HOLOGRAPHIC RECORDING!" All Might's booming voice echoed through the room from the glowing disk. "AND I AM HERE TO TELL YOU YOUR TEST RESULTS!"

Izuku, caught between sheer awe and existential dread, snapped his attention to the recording. This was it. The moment that decided his fate: hero or soul-crushed convenience store cashier.

"First, your written exam score—a VERY impressive 96%! Second place overall! Enough to secure you a spot in the general course. BUT YOU'RE HERE TO BECOME A HERO!" All Might leaned in dramatically, or as much as a hologram could, sending Izuku into a silent internal scream. "SO, LET'S SEE HOW YOUR PRACTICAL PERFORMANCE STACKS UP!"

A screen beside All Might lit up, displaying Izuku's scores. “Through your relentless determination and incredible combat prowess, you scored an impressive 67 villain points! A truly outstanding result, young Midoriya! This alone secures your place in the Hero Course!”

Izuku’s heart soared, his eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and disbelief. He had done it—he was in!

“But wait!” All Might’s booming voice interrupted before Izuku could fully celebrate. “THERE’S MORE!”

Izuku blinked, puzzled, his attention snapping back to the projection.

“At U.A., we don’t just build powerful heroes. We forge beacons of hope—individuals who inspire others through their actions and embody the spirit of heroism! And, young man, you exemplified that spirit in ways few could match!”

The hologram shifted, playing clips of Izuku's heroic efforts during the exam. It showed him aiding overwhelmed examinees, protecting them from sneak attacks, and most notably, saving a particular brown-haired girl trapped beneath rubble as others fled.

“YOUR HEROIC ACTIONS NOT ONLY IMPRESSED THE TEACHERS BUT ALSO INSPIRED A FELLOW EXAMINEE!” All Might declared, his voice filled with admiration.

The projection transitioned to a recording of the very girl he had saved, leaving Izuku wide-eyed.

“Uhm, Present Mic, sir,” the girl began, her voice hesitant but earnest. “There was this green-haired guy... he saved me from the Zero Pointer. But because of that, he couldn’t get more points…” She hesitated before continuing, “So, I was wondering if I could… maybe give him some of mine?”

Present Mic’s cheerful voice responded with a reassuring laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, little listener! That won’t be necessary. The score he’s got already? Let’s just say it’s more than enough to pass!”

The scene cut back to All Might, who gave a proud, knowing smile. “Young Midoriya, your actions spoke volumes about your character. You didn’t just earn points; you earned the respect of your peers. That, my boy, is what it truly means to be a hero.”

"I was wrong about you, and I’m so glad I was, young man,” All Might said, his voice filled with pride and sincerity. “But now, I must apologize by giving you the answer you’ve been waiting for. Yes, Midoriya... YOU CAN BE A HERO!”

Those words shattered the weight of years of doubt and despair. They were the words Izuku had yearned for, prayed for, and clung to in his darkest moments. The dam of emotions finally burst, and tears flowed freely as the overwhelming joy consumed him. For the first time in his life, the dream he had clung to so desperately was no longer just a dream. It was real.

The hologram paused for emphasis, his voice brimming with pride. “Because of your selfless acts and heroic resolve, you earned an additional 60 rescue points! Combined, that’s an astounding 127 points! THE TOP PLACE IN THE ENTIRE ENTRANCE EXAM! Welcome to U.A., young Midoriya. You have the heart of a true hero!”

The hologram flickered off, leaving Izuku Midoriya in stunned silence. His face was streaked with tears—not of sadness, but of pure, overwhelming joy. His hands trembled as he wiped his eyes, trying to process what had just happened. He had made it. He had made it.

He stepped out into the hallway, where his mother waited anxiously. Seeing the look on his face, her worry instantly melted into a burst of joy. Izuku couldn’t help but grin as he shared the news—he had passed. Not only that, but he was top of the exam. His mother was so elated she immediately set about making his favorite dish: Katsudon, a steaming bowl of comforting breaded pork cutlet over rice. Tonight, they would celebrate—together, as family.

This has had to be the best day of his life.

This had to be the worst day of his life.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" The furious roar of Katsuki Bakugou filled the entire household, rattling the walls and shaking the floor. His voice, raw with rage, echoed through the quiet of the Bakugou home. "HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN?!"

The very thought of it made his blood boil. Him. Katsuki Bakugou. Second place. To DEKU?! The mere idea was so absurd it felt like his brain was trying to melt out of his skull. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging so deep into his palms that he was pretty sure he was trying to draw blood just to feel something that made sense. The rage swirling inside him was so thick, he could almost taste it like sulfur in the back of his throat.

Deku?

The same kid Katsuki Bakugou had always looked down on, the same kid he’d spent years tormenting. How the hell had he beaten him? No, no, no, this was impossible. The mere thought of it made his blood boil. His brain was running in circles, each thought a raw, jagged shard scraping against his sanity. Deku—that quirkless, weak little shit—had scored higher than him. Katsuki’s chest rose and fell with each harsh, ragged breath as his mind shattered and pieced itself together again, each part more furious than the last.

There was only one explanation that made sense.

"He fucking cheated!" he bellowed, the words ripping out of him like a beast tearing through its cage. "That’s the only explanation. He had to have cheated—there’s no other way!"

His teeth ground so hard it felt like they might shatter. His eyes were wide, burning with the kind of fury that could level cities, and his hands twitched, wanting to explode in a fit of violence. He couldn’t just sit there. He couldn’t let it slide. He had to find out. He had to know how the hell Deku pulled off this impossible feat. And if there was even the slightest chance of foul play, he’d make sure Midoriya paid for it in the only way that made sense.

But for now, all Bakugou could do was rage. His body shook with pent-up fury, a storm of anger raging inside him. Midoriya had ruined everything. Everything. And Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t about to let some quirkless bastard get away with it.

Today was the day. The first day of his journey toward becoming a hero. Izuku stood ready, his uniform neat and pristine—a grey blazer, red tie, white shirt, and black trousers. His breakfast was eaten, his bag packed, and his resolve unshakable. He was ready.

As he moved toward the door, his mother's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Izuku..."

Turning around, he saw her standing there, smiling warmly, her eyes filled with pride. "Yes, Mom?" he asked.

"I just want you to know," she began, her voice gentle but full of conviction, "I am so proud of you. I think you’re really cool." She punctuated her statement with two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Izuku’s heart swelled at her words. A wide, grateful smile spread across his face as he responded, his voice thick with emotion, "Thanks, Mom."

With that, he stepped out of the house, ready to face the world and the challenges ahead.

"1-A, 1-A, 1-A... Ha! Found it!" Izuku said, his face lighting up in relief as he finally located his classroom. The door loomed ominously large, an architectural choice likely meant to accommodate students with quirks that turned them into Godzilla on steroids. Izuku took a steadying breath, his mind racing with hope. ‘Please don’t be Kacchan. Please don’t be the glasses guy. Please—’

Sliding the door open, Izuku was immediately greeted by the unmistakable sound of hell breaking loose.

“Fuck off, Four Eyes!” Katsuki’s voice boomed, the blonde lounging in his chair with his boots obnoxiously perched on the desk.

“How dare you!” the bespectacled student snapped back, his arms flailing in exaggerated indignation. “Using such vulgar language in a prestigious institution is disgraceful! And get your feet off the desk this instant! It’s disrespectful to your peers, the seniors before us, and the future heroes who will sit there!”

"Did your old school drive that stick up your ass, or were you born with it?" Bakugou sneered, his voice dripping with venom as he leaned back even further in his chair, balancing precariously on two legs.

Izuku froze in the doorway, his soul quietly trying to evacuate his body. He wanted to back out, leave, pretend this wasn’t happening. But no, this was his life now.

Welcome to U.A., Midoriya. 

[MID-MOCKING LAUGHTER]

Izuku’s head snapped around. “Huh?” He glanced over his shoulder. He could’ve sworn he heard something. A cackling laugh, faint but distinct. Maybe it was just the wind. Yeah, that had to be it. Definitely not ominous voices mocking his existence.

Before he could dwell on it further, his thoughts were interrupted by the sharp bark of a voice.

“You there!”

‘Crap.’ Izuku stiffened, immediately recognizing the stern, bespectacled boy from earlier. He approached with unnerving speed, his stride purposeful, like a missile locked onto its target. ‘He's going to lecture me again, isn't he? I don’t think I can handle another speech about respect right now.’

To Izuku’s shock, the boy abruptly stopped in front of him, bowing deeply. “I am Tenya Iida, and I must humbly apologize for my earlier assumptions.”

“Huh?” Izuku blinked, utterly lost. “Assumptions? About what?”

Iida straightened, his tone earnest. “I initially believed you to be an unworthy candidate who had cheated their way into U.A., but upon closer observation, I see now that you possess an exceptional and noble character far beyond my comprehension.”

‘...Wait, what?’

“Not only were you able to pinpoint the reason Present Mic skipped the zero-pointer,” Iida said, his voice brimming with admiration, “but you also deduced the existence of the rescue points system—a feat of both logic and intuition! For that, I must humbly admit, you are the superior student.”

Izuku froze, unsure of how to respond. ‘Wait…what? I didn’t figure out any of that! I was just…winging it?’ He smiled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Uh…thanks, I guess?”

Before Izuku could even attempt to clarify, Iida continued, completely missing the panic in his expression. “Your actions are an example we should all strive to emulate! Truly, I must aspire to match your level of insight and heroism.”

‘Oh no,’ Izuku thought, dread pooling in his stomach. ‘He’s going to be so disappointed when he finds out I had no idea what I was doing.’

Izuku was so engrossed in his conversation with Iida that he completely failed to notice Bakugou’s murderous glare drilling into the back of his head. If sheer force of will could cause spontaneous combustion, Midoriya would’ve been ash by now.

“Hey, I know that messy green hair!” a bubbly voice called out, cutting through the tension. Izuku turned around to see the girl he’d saved during the exam.

“You passed! That’s such a relief! But isn’t it crazy? We’re in the same class! What are the chances?” she said with an infectious enthusiasm. “Oh, and I’m Ochaco! Ochaco Uraraka.”

Normally, this would’ve been the part where Izuku’s brain decided, “Hey, I’m out, good luck!” leaving him to flounder like a drowning fish gasping for air. His internal monologue would descend into an orchestra of panic, complete with crashing cymbals and a banshee scream in the background. Stammering? Check. Involuntary sweating? Double check. Potential cardiac arrest? A strong maybe.

But not today.

“Oh, hey! You made it in, too,” he replied, his tone calm and collected. “I’m Izuku.”

Bakugou’s eye twitched violently. Calm? Calm?! This was Deku! He wasn’t supposed to function properly around girls, let alone talk to one like a normal person. Katsuki leaned forward, fists clenched. ‘What the actual hell is going on here?!’

"I wonder who our teacher is gonna be! I'm so excited I just can't wait!" Ochaco practically bounced on her feet, her energy infectious enough to make even the shyest person smile. Midoriya, however, noticed something else—her movements. His eyes instinctively glanced at her ankle, recalling the injury she'd sustained during the entrance exam.

“Oh, your ankle’s healed already?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his tone.

“Hm?” She tilted her head for a moment before realizing what he meant. “Oh yeah! Recovery Girl fixed it good as new!” She stretched her leg a little, as if to prove the point.

"Oh, and I never got to ask, what's your qu—" Izuku began, but he was abruptly cut off by a tired, almost irritated voice.

"If you're here to make friends, pack your things and get out," the voice drawled.

The students turned toward the desk, where a yellow cocoon-like sleeping bag was stirring. The bag unzipped, revealing a man who looked like he’d just lost a week-long staring contest with insomnia. His long black hair was disheveled, his expression screamed “I’d rather be anywhere else,” and his entire vibe was a mix of apathy and exhaustion.

The man, whom the students would soon learn was their homeroom teacher, grabbed a stack of U.A. gym uniforms from his sleeping bag and tossed them onto the desk with the enthusiasm of a sloth on a hot day. “Put these on and meet me at Training Grounds C,” he said, his monotone voice barely rising above a mumble.

Confusion spread across the room, most evident on Uraraka’s face. “But what about orientation?” she asked hesitantly.

The man fixed her with a tired stare, somehow managing to exude annoyance without raising his voice. “This is a hero school. We have three years to turn you into the beacons of hope for tomorrow. We don’t have time for pointless celebrations. Now go,” he finished, his sarcasm so dry it could’ve started a fire.

The class collectively decided not to argue.

As the students filed into Training Grounds C, the perpetually exhausted man was already waiting for them, standing with the posture of someone who’d lost a fight with a mattress.

“It took you all eight minutes to get here,” he stated flatly, not even bothering to look up from the digital clipboard he held. His tone was so devoid of energy it made coffee seem like a myth. “We’ll need to fix that.”

Some students exchanged uneasy glances, while others shifted nervously. Katsuki just sneered, muttering something explosive under his breath.

Without giving them a chance to respond, the man continued, still monotone but with the faintest edge of menace. “Let’s see if you’re worth my time. Today’s activity is a Quirk Apprehension Test."

The man lazily tossed a ball to Midoriya, barely lifting his hand above waist level. “Midoriya,” he muttered, his voice still monotone, “you scored first in the entrance exams. You go first.”

He gestured toward a white circle painted on the ground. “Step into that circle and throw the ball as far as you can. Anything within the circle goes. Use your Quirk.”

Izuku swallowed hard as the other students' eyes locked onto him, some curious, others judgmental. He felt the weight of expectation settle on his shoulders like a boulder. Bakugou, standing off to the side, glared daggers at him, his expression daring him to mess up.

“Oh, and don’t hold back,” the man added flatly, his gaze barely lifting from the digital clipboard. “This isn’t a kiddie playground.”

Midoriya’s nerves buzzed, but he nodded, stepping into the circle with the ball in hand. This was his chance to prove he deserved to be here—no pressure, right?

'Hah! This is perfect,' Bakugou thought, his smirk growing as he watched Midoriya stand frozen, staring at the ball like it held the secrets of the universe. 'Now everyone will see what a useless fraud Deku really is. He’ll choke, embarrass himself, and they’ll expel his ass right then and there!'

His crimson eyes glinted with malicious glee as he crossed his arms, picturing the scene already: Midoriya stammering excuses, teachers shaking their heads in disappointment, and the entire class laughing him out of U.A.

‘Game over, Deku,’ Bakugou thought, his smirk widening to the point where it looked like his face might break. All the while, Izuku was still silently calculating, his gaze fixed on the ball, oblivious to the inferno of schadenfreude blazing a few feet away.

'Im not that physically strong compared to strength enhancers, so throwing it normally wouldn't work. Claws might be stronger, but that's a big 'if,' Izuku thought, frustration bubbling under the surface. But then, a sudden idea lit up his mind. 'Got it!'

With a surge of determination, his hand began to shift, pieces of his arm warping and twisting into the familiar shape of his rocket launcher. But this time—something was off. Even after the form was complete, it kept changing, adjusting itself in ways he didn’t expect. The pieces seemed to have a mind of their own, constantly shifting in and out of configurations, like a machine that couldn't quite decide on its final form.

Bakugou's eyes widened in disbelief, his brain struggling to keep up with what he was seeing. 'WHAT THE FUCK?!' His thoughts screamed in pure confusion and rage. 

[PROCESSING…]

[HOST RECONSTRUCTING: HAND TO COMBAT MODULE…]

[CONFIGURATION MODE: ADAPTIVE…]

[NEW SYSTEM CODE: “BALL LAUNCHER” SELECTED…]

[WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED FORM DETECTED…]

[CORE INTEGRITY: STABLE]

[WEAPON DESIGN: IMPROVISING...]

[ERROR CODE 002: SYSTEMS INCOMPATIBLE…]

[RE-OPTIMIZING TRAJECTORY SYSTEM…]

[MANEUVER MODE: ROCKET PROPULSION…]

[OBJECTIVE: LAUNCH…]

[ERROR: SYSTEMS UNSTABLE…]

[RECONFIGURATION IN PROGRESS…]

[LAUNCH MODE: FULL FIRE POWER]

[ASSEMBLING... COMPLETE.]

[ACTIVATING…]

Once the transformation was complete, Izuku’s left arm shifted into something entirely unexpected. The design was minimalist and utilitarian—no flashy adornments, no unnecessary complexity. Instead, it mirrored the sleek functionality of his rocket launchers, but more refined, purpose-built for a specific task. The forearm clicked and rotated with mechanical precision, quickly forming a compact, barrel-shaped launcher that seemed almost custom-made for the ball throw. It was clean, efficient, and designed for performance, its simple, powerful design a stark contrast to the usual chaos of his other weapons.

His classmates gawked in amazement, their eyes wide at the sight of something new and unexpected. But Izuku, still processing the strange turn of events, stared at his arm in confusion.

'What is this? This isn’t my rocket launcher...'

He waved his new arm around in a panicked gesture. It didn’t feel right—this wasn’t something he’d planned for. His Arsenal had always been a set of clear, usable tools. This? This was... new.

"Midoriya!" the teacher barked, snapping him from his thoughts. "We don’t have all day."

Izuku's eyes widened at the sharp command. "R-right!" he stammered, trying to regain focus. His heart raced as he looked at the ball in his launcher. 'Well, this is it. Please, please work.'

He quickly inserted the ball, adjusting the angle of his new weapon, trying to line it up with the best trajectory. A brief moment of hesitation filled him with doubt, but with one last look at his classmates and the pressure mounting, he pulled the trigger.

The moment Izuku fired the ball, the launcher erupted in a violent explosion, sending a shockwave rippling through the air. The force was enough to throw him back, his feet sliding across the ground as a fierce gust of wind swept through the students, knocking some of them off balance. The ball shot forward with an intensity that seemed almost otherworldly, leaving behind a fiery trail that lit up the sky. The explosive recoil echoed like a cannon blast, the flame streaking across the horizon as it rocketed away, defying expectations with an almost cinematic grace. The sheer power of the launch left the entire training ground in stunned silence, as if the world had momentarily stopped to witness the impact.

The teacher's grin twisted into something unsettling, his eyes narrowing as he presented the results.

"965.33 meters," he announced, his voice cold and calculating.

The class erupted in surprise.

"No way, that's crazy!" the boy with yellow lightning-streaked hair exclaimed.

"We get to use our quirks? Totally manly!" said the red-haired student, pumped with excitement.

"This is going to be so fun!" added the pink-skinned girl, her enthusiasm evident.

But the teacher's expression darkened instantly. His tone dropped to something sharp and menacing, silencing the room in an instant.

"Fun?" he questioned ominously. "This is the top hero school in all of Japan, built to train you to the bone. And you're talking about having fun? Well, how about this then..."

He leaned forward, the smile that crept across his face sending a chill through the students.

"Whoever gets last place... is expelled immediately."

The grounds went deathly silent. Uraraka's jaw dropped. “E-expelled?! On the first day?! Isn’t that against the rules?”

He glanced at her with an expression that could only be described as "I'm too tired for this." “I am the rules,” he deadpanned.

"U.A. gives us a lot of freedom when it comes to how teachers handle their classes," the teacher continued with a tone so dry it could suck the life out of a room. "It's what makes teaching so efficient."

"T-that's not fair! We worked hard to get here! You can't just kick us out on the first day!" Uraraka shot back, visibly upset.

The teacher's expression didn't change. "Rampaging villains, natural disasters, car accidents—the list goes on. But I'm going to cut to the point: life isn't fair. So, you either keep up, or you don't bother trying," he said with a finality that left no room for argument. Uraraka fell silent.

"Good. Now—"

Suddenly, a loud, explosive yell interrupted.

"DEKU!!! I'LL KILL YOU!!" Bakugou's voice rang out as he charged at Midoriya, his hands glowing with rage and the unmistakable energy of his quirk. He was dead set on blowing him up.

Midoriya, panic-stricken, quickly tried to shield himself with his arms, but before Bakugou could even get close, the homeless teacher acted. Stripes of his scarf shot out like living tendrils, coiling around Bakugou with inhuman precision, halting him in his tracks. Bakugou struggled, trying to blast his way out, but something was wrong. His quirk, once an unstoppable force, refused to cooperate—flickering out in what seemed like defiance.

Bakugou was about to scream again, but the moment he opened his mouth, Aizawa's piercing gaze shut him down. His eyes glowed a fierce, unnatural red as his hair subtly began to levitate, a clear signal of his control over the situation. He leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous, like a predator closing in on its prey.

"What exactly," Aizawa’s tone was ice-cold, every word weighted with venom, "do you think you're doing, Katsuki?"

The scarf tightened, the pressure mounting, and Bakugou's body went rigid with pain. Aizawa's expression was deathly serious, and the air around them felt thick with threat.

His eyes glowing red and hair now floating slightly, the teacher leaned in, his voice like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. "I’ll say this once and only once, Katsuki. I’ve read your file. You were a big fish in a small pond, thinking you're some special, irreplaceable gem. But here? You’re just another student, one I can easily expel if you try that stunt again. Understood?"

The suffocating silence hung in the air until Bakugou grudgingly nodded. Without another word, the teacher released him, and Bakugou stumbled back, seething but subdued.

Izuku, watching the tense scene unfold, finally put the pieces together. "You're... the underground Eraser Head!" he exclaimed, realizing the teacher’s identity.

Aizawa, a bit irked but keeping his cool, thought briefly about the annoyance of having fans when his whole shtick as an underground hero was to avoid the spotlight. He quickly dismissed the thought, focusing on the task at hand.

"Alright, everyone, listen up!" His voice was cutting, authoritative, and left no room for debate. "You’ll be going through various tests. Don’t hold back, and remember, last place gets expelled."

His words hung heavy in the air, making it clear that failure wasn’t an option for anyone here.

--50 METER DASH--

The universe certainly seems to have it out for Izuku Midoriya. As the 50-meter dash began, Bakugou’s furious glare was fixed on him, burning with the intent to crush his supposed rival. The moment the gun fired, Bakugou shot forward, his explosions propelling him faster than any normal person could hope to match.

'So what if the nerd’s hiding something? He’s still weak! I'll easily beat him and prove that I’m the one who deserves first place,' Bakugou thought, his confidence unwavering as he tore down the track.

But as the wind whipped across his face, something unexpected happened. In a split second, Izuku overtook him, a blur of motion. Wings erupted from his back, and with a powerful thrust, he soared ahead, faster than Bakugou could react. The gap between them widened, leaving Bakugou stunned in his wake. His anger flared, but there was a growing sense of disbelief—Deku, Deku, was faster than him. No forget that, Deku had WINGS?!!.

'1.1 seconds'

'4.3 seconds'

After Bakugou's humiliating loss, the other students took their turns in the 50-meter dash. The glasses-wearing Tenya Iida showcased his speed-enhancing quirk, quickly overtaking Tsuyu Asui, whose frog-like agility wasn't quite enough to match his bursts of acceleration.

Each race brought its own surprises, with quirks revealing unique advantages and strategies, but none quite matched the drama of Midoriya's victory over Bakugou.

--LONG JUMP--

Midoriya stood at the edge of the sandpit, studying it with an intent expression. His classmates murmured among themselves, curious about what he would do next.

"Hey, uh, Mr. Aizawa," Izuku asked, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and excitement, "you said anything goes, right?"

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, sensing the gears turning in the boy's mind. "Yeah. Why? What are you planning?"

Izuku grinned sheepishly, his confidence growing. Without another word, he spread his wings and leaped into the air. With a powerful flap, he soared effortlessly over the sandpit, clearing it with ease and showing no signs of stopping.

Aizawa watched, unimpressed at first, until he realized Midoriya had gone so far he couldn't possibly measure it. "Tch. Fine. 'Infinity,'" he muttered, scribbling it down on his clipboard.

The class erupted into whispers of disbelief, some marveling at the display while others just stared, dumbfounded.

"Infinity?! He broke the test!" someone exclaimed.

Izuku landed a short distance away, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Was that... okay?" he asked.

Aizawa sighed. "It's fine. Just don't make a habit of breaking my tests, problem child."

--Grip Strength Test--

Midoriya decided to use his claws for the grip strength test, digging them into the device with a calculated force. His result: 250kg—just 25kg short of Shoji’s impressive 275kg. While Shoji's score remained the highest, Midoriya's claw-assisted grip showcased the unique strength of his quirk in comparison.

--Consecutive Side Jumps--

Midoriya faced a challenge here, lacking a quirk or enhancement specifically suited for this test. Forced to rely on his natural physical strength, he managed a respectable performance but fell short of dominating. This marked the first time Bakugou managed to surpass him during the evaluations, earning the blonde a rare moment of satisfaction.

In other exercises, such as the seated toe touch, sit-ups, and endurance tests, Midoriya fared much better. His enhanced stamina, a result of his rigorous training and Absolute Aresenals passive benefits, allowed him to excel, especially in activities demanding prolonged effort. 

Then came the ball throw. Aizawa tossed the ball to Bakugou, who caught it with a confident smirk. Stepping into the circle, he wound up his arm, yelling, "DIE!" at the top of his lungs before launching the ball with a massive explosion.

'That has to beat Deku's pathetic score,' Bakugou thought smugly as the ball soared through the air.

Aizawa glanced at the results with his usual disinterested expression before holding up the display: '776.4 meters.'

The blonde’s triumphant look faltered. He had been overshadowed by Deku once again—and by a considerable margin.

As if to add insult to injury, Uraraka stepped up next. She casually activated her quirk, making the ball weightless before throwing it gently into the air. The ball floated endlessly, earning her a begrudging "Infinity" from Aizawa as he logged the results.

Bakugou clenched his fists in frustration, the air around him practically crackling with suppressed rage. "Stupid nerds," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Another student, a girl with sleek black hair tied into a spiky ponytail, approached the circle with a calm confidence. Extending her hand, she conjured a massive, functional cannon seemingly out of thin air using her quirk. The bulky weapon dwarfed Izuku’s streamlined launcher in size but operated on a similar principle.

With precise aim and a deafening blast, she launched the ball high into the sky. It shot forward with incredible force, earning her an impressive 827.34 meters, once again eclipsing Bakugou’s score.

The explosive blonde’s eye twitched, his frustration simmering dangerously as another student managed to surpass him. "What the hell is going on?!" he thought furiously, fists clenched. "I'm supposed to be the best—no one outshines me!" His glare darkened, a growl slipping under his breath as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions building inside him.

Thankfully, the universe seemed to have done its part in humbling him. It was finally time to reveal the results.

1. Izuku Midoriya 

2. Momo Yaoyorozu

3. Katsuki Bakugo

4. Shoto Todoroki

5. Tenya Ida

6. Fumikage Tokoyami

7. Mezo Shoji

8. Mashirao Ojiro

9. Eijiro Kirishima

10. Mina Ashido

11. Ibara Shiozaki

12. Ochaco Uraraka

13. Koji Koda

14. Rikido Sato

15. Tsuyu Asui

16. Denki Kaminari

17. Yuga Aoyama

18. Hanta Sero

19. Kyoka Jiro

20. Toru Hagakure

“No way—I actually got first!” Izuku exclaimed, his voice brimming with joy his tail that most didn't notice till now wagging excitedly.

“Top ten! So manly!” the red-haired teen with spiky hair cheered, flexing his arms in triumph.

Meanwhile, Bakugou stood frozen, trembling with a mix of rage and disbelief. His expression twisted, and it looked as though steam might erupt from his ears at any moment.

’Third? THIRD?!? I GOT THIRD?!’ he fumed internally, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s bad enough that I lost to that useless Deku—but to that ponytail bitch too?!?!’His knuckles cracked audibly as his hands flexed, sparking small explosions of frustration.

Among all the reactions, one stood out the most: a sudden, heartbreaking sobbing from a corner of the group. Heads turned as the sound grew louder, and it didn’t take long for the students to piece it together.

“Toru?” Ochacho hesitantly asked.

The invisible girl’s voice cracked through her sobs. “I-I didn’t even realize how far behind I was... I thought I’d be better at this, but now... now I might not even get to stay here!”

Her words tugged at everyone’s hearts, the previously tense atmosphere shifting to one of discomfort and sympathy.

Aizawa, completely unfazed, spoke up in his usual flat tone. “Oh, by the way, the whole expulsion thing was a lie.”

A collective gasp erupted from the students, their disbelief and indignation palpable. Aizawa shrugged lazily, not caring for their protests. "It was a logical deception to get you all to do your best, and it worked," he added with a faint smirk.

“I honestly thought everybody knew,” Momo Yaoyorozu chimed in, her tone exuding an air of superiority that caught the attention of her classmates. “There’s simply no way he’d expel someone based solely on a physical test, especially on the first day. It would be an egregious waste of potential for students whose strengths lie outside physical enhancement. Besides, it would be hypocritical considering he doesn’t even have a physical enhancement quirk.”

She crossed her arms with a satisfied expression, her words leaving some students impressed and others rolling their eyes at her patronizing delivery.

Toru barely registered anything else, her relief washing over her like a tidal wave. "So... so I’m not expelled?" she stammered, her voice trembling with hope.

Aizawa gave her a tired glance before waving dismissively. "No, you’re not. Class dismissed. Pack your things and go home," he said flatly, already turning to leave.

The invisible girl let out a loud, joyous cry of relief, her sobbing transforming into incoherent gratitude as the rest of the class began to process what had just happened.

Midoriya entered the boys' locker room to change back into his uniform, the adrenaline of the day still buzzing faintly in his system. As he opened his locker, a cheerful voice called out to him.

"Yo, Midoriya, right? Your performance out there was seriously manly!" The red-haired boy with sharp features and a bright smile stepped forward, extending his fist. "Name’s Kirishima!"

Izuku blinked, startled by the enthusiasm, but managed a small smile. "Oh, uh, thanks! I really appreciate it," he said, bumping the offered fist.

Before Izuku could turn back to his locker, another voice chimed in, this one more curious. "Hey, Midoriya," said the yellow-haired boy with a black lightning streak in his hair, leaning against a nearby bench. "What’s your quirk, man? I mean, I saw those wings and that crazy ball launcher. It was awesome!"

Several of the other boys perked up, clearly interested in the answer. Izuku rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. Especially Bakugou. 

"Well, uh, I call it Absolute Arsenal," Midoriya explained, raising his hands as his fingers shifted seamlessly into sharp metallic claws. "It lets me create weapons using nanometals living inside my body."

To demonstrate, he began cycling through various forms. "I've got claws," he said, flexing the razor-sharp tips. With a thought, they morphed into a sleek, glowing blade with a yellow edge. "A sword."

The blade retracted, replaced by the barrel of an advanced firearm. "Guns," he added, shifting again to reveal a small missile launcher embedded in his arm. "Missiles."

Finally, he activated his newest addition: a compact ball launcher. "And this one," he admitted with a sheepish grin, "I didn’t even know I could make until today. I was trying to use my rocket launchers for the ball throw, and this thing just kind of... happened."

The boys stared in awe, with Kirishima grinning. "That’s so manly! You’re like a walking armory!" Denki nodded in agreement, his eyes wide. "Dude, that's insane. You're a human Swiss Army knife... with missiles!"

A buff teen with pronounced lips pointed at Izuku’s tail, focusing on the glowing yellow canister near its tip. “What about that thing?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, this?” Izuku raised the sharp harpoon-like edge of his tail, careful to keep it pointed away from everyone. “It’s basically a stinger,” he explained, gesturing for his classmates to step back. Once they gave him enough room, he demonstrated by picking up a broken pen with the stinger and stabbing it.

The pen sizzled immediately as its plastic began to melt, collapsing into a gooey puddle. “Yeah, uh, it’s filled with some kind of acid,” Izuku admitted, lowering the stinger carefully. “I don’t really know why I have it, and I can’t retract it like my other weapons, so I’ve got to be super careful around people.”

The boys stared at the puddle in awe, their reactions ranging from amazement to unease. “Dude, that’s hardcore,” a black-haired teen with elbow joints resembling tape dispensers finally said, instinctively taking a step farther back for good measure. 

After that whole encounter in the locker room, Izuku left the school and was walking home alone. From a distance, Bakugou watched him, his fists clenching with frustration. 'Perfect, now that I've got that damn Deku alone, I’ll corner him and blow his stupid face to-'

"Hey wait up!"

Bakugou froze mid-thought, his glare sharpening.

Izuku turned, startled, to see Ochaco running to catch up, her expression cheerful as always. Close behind her was Iida, striding forward with his usual precise steps.

"Huh? What's up?" Izuku asked, confused by their sudden appearance.

"We're all taking the same train, so I thought it would be nice to walk together. I hope that's not a problem," Iida said in his usual stern tone, though this time it lacked the scolding edge. Instead, it carried an unusual casualness — almost friendly.

Ochaco grinned and added, "Yeah, I mean, it's way more fun than going alone, right?"

Izuku blinked, caught off guard by their camaraderie. "Uh... Sure! That sounds great."

As they continued to walk together, Bakugou's fists clenched tighter, his frustration building. 'Deku... Damn it.' He turned away with a growl, muttering under his breath, “Stupid extras…”

The next few days at U.A. had been relatively normal—English, math, and Heroics Basics—the usual routine. It felt surprisingly calm for a school training the next generation of heroes. Some students were starting to feel the monotony creep in.

“Mann, I’m not complaining or anything, but isn’t this a bit too normal for the best hero school in Japan?” Mina, the pink-skinned girl, lamented, laying her head down on her desk.

“Well, maybe the Heroics stuff will come in next week,” Tsuyu, the frog girl, replied with a reassuring tone, trying to lift the spirits of her classmate.

"Didn't they say All Might was going to teach here?" Ojiro, the boy with the tail, asked, his voice full of curiosity. "I remember seeing him in the acceptance letter video."

"I know, right?" the girl with biological earphone jacks chimed in. "I haven’t seen him since that message. Makes me wonder if he’s just too busy for teaching."

At that moment, Ibara, the girl with vines for hair, stood up, her hands clasped together in prayer and... holy shit is that holy light?. "Fellow classmates," she began, her voice both earnest and fervent. "We must have faith in U.A., for there is no perfection in man, only in our Lord. It is He alone who is perfect, and we should expect nothing less from Him. Let us remember His divine plan and trust that everything happens according to His will." She finished her statement with a reverent bow of her head, as if to emphasize the gravity of her words and the holy spotlight faded away.

The classroom fell into an awkward silence after Ibara’s divine speech, her holy light slowly dissipating like the aftermath of a thunderstorm.

Sero, still wide-eyed and confused, raised his hand with a tremble. "Uhh, did... did everyone else see that light too?" He asked, his voice wobbling. His eyes darted around the room, clearly worried he might be losing it.

Before anyone could answer, the ground rumbled beneath them with the unmistakable thud of massive footsteps. The entire class stiffened, glancing nervously at the shaking walls. Were they about to be attacked? Was there an earthquake? Or worse—was this another one of Aizawa’s 'tests'?

And then... BOOM! The door slammed open with a crash that sent a shockwave through the room. The doorway was practically ripped off its hinges, revealing the towering figure of none other than—

"HA HA HA HA! I AM HERE! ENTERING THE CLASSROOM LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!!" All Might bellowed, leaning dramatically on the doorframe with a massive grin, his iconic hero pose making the whole class feel like they were in a bad action movie. His voice rang out with the force of a megaphone, echoing off the walls.

"ALLMIGHT?!" the class erupted in unison, eyes wide and mouths agape. Well, everyone except for the student with the half-and-half hair, who stared as though this was just another ordinary Tuesday, and Bakugou, who was far too annoyed to muster anything resembling surprise. He crossed his arms and scowled, muttering under his breath.

In the blink of an eye, the oversized man had practically crushed the entrance, his ridiculous size finally making sense as the doorframe was now half gone. Apparently, it had been designed for him.

"He's wearing his Silver Age costume!" Izuku exclaimed with undeniable excitement. All Might shot a brief, knowing glance at him, before addressing the class with his signature exuberance. "TODAY, CLASS, WE WILL BE DOING THE MOST IMPORTANT ASPECT OF HERO TRAINING—COMBAT EXERCISES!"

Bakugou's previously held indifference vanished, replaced by unrestrained excitement. The moment All Might pressed a button, compartments with student names slid out, and the screen displayed, "MEET ME AT MOCK CITY GAMMA AND PUT ON YOUR HERO COSTUMES!"

The anticipation in the room was electric as the students rushed to get ready for their first real taste of hero work. Everyone eagerly grabbed their costumes and headed to the locker rooms, but Izuku paused, his eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar outfit in his hands.

All Might, noticing the hesitation, called out, "Is there a problem, Midoriya?"

Izuku pointed at the costume, his confusion evident. "Sir... this isn't my costume."

"Isn't it?" All Might raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "But this is the one you submitted to the support department. Are you sure?"

Izuku shook his head. "I'm pretty sure... I don't even remember submitting a sketch to the support department. The one I submitted was the costume my mom made for me." He held up the costume, still unsure. He didn’t recall sketching anything like this, nor did he remember sending it to the department, yet something about it felt like his responsibility.

[PUT IT ON! PUT IT ON! PUT IT ON!]

"Actually... maybe I submitted it really late at night, and I just forgot," Izuku mumbled to himself, trying to explain it away as he headed toward the locker rooms, leaving a slightly confused All Might behind. 

"Look at you all, dressed like true heroes!" All Might exclaimed with pride, hands resting on his hips as he observed Class 1-A walking into the training grounds. "Remember, looking the part is just as important as the work itself!"

Each costume was as unique as its wearer, showcasing the variety of personalities and quirks among the students. Kirishima stood proudly in his hero gear, dark red shoulder pads shaped like hardened rock, a jagged red sash with an "R" emblem, and loose black pants. His boots were dark red, his calves surrounded by thick rings, and a wired guard covered his face, with spiked pieces around his jaw resembling fangs. "This is my ‘Red Riot’ look," he explained briefly with a grin, striking a heroic pose.

Aoyama, meanwhile, looked like a knight from a fairytale, his costume adorned with shining metallic details. His armor had lenses on the joints and stomach, with a dramatic cape flowing behind him, all designed to accentuate his flair for the dramatic. "A glamorous knight in shining armor, of course," he declared, his typical flair filling his voice.

And then there was Momo’s… well, it was a bit much. The revealing design of her costume might’ve raised a few eyebrows, but All Might quickly focused on the other students, only to realize one was still missing.

"I'm here!" Midoriya’s voice rang out just as All Might had started to wonder where he was. Izuku rushed out of the tunnel to join his classmates, and his costume immediately caught the attention of everyone in the area. He wore a sleek, skin-tight black shirt that seemed to fit him like a second skin. Over it, he donned a stylish trench coat with fur lining the collar. His black combat pants were adorned with subtle carbon fiber plates at the knee, forearm, and shoulder, reinforcing his combat-ready look. To top it off, he wore a crisp pilot hat with a small emblem on the front—a skull flanked by wings.

The whole look was an unexpected blend of cool and practical, turning heads as Midoriya ran to meet his peers. "Woah, cool costume Izuku! I didn’t expect this, but it’s still really awesome!" Ochaco said, excitedly walking up to him and inspecting his outfit.

Izuku's eyes widened as she got closer, his attention immediately drawn to her own costume. It was a sleek, skin-tight black full-body suit, with a pale pink design running down the middle, accented by two black semi-spheres on her chest. Pink stripes at her midsection and a deep pink choker further emphasized her striking look, and her headgear with a tinted visor caught his eye as well. But the tight nature of the suit left very little to the imagination, and his face instantly turned bright red.

"U-Uh... w-well, y-your costume is... um... really cool too, O-Ochaco!" Izuku stammered, his hands awkwardly fumbling at his sides as he tried to maintain eye contact, but his gaze kept nervously darting away. His voice was quiet, and he tried to focus on anything but her costume to prevent his embarrassment from growing further.

"Huh? You think so?" Ochaco blinked in surprise. "Well, it's nice, but I just wish I had been more specific about the size I wanted. It ended up being skin-tight," she admitted, giving a quick tug on the fabric before letting it snap back to her skin with a light stretch.

At that moment, Ibara, the girl with vines for hair, stood nearby, watching the exchange with a serious expression. "Temptations are everywhere," she said solemnly, her voice almost reverent. "It takes one who is pure of mind and purged of evil thoughts to resist them." Her costume, fittingly, was simple—a white toga draped over her body with vines woven throughout, giving her an almost ethereal presence.

"ALL RIGHT, CLASS, GATHER ROUND! I'LL BEGIN EXPLAINING TODAY'S EXERCISE!" All Might boomed with his trademark enthusiasm. "As you know, villains are notorious for carrying out evil schemes in public, but did you know that some of the most sinister plans happen behind closed doors? That's exactly what we'll be focusing on today!"

The class leaned in, intrigued, as All Might continued. "There will be two teams: Heroes and Villains. The heroes must infiltrate the villain's base and either touch the fake bomb hidden inside or capture both villains. The villains, on the other hand, must either prevent the heroes from getting to the bomb or capture the heroes themselves. The teams will be decided by lottery cards! Any questions?"

Iida raised his hand sharply, as expected. "Yes, Tenya?" All Might acknowledged him.

"Sir, is the use of randomized team selection truly the most effective method for forming teams in such an exercise?" Iida asked, his tone laced with his characteristic precision.

"Actually, it’s the most realistic approach," Midoriya blurted before immediately realizing that all eyes were now on him. His face flushed as he nervously cleared his throat. "Uh, what I mean is... heroes often need to form teams on the spot, usually without much prior knowledge of each other's quirks. So, um, it makes sense to simulate something like that here," he explained, his voice gaining a little confidence as he spoke.

All Might grinned. "Exactly, young Midoriya! In the real world, heroes rarely have the luxury of choosing their allies. This exercise is about adaptability and quick thinking as much as it is about teamwork!"

"Now, gather round for your cards, everyone!" All Might declared enthusiastically. The students eagerly crowded around, each receiving a card marked with a letter from A to D.

After the cards were distributed, All Might turned back to address the class. "Once you've got your cards, look to the screen to find out your opponents and team members. Each team consists of five people, and your designated areas are marked with the corresponding letters. Proceed to the area labeled with your card's letter!"

He gestured towards the four clearly marked zones labeled A, B, C, and D.As Izuku made his way to Zone C, he glanced nervously at his teammates. His group included Ibara, Uraraka, Sero, and Jiro. 'Not exactly a powerhouse lineup', he thought, glancing between them. 'But we’ve got versatility. We can make this work.'

Feeling a glimmer of confidence, he turned his attention to the screen to see the matchups:

Team A vs. Team B

Team C vs. Team D

He smiled faintly until he scrolled down to see who was on Team D. His heart sank like a ship with a hole the size of Bakugou's ego.

Team D: Bakugou, Momo, Kirishima, Iida, and Shoji.

Izuku paled. 'Well... crap.'

Beside him, Uraraka peeked at the screen. "Oh, wow, Bakugou's on Team D? Guess this’ll be intense."

"Intense?" Izuku thought. 'That’s not intense. That’s a death squad!' He could practically hear Bakugou laughing maniacally already, explosions in tow. Meanwhile, Momo’s strategizing, Kirishima’s punching through walls, Iida’s running circles around everyone, and Shoji is… well, Shoji could hear, smell and taste them from a mile away.

As if on cue, Sero clapped him on the back. "Hey, don’t worry, Midoriya. We’ve got this!"

Izuku forced a shaky smile. 'Sure, if by 'this' you mean the fastest loss in hero school history.'

Izuku clenched his fists, determination flooding back into him. 'Alright, focus, Midoriya. No time to panic. If we’re going to last even five seconds against Team D, we need a solid plan. Work with our strengths, cover our weaknesses. Let’s do this!'

Meanwhile, across the room, Bakugou’s grin stretched wider, practically splitting his face in two. His crimson eyes gleamed with uncontained malice as he cracked his knuckles. 'This is it. My moment. I’m not just going to beat that damn nerd—I’m gonna crush him so hard, he’ll be begging to leave U.A.!'

Before anyone could act on their simmering vendettas, All Might’s voice boomed through the area, pulling everyone’s attention. "TEAMS A AND B, YOU'RE UP FIRST! TEAM B, PLEASE ENTER THE BUILDING AND BEGIN YOUR PREPARATIONS. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES. TEAM A, PREPARE OUTSIDE. GOOD LUCK TO BOTH TEAMS!"

The announcement snapped Izuku out of his scheming. He watched as Teams A and B began moving to their respective positions, leaving a brief moment of quiet for the rest of them.

Sero leaned in and whispered, "You look like you just saw a ghost. Relax, dude. We’ve got this."

Izuku smiled nervously but thought to himself, 'If Bakugou’s the ghost, then this is a haunted house I’m not ready to enter.'

Team A consisted of Todoroki, Tokoyami, Koda, Ashido, and Hagakure, while Team B was made up of Ojiro, Aoyama, Tsuyu, Sato, and Kaminari. As Team B entered the building, they immediately gathered to strategize.

"Alright, huddle up, guys," Kaminari said, a serious expression replacing his usual carefree attitude. His teammates leaned in, eager to hear his plan. "So, what's the plan?"

"I thought you had a plan?" Sato asked, blinking in disbelief.

"I don’t know, people usually come up with plans when they huddle up, right?" Kaminari trailed off, his voice losing all confidence.

"Well, I think the first person we need to worry about is Todoroki," Tsuyu said, her voice disturbingly calm. "He could freeze the entire building, and we'd all be stuck there like popsicles. Kero."

"And if we dodge Todoroki's ice cube machine, we still have Tokoyami and Ashido to deal with. Not to mention Toru possibly sneaking up on us like some invisible ninja," Ojiro added, crossing his arms.

Kaminari scratched his head, looking at his teammates like they were overreacting. "Great... so we're up against the human ice tray, the bird-shadow duo, a walking acid trip, and the invisible girl who might be listening to us right now, right?"

"Ugh, this is a nightmare," Sato groaned. "We can't even blame this on a lack of snacks anymore!"

Aoyama dramatically placed a hand on his chest and struck a pose. "Mon amis, fear not! For I, the dazzling Aoyama, shall illuminate our path to victory! With my... blinding brilliance, I will distract them all with my radiant charm!" He twirled his hand in the air, clearly pleased with his own idea. "We shall be victorious, or at least look fabulous while being defeated!"

They all stared at him for a long moment, and then Kaminari took a deep breath, finally standing tall. "Alright, guys, I have a plan... but, uh, it's got like a five percent chance of working."

"Well, better than zero, I suppose," Tsuyu shrugged. "Ribbit."

"Alright here's what we'll do.."

"Team A, you may now enter the building," All Might's voice rang through the speakers, signaling the start of the mission. Team A immediately tensed, ready to advance—until Todoroki held up a hand, signaling them to stop.

The moment was heavy with anticipation as Todoroki stood still, eyes narrowing. Without a word, he tapped his foot once on the ground. Instantly, a massive surge of ice exploded from his position, encasing the entire building in a slick layer of frost. It spread quickly, freezing the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The building became a shimmering, icy prison.

Todoroki’s cold voice cut through the silence. "We win."

His teammates hesitated, watching the crystalline landscape take shape around them. His power was overwhelming, and the building was now an ice fortress—impenetrable to the unprepared. They waited for the confirmation.

However, nothing happened. A moment passed. Then another.

"Team A, why aren’t you advancing?" All Might’s voice echoed once more. "The villains are still at large."

"Huh?" Todoroki blinked in confusion, looking around at the icy labyrinth he had created. His brow furrowed. "Why aren’t they...?"

He walked forward, expecting to enter the base but was immediately halted as a beam of blinding light shot down from above, slamming into the floor with a flash. He barely had time to react before the light shifted direction, now aimed at the pillars supporting the building's ceiling.

The laser melted through the structure with brutal precision. The ground shook, and the ceiling groaned under the strain. Dust and debris began to rain down, threatening to collapse the building onto them. Todoroki's eyes widened. There was no time to think—his reflexes kicked in.

With a chilling roar, he raised both hands, freezing the pillars and the entire ceiling in a flash of intense frost. The laser cut through the ice, but Todoroki’s control was absolute. The beams shattered harmlessly against his frozen surface, but the weight of the ceiling still caused cracks to form in the frozen structure.

"Move!" Todoroki barked. His team scrambled to avoid the falling debris, but the danger was far from over. The ice was strong, but it wasn’t invincible. They had to move fast. He quickly glanced at the others, his gaze steely and determined. "Don’t just stand there—keep moving!"

They darted forward, the sound of shifting ice and collapsing debris filling the air. Todoroki remained poised, keeping the ice shielded above them, his focus unbroken. He had expected resistance, but this... this was different. He had underestimated how well the other team had prepared.

And now, they were going to pay.

"Todoroki, watch out!"

The warning rang in his ears too late. Todoroki whipped his head around just as the flash of light intensified.

"2.5 MILLION VOLTS!"

'Well sh-'

Chapter Text

“Alright, here’s what we’ll do...”

He pointed at Aoyama. “You’ll melt any ice Todoroki tries to throw our way. If they get  inside, take out the pillars holding the ceiling. Todoroki will panic and try to freeze it in place, which will leave him wide open. That’s when I come in and finish him off!”

Ojiro crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you plan to take down Todoroki?”

Kaminari grinned, his hands sparking with yellow electricity. “Let’s just say it’s going to be... a shocking experience.”

Sato groaned. “We’re doomed.”

“Anyway!” Kaminari continued, ignoring the groans. “After I zap him, I’ll be pretty much useless, so Ojiro, Sato, and Aoyama, you’ll defend the bomb. Tsuyu, you’ll scout for Toru—she’s probably sneaking around somewhere. Try to block off as many entrances as you can, and if we’re lucky, we might just pull this off.”

There was a long silence as everyone stared at him.

“...You sure this isn’t just a plan to get yourself knocked out first?” Tsuyu finally asked.

“Hey! A leader has to make sacrifices!” Kaminari shot back, puffing out his chest. “And if it happens to look really cool, well, bonus points for me!”

With their plan held together by duct tape, sugar, and sheer hope, Team B got to work. Sato fueled up on sugar and used his strength to haul boxes, blocking every entrance except one, creating a funnel for the heroes. Aoyama tested his naval laser, carefully finding the perfect balance between melting Todoroki’s ice and not accidentally turning his teammates into puddles. They weren’t completely ready, but close enough.

As soon as All Might called for the match to begin, Todoroki wasted no time freezing over the entire five-story building in one chilling move. That was fine—they’d expected this. Aoyama stepped up, melting the ice with a precisely focused beam before joining Kaminari on the second floor. Once in position, Aoyama blasted through the floor directly below them, aiming his laser at the structural pillars holding up the ceiling—or, in their case, the floor.

Just as predicted, Todoroki immediately tried to reinforce the collapsing ceiling with his ice, leaving himself wide open. That’s when Kaminari leapt into action—or rather, fell through the hole Aoyama had made, landing dramatically next to Todoroki.

“INDISCRIMINATE SHOCK! 2.5 MILLION VOLTS!” Kaminari shouted as a surge of electricity burst from him, lighting up the room like a scene out of Greek mythology. The blast of electricity made Todoroki’s frosty composure shatter in more ways than one.

The violent arcs of electricity surged through the air, slamming into the heterochromatic teen with brutal force. Todoroki was hurled backward, skidding across the icy ground as smoke rose ominously from his now-singed costume. His breaths were shallow, and his unconscious body twitched occasionally, a stark reminder of the intensity of the attack.

The electricity didn’t stop there—wild, chaotic bolts lashed out toward the rest of Team B. Tokoyami barely had time to react, summoning Dark Shadow to shield them. However, the brilliance of the electric discharge tore through the dim atmosphere, causing Dark Shadow to shrink and falter under the overwhelming light.

Thankfully, the seemingly endless stream of electricity finally sputtered to a halt, leaving Kaminari standing in the aftermath of his own chaos. His brain, however, had clearly checked out. With a dazed expression and a comically slack jaw, he jerked his arms up into an exaggerated thumbs-up gesture.

“Wheeyyy!” he slurred, his voice carrying the enthusiasm of someone who had just learned their own name. “Wedidit!”

He swayed unsteadily on his feet, looking more like a malfunctioning animatronic than a hero in training.

Kaminari was quickly subdued by the rest of Team A, bound up and left to mumble incoherently in his post-shock state.

“Kaminari has been captured!” All Might said  confirming the capture.

“Hmmm, a self-sacrificing sneak attack—unexpectedly calculated for someone like Kaminari,” Tokoyami muttered, his deep, dramatic tone resonating as he walked down the dimly lit hallway.

“Right? And the craziest part is... it actually worked!” Ashido chimed in, her voice lively and incredulous. “They took out our MVP! That’s nuts!”

“Dark days indeed…” Tokoyami replied, shaking his head grimly. “But this battle is far from over.”

Tokoyami pressed a gloved finger to his earpiece, his dark tone carrying through the comms. “Toru, have you located the bomb room yet?”

A crackling, hesitant response came through. “N-not yet,” Toru stammered, her voice betraying her discomfort. The frozen building had done her no favors—her “costume,” already limited to gloves and boots, provided little protection against the biting cold. Each shiver was audible, adding a layer of tension to her whispered words.

“Not a problem,” Tokoyami said confidently, his voice steady as he spoke into the comms. “Keep searching; we’ll cover our side. Copy?”

Silence greeted him.

“Toru?” he asked, his pace slowing, a shadow of unease creeping into his tone.

All Might’s booming announcement echoed through the building. “Hagakure has been captured!”

“W-what?” Ashido stammered, her jaw dropping in disbelief. “She’s invisible! How the heck did they even see her?”

Flashback

“N-not yet...” Hagakure whispered into the comms, her breath visible in the icy air. She was about to respond further when a sudden, sluggish kick connected with her side, knocking her to the ground.

Through the haze of her shock, a familiar voice rang out. “G-got you...” Tsuyu said, her words trembling as fiercely as her body. The amphibian hero-in-training was in bad shape; her movements were slow, and her breath came in labored puffs. The freezing conditions had clearly pushed her to her limit, but her determination burned through the frost.

Hagakure scrambled to rise, but Tsuyu’s tongue lashed out, sluggish but precise, wrapping around her target. Despite the cold sapping her strength, Tsuyu managed to pull her invisible opponent into a secure hold, her frosted breath steaming as she muttered, “Ribbit... mission accomplished.”

Flash Back End

Koda’s wide eyes darted nervously around the icy corridor. “O-oh no,” he stammered, clutching his arms like the walls themselves might attack him.

“That’s two of us down,” Tokoyami said grimly, his voice steady but tense. “Stay sharp.” Dark Shadow materialized at his side, growling softly in anticipation.

The team moved cautiously through the slick, frozen hallways, their steps deliberate to avoid slipping. After what felt like an eternity, they reached a room with a single unblocked entrance.

“That has to be it,” Tokoyami stated, his sharp gaze scanning for traps. He turned to Koda. “You stay back and alert us if anyone approaches. We’ll handle the bomb.”

Koda nodded quickly, retreating to hide behind a corner, his breathing uneven.

“Alright, let’s finish this!” Mina exclaimed, her confidence cutting through the tension like her acid. She sprinted into the room—only to duck a sudden, heavy swing aimed at her face.

“Whoa!” she yelped, narrowly avoiding a full-force punch from Sato, who was already mid-charge, his strength-enhanced fist leaving a dent in the floor where she had just stood.

Mina barely had time to catch her breath before Ojiro’s tail lashed out like a whip. The strike came too fast for her to dodge, so she braced herself, crossing her arms to block the hit. The sheer force of the blow sent her sliding back across the icy floor, her boots struggling to find traction.

“Dark Shadow, engage!” Tokoyami barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

“You got it, boss!” Dark Shadow roared, its form surging forward with menacing speed. Its shadowy fist descended toward Sato like a hammer.

Sato, unflinching, crossed his arms in front of him and absorbed the impact, his enhanced strength keeping him steady despite the force. With a defiant grunt, he shoved the shadowy creature aside and charged toward Tokoyami, his eyes set on ending the fight quickly.

But Dark Shadow wasn’t done. As Sato advanced, the sentient quirk twisted in midair, using its momentum to slam headfirst into Sato’s ribs with a thundering impact. The blow staggered Sato, forcing him to skid to the side.

Mina seized the opportunity, lunging back into the fray with a burst of speed. She unleashed a spray of acid at Ojiro, forcing him to retreat and giving Tokoyami just enough time to reposition and prepare his next move.

“Don’t let them regroup!” Tokoyami shouted as Dark Shadow swirled protectively around him, ready for the next strike.  Ojiro and Sato stood side by side, their resolve hardening as they prepared for the next wave. Ojiro tapped his comms, his voice focused but urgent. “Tsuyu, Aoyama, how close are you?”

“Uhhh, I-I’m almost there...” Tsuyu’s voice crackled through, but the shiver in her tone betrayed her struggle.

“I’m close too!” Aoyama chimed in, his usual bravado replaced by a sense of urgency that was hard to miss.

“Just hold out a little longer, and its game over,” Sato muttered, keeping his guard up.

“Stay sharp,” Ojiro warned, before suddenly dashing forward with his tail swishing like a battering ram. Mina reacted instinctively, her feet skating effortlessly on the slick acid coating her boots. She zipped to the side and launched a quick stream of acid toward Ojiro. He sidestepped just barely, his tail slicing through the air in an attempt to swipe at her mid-turn.

Meanwhile, Sato found himself locked in a battle of speed and strength with Dark Shadow. Every swing of its darkened fists came faster than the last, and Sato could barely keep up with the barrage of blows that seemed to come from every angle. ‘He’s fast’, Sato thought, blocking another blow that pushed him back several feet. His muscles screamed for relief, but he couldn’t afford to slow down now. Every movement counted.

Sato quickly ducked under the massive swipe from Dark Shadow’s claw, the air itself splitting from the force of the strike. He sprang forward, using the momentum to spin and land a brutal punch to the shadowy figure’s head, the impact vibrating up his arm. Dark Shadow staggered back, its form flickering slightly as though it were reeling from the blow.

“You can feel pain?” Sato asked, genuinely surprised, his guard still up.

“Of course I can, you jerk!” Dark Shadow shot back, its voice an unsettling growl. The entity’s form seemed to grow in size, and with a sudden flash of speed, it swiped its claws downward at Sato, aiming to shred him where he stood.

Sato gritted his teeth and slid backward, barely dodging the deadly swipe. ‘This thing’s stronger than I thought’, he realized, but there was no time to overthink. If they were going to win, they’d need more than just brute force. He needed to keep the pressure on.

Sato squared off with Dark Shadow, his muscles tensed and ready. The creature lunged at him with a sweeping claw, aiming for his head. Sato ducked low, feeling the wind from the attack whip past his hair. He countered with a powerful uppercut to its chest, the force of his punch causing Dark Shadow to stumble back.

Recovering quickly, Dark Shadow retaliated with a sharp jab, its fist whistling through the air. Sato brought up his forearms in a cross block, absorbing the impact but sliding back a few inches from the sheer power. He immediately stepped into the attack, throwing a quick one-two punch to its midsection, each hit landing with a resounding thud.

Dark Shadow hissed, swinging a backhand swipe toward Sato’s ribs. Sato sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike, and delivered a spinning hook punch to its shoulder. The shadow staggered but quickly lunged at Sato, using its momentum to slash downward with both claws. Sato crossed his arms, blocking again, though his feet dug into the icy floor to stay balanced.

With an audible grunt, Sato unleashed a flurry of punches, each strike aimed at Dark Shadow’s torso and arms, trying to break through its guard. Dark Shadow absorbed the hits but used its massive size to grab Sato’s arm mid-punch, yanking him closer. Without hesitation, Sato stomped hard on the ground and headbutted the shadow, the unexpected move forcing it to let go.

“You’re not bad for a shadow,” Sato growled, breathing heavily.

“And you’re surprisingly durable for a human,” Dark Shadow snarled back, preparing for another clash.

Sato and Dark Shadow locked into a furious exchange of blows. Sato started with a feint jab, quickly transitioning into a powerful hook aimed at the shadow’s torso. Dark Shadow twisted its form unnaturally, evading the hit and retaliating with a sweeping claw strike. Sato sidestepped just in time, countering with an uppercut that sent ripples through Dark Shadow’s amorphous body.

The shadow retaliated with a wild haymaker, its claw slicing the air. Sato blocked with his forearm, gritting his teeth as the impact forced him back a step. Taking advantage of the close range, Sato drove a knee into Dark Shadow’s midsection, causing it to stagger.

Dark Shadow roared and lashed out with a spinning strike, forcing Sato to duck. He used the momentum to deliver a brutal rising elbow strike to its “jaw,” momentarily disrupting its form.

Meanwhile, Ojiro and Mina’s fight was equally chaotic. Mina slid effortlessly on her acid trail, launching streams of corrosive liquid at Ojiro. He dodged each attack with precise footwork, using his tail to propel himself over one of her streams. As he landed, he whipped his tail in a wide arc, forcing her to leap backward.

Ojiro pressed the advantage, lunging forward with a powerful kick. Mina dodged but was caught off guard as Ojiro immediately transitioned into a low sweep, his tail connecting with her legs and knocking her off balance. She hit the ground but quickly recovered, rolling back to her feet and hurling another glob of acid his way.

Anticipating her move, Ojiro side-stepped with a sharp pivot and closed the distance between them with a controlled burst of speed. He unleashed a rapid series of strikes—palm strikes, feints, and low kicks—pressuring her to stay on the defensive. Each attack flowed seamlessly into the next, forcing Ashido to use her agility and acid skating to evade. However, her movement pattern was becoming predictable.

‘She’s relying on speed and distance,’ Ojiro analyzed mid-combat. His sharp eyes caught her favoring one side as she veered to avoid his strikes. He feigned a punch aimed at her face, prompting her to shift to the left—exactly where he wanted her. With precision, he slammed his tail into the ground and propelled himself into a spinning kick, catching Ashido off-balance and sending her sprawling.

He didn’t give her time to recover. Using his tail, he vaulted toward her position, forcing her to scramble backward. Ashido managed to fire off another burst of acid, but Ojiro ducked under it in a smooth roll, landing close enough to strike. His tail lashed out in a sweeping arc, forcing her to abandon her footing and leap away once again.

‘She’s cornered,’ he noted. Ashido, visibly winded, glanced toward the bomb as if calculating her chances. Ojiro crouched into a defensive stance, his breathing calm and controlled, ready to counter any desperate move she might make. “You’re quick,” he said, his tone measured, “but speed won’t save you forever.”

“Jeez, man, chill out,” Mina said, her breath ragged as she wiped her brow. “It’s not that deep!”

Before Ojiro could retort, she hurled a fast, concentrated glob of acid at him, forcing him to sidestep sharply. His movements were quick and precise, but as he closed the distance, she switched tactics. Her free hand unleashed another stream of acid, a sharp arc cutting through the air. Ojiro dropped low into a sweeping crouch, narrowly avoiding the sizzling spray.

Ashido grinned. “Nice moves, Karate Kid,” she teased, shifting her stance to stay unpredictable.

Ojiro, unfazed, responded with calculated aggression. His tail lashed out, not to strike but to deflect droplets of acid away from his path hissing slightly as the acid sizzled against his skin. In a fluid motion, he closed the gap, pivoting mid-step to sweep at her legs. Mina hopped back, skidding on her acid-coated boots. He anticipated the move, immediately lunging forward into a spinning kick aimed for her side.

Mina blocked it with her forearm, grimacing under the impact as she slid further back. “Alright, maybe it is that deep,” she muttered, launching another volley of acid in retaliation.

Ojiro ducked, weaving through the sprays like water flowing around rocks. His focus sharpened, and with a burst of speed, he shifted into her blind spot. Using his tail, he aimed for her ankles, sweeping her feet out from under her with a quick, calculated strike.

Mina landed with a thud but rolled away immediately, spraying acid as she went. “You don’t give up, huh?” she said, scrambling to her feet with a smirk.

“Nope,” Ojiro replied, his tone calm as he launched into another series of precise, unrelenting attacks, his black belt training on full display.  Meanwhile, Sato’s movements were slowing, his breathing labored as sweat dripped down his brow. Every swing of Dark Shadow’s claws forced him further back, the impact reverberating through his muscles. His blocks became sluggish, his counters less precise. Each strike felt heavier than the last, and fatigue was seeping into his limbs like lead.

Dark Shadow, however, showed no signs of relenting. Its strikes came faster, sharper, and more relentless, a blur of claws and raw strength. “Is that all you’ve got?” the shadow sneered, slamming its fist into the ground and sending shards of ice flying as Sato narrowly dodged. He clenched his fists, determination flickering in his eyes. ‘I have to outlast it. I just need one opening.’

But with every second, that opportunity seemed to slip further away.

Tokoyami was just about to advance when he was stopped dead in his tracks by Koda shouting into the comms, “Aoyama is coming!”

“Got it! Dark Shadow, finish this!” he ordered, a sense of urgency rising in his voice. Dark Shadow unleashed a primal roar, its form expanding as it grabbed Sato by the head and slammed him into the icy floor with bone-crushing force. The impact shattered the thick layer of ice beneath them, sending cracks through the ground. Before Sato could recover, Dark Shadow rained down a barrage of vicious punches. Sato struggled, blocking and deflecting as best as he could, but the sheer power of the assault left him barely able to keep up.

The relentless flurry of blows continued, but just as it seemed like Dark Shadow was about to finish him off, a blinding beam of light shot through the air, striking Dark Shadow like a freight train. The impact caused the shadowy form to warp and distort, its dark essence flickering under the intensity of the blast. Aoyama stood at a distance, his chest heaving with the strain of the attack.

The beam of light did far more than just damage. The intensity of Aoyama’s naval laser reduced Dark Shadow’s form, its once powerful, hulking presence shrinking and dissipating like smoke under the burning rays. It stumbled back, its once-formidable presence barely hanging on.

“You think you can stop me?!” Dark Shadow hissed, but Aoyama wasn’t done. He readied another shot, charging up for a finishing blow. The tables had turned.

“Dark Shadow you can’t take another hit like that!” Dark Shadow lunged forward with reckless abandon, its massive claws swiping at the air in a desperate attempt to land a decisive blow. Tokoyami’s eyes widened in horror as his quirk charged headfirst into the fray, completely ignoring his commands to fall back.

“Dark Shadow, no!” Tokoyami shouted, but it was too late. Dark Shadow barreled forward, smashing into the remaining pillars of support in its path before taking a devastating hit from Aoyama’s blinding laser. The shadow quirk shrank into a barely visible form, its strength sapped from the direct assault, leaving it nearly unconscious.

Before Tokoyami could issue another command, he felt a sudden weight crash into him. Sato, riding the high of his sugar boost, tackled him effortlessly, forcing Tokoyami into the ground with a painful thud. Sato’s strength was like a vice as he pinned the raven-haired... head? Student to the cold, icy floor.

Tokoyami gritted his teeth, struggling beneath the weight, but Sato’s grip was unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere,” Sato growled, a sugary determination in his voice as he pushed down harder. Tokoyami tried to summon Dark Shadow to aid him, but it was still too weak to respond effectively.

With Dark Shadow out of commission and Tokoyami trapped, the battlefield tilted in favor of Team B, leaving Team A scrambling to recover.

“FIVE MINUTES REMAINING!” All Might announced.

Ashido wasn’t fairing any better. Every attempt to get close to the bomb was met with Ojiro’s relentless tail strikes or Aoyama’s precision beams. But she wasn’t about to give up. Taking a deep breath, she coated the floor in her acid and launched herself forward at breakneck speed, leaving a sizzling trail behind.

As Aoyama fired a glittering beam straight at her, she planted her hands down, pivoted, and flipped high into the air, the beam scorching just inches below her. While mid-flip, she twisted her body, narrowly evading a sharp tail swipe from Ojiro, the air from his swing brushing against her face. She landed gracefully on her feet, sliding once more on her acid with a determined grin.

“Not giving up that easily!” she yelled, charging toward the bomb. She was so close—her hand stretched out, fingers trembling, mere centimeters from snatching victory. Mina’s heart raced as adrenaline surged through her veins. But just as she felt the weight of triumph within reach, a sharp, brutal pain exploded in her side. A kick, swift and merciless, blindsided her, sending her sprawling to the ground with a grunt.

“Ribbit,” came the slow, slurred croak from Tsuyu, her voice weak but resolute. She staggered forward, barely upright, her limbs trembling with each step. She looked like death warmed over—her skin pale and clammy, her movements sluggish, as if the cold were wringing the life out of her amphibian body.

“I-I’m so s-sorry, Mina,” Tsuyu stammered, her shivers so violent it looked like her body might rattle apart at any second. Her breath came in harsh gasps, each exhale visible in the frigid air. “B-but I… I can’t let you win this time.”

Mina groaned, clutching her side as she rolled onto her back. “You’re tougher than you look, Tsu,” she muttered with a wry smile. “But seriously, if you’re this cold, I might just have to call a timeout for your sake.”

Mina struggled to push herself up, determined to make another attempt, but before she could, Ojiro was already on her. With a swift, practiced move, he pinned her to the ground and deftly wrapped capture tape around her wrist.

“You talk too much,” Ojiro said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “It leaves you open. Work on that for next time.” His words weren’t sarcastic, just genuine advice from one competitor to another.

“ASHIDO AND TOKOYAMI HAVE BEEN CAPTURED!” All Might’s booming voice echoed from the speakers, signaling their elimination.

“Aw, man, this sucks!” Ashido groaned, slumping against the wall. “We were so close!”

Tokoyami crossed his arms, his tone somber. “Our chances of victory were extinguished the moment we lost Todoroki. It was a good fight, but our reliance on his power proved to be our undoing.”

Ashido shot him a look, half-pouting. “Wow, way to make it sound even more dramatic, Mr. Darkness.”

“It’s merely the truth,” Tokoyami replied, his gaze distant. “Without balance, a team cannot stand.”

The air grew deathly still, a biting chill creeping over the battlefield. Everyone froze as an ominous wave of cold swept through, sending shivers down their spines. Slowly, all eyes turned toward the entrance, where Todoroki staggered into view. His costume was in tatters, one half scorched beyond recognition, the other a patchwork of shattered ice. His right arm bore an angry red burn, its raw edges proof of his shocking encounter. Despite his battered state, his mismatched eyes burned with fierce determination.

“Todoroki…?” Ashido whispered, her breath visible in the freezing air.

Before anyone could react, Todoroki raised his trembling hands, frost gathering rapidly at his fingertips. Sato and Ojiro charged toward him, their intentions clear, but it was too late.

With a roar of effort, Todoroki unleashed a colossal wave of ice, the sheer force of it shaking the room. The frost surged forward like a tidal wave, swallowing everything in its path. His enemies, his captured teammates, even the walls of the building were encased in a solid, glimmering glacier. The cold was absolute, leaving nothing untouched.

For a moment, the battlefield was utterly still, the silence heavy and oppressive, broken only by the faint crackle of settling ice. All eyes were on Todoroki, who stood at the center of the frozen chaos, his breath coming in harsh, visible gasps. His body trembled, not from fear but from sheer exhaustion. Yet, his gaze remained unyielding, like ice itself.

Without a word, he began walking toward the bomb, each step slow but deliberate, the crunch of frost beneath his boots echoing like thunder in the hushed arena. Reaching the bomb, he extended a frostbitten hand and placed it firmly on the glowing device.

“Game over,” he muttered, his voice low but resolute.

“THE BOMB HAS BEEN CAPTURED! HERO TEAM WINS!” All Might’s booming declaration shattered the silence.

“All right, class, can anyone tell me why Team A won?” All Might asked, his booming voice breaking the post-match tension.

Momo’s hand shot up immediately, her expression confident. “Yes, Yaoyorozu?”

“Sir, the outcome was primarily due to Team B’s miscalculation,” Momo began, her tone precise and analytical. “They placed far too much faith in Kaminari’s sneak attack incapacitating Todoroki permanently. This led to a lapse in their defensive strategy, as they didn’t adequately prepare for the possibility of Todoroki recovering. Up until that point, their plan and defense were exemplary, with notable coordination and execution. However, that critical oversight allowed Todoroki to exploit their vulnerability.”

She adjusted her stance, clasping her hands together as she continued. “In truth, Team B demonstrated superior strategy and adaptability for most of the match. If not for their single error, they were well on track to secure victory. Conversely, Team A’s plan, while bold, was overly reliant on Todoroki freezing all of Team B at once. When that failed and Todoroki was temporarily incapacitated, their cohesion faltered, and they were systematically outmaneuvered. Ultimately, their win hinged on Todoroki’s resilience and a stroke of luck.”

Momo paused, her gaze sweeping over her classmates. “To summarize, while Team A achieved victory, Team B’s performance highlighted the importance of contingency planning and the dangers of overconfidence in a single element of strategy.”

The class stared at Momo for a long moment, their eyes wide and mouths agape. Even All Might struggled to hide his surprise, his jaw nearly dropping at the depth of her analysis. He quickly cleared his throat and composed himself, trying to maintain his usual enthusiastic demeanor.

“Y-YES! Very good, Yaoyorozu! With the depth of your analysis, I’m sure you can also guess who the MVP of the match was?”

Momo didn’t hesitate, her gaze steady and calm. “I would have to say Todoroki, in this case. While he was ambushed early and out of commission for a good portion of the match, he single-handedly wiped out the entire opposing team and secured the win. His resilience and tactical use of his quirk at the end were unparalleled.”

Her answer was delivered with the cool confidence of someone who had already dissected every aspect of the match, leaving little room for debate.

“Exactly! Thank you, Yaoyorozu!” All Might beamed, his usual exuberance returning. “And with that in mind, it’s time for the next match! Team D, you may now enter the building. Team C, you all have five minutes to make a plan. Good luck to you both!”

“Alright, so we’re dealing with Midoriya, Ochaco, Ibara, Sero, and Jiro. This is going to be tough, but if we—” Yaoyorozu began, her voice steady as she started to lay out the strategy.

But she was abruptly cut off.

“Fuck your plan! I’m going to beat the crap out of Deku, and you extras can stay out of my way!” Bakugou snapped, his fiery temper flaring as usual.

“Bakugou!” Iida barked, clearly irritated. “That is not how you speak to your classmates! We can’t afford to be divided right now! This is a team effort!”

Bakugou shot him a glare, but Iida held his ground, clearly trying to keep the team focused. “Oh, be quiet, four-eyes,” Bakugou snarled, his temper flaring. “I don’t give a fuck what you guys do, just stay the hell out of my way. I’m taking down Deku, and if you have any complaints, try me.” He finished with an ominous crackling sound as small explosions sparked from his palm, the air thick with his rage.

Shoji crossed his arms, his expression unreadable through the mask but his tone unimpressed. “Just leave him. He’d probably get in the way anyway,” he muttered, his four arms folding like a barrier between himself and Bakugou.

Bakugou whirled around, eyes blazing. “The fuck you say, circus freak?” His voice was a low growl, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

“Enough!” Yaoyorozu interjected sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. “Bakugou, you can go fight Midoriya if you want. We’ll stay out of your way.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, the team’s plan now veering dangerously off course, but it seemed the best compromise for keeping the team from falling apart completely. Bakugou gave a satisfied smirk before turning away, already itching for the confrontation he wanted. The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances, silently accepting the uneasy truce, for now.

“Man, that guy’s got some serious issues,” Kirishima muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

Momo sighed, clearly exasperated but quickly regaining her composure. “Alright, let’s focus. We can’t afford to waste time. With Bakugou doing his own thing, that leaves the four of us. We can still make this work.” She turned to the team, her tone shifting to one of calculated determination. “Shoji, I want you to use your quirk to scout ahead and keep an eye on any movement. We need to know exactly where they are at all times.”

She glanced over at Iida, her gaze firm and commanding. “Iida, your speed is crucial. I need you to scout the perimeter and gather intel on their positions. The faster we know where they are, the better we can plan our next move.”

Momo then shifted her focus to Kirishima, who was standing confidently by Shoji. “Kirishima, you’ll stay with Shoji to act as a defensive unit. With your durability, you’re perfect for guarding the bomb, ensuring no one gets close without us knowing. Make sure you’re ready for anything.”

She took a moment to look over her plan, then added with a confident nod, “I’ll set up traps along the corridors leading to the bomb room. We need to funnel them into specific areas where we have the advantage. We’ll make sure they can’t get too close without triggering something. Keep your wits about you, and we’ll make this work.”

The team nodded, their confidence restored as they followed Momo’s clear and precise instructions.

“Uh, Izuku, are you okay?” Ochaco asked, her voice tinged with concern as she noticed his unusually jittery demeanor.

Midoriya flinched slightly at her question, his hands fidgeting as he avoided her gaze. “Y-Yeah! I’m fine! Totally fine!” he stammered, his tone doing little to convince her.

In truth, he was anything but fine. Every interaction he’d had with Bakugou so far had been hostile, and the memory of his rival’s manic grin when he learned they’d be facing each other sent a chill down his spine. That wild, predatory smile was burned into his mind, a clear promise that Bakugou was looking forward to this match for all the wrong reasons.

“I don’t know...” Ochaco pressed gently, leaning a bit closer. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Midoriya forced a shaky smile, trying to reassure her. “I’m just... thinking. You know, strategizing!” he lied, his nervous energy giving him away completely.

Ochaco gave him a dubious look but decided not to push further. “Well, just remember, you’ve got us with you. We’ll handle it together, okay?”

Her words helped ease the tension slightly, but the looming thought of facing Bakugou still weighed heavily on Midoriya’s mind.

Midoriya took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he began, his tone steadying as he analyzed the situation. “Knowing Bakugou, he’s coming straight for me. He won’t bother with strategy—he’ll just charge in headfirst. I’ll keep him occupied. While I’m distracting him, the rest of you focus on finding the bomb.”

He turned to Ibara and Sero. “Ibara, your vines can be used to slow Iida down or create barriers to limit his mobility. Sero, you’ll back her up with your tape—use it to reinforce her traps or create obstacles that will make it harder for him to use his speed effectively.”

Next, he looked at Ochaco. “Momo will almost certainly have traps set up, so you’ll use your quirk to make the team float over them. It’ll help us avoid triggering anything and keep us mobile. Stay alert—Momo’s plans are always layered, so there might be surprises.”

Finally, he turned to Jiro. “Jiro, you’ll act as our scout. Use your quirk to listen for movement, traps being set, or any sign of their strategy. If you pick up anything, alert the team immediately so we can adapt on the fly.”

Midoriya paused, his mind racing as he considered their odds. “Remember, this isn’t just about overpowering them—it’s about staying coordinated. If we stick to the plan and communicate, we’ve got this.”

The team nodded, his confidence and clear direction rallying them as they prepared for the match.

“That’s actually a pretty solid plan, greenie,” Jiro remarked, a hint of surprise in her tone.

“Thanks,” Izuku replied, his nervousness giving way to a small, appreciative smile.

“But there’s one problem,” Jiro continued, crossing her arms. “What about Shoji? That guy’s got crazy good senses—he’ll probably hear us coming a mile away.”

Midoriya paused, considering her point. “You’re right, we can’t completely counter Shoji. His quirk makes him perfect for detecting us, and there’s no way we can move completely unnoticed. But here’s the thing,” he said, his expression sharpening with determination. “Shoji is most likely going to stay in the bomb room, acting as a guard. If that’s the case, we won’t have to deal with him until the final stage of the mission.”

“And when we do?” Jiro pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll adapt,” Midoriya said firmly. “By the time we reach the bomb, we should have the advantage in numbers. If we stay coordinated and stick to our roles, we’ll find a way to neutralize him. The key is to stay calm and not let his presence throw us off our main objective.”

Jiro nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Fair enough. Let’s just hope Bakugou keeps himself busy with you long enough for the rest of us to make progress.”

Midoriya chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, no pressure...”

“Alright, let’s do this!” Sero said, his excitement practically bubbling over as he stretched his arms out, tape already prepared.

Ibara, on the other hand, clasped her hands together in a serene prayer, her voice calm and reverent. “Oh Lord, please grant me the strength to overcome this trial,” she intoned, the faint glow of holy light appearing around her once again.

“What the hell is that light? Is no one else seeing this?!” Sero exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine concern as he glanced around at his teammates, half-wondering if he was losing it.

Ibara opened one eye, her serene smile as calm as ever. “Faith, Sero. It is my guiding strength,” she said, her tone steady and unbothered.

Sero blinked, looking between her and the soft glow. “Right... guiding strength... sure,” he muttered, still slightly uneasy but deciding it was probably best not to question it further. “As long as it works, I guess.”

“TEAM C, YOU MAY NOW ENTER THE BUILDING!” All Might announced.

Due to the last building still resembling a massive concrete popsicle, this match was set in a mock mall. The centerpiece of this setting was a sprawling multi-level parking garage filled with rows of cars, making it a perfect area for ambushes, cover, and maneuverability.

As Team C cautiously made their way through the parking garage, their senses were on high alert, every shadow and echo raising the tension. The dimly lit space and the maze of parked cars made the perfect setting for an ambush.

Ochaco moved ahead, about to turn a corner when Izuku’s eyes widened. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back just as a deafening BOOM echoed through the garage. Flames and smoke burst forward, but before the heat could reach them, Izuku unfurled his mechanical wings, the reinforced metal absorbing the brunt of the explosion.

“He’s here,” Izuku muttered, his voice low but steady, his heart pounding as he folded his slightly singed wings back.

“Nice reaction, Midoriya,” Ochaco said, trying to steady her breath. “But this means—”

“Yeah,” Izuku interrupted, his green eyes narrowing as he peered through the smoke. “Bakugou’s already started his hunt.”

“DEKU!!!” Bakugou’s roar echoed through the parking garage as he whipped his hand through the lingering smoke, revealing his wild grin and furious eyes. “I’M GOING TO DESTROY YOU!”

With a thunderous explosion, he propelled himself straight at Izuku, his intent clear.

“Remember, stick to the plan!” Izuku shouted to his team, his wings snapping open to shield himself from the incoming blast.

“Got it!” Jiro called back, darting off toward another part of the garage with the rest of the team following close behind.

“Dumb move, nerd!” Bakugou sneered, landing with a sharp crack of his boots against the concrete. “Your backup’s gone. So now it’s just you and me!!”

Izuku steadied himself, narrowing his eyes as he folded his wings back slightly. “That’s what you think,” he said, his tone measured but defiant. “You’ll have to go through me first, Kacchan.”

“That’s the idea!” Bakugou barked, blasting forward again, his explosions illuminating the dim garage as the battle began.

Izuku flapped his wings with a powerful thrust, launching himself toward Bakugou in a blur of motion. His mechanical claws gleamed under the dim lighting of the parking garage, catching Bakugou’s eye. The blond smirked, throwing his hands back to prepare a devastating explosion. 

But before Bakugou could fire, Izuku’s reflexes kicked in. He reached out, catching Bakugou’s wrist in a vice-like grip, forcing his hand upward. The explosion roared harmlessly into the ceiling, the shockwave rattling the parked cars but leaving Izuku untouched. 

 Izuku gritted through clenched teeth, already cocking his free hand back. 

With all his strength, he drove a powerful punch into Bakugou’s gut, the impact reverberating as the blond stumbled back, his breath leaving him in a pained gasp. “Damn... nerd!” Bakugou snarled, regaining his footing.

Bakugou rocketed toward Izuku with a feral grin, his palms crackling with explosive energy. “You’re not getting away this time, nerd!” he bellowed.

Izuku’s sharp eyes tracked the blond’s every movement, and just as the explosion fired, he launched himself into the air with a powerful flap of his wings. The blast struck a parked car, detonating it in a fiery eruption that sent it hurtling like a missile across the garage.

Bakugou skidded to a stop, smoke swirling around him. “Quit running and fight me!” he shouted, spinning to face Izuku—only to be met with a sudden hail of projectiles.

From above, Izuku’s gun glinted in the flickering lights as it fired a barrage of spinning metal marbles, each one slicing through the air with deadly precision. The sharp, rhythmic clang of marbles striking concrete and vehicles echoed like thunder.

“Tch!” Bakugou grunted, exploding to the side to evade, but the relentless storm forced him to shield himself with bursts of firepower. The marbles ricocheted wildly, sparks flying as they narrowly missed him.

Hovering above, Izuku’s silhouette loomed, his wings outstretched and glowing faintly in the dim light. Izuku’s mechanical arm whirred as his weapon shifted, the barrel retracting slightly while a sleek targeting sight snapped into place above it. Without hesitation, he resumed firing, each shot now pinpoint accurate.

Bakugou ducked and weaved, explosions propelling him out of the line of fire, but the relentless storm of marbles found their mark. A few struck his arms and legs, tearing small holes in his costume and leaving angry welts that quickly turned to bruises. One particularly well-placed shot grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that dripped onto the concrete below.

"Gah!" Bakugou growled, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. His crimson eyes burned with fury as he glanced at the torn fabric and fresh bruises marring his skin. "Deku, you little bastard!"

Izuku hovered just out of range, his wings steady, eyes locked onto Bakugou through the glowing sight. Bakugou clenched his fists, a wild grin spreading across his face. "It’s on loser!" he roared, launching a barrage of explosions at Izuku, determined to close the gap.

Izuku adjusted his aim mid-flight, narrowly dodging the explosions as he unleashed another volley of marbles, the air crackling with their speed and impact. Each shot was a calculated strike, keeping Bakugou on the defensive even as he charged forward like an unstoppable force. Bakugou's patience snapped as his frustration boiled over. With a furious roar, he launched himself at Izuku like a missile, explosions propelling him faster than before. The bullets from Izuku’s gun pelted his body, but Bakugou ignored the stinging pain and the trickle of blood from his wounds, his singular focus on smashing his rival.

Izuku stopped firing, snapping his wings around himself just in time to absorb the brunt of Bakugou's massive explosion. The force still sent him hurtling backward, slamming into a parked car with a metallic crunch.

Groaning, Izuku barely had a second to recover before he saw Bakugou rocketing toward him again, using a chain of explosions to close the distance with terrifying speed. His mind raced as he quickly retracted the gun attachment, his arm shifting into gleaming, razor-sharp claws.

Bakugou cocked his fist back, an explosion already building in his palm. "DIE!" he shouted, throwing his arm forward for another devastating strike.

But Izuku was faster. At the last moment, he sidestepped, his clawed hand shooting out to grab Bakugou’s wrist in a vise-like grip. With a calculated move, Izuku twisted Bakugou’s arm just enough to redirect the blast, the explosion veering harmlessly to the side. A row of parked cars bore the brunt of the attack, crumpling and flipping as flames and smoke erupted from the destruction.

Bakugou snarled, twisting his body to try and wrench his arm free, but Izuku held firm, his claws digging into the blond's gauntlet. "Let go of me you prick!" Bakugou barked, sparks flying from his free hand as he prepared another attack at point-blank range.

Izuku caught the flicker of sparks building in Bakugou’s free hand. Acting in an instant, he forced Bakugou’s explosive arm downward with a powerful twist of his clawed grip, the explosion detonating harmlessly against the concrete floor. Without missing a beat, Izuku shot his other claw forward, gripping Bakugou’s head firmly.

Using the momentum of their struggle, Izuku spun on his heel, his wings aiding in the movement with a powerful sweep. The centrifugal force sent Bakugou hurtling through the air like a ragdoll before slamming into a nearby pillar with a thunderous crack, concrete dust erupting from the impact.

What the hell is going on?! Bakugou thought, dragging himself to his feet, his back screaming in pain. His hands trembled, not from weakness, but from sheer, unrelenting rage. How the hell is that useless Deku beating me?! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! This damn nerd isn’t better than me! He can’t be better than me!

His crimson eyes locked onto Izuku, who stood across the battlefield, wings flexed and posture steady. His calm, calculated gaze cut through Bakugou like a blade. He’s looking down on me? Like I’m nothing? Like I’m weak?! Bakugou’s teeth ground together, his fury bubbling over into a white-hot explosion in his chest. Nobody looks down on Katsuki Bakugou! NOBODY!

“DEKU!!” he roared, his voice cracking with unfiltered rage. The blast from his palms rocketed him forward, leaving scorch marks in his wake. "I’LL KILL YOU, YOU DAMN EXTRA!" He cocked his arms back, explosions crackling with more fury than precision, intent on obliterating Izuku. "YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME?! I’LL SHOW YOU WHO’S BETTER!". Bakugou wasn’t fighting to win anymore—he was fighting to destroy. Izuku shifted his stance, his wings snapping into a defensive position with a sharp, metallic snap. He braced himself for Bakugou’s assault, but the blond detonated a chain of explosions mid-air, propelling himself over Izuku with blistering speed.

“TOO EASY!” Bakugou barked with a manic grin, the heat of his building explosion radiating behind him. His hands lit up, ready to unleash a devastating blast from above—

Until Izuku’s acid tail lashed out like a serpent, forcing Bakugou to twist mid-air to avoid the strike. The moment of hesitation was all Izuku needed. Pivoting smoothly, he unleashed a powerful wing strike, the edge of the metallic feathers slamming into Bakugou with the force of a battering ram.

The blond was sent hurtling across the parking garage, slamming into a parked car with a deafening CRASH. The vehicle crumpled under the impact, its alarm blaring in protest as Bakugou groaned, momentarily stunned. Izuku’s wings flexed again, ready for the next round, his tail swaying menacingly behind him as he prepared to meet Bakugou’s next move. Bakugou grimaced as he pushed himself off the mangled hood of the car, his body aching but his fury burning hotter than ever. His crimson eyes locked onto Izuku, who stood poised and ready, his tail swaying with deadly precision. The sight made Bakugou's blood boil—not with pain, but with something darker, something more primal.

For the first time in a long time, Bakugou really looked at him. This wasn’t the same nervous wreck who used to cower under his glare, flinching at his every word. No, this Izuku was calm, composed, and dangerous. The cool determination on his face was a knife twisting in Bakugou’s gut. The realization hit him like a sucker punch: Midoriya wasn’t scared of him anymore.

His thoughts spiraled. When the hell did this happen?! That useless nerd he’d known his whole life, the one who used to grovel at his feet, was standing here—winning.

Then another thought, more venomous than the last, crept into his mind. His teeth clenched, his hands trembling with rage. He’s been hiding this from me… this whole time. Bakugou’s mind raced, his anger distorting reality. That bastard’s been holding back—lying—making me look like a damn idiot! While I’ve been breaking my body to get stronger, he’s been laughing behind my back, planning this moment! He’s been training, growing, waiting for this chance to humiliate me!

His lips curled into a snarl, his hands sparking with violent energy. The explosions in his palms hissed and popped like his fraying sanity. “DEKU!” he bellowed, his voice raw with unfiltered rage. “YOU’VE BEEN SCHEMING THIS WHOLE TIME! YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE A FOOL OUT OF ME?! I’LL KILL YOU, YOU HEAR ME?! I’LL KILL YOU!”

Bakugou lunged forward again, his movements erratic and wild, explosions detonating around him like a storm as he rushed Izuku. “Huh? What are you talk abou-“ Izuku barely had time to finish his sentence before Bakugou’s next explosion detonated right in front of him. The shockwave rocked his body, pushing him back, but his wings flared wide, immediately absorbing the blast.

Bakugou darted to the side, using his explosions to propel himself in a flurry of speed, trying to find an opening in Izuku’s defensive wings. Each move was calculated, each explosion aimed to wear him down, but Izuku’s wings were like an impenetrable fortress, constantly shifting and snapping to protect him from the oncoming blasts. Bakugou’s explosions were wild and unpredictable, but Izuku was one step ahead.

Bakugou shot toward him again,  launching another explosion, determined to break through. But Izuku’s instincts kicked in. He flared his wings out with a sharp snap, catching the blast and redirecting it into the air. He didn’t wait for Bakugou to recover. With a speed that left the air vibrating, Izuku dashed forward, claws outstretched. He slashed across Bakugou’s torso with a vicious strike.

The claws cut deep enough to draw blood, the streaks of crimson staining Bakugou's costume, but the blow didn’t stop him. Bakugou gritted his teeth, only momentarily thrown off balance by the pain. That moment was all Izuku needed. With his wings acting as powerful boosters, he rushed in, closing the gap between them with astonishing speed.

The impact of Izuku crashing into Bakugou sent them both hurtling into the nearest pillar. Bakugou’s back slammed into the concrete with a bone-shaking thud, but he didn’t go down. Before he could even gather himself, Izuku was already pulling back his fist, his claws gleaming in the dim light of the garage.

He drove his fist forward in a powerful haymaker, the sheer force of it sending a shockwave through the air. The punch slammed into Bakugou’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him with a violent whoosh. Bakugou’s body jerked from the impact, but his resolve was unshaken.

Before Bakugou could react, Izuku sprang into the air, spinning his body to unleash a high-speed, spinning kick aimed directly at the side of Bakugou's head. The kick connected with a sickening crack, but Bakugou managed to deflect most of it with his gauntlet, though the impact still sent him reeling. His head snapped to the side, his vision blurring for a split second.

Izuku landed lightly on the ground, poised for his next move, but Bakugou’s fury was palpable. His body was bruised and battered, but his rage only intensified, his face twisting into an even darker scowl. He was fast, but Izuku was faster. He was strong, but Izuku was stronger.

Bakugou grunted, his fists clenching as the air around him crackled with tension. He had been underestimating Izuku. That mistake was about to cost him everything. Izuku’s focus sharpened, but as he prepared for his next move, a strange realization hit him. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t feeling that old surge of anxiety that had once consumed him whenever Bakugou came at him with that explosive rage. No, right now, all he felt was clarity—something deeper than the fear. His pulse steadied as his mind raced, processing the fight, the way his body moved, and how much he had changed. I’m not scared of him anymore, Izuku thought. I’m calm. Why? But there was no time to think about it now.

He needed to finish this. Now.

His claws twitched, and with a swift motion, Izuku morphed his hands, their sleek, metallic surfaces shifting. His hands transformed, the claws folding away and locking into place. A loud mechanical click echoed as his rocket launcher extended from his wrist, aimed directly at Bakugou. In one fluid motion, Izuku launched the missile without a second thought. The rocket shot forward with explosive speed, a streak of fire trailing behind it.

Bakugou’s eyes widened in surprise, but his instincts kicked in. He leaped to the side, just narrowly dodging the rocket. The projectile whistled past him, striking a car parked nearby.

Boom!

The explosion was deafening, a fiery eruption that sent chunks of concrete and metal flying in every direction. He didn’t flinch; he didn’t even hesitate.

Through the smoke and debris, Bakugou emerged, scorched but still furious, his clothes singed, and his hair even more disheveled. He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing. “You damn bastard!” he roared, his fists crackling with more explosions.

Izuku stood tall, unwavering. His breathing was steady. The chaos around him didn’t affect him anymore. He was no longer the kid who had been constantly overwhelmed by Bakugou’s presence. He was a fighter now—someone who could stand his ground. 

--MEANWHILE--

"Release," Ochaco muttered, her voice slightly shaky as she deactivated her quirk. The weight of her team returned, and they landed safely on the ground. She took a moment to steady herself, her stomach doing somersaults from the sudden descent.

Jiro wasted no time, plugging her earphone jacks into the nearby wall. Her face scrunched slightly as the vibrations of sound flooded through her senses. The roar of a deafening explosion caused her to flinch, followed by faint but distinct noises of destruction.

"That's probably Bakugou," she muttered, pulling her jacks free. The intensity of the sound was unmistakable. But then, amidst the chaos, she picked up something else—a rapid, rhythmic pounding accompanied by the distinct hum of an engine. Her eyes widened as recognition dawned.

"Iida," Jiro said firmly, spinning to face her teammates. "He's heading this way! Get ready!"

Sero grinned, his arms already firing out ribbons of tape. "About time someone showed up. Let's tie him up in style!"

Ibara clasped her hands together in silent prayer, a serene yet determined expression settling over her face. "We must stand firm. Together, we shall prevail."

The tension thickened as the team prepared for impact. Footsteps grew louder, the mechanical hum intensifying. Then, from the shadows, a Iida ran out at high speeds towards them.

"Here he comes!" Jiro shouted, adrenaline surging through her veins.

“Aha! Heroes! I have found you! Now it is time to face my evil wrath, do-gooders!” Iida announced, his voice booming with theatrical intensity. He stood tall, his arms crossed dramatically, as if he’d just stepped out of a cheesy superhero cartoon.

Team C froze for a moment, processing what they just heard. Then the cracks started to form—first a stifled giggle from Sero, followed by Ochaco’s shoulders shaking. Even Ibara, usually composed, let out a soft chuckle behind her hand.

“Pfft—what’s with the voice and the villain act?” Jiro finally said, her laughter breaking through like a dam. She doubled over, barely able to stand from the sheer ridiculousness of it. “Did you rehearse that?!”

Iida blinked, clearly caught off guard by their reaction. “What? Is my performance not sufficiently intimidating? As a villain, it is imperative to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies!”

That only made them laugh harder. Sero clutched his sides, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Strike fear? Dude, you sound like a Saturday morning cartoon!”

Ochaco waved her hands frantically, trying to catch her breath. “No, no—it’s great! Really! Super... um, scary!” She burst into giggles again, failing miserably at sounding sincere.

Iida adjusted his helmet, his cheeks flushing slightly behind it. “I... see my efforts are not being appreciated as intended. Very well, I shall adopt a more conventional approach!” He dashed forward with blinding speed. “Prepare yourselves for my righteous onslaught!”

Jiro wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh no, the scary ‘villain’ is coming!” she teased, her laughter fading as they all jumped into defensive stances. The lighthearted moment was over—now it was time to fight.

Chapter Text

“Iida, status report?” Momo’s voice came through the comms, calm and composed.

“I have located the opposition. Should I engage?” Iida replied, already analyzing his next move.

“Only if necessary. If things get hairy, don’t hesitate to retreat. Location?” she asked.

“Second floor, fashion district of the mall,” he informed her, scanning his surroundings for any sign of an ambush.

“Understood. Remember, retreat if needed.”

He really should have listened.

Iida barely ducked under a strand of tape as Sero fired another shot, the adhesive narrowly missing his head. He surged forward, only to skid to a halt as Ibara’s vines lashed out, forcing him to pivot sharply to avoid being ensnared. Before he could counter, Uraraka lunged at him from his blind spot, her hand stretching toward his arm.

It was a complete mess. Tape crisscrossed the area like a spider’s web, sticking to everything and cutting off his paths. Ibara’s vines slithered along the floor and walls, constantly shifting to block him. And Uraraka? She was relentless, waiting for just the right moment to tap him and send him floating helplessly.

Iida’s engines roared to life, propelling him forward in a burst of speed as he evaded another attack. He closed in on Sero, aiming a precise kick at his midsection, but a sudden wave of vines forced him to abort the strike and leap back.

“Man, you’re quick!” Sero taunted, firing another volley of tape.

Iida didn’t answer, his focus locked on his opponents. He dashed again, narrowly avoiding the vines curling around his legs. He was fast, but the terrain was working against him, the tangled mess of tape and vines limiting his movement and forcing him into tighter spaces.

And Jiro? She was nowhere to be seen, which made him more anxious by the second.

Iida darted behind a mannequin to avoid another strand of tape, the adhesive snapping past him and sticking to a nearby display. He didn’t stop, using the cover to propel himself forward in a blur of motion. He narrowly twisted his body mid-dash to avoid a mass of vines sweeping low, their tendrils curling dangerously close to his legs.

He ducked into a mock fashion store, hoping for a moment to recalibrate. His reprieve was short-lived. As soon as he stepped forward, his feet snagged, and he grimaced—tape had wrapped tightly around his leg.

“Gotcha!” Sero’s voice rang out triumphantly from across the store.

Without hesitation, Iida’s engines roared to life. Exhaust flared out in a sudden burst, flames scorching the tape clean off his leg. But there was no time to celebrate—he threw himself into a forward roll just as Ibara’s vines shot through the store window like whips, shattering glass and tearing apart the displays he had just been hiding behind.

His speed was both his greatest ally and his worst enemy. The faster he moved, the more he risked running headfirst into the maze of tape that crisscrossed the area like a hunter’s snare. Yet slowing down would mean giving his opponents an edge.

Iida zigzagged through the store, his engines sputtering bursts of speed in short intervals to keep him agile. He dodged a trio of vines attempting to box him in, twisting his body mid-air as he used a fallen rack to kick off into another burst of acceleration.

“Stop running, Iida!” Sero shouted, firing another volley of tape in a wide arc.

Iida planted one foot down, grinding to a halt as the tape whizzed past him, inches from his face. He immediately launched himself upward, the exhaust from his engines scorching the air as he vaulted onto a display shelf. From his elevated position, he spotted Sero reloading his tape dispensers.

There’s my opening.

He charged, landing heavily just as Ibara’s vines whipped toward him. He barely managed to sidestep them, using the momentum to spin and slam a powerful kick into a nearby support column. The shockwave knocked the vines off-course, giving him the split-second he needed to lunge at Sero.

But just as he reached for Sero’s arm, his foot caught on another strand of tape that had been lying in wait. He staggered, and before he could recover, the ground beneath him erupted with vines. Forced to react, Iida leaped high into the air, his engines flaring as he vaulted out of their reach.

“You’re just prolonging the inevitable!” Uraraka’s voice came from above. Iida’s eyes widened as he realized she had been lying in wait, launching herself toward him with surprising speed. Her hand reached for his arm, ready to activate her Quirk.

Iida twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding her grasp, his engines firing in a desperate attempt to gain distance. He landed in a crouch, breathing heavily. Tape, vines, and relentless attacks from every angle—it was chaos. And he was in the center of it.

But chaos or not, Tenya Iida wasn’t done yet. This fight wasn’t going in his favor, and he knew it. Retreat was his only option.

With a sudden burst of speed, he dashed past another wave of vines and strands of tape, narrowly avoiding the traps closing in on him from every direction. The fashion district faded behind him as he barreled toward the eatery, his only hope for a strategic advantage.

“Yayorozu! I’ve initiated a tactical retreat! I’m exiting the fashion district and heading for the eatery for Plan B. Do you copy?” he barked into his comms, breathless.

A crackle of static was his only response.

“Hu—” he was about to ask what was going on when a deafening sound wave slammed into him from the side, knocking him clean off his feet. He spun through the air before hitting the ground hard, the air knocked out of his lungs.

“Not so fast, speedy.”

Iida groaned, blinking rapidly as Jiro stepped into view, a smirk on her face and her earphone jacks vibrating with residual sound energy. He tried to scramble to his feet, but before he could even push himself up, strands of tape wrapped around his arms and legs, holding him firmly in place.

He let out a frustrated growl, squirming harder. The tape didn’t budge. He let out another, even louder grunt. “Curse you, heroes!” he shouted dramatically, his voice rising to a villainous octave as he clung to his over-the-top persona.

This earned a round of hearty laughs from his peers.

“You really need to work on your villainous speeches, Iida,” Jiro teased, walking over and casually tapping his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re trying to rehearse for a comic book audition.”

Iida paused for a second, looking up at her in disbelief. “I— what?”

“Oh, nothing. Just... next time, maybe don’t try to do the whole villain thing while you’re getting tied up by tape.” She gave him a wink, then took a step back as Sero walked up with his usual confident grin.

“Tenya Iida has been captured!”

The announcement rang out to Iida’s dismay.

"Not good," Momo muttered under her breath, wiping a bead of sweat off her temple as she secured the last of the traps along the dimly lit corridor leading to the bomb room buried deep in the mall. She adjusted her tactical headset and turned to Shoji. "Have you picked up any signs of the opposing team yet?"

Shoji shook his head, his voice steady but apologetic. "No. Bakugou’s explosions are making it impossible to pinpoint anything specific. The noise is overwhelming."

Momo frowned, her mind racing. Even when Bakugou isn’t part of the plan, he’s still creating obstacles for us, she thought, a flash of frustration crossing her face. But she pushed it aside—there was no time for distractions.

"Understood. Be vigilant and move carefully. Our advantage is that we’re hidden underground, but don’t underestimate Jiro’s hearing. Even the slightest noise could give us away," she warned, her tone measured but urgent.

Shoji nodded. "Got it," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them shuddered violently, a deep BOOM reverberating through the structure. Dust rained down from the ceiling as another tremor rattled the walls.

Momo’s grip tightened on her staff. "At least Bakugou is keeping Midoriya occupied," she murmured under her breath, though the sheer force of the explosions was starting to feel more like a liability than a blessing.

Meanwhile...

Izuku gritted his teeth as yet another explosion erupted against his metallic wings, sending a wave of heat and pressure cascading over him. His boots skidded across the cracked asphalt of the parking garage, the charred remains of cars and debris strewn around like a war zone.

Before the smoke even cleared, his right arm transformed, the whirring of servos audible as his gun-arm came to life. He aimed and fired a hailstorm of bullets, each round streaking toward Bakugou with pinpoint precision.

"Too slow, nerd!" Bakugou snarled, propelling himself sideways with a deafening blast, zigzagging through the air with chaotic precision. Sparks rained down as his palm detonations carved gouges into the floor and walls.

The blond rocketed toward Izuku again, his movements wild and erratic. With a guttural roar, he unleashed another massive explosion at point-blank range. Izuku snapped his wings forward, crossing them into a shield just in time to absorb the brunt of the blast.

The force pushed Izuku back several feet, his heels grinding into the scorched concrete. Smoke and ash filled the air, but Bakugou’s feral grin was visible through the haze.

"STOP HIDING BEHIND THOSE DAMN WINGS AND FIGHT ME LIKE A REAL MAN, YOU CHICKEN!" Bakugou roared, his voice cracking with unhinged fury.

Izuku stayed silent, his emerald eyes focused, analyzing.

"SAY SOMETHING, DAMN IT!" Bakugou bellowed, the veins in his neck bulging. "YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME?! YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST LOOK DOWN ON ME?!"

Izuku shook his head, his voice calm but sincere. "I never looked down on you, Kacchan. I always looked up to you."

Bakugou froze for a fraction of a second, his manic grin faltering. But then his rage reignited like gasoline on a fire.

"BULLSHIT!" he shouted, his explosions flaring more violently.

Izuku stood his ground, his tone unwavering. "I thought you were amazing. I wanted to be like you, strong and fearless. I didn’t hide my quirk from you, Kacchan—I only awakened it five months ago."

Before he could say more, Bakugou’s voice erupted, louder and more ferocious than the explosions around them. "SHUT UP! YOU THINK I’M GONNA FALL FOR THAT CRAP?! YOU THINK YOU CAN FOOL ME AGAIN?!"

The blond raised his arm, reaching for the pin on his grenade gauntlet.

"HEY, NERD!" he yelled, his voice manic, his eyes gleaming with wild intensity. "SINCE YOU’RE SO SMART, HOW ABOUT YOU GUESS WHAT THIS DOES? HERE’S A HINT: IT’S BEEN STORING MY SWEAT THIS WHOLE TIME, AND WHEN IT HITS YOU—YOU’RE DEAD!"

Izuku’s eyes widened.

"Bakugou, stand down! That attack could kill him!" All Might’s voice crackled through the comms, urgent and commanding.

"HE’LL BE FINE AS LONG AS HE HIDES BEHIND THOSE DAMN CHICKEN WINGS!" Bakugou snapped back, his grin stretching into something almost feral. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled the pin.

The gauntlet roared to life, a blinding glow erupting from the nozzle.

"DIE, DEKU!"

A colossal explosion erupted from the gauntlet, a fiery inferno of destruction that surged toward Izuku like a tidal wave.

Reacting instinctively, Izuku wrapped his wings around himself in a tight cocoon, bracing for impact. The heat was unbearable, the pressure suffocating, as the world around him vanished in a blinding, searing light.

And then, everything went white.

The explosion ripped through the parking garage with an earth-shattering force, sending shockwaves throughout the structure. Concrete, steel, and glass buckled under the sheer magnitude of the blast, debris launching in all directions like shrapnel. The ground quaked violently, and in an instant, a massive hole yawned open in the very heart of the mall above, tearing through multiple floors. The once pristine shopping center was reduced to a chaotic ruin, the air thick with smoke, ash, and the acrid stench of burning materials.

Far below, the devastation pierced the hidden basement that had been their strategic secret. Dust and rubble cascaded into the underground chamber, illuminating the dark corridors with an eerie red glow from emergency lights that flickered sporadically.

And then came the screams.

"AAAAHHHHHHH!" Jiro’s shriek of pure, unfiltered agony echoed down the shattered halls. The sound was raw and guttural, a primal cry torn from her very being. Her enhanced hearing, a gift that had always been her greatest asset, now became her greatest curse. The explosion’s deafening roar—so loud it could have made even a deaf person’s ears throb—had struck her like a dagger to the skull. It was as though her own jacks had betrayed her, amplifying the torment to unbearable levels.

Jiro collapsed to her knees, clutching her head as if trying to physically block out the aftershocks of the sound that still reverberated in her skull. Blood trickled from her ears, vivid against her pale skin, staining her gloves as she pressed her hands desperately against her ears in an instinctive but futile attempt to find relief.

"Jiro! Are you okay?!" Uraraka’s panicked voice cut through the chaos, though it sounded muffled even to her own ringing ears. She rushed to Jiro’s side, kneeling next to her, her heart pounding as she saw the state of her teammate.

Jiro’s face twisted in agony, her usually sharp and focused eyes now wide with panic and pain. "WHAT?!" she shouted, her voice unnaturally loud and strained, completely unaware of her own volume. "I CAN’T HEAR YOU! MY EARS—THEY’RE RINGING!"

Uraraka winced, her hands trembling as she placed them on Jiro’s shoulders. The sound of Jiro’s screaming, combined with the echoes of the explosion, made her own head throb, but it was nothing compared to what Jiro was enduring. Her eyes darted to the blood dripping from Jiro’s ears, the sight filling her with a nauseating sense of helplessness.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Uraraka thought Jiro might be permanently deaf. But as her teammate continued to cry out, she realized with a flicker of relief that Jiro’s volume meant she could still perceive sound—albeit in a distorted, agonizing way. Still, the damage was severe, and her role as their scout was compromised.

"Just breathe, Jiro! We’ll figure this out!" Uraraka said, even though she wasn’t sure if her words reached her. Her own ears were still ringing, the muffled chaos around them adding to the disorientation.

The two of them sat there amidst the rubble, the air heavy with dust and the faint, metallic tang of blood. Jiro’s sobs of pain gradually became hoarse as exhaustion began to set in, though her hands never left her ears, her jacks trembling like taut wires on the verge of snapping.

As the tremors from the explosion subsided, an ominous silence crept over the mall, broken only by the faint, unsettling sound of debris settling into place. The stillness hung heavily in the air, thick with the aftermath of destruction.

Uraraka's stomach churned as she glanced down toward the gaping hole now exposing the hidden basement. Dust swirled in the air like a curtain of smoke, obscuring the bottom, but she could feel the enormity of the damage. 'That must be where the bomb room is,' she thought grimly, the realization twisting in her gut.

A groan broke the silence as Sero stumbled to his feet, brushing dust off his hero suit. "Augh, man... my ears! What the hell was that?!" he exclaimed, his voice rough and strained, clearly still shaken.

Beside him, Ibara stirred, her vines retracting slightly as she steadied herself. Her serene expression was replaced with a rare grimace of discomfort. "I would assume this is the handiwork of that wrathful terrorist," she said coolly, referring to Bakugou. But her calm demeanor cracked as her eyes landed on the gaping hole in the floor, and then on Jiro's condition.

Sero and Ibara froze as they processed what they were seeing. Jiro remained crumpled on the ground, her hands still pressed tightly to her head, blood staining her gloves. Uraraka knelt beside her, visibly tense but trying to keep her calm.

Sero was about to move to help when the faint sound of shifting rubble echoed from the hole. The noise grew louder, heavier, until they all leaned in cautiously to see what was happening.

From beneath the wreckage, something began to stir. Large slabs of concrete shifted unnaturally, moved aside by deliberate, mechanical force. The faint glow of reflected light pierced through the settling dust, and soon, a pair of sleek, metal wings emerged, their edges dented but still functional.

Midoriya rose slowly from the wreckage, his wings spread wide as they pushed the debris off of him. His green eyes glinted through the haze, his usually kind expression replaced with something far more focused—cold, almost detached. Dust clung to his battered form, and his arms hung at his sides, one of them still shifting back from the missile launcher he had used moments earlier.

His voice cut through the tension, low and steady despite the chaos surrounding him. "I’m okay..." he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, as if confirming his own survival.

The group stared in stunned silence, taking in the sight. The force of the explosion should have killed anyone caught at the center of it, but here he was, rising from the rubble like a phoenix from the ashes, his mechanical enhancements bearing the brunt of the devastation.

Uraraka’s breath hitched as she watched him, both relieved and unnerved. "Midoriya..." she murmured, her voice barely audible, a mixture of concern and disbelief.

But before anyone could speak further, Midoriya’s eyes shifted toward the hole above them, narrowing slightly. His focus sharpened. "Bakugou’s still up there," he said, his voice grim. "And he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, no one knew what to say. Then, with a slight adjustment of his wings, Midoriya stepped forward, his movements purposeful but clearly strained.

Any bruises on Midoriya’s body began to fade, the angry purples and reds shrinking as his accelerated healing kicked in. Simultaneously, the dents and cracks in his mechanical wings began smoothing out, nanometal shifting and repairing itself like liquid steel. As he pushed himself upright, he surveyed the corridors of the basement, now laid bare by the force of the explosion. What had once been carefully hidden traps were now fully exposed—wires, spikes, and pressure plates clearly visible through the wreckage.

‘Traps... the bomb room must be somewhere down here,’ Izuku thought, piecing it together quickly.

“Hey guys,” he said aloud, his voice calm but firm, “you all should check the basement. I’ll keep Bakugou busy.”

Sero immediately looked at him with disbelief, waving a hand to gesture at the ruined battlefield around them. “Hey man, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, concern written all over his face. “I mean, look at this!” He pointed at the destruction—the gaping hole in the ceiling, the twisted metal, and shattered concrete. “If he does this again—”

“I’ll be fine,” Izuku interrupted, his voice steady, though his gaze never wavered from the path above. “You all just focus on finding the bomb.”

Before Sero or the others could argue further, All Might’s voice exploded over the comms, carrying the full weight of his authority.

“BAKUGOU, FIRE ANOTHER ATTACK LIKE THAT AGAIN AND YOU ARE DISQUALIFIED!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou snapped back dismissively, his voice dripping with irritation. The faint sound of his gauntlets charging echoed through the ruined mall. With an explosion that sent dust spiraling into the air, Bakugou launched himself through the massive hole he had created, soaring into view like an avenging storm.

“OI, DEKU! I KNOW YOU’RE DOWN THERE!” he bellowed, his voice manic, distorted by the sheer volume of his rage.

Midoriya turned to his teammates one last time. “You guys go,” he said quickly, determination etched into every line of his face. “I’ll hold him off.”

Before anyone could stop him, Midoriya shot upward, his wings propelling him in a single, powerful flap that sent cracks spiderwebbing across the rubble beneath him. The force of his ascent whipped up dust and debris as he soared through the hole into the open air, straight toward Bakugou.

The blond was already waiting, a manic grin splitting his face as he angled his gauntlets toward the approaching green blur. “’BOUT TIME YOU SHOWED UP, CHICKEN WINGS!”

Izuku didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His emerald eyes narrowed like sharpened blades, his wings snapping open with a hiss of tension. Bakugou’s manic grin faltered for just a moment—barely long enough to register—before Izuku struck.

A single, powerful flap of his wings shattered the air, sending Izuku hurtling forward at speeds that seemed impossible. The green blur closed the distance before Bakugou could react, the world a split-second behind. Izuku’s clawed hand slammed into Bakugou’s chest with the force of a freight train. The impact sent the blond reeling through the air, limbs flailing as his body twisted from the force.

“Gah!” Bakugou’s breath left him in a choked gasp, his balance completely thrown.

But Izuku didn’t let up. Before Bakugou could stabilize, Izuku was already on him, his movements calculated and relentless. In one fluid motion, Midoriya grabbed the back of Bakugou’s head, his fingers digging into the collar of his hero costume. With a sharp, merciless pull, Izuku flung Bakugou downward.

The blond didn’t hit the ground. He smashed face-first into the nearest concrete wall, the impact splintering it like glass, cracks webbing out in every direction. Dust and debris exploded into the air as Bakugou’s body hung there for a half-second before starting to fall—

—only for Izuku to follow up. His left arm transformed seamlessly, mechanical parts unfolding and shifting with precision, forming the shape of his missile launcher. Without hesitating, Izuku fired.

The resulting blast roared through the air, the recoil forcing Izuku back slightly as the explosion consumed the spot where Bakugou had been.

“DAMMIT!” Bakugou roared from within the smoke, his instincts saving him at the last possible moment. A desperate blast propelled him out of the explosion’s epicenter, but not unscathed. The shockwave caught him mid-air, sending him spiraling like a broken rocket through shattered storefronts, glass raining down around him.

Bakugou skidded to a stop on the mall’s tiled floor, his boots dragging grooves into the polished surface. He growled, his breathing heavy, blood trickling from a small cut on his forehead. His wild red eyes locked onto Izuku as the green-haired boy hovered above him, wings spread wide, smoke still curling off his missile launcher.

For a moment, Bakugou said nothing. His mind raced to process what had just happened.

Izuku had moved faster. Hit harder. Attacked smarter.

He wasn’t holding back anymore.

“YOU DAMN NERD!” Bakugou bellowed, shaking off the disorientation and charging his gauntlets again. Sparks sputtered and crackled, but Bakugou’s expression was more furious—and more unhinged—than ever. “YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE ME DOWN?! I’M JUST GETTING STARTED!”

Izuku didn’t reply. He simply hovered, calm yet unwavering, the faint whirr of his mechanical wings humming like a predator’s growl. His gaze never left Bakugou.

“I told you, Kacchan,” Izuku said finally, his voice steady, the weight of his words cutting through the blond’s rage. “I’m not weak anymore.”

Bakugou grit his teeth, his knuckles white against the handles of his gauntlets. “WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!”

With a deafening blast, Bakugou launched himself forward like a cannonball, and Izuku swooped to meet him.

Momo’s hand tightened around her communicator as Shoji’s voice crackled through the comms. “Shoji! Status report!” she shouted, brushing dust and rubble from her costume. Her mind raced—whatever Bakugou had done, it wasn’t just reckless, it was devastating. Not only had he exposed their strategic position, but the sheer force of the explosion rendered many of her carefully laid traps useless. Or worse, glaringly obvious.

Momo always prided herself on rationality, her ability to stay composed no matter the circumstance. But Bakugou… oh, Bakugou. He tested her limits. The urge to shove a grenade of her own design directly down his throat was almost too strong to ignore.

Shoji’s voice snapped her focus back to the present. “Not good,” he reported, his tone tense but steady. “The entire room is in shambles. Judging by the light coming from one of the hallways, that last attack tore a hole into the basement. It’s only a matter of time before the other team finds us.”

Momo grit her teeth, frustration gnawing at her. “Understood. If they do find you, be ready to engage,” she ordered firmly. “It’s going to be four versus two until I can get there. Be careful, and don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Got it,” Shoji replied, his voice short and clipped.

Behind him, Kirishima let out a low whistle, shaking dust from his hair. “Man, I thought that guy was manly with all that power, but he’s just crazy.”

“Tell me about it,” Shoji muttered in agreement, his voice betraying a hint of tension.

Then something shifted—so small, so quiet, it was barely noticeable. But Shoji caught it. A sound. Not footsteps, but something. A disturbance in the air, faint but wrong. His instincts flared like alarm bells in his chest.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper.

He turned toward the entrance of the bomb room, his enhanced senses zeroing in. The faint whir of motion registered first, just as something shot out of the shadows. Shoji’s muscles reacted on pure instinct. In a blur, he raised one of his many arms and blocked the projectile mid-flight.

A thin, sticky strand of tape wrapped tightly around his arm before snapping back toward the darkness.

“They’re here.” Shoji’s voice was grim and steady as his extra arms spread out defensively. He hunched his frame to shield Kirishima, his gaze locked on the darkened hallway.

“Release,” Ochaco commanded firmly, deactivating her Quirk and letting gravity reclaim her teammates.

The moment their feet hit the ground, they were all on high alert. Jiro, though still visibly disoriented and clutching her ears, managed to steady herself. Her impaired hearing didn’t stop her from mirroring the determined stances of her teammates. Ibara’s vines coiled elegantly around her like a living shield, while Sero flexed his arms, tape ready and gleaming under the flickering mall lights. Ochaco positioned herself at the center, her fists clenching as her focus sharpened. Jiro glanced at everyone, squinted, and—almost comically—assumed a fighting stance as well.

“Alright!” Kirishima roared, his jagged teeth flashing in a wide, confident grin. His skin hardened instantly, a sharp crack ringing out as his body became stone-like, edges rough and deadly. “Let’s do this thing!”

He was the first to rush in, his charge fast and furious. Shoji moved alongside him, his extra limbs unfurling to cover multiple angles at once.

Sero reacted immediately, snapping his wrist and unleashing a volley of tape that shot through the air like whips. The strands crisscrossed the space with precision, forcing Kirishima to weave and duck as he barreled forward. His jagged form scraped against the walls, tearing chunks of debris free with every step.

“Don’t make this easy for them!” Sero called out, twisting to aim another strand.

Kirishima grunted as a fresh volley cut across his path. He raised his arm to block, but before he could swing, a wall of thick, writhing vines erupted from the floor. Ibara’s vines wrapped tightly around his hardened form, the greenery coiling with surprising strength.

Kirishima struggled against the sudden restraint, his feet dragging through the rubble as the vines pinned his arms to his sides and slammed him backward into a wall. The impact shook the ground, cracks spider-webbing out from where his jagged form hit. Dust and chunks of drywall rained around him, but his steely resolve didn’t falter.

“You are trapped. Surrender,” Ibara’s voice rang out, calm yet firm, as her vines continued to tighten like living chains.

Kirishima grinned, teeth grinding as he pushed against the pressure. “That’s not how a real man fights!” he shot back, fire blazing in his eyes.

With a primal growl, Kirishima’s jaw snapped open, and to everyone’s shock, he bit down on the vines coiling around his torso. The jagged edges of his teeth acted like blades, tearing through the plant matter as he chewed his way free.

“Are you—did he just bite through my vines?!” Ibara said, momentarily startled as her control wavered.

“Never underestimate me!” Kirishima shouted, finally freeing one arm. With a sharp twist of his body, the jagged edges of his hardened form sliced through the remaining vines in a flurry of green shreds.

Sero wasn’t about to let up, though. His tape shot out in rapid succession, each strand seeking to bind Kirishima down again. The hardened fighter raised his forearms defensively, letting the tape wrap around him. But instead of slowing down, he charged through it, the jagged edges of his body grinding against the adhesive strands and fraying them as he moved.

“Tch, this guy doesn’t quit!” Sero muttered, pivoting back and lining up another shot.

“Like I’d let you trap me again!” Kirishima roared, his voice like thunder shaking the fractured room. His eyes blazed red with determination, his jagged, stone-like skin gleaming in the dim light. Sero backpedaled “Man, you’re relentless!” he muttered, firing a strand of tape at Kirishima’s feet. The white adhesive snapped forward, but Kirishima was ready. He stomped hard, his sharpened stone toes splintering the ground and pinning the tape where it landed.

Sero’s jaw tightened. Smart.

Kirishima didn’t give him time to adjust. He lunged forward, fist cocked, the air whistling around his knuckles. “Take this!”

Sero leapt into the air, twisting his body to narrowly avoid the punch. The fist smashed into the ground where he’d been standing, the impact detonating the tile into a spray of rubble and dust. Sero’s landing was smooth, his feet skidding across the debris-strewn floor as he instantly shot another strand of tape.

This one was faster, more precise—it wrapped around Kirishima’s extended arm like a whip, yanking him off-balance.

“Got you!” Sero called, his voice a mix of triumph and strain as he tugged.

But Kirishima dug his heels into the ground, stopping himself dead with sheer brute strength. “Not this time!” he barked. He flexed his arm, and the jagged edges of his quirked skin ground against the tape. A sharp, tearing sound filled the air as the fibers frayed and snapped under pressure.

SNAP! The tape broke.

“What!?” Sero exclaimed, barely dodging as Kirishima charged through the broken strands like an unstoppable freight train.

Before Sero could get his footing, Ibara struck. Vines shot out of the darkness with serpentine precision, wrapping around Kirishima’s legs and arms in thick, twisting coils. “You’re cornered!” Ibara’s calm voice cut through the chaos as she anchored her vines to the surrounding rubble. “Submit, and this ends now!”

The vines pulled taut, locking Kirishima’s limbs in place. For a moment, it looked like they had him.

But Kirishima just threw his head back and laughed, the sound raw and wild. “Is this all you’ve got?!” His muscles swelled under the vines, the jagged, rock-like surface of his body turning even sharper.

Ibara’s vines creaked under the strain, the tension threatening to snap them. “He’s breaking free!” she warned.

“On it!” Sero shouted, firing another barrage of tape. Strands shot from his elbows like bullets, binding Kirishima’s torso, legs, and arms with lightning speed. Layer upon layer piled up, pinning the redhead to the shattered ground. “Stay down, dude!”

For a moment, the room fell silent save for the slight rustling of vines and tape settling around Kirishima’s trapped form.

Then came the sound—low and guttural at first, but building into something primal. Kirishima’s shoulders began to shake as a growl rumbled deep in his chest.

“You think this is enough?” he snarled.

The tape strained.

His muscles bulged.

The vines trembled.

“I’m not done yet!” Kirishima bellowed, his voice shaking the air. With a monstrous roar, he flexed his entire body, every muscle coiling like a steel spring. His jagged, rock-like edges sliced through the tape, fibers snapping and fluttering into the air like confetti.

CRACK! The vines frayed, then tore apart in an instant. A shockwave burst from Kirishima’s body as he broke free, chunks of tape and vines scattering in every direction. Dust and rubble blasted outward, obscuring him for just a moment.

When the dust cleared, there he stood—unshaken, unyielding, his breathing heavy but steady. His rock-like skin looked sharper than ever, glowing faintly under the strain of his quirk. A triumphant grin stretched across his face as he slammed his fists together with an ear-splitting CRUNCH.

“That all you got?!” he shouted, his wild grin daring them to try again. “Come on—I can do this all day!”

Sero and Ibara exchanged a quick look, both panting. “Man, this guy…” Sero muttered, sweat trailing down his temple.

Ibara’s vines shifted, preparing for another round. “He is relentless. We must change our approach.”

Kirishima pounded his fists together again, the sound reverberating like a war drum. “What’s wrong? You’re not giving up, are you?”

Shoji wasn’t having it any easier. Jiro’s relentless soundwaves rippled through the air, each blast hitting him like a hammer to the chest. He crossed his muscular arms again to shield himself, but the force still sent him skidding backward, his feet carving grooves into the fractured floor. His enhanced senses buzzed from the sonic onslaught, disorienting him.

Before he could reset, Ochaco was on him—silent but swift—her hand outstretched, fingers inches from his arm. Shoji twisted his body at the last second, his six arms spreading wide as he narrowly avoided her touch, but the pressure was mounting. They’re working together too well.

Another BOOM—Jiro fired off another audio pulse. Shoji braced himself, feeling the tremor in the air before it struck. He blocked again, but this time, the shockwave sent him crashing into a cracked pillar. The impact rattled his bones, but he had no time to dwell on the pain. Through the corner of his eye, he spotted Ochaco lobbing a chunk of debris toward him, the massive slab of concrete floating weightlessly in her grasp before she hurled it like a boulder.

Shoji’s mind raced. Soundwaves in front, debris from above—she’s trying to pin me!

He acted on instinct. His arms shot out like whips, grabbing the pillar behind him and using it to vault sideways, the weightless debris smashing into the spot he’d just occupied. Dust and rubble exploded outward, but Shoji was already moving, his form darting through the cloud like a shadow.

“Don’t let him reset!” Jiro shouted, her jacks glowing faintly as they pulsed with energy.

Shoji’s ear membranes twitched. Her next blast is charging.

He pushed off the ground with explosive force, zig-zagging across the battlefield to avoid being an easy target. The floor shook as Ochaco floated another massive piece of debris, her brow furrowed with focus. “Keep him moving, Jiro!” she called, her voice sharp with determination.

Jiro grinned, dropping to one knee and driving her jacks into the ground. “Let’s see you dodge this, Shoji!” she yelled as a shockwave erupted outward like a seismic bomb. The vibrations tore through the earth, sending cracks splintering across the floor, and the blast hit Shoji like a tidal wave.

Shoji crossed two arms to shield his chest while two more planted into the ground for balance, his body straining against the sonic force. The vibration rippled through him, rattling his teeth, but he held his ground—just barely. As the blast subsided, his sharp senses screamed at him—Incoming!

Uraraka seized her chance, her silhouette darting through the lingering dust cloud. She moved fast, deceptively nimble, and Shoji could see her hand reaching for him, fingers glowing faintly with the telltale shimmer of her quirk.

Can’t let her touch me!

With blinding speed, Shoji spun, two arms snapping forward like battering rams to create distance, while another arm swung low, aiming to sweep her legs out from under her.

Uraraka saw it coming—just barely. She backflipped, graceful and weightless, narrowly avoiding the strike and landing effortlessly several feet away. “He’s learning our rhythm,” she muttered, her eyes sharp.

Jiro’s jacks crackled as she charged up another soundwave, her face determined. “What? Did you say he’s churning our chickens?” she yelled over the vibrating hum in her ears, completely serious.

Uraraka froze mid-motion, her jaw hanging open. Did she just say…? The mental image hit her like a freight train—Shoji, stoic and stone-faced, manically whisking chickens into oblivion. She bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood, her shoulders trembling as she fought not to laugh. Serious situation. Serious situation, she chanted in her head.

Shoji, meanwhile, was crouched in a combat stance, his face grim, muscles coiled and arms splayed like a spider of war. He blinked, deadpan. “...Chickens?”

Jiro, unable to hear her own nonsense over her partially fried eardrums, nodded firmly, completely missing the point. “Yeah! The chickens, man!”

Uraraka finally cracked. “Jiro,” she wheezed through suppressed laughter. “I think your brains are leaking out your ears.”

“WHAT?!” Jiro shouted louder, genuinely alarmed. “WHO’S BLEEDING EARS?! AM I DYING?!”

Shoji, trying to keep focus amid the sheer lunacy, sighed like an overworked babysitter who was suddenly questioning his life choices. “For the love of—”

He didn’t finish.

A weightless cinderblock—courtesy of Uraraka’s quirk—clonked him square in the head, thrown haphazardly as she buckled over in silent hysterics. The massive six-armed fighter wobbled for half a second like a tragic cartoon character before collapsing forward with an audible thud, limbs sprawled in a crumpled heap.

Jiro blinked, her confused gaze darting between Uraraka’s quaking shoulders and Shoji’s sprawled form. “...Did we win?” she asked, still shouting unnecessarily.

Uraraka wiped a tear from her eye, snorting like an unhinged hyena. “Oh no, Jiro, we’re losing. Mostly our sanity.”

Shoji groaned from the floor, one arm twitching. “...Chickens…” he muttered, as if his spirit had temporarily left his body to a distant farm.

Before they could celebrate their whimsical victory, chaos resumed with brutal efficiency.

A net shot from the shadows snapped around Jiro, pinning her arms to her sides like a burrito of despair. “WHAT THE—?!” Jiro shrieked, flailing as her jacks tangled uselessly in the mesh. “IS THIS HOW I GO? LIKE A FISH?!”

Momo emerged from the smoke and rubble with the grace of a queen, her combat uniform barely dirtied. She adjusted her stance, a second net cannon materializing from her forearm. “That’s one down. Now, for you.”

She leveled her sights on Uraraka, her finger tightening around the trigger.

Unfortunately for Momo, “pinpointing” Uraraka was like trying to swat a mosquito with a sniper rifle. The gravity-defying heroine zipped erratically through the air, launching herself from walls and shattered debris with gleeful abandon, leaving Momo’s net shots hitting nothing but empty air.

“Hold still!” Momo barked, frustration creeping into her normally calm demeanor. Another shot—missed. Another—missed again.

“Nuh uh!” Uraraka chirped, grinning wildly as she ricocheted off a broken beam like an over-caffeinated ping pong ball.

Momo narrowed her eyes. She’s treating this like a game. A third cannon materialized from her belt, faster and more compact than the others. “You will hold still!” she hissed, unleashing a barrage of rapid-fire nets.

Uraraka spiraled through the storm of nets, barely dodging with midair flips. One net came too close, grazing her ankle. “Woop—almost got me there!” she taunted, sticking out her tongue as she careened off a pillar.

“You’re insufferable,” Momo muttered, now visibly gritting her teeth. Composure, Momo. You’re better than this.

Meanwhile, Jiro was still wriggling like a distressed worm in the background. “HELLO?! TEAM?! I’M STILL HERE! I CAN’T EVEN SCRATCH MY NOSE!”

“Hang tight, Jiro!” Uraraka yelled, upside-down as she somersaulted past. “I’ll save you in a sec—woah!” A near miss sent her spinning wildly. “Or, y’know… in a minute.”

Momo exhaled sharply, her patience snapping like a twig. Enough. She pulled a fourth device from her utility belt—a weighted bola, sleek and lethal. “I only need one shot.”

With a calm, calculated breath, she aimed and let it fly.

The bola whirled through the air, a spinning blur of precision.

Uraraka’s eyes widened. “Oh, cra—!”

The bola struck her square in the midsection, the weighted ends wrapping around her torso in a mechanical whirr. “Ack—!” She lost all sense of direction, tumbling to the floor like a dropped kite, landing in a graceless heap.

“Ha! Gotcha!” Momo said triumphantly, striding forward like a victorious general.

“Ugh…” Uraraka groaned from the ground, squirming futilely against the bola. “No fair, you brought math to the fight.”

“I brought tactics,” Momo corrected, crossing her arms, regal as ever.

From the background came Jiro’s sarcastic shout: “Cool story, genius! Now untangle me before I die of embarrassment!”

Momo sighed. Victory was hers… but at what cost?

Momo couldn’t afford to hesitate—Kirishima was starting to wear down under the relentless assault of Sero’s tape and Ibara’s vines. Her sharp gaze locked onto Sero first; the tape-slinger was mid-shot, too focused on keeping Kirishima pinned to notice her.

Perfect.

With calculated precision, Momo sprinted into the fray, her bo staff shimmering into existence as she drew it from her palm. Closing the distance in a flash, she twisted her body, her staff whipping through the air.

THWACK!

The blow struck Sero clean in the midsection. His eyes bulged as the impact doubled him over, the force driving the wind from his lungs.

“What the—?” he wheezed, stumbling back.

Momo didn’t give him a second to recover. She dropped low, seamlessly transitioning into a sweeping spin, her staff cutting through the air like a blade. The strike slammed into the back of Sero’s knees, sending him toppling to the ground.

Before he could fire another shot of tape, Momo created a shield, its weight solid and satisfying in her grip. “Stay down!” she commanded, driving forward and slamming the shield into Sero’s chest with a brutal shield bash. The impact echoed through the bomb room, sending him sprawling back against the wall, groaning.

Meanwhile, Kirishima, still wrapped in layers of tape and writhing vines, roared through gritted teeth. His jagged, rock-like skin strained and cracked as he flexed against his restraints. Ibara, standing firm, shaped her vines into thick, snapping whips that lashed out with blinding speed.

CRACK!

One whip struck Kirishima’s forearm as he blocked, the sting drawing a grunt from the redhead. Another strike bit into his shoulder, but Kirishima’s teeth only bared into a grin. “Is that all you got?!” he growled, his voice defiant.

Ibara furrowed her brows, unrelenting. The vines whipped faster, lacerating the air with sharp cracks, but Kirishima planted his feet. His muscles tensed like coiled steel as his rock-like quirk began to pulse and harden even further.

With a final burst of strength, Kirishima tore his arms free from the vines with an earth-shaking SNAP, shreds of tape and plant matter flying in all directions. The force sent shockwaves rippling across the room. Ibara’s eyes widened in alarm as Kirishima charged forward like a battering ram, his body jagged and unstoppable.

“Let’s see how you like this!” Kirishima roared, his fist pulling back. Ibara retracted her vines in an attempt to defend herself, weaving them into a shield-like formation, but it was too late.

BOOM!

Kirishima’s punch shattered through the vine barrier, the sheer force sending Ibara skidding across the room in a tangle of green. She barely managed to brace herself, her vines anchoring her to the floor before she hit the far wall.

Meanwhile, Momo was giving Sero no quarter. Any strand of tape Sero managed to fire was immediately met by Momo’s shield, her blocks fluid and precise. She advanced on him step by step, her bo staff striking like a viper.

One hit connected with his shoulder. WHACK!

Another cracked into his shin, forcing him to stumble. THWAP!

“Stay still, would ya?!” Sero grunted, desperately firing a spray of tape to entangle her legs.

Momo sidestepped the strands with practiced agility. In one motion, she flipped the staff over her shoulder and swung downward in a powerful arc, aiming square for his midsection.

“Too slow.”

The staff slammed into Sero’s ribs with a resounding CRACK, the impact sending him sprawling onto the ground,

Breathing heavily but composed, Momo stood over Sero, her staff resting on her shoulder. “It’s over,” she declared firmly.

Kirishima stomped to her side, his arms crossed, a toothy grin on his face. “You guys put up a good fight… but that’s game.”

Ibara, slowly pulling herself to her feet, shot a glare toward Kirishima, her vines still twitching. Sero groaned from the floor, muttering, “Man… remind me to never make you mad.”

Momo straightened her posture, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “Now let’s secure the bomb before reinforcements arri—”

BOOM!

A deafening explosion rocked the entire building, sending dust and chunks of debris raining down from the ceiling. The walls trembled as the shockwave reverberated through the structure. Momo and Kirishima instinctively braced themselves, shielding their faces from the falling rubble.

“What was that?!” Kirishima barked, his eyes darting toward the source of the noise.

--Meanwhile--

Bakugou was struggling.

The battle between him and Izuku had escalated into pure chaos. Izuku wasn’t just relentless—he was overwhelming. Every move Bakugou made, every explosive counter, was either blocked or punished mercilessly.

“DIE, YOU DAMN NERD!” Bakugou snarled, sweat sparking in his palms as he shot forward with a massive explosion.

Izuku didn’t flinch.

He moved faster than Bakugou could react. With a burst of his wings, Izuku surged forward like a missile, cutting through the smoke trail. The instant Bakugou got close enough, Izuku swatted his arm away with a clawed hand, the explosion harmlessly blasting to the side.

Before Bakugou could leap back, Izuku’s grip clamped around his ankle.

“Got you,” Izuku said, his voice calm but edged with fire.

With a savage WHAM, Izuku slammed Bakugou into the ground like a ragdoll, the concrete cracking beneath the impact. Dust and debris erupted into the air, obscuring them momentarily.

Bakugou coughed, trying to regain his bearings, but Izuku wasn’t finished. Before the blond could react, Izuku spun on his heel. His massive wings whipped forward, striking Bakugou with the force of a freight train.

BOOM!

The blow sent Bakugou rocketing across the battlefield, crashing into a crumbling wall with explosive force. The entire structure groaned under the stress of the impact as a plume of dust erupted from where Bakugou landed.

Izuku’s emerald eyes glowed faintly, narrowed with determination as he straightened up. His wings unfurled behind him, the tips cutting through the smoke like blades. He rolled his shoulders, steam rising from his form as the mechanical components of his quirk hummed with energy.

“Get up, Kacchan,” Izuku called out, his voice even, almost cold. “You’re not done yet.”

From the rubble, a low grol echoed. A hand emerged, scorched but steady, pulling Bakugou to his feet. His face was contorted with frustration, blood trickling from his forehead, and his teeth bared in a feral grin.

“You… bastard,” Bakugou spat, his voice gravelly. “You think this’ll be enough to stop me?!”

Izuku said nothing. He lowered into a stance, his claws gleaming under the flickering lights above. His wings shifted slightly, angling like shields at his sides, ready for the next round.

Bakugou grinned maniacally, his palms beginning to sizzle with heat. The familiar smell of burnt nitroglycerin filled the air, mixing with the dust. “Let’s see how long you can keep up, Deku.”

With that, Bakugou lunged forward again, explosions lighting up the battlefield like fireworks, but Izuku was already moving to meet him.

Bakugou rocketed around the battlefield, explosions bursting from his palms in rapid succession. Each blast propelled him in jagged arcs—up, down, and sideways—leaving streaks of smoke and fire in his wake as he tried to blitz Izuku from every angle.

But Izuku was a step ahead.

Every time Bakugou closed in, Izuku’s wings shifted with mechanical precision, blocking the explosions like impenetrable shields. The sharp clang of reinforced feathers meeting force echoed through the battlefield. Bakugou snarled, frustration etched into his features as yet another attack was parried.

“Dammit!” Bakugou roared, firing another explosion to close the gap.

Izuku reacted instantly.

He ducked under the assault, surging forward with speed that startled Bakugou. His fist shot out like a piston, slamming into Bakugou’s ribs with a thud that reverberated through the air. Bakugou’s momentum was cut short, and he grunted as he staggered back.

But Izuku didn’t give him a chance to recover.

Before Bakugou could fully recoil, Izuku’s clawed hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The grip was firm—unyielding. Bakugou’s eyes widened, his mouth barely opening to let out a curse before Izuku ripped him off his feet.

“Grrraahh!” Izuku let out a sharp exhale as he twisted his body, the momentum building. With a tremendous heave, he hurled Bakugou across the battlefield like a missile. The blond’s body spiraled midair, his limbs flailing as he braced for impact.

But Izuku wasn’t done.

His wings snapped open, and in an instant, he shot backward through the air, creating distance. Then he exploded forward like a bullet, his entire body a blur as he chased after Bakugou’s falling form. The air boomed in his wake, a sonic blast trailing him.

Bakugou barely registered what was happening before Izuku reached him.

“Got you!” Izuku growled, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Using all the momentum he’d built up, Izuku swung his fist forward, his entire form driving the punch into Bakugou’s midsection. The impact landed with a thunderous CRACK that shook the ground below. The sheer force of it sent shockwaves rippling outward, kicking up dust and debris in a wide radius.

Bakugou’s body rocketed toward the earth, slamming into the shattered floor with an earth-shattering BOOM. Cracks spider-webbed outward from the crater where he landed, smoke and rubble obscuring him from view.

Hovering in midair, Izuku’s wings spread wide, his chest rising and falling as he watched the destruction settle. His glowing emerald eyes narrowed, his posture calm but imposing.

“I can keep up with you, Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, though his voice carried across the battlefield. “You can’t shake me anymore.”

From the crater below, a faint growl echoed. The dust swirled as Bakugou’s silhouette emerged, battered but unbroken. He stood slowly, his head hanging low as his shoulders heaved.

When Bakugou lifted his face, his trademark grin stretched wide, blood smearing across his chin.

“Heh. You think this is enough… Deku?” His palms crackled, flames sputtering like an engine about to ignite. “You’re gonna need more than that to put me down.”

Izuku’s wings flexed. His claws twitched.

And then Bakugou’s hand reached for the pin on his second gauntlet.

Izuku’s blood ran cold. His instincts screamed.

His eyes widened, his heart pounding like a drum. No… no way.

“BAKUGOU!” All Might’s voice boomed through the comms, panic and fury lacing his tone. “WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THAT ATTACK?! IF YOU FI—”

But Bakugou didn’t care. With a wicked smirk, he ripped the comm out of his ear, crushed it in his palm, and let it explode into sparks. He leveled his gauntlet at Izuku, his voice brimming with raw, chaotic energy.

“THIS IS THE PART WHERE YOU DIE, DEKU!!”

Izuku’s mind spiraled into overdrive. He could see it—the gathering combustion at Bakugou’s gauntlet, the pressure building like a bomb ready to swallow everything.

A direct hit? It wouldn’t just blow him away—it would decimate the battlefield and everyone near it.

Think!

Missiles? Too slow. Bullets? Useless. His brain screamed for a solution, each thought colliding into the next. And then it clicked—his ball launcher.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. His hands moved in a blur, debris scooped up and crammed into the weapon forming on his arm—an improvised launcher, crude but effective. His wings flared wide, bracing against the air as his launcher locked into position.

“Come on… come on…” Izuku muttered, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Bakugou’s finger tensed, ready to unleash hell.

“NOT THIS TIME!” Izuku shouted.

He fired.

The ball launcher boomed, kicking back with brutal recoil that shoved Izuku through the air. The debris projectile tore through the distance like a meteor, the air screaming in its wake.

Bakugou’s eyes widened. For a split second, his instincts flared, and he twisted to block—too slow.

BOOM!

The projectile slammed into Bakugou’s gauntlet with devastating force, a blast wave of shattered metal and smoke erupting on impact. Sparks exploded from the broken mechanism, and the gauntlet disintegrated under the sheer power of Izuku’s improvised shot.

“What the hell—?!” Bakugou snarled, but the impact didn’t stop there. The force threw him backward like a ragdoll, his body hurtling through the air.

Izuku didn’t let up.

In the instant the gauntlet shattered, Izuku’s wings tucked close to his body. He dove. A green comet plummeting from the sky, his eyes locked on Bakugou’s tumbling form. The wind shrieked past his ears as he accelerated—faster, faster—until he was nothing but a blur.

Bakugou crashed into the ground below, carving a crater into the shattered concrete. He coughed, dust and debris swirling around him as he tried to push himself up.

But there was no time.

“BAKUGOU!!” Izuku’s voice tore through the air, his wings spread wide for the final strike.

Before Bakugou could react, Izuku slammed into him like a meteor, his wings crashing against Bakugou’s form with the force of a collapsing building. The impact rattled the entire room. The floor beneath them groaned, fissures splintering outward like a spiderweb.

And then—

CRASH.

The floor gave way.

Both of them plunged through the collapsing rubble, chunks of concrete and steel falling with them. Dust choked the air, and the sound of destruction roared as they crashed downward. The light dimmed as they fell into the dark void below—straight into the heart of the bomb room.

Silence followed the chaos.

For a long moment, all was still—just the settling dust and faint echoes of crumbling debris.

Then, from the rubble, a pair of glowing green eyes pierced the darkness. Izuku stood, wings partially unfurled, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Bakugou lay sprawled across the ground, battered and stunned, a fresh smear of blood running from his temple.

Momo, Kirishima, Sero, Ibara, Uraraka, and Jiro all stared in shock at Midoriya. But that shock quickly turned to alertness, especially for Momo and Kirishima. Without missing a beat, they charged at him—Kirishima throwing a punch while Momo swung her staff. But Midoriya was quicker.

With a swift motion, he caught Momo's staff in his claw, effortlessly stopping her attack. At the same time, he used his wings to block Kirishima’s punch, the force of the blow barely affecting him. In a fluid motion, Midoriya ripped the staff from Momo's hands, throwing her off balance, before sweeping her legs out from under her. As she tumbled, Izuku swiftly turned to Kirishima, launching into an uppercut. The hit didn’t do much damage, but it stunned Kirishima long enough for Midoriya to take full advantage.

In the blink of an eye, he rushed forward, his wings carrying him toward the bomb. With a final swift movement, he touched the bomb, securing the victory.

“THE BOMB HAS BEEN CAPTURED, HERO TEAM WINS!”

Chapter Text

A low, broken groan escaped his lips.
“Ughhh...”

The sound came before he was even fully conscious, a raw exhale of pain that dragged him back to reality. His body ached with a deep, unrelenting soreness—like every muscle had been wrung out and left to dry. His back throbbed the worst, sharp stabs of discomfort radiating with every shallow breath.

His eyelids fluttered open. Vision swam, blurred and unfocused. Blinking didn’t help much at first; shapes drifted like shadows across a fogged-up window.

Slowly, the pieces clicked into place: the sterile scent of antiseptic, the soft crinkle of paper sheets beneath him, the muted hum of fluorescent lights.

The nurse’s office.

Bakugou Katsuki’s mind stalled.

Why the hell am I here?

The thought slithered through his foggy brain unanswered. He sat up abruptly—too abruptly—and immediately regretted it.

Pain slammed into him like a sledgehammer to the spine. His ribs screamed in protest; his muscles seized with a burning, relentless stiffness.

The room tilted, vertigo twisting his vision, forcing him to clutch his side with a sharp hiss. His breath came shallow and fast as he braced himself on the edge of the bed.

Footsteps approached. Steady. Unhurried. Familiar.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a voice from across the room.

Bakugou lifted his head. His eyes landed on Recovery Girl as she shuffled closer, cane tapping softly against the linoleum. Her expression was calm but laced with faint exasperation—the same look she gave every reckless student who treated their body like a disposable weapon.

“You gave me quite the challenge this time, young man,” she said, stopping at his bedside. "You’re lucky you’ve got a body like a tank. If you'd taken hits like that with a weaker frame, well..." She sighed, shaking her head. “Let's just say you'd be looking at more than sore muscles.”

Bakugou didn’t answer. He couldn't. His thoughts were moving too slow, circling around the same unanswered question like vultures over a carcass.

Why?

Why was he here?

Recovery Girl seemed to pick up on his confusion. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, orange gummy bear, holding it out to him. “Here. Take this. It'll help with the exhaustion.”

He accepted it automatically. The gummy tasted like citrus. He chewed slowly, the action grounding him for just a moment. But the nagging question didn’t go away.

Why the hell am I here?

He squeezed his eyes shut and dug through the sluggish fog of his memory. The events came in flashes.

The training exercise.

The mock mall.

The rush of adrenaline.

The explosion of power that hadn’t come from him.

Metallic wings.

A blur of movement.

A fist crashing into his gut.

His eyes shot open, wide with realization.

Deku.

The name crashed into him like a bomb detonating in his chest.

That scrawny, stammering nerd. That pathetic little loser who'd clung to him like a shadow since they were kids. Quirkless Deku.

He beat me.

The thought was foreign.

Wrong.

Incomprehensible.

And yet... it was undeniable. He felt it in every aching nerve, every bruised muscle. His stomach twisted. His fists clenched around the bed’s sheets, knuckles turning bone-white.

He said nothing. The gummy bear turned to lead in his stomach. His gaze dropped to the floor, unseeing.

Deku won.

Deku had a Quirk.

And Deku kicked his ass.

It wasn’t luck.

It wasn’t a fluke.

The memory of that power was burned into his brain—raw, destructive strength, wild and unrestrained. The way Midoriya moved, faster and stronger than any version of him Bakugou had ever imagined. The way his eyes glowed with determination when he'd thrown that final, decisive punch.

“You're breathing fast,” Recovery Girl said, voice gentle but firm. “Calm down. Panic won’t help.”

Panic? He almost scoffed. He wasn’t panicking. He was... confused. Angry. Humiliated. And something else. Something colder.

Something that curled in his chest and tightened like a noose.

Fear.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. His hands trembled as they rested on his thighs, and no matter how hard he clenched his fists, the shaking didn’t stop.

Deku wasn't supposed to be like that. He was supposed to be weak. Helpless. Someone to look down on. That was the natural order of things. That was how the world worked.

Wasn't it?

“Your classmates are already back in class,” Recovery Girl said after a long pause. “The lesson's almost over, but if you hurry, you can still catch the tail end. Go change.”

Bakugou didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on the floor. His mind stayed locked on that single, unbearable truth.

Deku is strong.

Stronger than me.

His breath hitched. His chest tightened again. No. That couldn’t be right. That was impossible. He was Bakugou Katsuki—future Number One Hero. The best. The strongest.

And yet he'd lost.

His voice cracked when he finally spoke. “I... lost,” he whispered.

After several long, suffocating moments, he stood. His legs wobbled under his weight, and agony rippled through his back with every step. But he forced himself forward, straightened his spine, and walked toward the door. His reflection stared back at him from the polished metal handle—messy blond hair, bruised skin, haunted crimson eyes.

His own face looked unfamiliar.

He gripped the handle, yanked the door open, and stepped out into the hall without a word.

Behind him, Recovery Girl sat in silence for a few seconds before shaking her head. “Kids these days,” she murmured.

The door clicked shut.

Bakugou walked on, muscles burning, head spinning, thoughts racing.

Deku is strong.

Stronger than he'd ever imagined.

And if he lost to Deku.

Does that make him weak?

“Man, that was so cool!” Ashido practically vibrated with excitement, her pink hair bouncing with every movement.

“I know, right? That exercise was totally awesome,” Kaminari added, throwing up a fist like he’d just won a game show. “I mean, I nailed that ambush! Did you guys see me? Textbook stuff!”

“Yeah, textbook if the book was called ‘How to Get Knocked Out in Five Seconds,’” Jiro deadpanned, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

Kaminari gasped, clutching his chest like he’d just been betrayed. “Et tu, Jiro?”

“Yep. And I'd do it again,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Speak for yourselves,” Toru huffed, her blazer sleeves flailing in frustration. “You guys weren’t the ones who got captured first! I didn’t even last two minutes! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is? I’m literally invisible!”

“Yeah, but your sneak attack was solid,” Kirishima reassured her with a grin. “I mean, Tsuyu almost didn’t notice you.”

“Almost,” Toru muttered, slumping against the wall. “Stupid combat instincts.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I only caught you because you were talking too much, ribbit,” Tsuyu said, blinking at her.

Toru groaned. “Oh my God, I sabotaged myself.”

“You sure did,” Jiro said, smirking.

“Speaking of instincts,” Kirishima cut in, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “We can all agree the exercise totally rocked even if I lost. But let’s be real…” His grin turned wolfish as he suddenly lunged toward Midoriya. “Midoriya’s and Bakugou’s fight was totally MANLY!”

Midoriya, who’d been silently observing the conversation with that thoughtful look, jolted like someone had hit him with a static shock. “Oh, uh—thanks, I guess?” he stammered, instinctively raising his hands like Kirishima might try to shake him at any second.

“No need to thank me, dude! That clash was pure spirit! You guys were just throwing yourselves at each other like wild animals!” Kirishima’s eyes sparkled with admiration.

“Yeah!” Ashido jumped in. “It was like a movie fight scene! The part where Bakugou went for that gauntlet blast and Midoriya countered by launching that debris? Chef’s kiss, man!”

Midoriya flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, Bakugou’s gauntlets were a problem. I needed to get rid of them before they caused any more damage.” His expression turned serious for a moment. “He wasn’t thinking straight. If I had let him fire another blast, who knows what would’ve happened.”

“Yeah, he was ticked,” Kaminari said with a laugh. “You could hear him screaming from the observation room. ‘Deku, you damn nerd! You think you can outsmart me?!’”

“Accurate impression,” Jiro said, giving him a slow clap.

“You guys should’ve seen it from my perspective!” Uraraka said excitedly. “When Izuku crashed through the ceiling with Bakugou and got the bomb, it was SO cool!”

“Wait, he came through the ceiling?!” Kaminari gawked.

Midoriya winced. “It… wasn’t exactly planned.”

“That’s what makes it even better!” Ashido cheered. “Shonen protagonist energy right there!”

“I barely even had a chance to react,” Yaoyorozu admitted, sounding slightly disappointed. Izuku quickly picked up on that.

“Hey, don’t feel bad,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I caught you off guard, that’s all. Honestly, I think your team could’ve won if Bakugou had actually decided to cooperate.”

Yaoyorozu sighed. “He was… difficult to coordinate with.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Shoji muttered from his seat, shaking his head.

Momo managed a small smile. “Thank you, Midoriya.”

“Anytime,” Izuku replied.

“Well, I don’t care what anyone says,” Ojiro finally spoke up, crossing his arms. “Shoto walking in all burnt up and just freezing everyone in place at the last second? That was terrifying.”

“You’re telling me,” Kaminari shuddered. “I thought I did something impressive, then all of a sudden, BAM—ice everywhere. My moment of glory was short-lived.”

“Dude, you short-circuited yourself,” Sato pointed out.

“Which is beside the point!”

“Guys, you do realize that means Shoto took out almost the entire enemy team solo, right?” Jiro said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s insane.”

“Not ‘almost.’ He did take out the entire team,” Ojiro corrected. “None of us could move.”

Shoto, who had been sitting nearby, finally decided to speak. “It was… necessary,” he said simply, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just casually wrecked an entire squad.

“I’m just saying, if I have to fight him next time, I’m surrendering immediately,” Kaminari declared.

“You would not,” Tsuyu said flatly.

“I might.”

“Fellow classmates! While I am aware we are all still excited after such an engaging exercise, we should still make sure to turn in our performance reports to Aizawa,” Iida declared, his hand chopping the air in his usual robotic fashion.

“Jeez, man, let’s enjoy the moment a bit. Reports can wait,” Jiro said, leaning against her desk with an exasperated sigh.

“But as students of a prestigious school like U.A., it is our utmost responsibility to—”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Mina grinned, waving a dismissive hand. “As said before, reports can wait.”

Iida faltered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried—and failed—to argue. With a defeated sigh, he slumped in place.

Izuku sat back, taking it all in.

This was… nice. Really nice.

His classmates weren’t just tolerating him. They were including him, joking around with him like he was one of them. No sneers. No whispers. No cold shoulders.

It was surreal. Almost too surreal. The kind of thing his past self would’ve dreamed about but never truly believed could happen. And yet here it was—real and loud and vibrant in a way he hadn't realized he’d craved until now.

The bell’s sharp ring jolted him from his thoughts. Everyone began gathering their things, conversations buzzing through the air like static electricity. He slung his bag over his shoulder, still caught in that warm haze of belonging.

But then his eyes drifted toward the window.

And the warmth vanished.

Outside, walking toward the school gate, was Bakugou. His head hung low, shoulders slumped, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

That wasn’t right.

Bakugou never walked like that. He was all pride and swagger, chin up, eyes blazing, shoulders squared. His presence usually demanded attention—sometimes without even trying.

But now? Now he looked… small. Defeated.

Izuku’s heart tightened.

“Hey, Izuku!” Uraraka called from the doorway. “Me and Iida were gonna head to the train. You coming?”

“I’ll… I’ll meet you there,” he said, his voice distant. His feet were already moving before she could respond.

The cool afternoon air hit his face as he stepped outside, but he barely noticed. His focus locked on the figure ahead. Bakugou was only a few steps from the gate when Izuku finally called out.

“Kacchan!”

The blond froze. His whole body went rigid, like a predator hearing a twig snap. Slowly, he turned around, and his crimson eyes met Izuku’s.

“The fuck you want, Deku?” Bakugou’s voice was low, rough, and brittle in a way Izuku hadn’t heard before.

Izuku swallowed the nervous lump in his throat. “I… just wanted to clear up any confusion you might have. I never hid my quirk from you.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His mouth opened to snap back, but Izuku pressed on.

“I awakened it five months ago,” he said, voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “If you don’t believe me, ask Aunt Mitsuki. She was there with my mom in the hospital after they found me when I…” His jaw tightened. “When you know what happened.”

The memory stirred something sharp and cold in his chest, but he shoved it down. He couldn’t get distracted—not now.

Bakugou shifted his weight, arms tensing, but he said nothing.

“So yeah, I got my quirk. And then I trained. Every single day. I pushed myself harder than I thought I could. That's the only reason I won today.” Izuku took a step forward, forcing Bakugou to really look at him. “And if that fight showed us anything, it's that I'm as strong as you now. Maybe stronger.”

Bakugou’s lip curled into a snarl. His hands twitched at his sides, palms crackling faintly.

“So what, you came to rub it in, you bastard?”

Izuku shook his head. “No. I came to ask if you're gonna let it stay that way.”

Bakugou’s expression faltered.

“You were always ahead of me, Kacchan,” Izuku continued, voice softer now. “Stronger. Faster. Better. For years, I was stuck chasing you from so far behind I could barely see you anymore.” His fists clenched. “But now I'm here. I caught up. And today? I beat you.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. His breathing grew harsher, more uneven.

“So… what now?” Izuku tilted his head. “Are you gonna let me pass you? Are you gonna give up? Or are you gonna fight like hell to take the lead again?”

“Shut up,” Bakugou growled.

“Make me.”

The words dropped like a stone between them.

Bakugou froze. His eyes widened slightly, almost disbelieving.

Did… did Deku just call his bluff?

“You want me to stop talking?” Izuku pressed. “Because your ego can't handle the truth?” He took a step closer. “The Bakugou Katsuki I knew never quit. Even when things got tough. Even when you got hurt. You pushed through. You fought harder. So who the hell are you right now?”

“I said shut up.” Bakugou’s voice cracked.

“Then make me.”

That did it.

Bakugou lunged forward a step, explosions flaring to life in his palms. The heat was intense, shimmering the air around him as he glared daggers at Izuku.

“You wanna fight so bad, huh, nerd?!” he roared. “You think you’re hot shit just ‘cause you got one lucky win? That fight was a damn fluke, and you know it!” His hands flexed, crackling louder with each second. “Next time, I’m gonna blow you to pieces. You hear me?! I’ll beat your ass so bad you won’t even think about running that mouth ever again!”

He turned on his heel and stormed off.

Izuku let out a slow breath, his heart racing.

Then he smiled.

There he is.

The walk to U.A. that morning had been deceptively peaceful. Birds chirped in the crisp morning air, the sun cast a warm glow across the school grounds, and the students of Class 1-A felt ready to tackle the day.

Until they saw the crowd.

“What the heck?” Kaminari blurted, freezing mid-step.

Just beyond the front gates, a swarm of reporters clustered like vultures around a fresh carcass. Cameras clicked in rapid-fire bursts. Microphones jutted forward like spears. The air buzzed with shouted questions:

“Is it true All Might is teaching here?!”

“Does his presence mean U.A. is taking a more aggressive stance on villains?!”

“Can you tell us if All Might has been seen around campus recently?"

Izuku paled. “They’re here for All Might.”

“No kidding,” Jiro said, adjusting one of her headphone jacks. “They're like piranhas.”

“What do we do?” Uraraka asked, eyes wide.

“We go through them, obviously!” Bakugou growled. He cracked his knuckles, small explosions popping from his palms. "Outta my way, extras!"

“Kacchan, no!” Izuku grabbed his arm.

Before Bakugou could rip himself free, the reporters noticed the group. The shift was instantaneous. Microphones swung toward the students, lenses focused, and the horde surged forward.

“Students of Class 1-A! How does it feel to have All Might as a teacher?”

“Is it true he's training the next Symbol of Peace?!"

“Hey! Green-haired kid! You look nervous—do you know something we don't?!”

Izuku yelped and tried to hide behind Iida, who raised his arms to shield his classmates.

“Please, maintain your distance! This is a learning institution, not a press conference!” Iida barked.

“Seriously, back off!” Kirishima added, trying to nudge aside a reporter. “We just wanna get to class!”

“I said MOVE!” Bakugou snarled, sparks crackling in his palms.

The reporters didn’t move. The questions kept coming.

“Is All Might preparing for retirement?"

"Does U.A. have a plan to deal with rising villain threats?"

"Is there any truth to the rumors that All Might personally scouted a new successor?"

The pressure was suffocating. The students huddled closer together, trying to break through the wall of bodies.

Then a shadow fell across the scene.

“Step. Away.”

The voice was low, rough, and absolutely annoyed.

The reporters turned. Aizawa Shouta stood a few feet behind the students, hair draped over his shoulders, his dark eyes sharp beneath the fringe of his unkempt hair. His capture weapon hung loose around his neck, swaying ominously.

“These students have nothing to tell you,” Aizawa continued, voice edged with irritation. "If you want information, go through the proper channels."

“But we just want a statement—” a reporter began.

Aizawa’s eyes glowed red. His capture weapon uncoiled like a snake, snapping against the ground with a sharp crack.

“Leave.”

The reporters collectively flinched. The bravest among them muttered something about "just doing our jobs" before retreating beyond the gates. Aizawa pressed a button on the nearby panel. The gates whirred shut behind them with a metallic finality.

“Get to class,” he ordered the students without turning around.

They scrambled past him, practically sprinting for the entrance.

As they crossed into the building, Kaminari let out a breath. “Holy crap, that was intense.”

“Aizawa-sensei was scarier than the reporters,” Uraraka said, hand pressed to her chest.

“Told ya we should’ve just blown 'em up,” Bakugou muttered.

Izuku shook his head, glancing back toward the gate. Beyond the bars, the reporters lingered like sharks circling the edge of a cage. And standing guard between them and the students was Aizawa—silent, still, and watchful.

Aizawa dragged himself into Class 1-A, his perpetually exhausted eyes scanning the room. To his mild surprise, everyone was already seated and relatively calm.

“Good. You're learning,” he said, voice as dry as ever. “Now, I went through your reports from yesterday’s combat exercise.” He paused, gauging the room. “Most of you did... adequately.”

The class erupted into cheers.

“I said 'most.'”

Silence fell like a guillotine. Aizawa's eyes locked onto a very nervous Hagakure.

“Hagakure. You're invisible. In-vi-si-ble. And yet... you were the first one captured. Congratulations, you’ve managed to make stealth your worst attribute.”

“I—I thought I was being sneaky!” she squeaked.

“You were as sneaky as a disco ball in a blackout. Starting today, you'll be staying after school for stealth drills. Every day. Until you learn to use your natural advantage.”

“Y-yes, sir,” she muttered.

Aizawa's eyes shifted to Kaminari.

“Kaminari.”

The boy straightened so fast it looked painful.

“Your ambush idea had potential. But you went for an all-out blast without confirming your target. Todoroki got back up, and you fried your own brain like a microwaved egg. Next time, think before you nuke.”

Kaminari gave a shaky thumbs-up. “Got it... no brain-frying next time.”

Aizawa turned his gaze to Todoroki.

“Todoroki. Yes, you secured the win. No, you don't get a pass. You underestimated your opponents, got careless in the opening minutes, and took a hit that knocked you out cold. Learn from it.”

Todoroki gave a small nod. “Understood.”

Then came the moment the entire class had been waiting for.

“And Bakugou.”

The class collectively held its breath.

Bakugou glared back, jaw tight.

“You ignored your teammates. You disregarded the objective. You nearly used an attack All Might explicitly banned—twice. And worst of all, you treated the exercise like a pissing contest instead of a learning opportunity. If Midoriya hadn’t intervened, you'd have caused serious injury. Keep that up, and I’ll expel you myself.”

Bakugou's hands clenched into trembling fists. His pride was wounded, but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. He gave a tight nod.

“One more thing,” Aizawa added. “Principal Nezu wants to speak with you during the lunch break.”

The class collectively gasped.

“Ooohhh... someone's in trouble,” Kaminari whispered.

“Man, Nezu never calls students in unless it's serious,” Kirishima muttered.

“Maybe Bakugou blew up something extra important,” Mina chimed in.

Bakugou slammed his desk with a crackle of explosions. “Shut the hell up, extras!”

“Enough,” Aizawa said, voice cutting through the tension. Instantly, the class fell silent.

Aizawa stood at the front, rubbing his eyes like he regretted every decision that led him here. He let out a long-suffering sigh and clapped his hands together.

“Now that that's settled, it's time for your next activity.”

Half the class collectively tensed.

"Crap, he's not gonna threaten to expel us again, is he?" many thought in unison.

Aizawa stared at them through half-lidded eyes. “You're going to pick a class representative.”

The tension snapped like a rubber band.

“A normal school thing!” the class cheered in relief.

“Ooh, ooh, pick me!” Kaminari shot his hand into the air. “I'd be a super cool class rep. The coolest!”

“Yeah,” Jiro said, barely holding back a laugh. “Until you short-circuit your brain and spend the day drooling in a corner.”

“Oh, come on, Jiro! That was one time!”

“It was three times,” she corrected with a grin.

“Hey! Electricity's hard, okay?”

“I think Kaminari-kun would be a fun rep,” Mina said with a giggle. “We'd all get free light shows.”

“How about me?” Sato suggested, raising a hand. “I'll make cupcakes for everyone if I win.”

“Isn't that bribery, ribbit?” Tsuyu tilted her head.

“Bribery with cupcakes is still bribery,” Momo said, frowning slightly. “But... what kind of cupcakes?”

“Chocolate with extra frosting,” Sato offered.

“Ooh,” Mina said, eyes widening. “You know what? I'm okay with a corrupt democracy.”

Suddenly, Ibara stood and placed a hand over her chest, her vine-like hair writhing slightly. “My fellow classmates, let us not fall into gluttony and spectacle. Leadership is a sacred duty. Only one who walks the righteous path may guide us. Elect me, and I shall lead us under the divine light of our Lord's will.”

A silence hung in the air.

“Soooo... no cupcakes then?” Kaminari asked.

“Vote for me, you extras!” Bakugou barked, slamming his hands on the desk with a burst of sparks. “I'll whip this class into shape! No dead weight!”

“Yeah, 'cause intimidation is such a good leadership strategy,” Jiro said, rolling her eyes.

“Damn right it is!”

“Kacchan, I don't think 'vote for me or die' is a good campaign slogan,” Izuku muttered.

“Shut up, Deku!”

“I volunteer to be vice-rep,” Kirishima said with a toothy grin. “I don't need to be number one; I just wanna help out! Plus, if Bakugou wins, someone's gotta make sure we don't go full dictatorship.”

“I don't need a damn babysitter, Hair-for-Brains!”

Iida suddenly stood from his desk, raising his hand so high it nearly hit the ceiling. “My esteemed classmates!” he declared, his engine calves whirring. “This position is of utmost importance. It must go to someone responsible, someone principled, someone who will uphold the honor of Class 1-A with dignity!”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, Iida,” Mina said. “Also, you're raising your hand so hard you might dislocate a shoulder.”

“I'm merely demonstrating my enthusiasm!”

“We noticed,” Uraraka said, sweatdropping.

“I think we should vote,” Izuku said, raising his own hand. “A secret ballot. That way, we all have a fair say.”

“That's actually a solid idea,” Momo agreed. “We should choose our leader based on merit, not... well... bribery or intimidation.”

“Aw, c'mon,” Sato mumbled.

“Works for me,” Kirishima said. “Fair and square! Plus, I don't wanna get voted in just for my manly charm.”

“What charm?” Bakugou snorted.

“Ow,” Kirishima muttered.

“Sensei, is that okay?” Izuku turned toward Aizawa, who hadn't moved for the last several minutes.

The teacher cracked one eye open. “Do whatever you want,” he muttered. “Just keep it down while I nap.”

“Alright!” Iida clapped his hands together. “Then it’s decided! Let the voting commence! May the best candidate win!”

The class erupted into chatter as ballots were passed around, each student preparing to cast their vote—some with genuine thoughtfulness, others with far less serious motivations.

“Hey, Kaminari,” Mina whispered, scribbling on her paper. “Who are you voting for?”

“I’m voting for me,” he said confidently.

“Respect,” she said, fist-bumping him.

Across the room, Bakugou scowled down at his slip of paper. “If these idiots don’t pick me, I’ll just blow up the results.”

“That's... not how democracy works,” Sero said with a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah? And who’s gonna stop me? You?”

“Touché.”

On the other side of the room, Ojiro tapped his pen against his chin. “This feels kinda important. Who are you voting for, Tokoyami?”

“Leadership is a mantle of darkness,” Tokoyami intoned. “A heavy burden few can bear. I shall cast my vote for the one who walks between shadow and light.”

“So… yourself?”

“Indeed.”

Meanwhile, Sato held up his slip. “I voted for Momo.”

“Same here,” Kirishima said, smiling. “She’s the smartest one here.”

Momo overheard and flushed slightly. “Oh! Th-thank you.”

The votes were cast. The ballots were collected. The anticipation grew as Momo tallied the results at the front of the room. The class fell silent, every eye on her.

And then she looked up.

“The winner… with five votes… is Midoriya Izuku. I got the second-most, which makes me Vice Rep.”

The entire class turned to stare at the green-haired boy, whose eyes had tripled in size. His pencil dropped from his hand with a faint clink.

“Wh-what?!” Izuku yelped, face going pale.

“Looks like you’re the boss now, Midoriya!” Kirishima said with a grin.

“Wait, wait, I didn’t even vote for myself! Who voted for me?!”

Mina gave a sly grin. “Eh, you seemed like the responsible type. Plus, watching you freak out is kinda funny.”

“Guilty as charged,” Uruaka said, smirking.

“I voted for you too, Midoriya,” Tsuyu added. “You’re nice and you don’t freak out under pressure. Usually.”

Izuku’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

“Say ‘thank you,’ dude,” Jiro said. “And don’t let the power go to your head.”

Across the room, Bakugou was glaring daggers at the back of Izuku’s head, fists trembling. “This is bullshit.”

Iida stared at the vote tallies, his shoulders slumping as he adjusted his glasses. “Not even a single vote…” he muttered, voice laced with disappointment.

“Don’t feel bad, Iida, I'm sure you would've been a great class rep,” Uraraka said, flashing a kind smile as she patted his arm.

The simple gesture lifted his spirits. “Thank you, Ochaco,” he said, his posture straightening as his trademark determination returned. He turned toward Izuku with a sincere expression.

“Congratulations, Midoriya,” Iida said, bowing deeply. “As class representative, you now carry the hopes and expectations of our class. I pledge to assist you in every way possible.”

“U-uh... thanks, Iida,” Izuku stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend how he'd ended up in this position.

Lunch period arrived, but Izuku barely touched his food. His chopsticks poked at the rice as his mind spiraled with doubts.

“Midoriya, are you alright?” Iida asked from across the table, brow furrowed. “You haven't eaten more than a bite.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah... I'm fine,” Izuku said unconvincingly. “Just... surprised, I guess. I never expected anyone to actually vote for me.”

“But why not?” Iida asked, voice earnest. “You display all the qualities of a strong leader: courage, integrity, and a willingness to put others before yourself. That is precisely why I voted for you.”

Izuku's eyes widened. “Wait... you voted for me? But I thought you wanted to be class rep.”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Iida said, sitting straighter. “A leader must not pursue the position out of personal desire, but because they possess the qualities needed to lead. And that person was clearly you."

"Wow," Izuku said softly, warmth spreading through his chest. "Thanks, Iida. That... actually makes me feel a little better.”

Izuku felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “Wow… Thanks, Iida. That really means a lot.”

Uraraka suddenly leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Say, Iida, you always talk so fancy all the time. Are you, like… rich or something?”

Izuku nearly choked on his food. “Uraraka!” he wheezed.

“What?” she said innocently. “It’s a legit question!”

Iida staggered slightly at the bluntness before sighing. “Ah… I suppose I do make it obvious. Yes, I come from a long lineage of heroes. I’m sure you’re both familiar with the hero Ingenium?”

“Oh yeah! The Speed Hero!” Uraraka’s eyes lit up. “He’s super cool! A great leader, a total pro, and—”

Izuku’s brain clicked mid-bite, and he nearly dropped his chopsticks. “Wait… don’t tell me—Ingenium is—”

“Yes,” Iida said proudly, straightening his posture. “Ingenium is my elder brother.”

“No way!” Izuku and Uraraka exclaimed in unison.

“That’s so cool!” Uraraka beamed.

Izuku, meanwhile, was vibrating in his seat. “No wonder your quirk seemed so familiar! I used to analyze Ingenium’s battles all the time—his maneuvering techniques, his acceleration bursts—oh, and that one time he took down five villains in under thirty seconds! I knew your movements reminded me of him!”

Iida chuckled at Izuku’s fanboy mode. “My brother is a truly remarkable hero. I hope to one day live up to the legacy he’s built.”

“I mean, you’re already on the right track,” Uraraka said, grinning. “You’ve got the whole leadership thing down. Even if you didn’t win this time, I bet you’ll be leading something big in the future.”

Izuku nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! You’ve got all the makings of a great hero, Iida!”

Iida’s face turned slightly red at the praise. He adjusted his glasses, clearing his throat. “Ahem. That is very kind of you both. But for now, my priority is ensuring Midoriya fulfills his duties as class representative. And to do that, we must all support him.”

Izuku slumped forward. “You’re making it sound so serious…”

“Because it is serious!” Iida exclaimed. “Class structure and organization are paramount! There is much to prepare, and—”

“Alright, alright,” Uraraka laughed. “Let’s let him finish his food before you dump a whole responsibility speech on him.”

Izuku sighed in relief as Iida reluctantly nodded, though he still had a determined glint in his eye.

The press crowded the gates of U.A. High like vultures circling a fresh kill. Microphones jabbed through the bars, cameras clicked like relentless gunfire, and voices overlapped in a chaotic chorus.

“All Might! Why become a teacher now?”

“Is this a sign you're retiring from hero work?”

“What does this mean for the future of the No. 1 Hero?”

“Did he take this job because he's getting weaker?”

The metal gates groaned as reporters pressed harder against them. Some had even started climbing the fence, their desperation overpowering their professionalism.

The ground trembled beneath their feet. A second later, thick slabs of concrete shot upward from the pavement, forming a jagged wall that shoved the reporters back several feet. The earth shifted, knocking a few of the climbers to the ground.

Cementoss stepped into view, arms crossed, his posture rigid as reinforced stone.

“This is private property,” he said, voice flat and unyielding. “You’ve been asked to leave. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The press faltered for a moment—but only for a moment. A man with slicked-back hair and a press badge labeled “TNV” shoved his mic closer.

“If All Might really is losing power, shouldn't the public know? If U.A. hired him to teach, maybe they know something we don't!”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“All Might's career is his own business,” Cementoss replied, his jaw tightening. The concrete walls groaned, jagged edges rising like teeth. “Now, back away from the gates.”

The reporters hesitated. Then, emboldened by their numbers, they pushed forward again. The barrier creaked under the pressure.

Suddenly, the faint hum of electricity filled the air. Bright red lights flared to life along the perimeter. A mechanical voice echoed from hidden speakers.

“Unauthorized presence detected. Activating high-security protocol.”

The gate hissed. Steel plates slammed down from above, layering over the entrance. Defensive turrets, sleek and polished, emerged from hidden compartments along the walls. Their barrels whirred softly as they tracked the movements of the crowd.

The reporters froze.

“Is this normal?!” someone shouted.

“They’re aiming at us!” another voice added.

The turrets gave no answer. Their blinking sensors glowed a cold, unfeeling red.

Cementoss didn’t move. “I warned you,” he said, voice low. “Step. Back.”

The reporters begrudgingly retreated several paces, muttering amongst themselves but unwilling to test the school's defenses further.

Yet, at the edge of the crowd, one figure remained perfectly still. Hooded. Silent.

No microphone. No camera. No frantic scribbling in a notepad. Just standing there, head tilted toward the gate as though listening to something no one else could hear.

The figure lingered even as the press backed away. The hood shifted slightly, revealing a faint, satisfied smile.

Then, as the steel plates locked into place with a final, metallic thud, the figure turned and melted into the crowd.

No one noticed.

Except, perhaps, the turrets, which lingered on that empty spot a fraction longer than anywhere else.

Izuku was just about to take another bite of rice when the loudspeaker crackled, cutting through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere.

“ALERT! LEVEL 3 SECURITY BREACH ON CAMPUS DETECTED. PLEASE EVACUATE TO YOUR CLASSES IN AN ORDERLY FASHION.”

Suddenly, the calm was shattered.

The cafeteria erupted in chaos. Students scrambled toward the door, their bodies clashing in the narrow hallway. Some tried to push past others, elbows jabbing, feet stepping on shoes, everyone in a mad rush.

"What's going on?" Izuku asked, grabbing the sleeve of a passing senior who looked as frazzled as the rest.

“It’s a security breach! Someone got in! This hasn’t happened in years!” the senior shouted over the noise, then vanished into the crowd.

Izuku’s heart pounded, his eyes scanning the growing chaos. He saw his classmates getting caught up in the stampede—people being jostled and squeezed together in ways that made the air feel tight and suffocating. He needed to find his friends, fast.

As he pushed through the crowd, he caught sight of Jiro. She was holding her head, wincing in pain. Izuku's stomach dropped as he realized: the noise was unbearable for her.

“Crap, with all this yelling and commotion, it’s too much for her quirk,” Izuku muttered to himself, trying to make his way toward her.

People shoved past, their impatience palpable. "Hey, watch it!" someone snapped. Another person shoved back. "Keep your hands to yourself!"

Izuku gritted his teeth and kept his head low, shuffling toward Jiro, trying not to get lost in the sea of panicked bodies.

When he finally reached her, he didn’t hesitate. He sprouted a metallic wing from his side and shielded her from the chaotic noise, muffling the sounds.

Jiro blinked, then turned her head, her expression softening as she saw Izuku. "Thanks, man," she said, her voice strained but grateful.

Izuku shook his head. "No problem," he said, glancing around at the crowd. His eyes flicked toward the far window and froze.

A large group of reporters. Cameras. Microphones.

“Of course... the press,” Izuku muttered, frustration bubbling inside him. He knew his classmates wouldn’t see it. They were too caught up in the moment.

Iida, squeezed up against the window, noticed too. His hands flailed slightly, trying to signal Izuku.

Izuku caught the gesture, understanding immediately.

He looked back to Jiro. “You’re gonna have to cover your ears again, okay?” he said quickly, his voice firm. "Don't worry, this won't take long."

Jiro hesitated but nodded, covering her ears once more as Izuku withdrew his wing.

Izuku took a deep breath, his nerves steadying. He sprouted a second wing, leaping upward with a powerful push from the ground. He dug his mechanical claws into the ceiling and climbed, his heart racing but his mind focused.

From his new vantage point, he scanned the room. The chaos was reaching a fever pitch. Students were trampling over one another, shouting, panicking—everything was spiraling out of control.

Izuku’s jaw tightened. This was getting out of hand.

He took a moment, his gaze sharpening. Then, with confidence that surprised even him, he shouted—loud enough to cut through the roar of voices:

“EVERYONE, CALM DOWN!”

His voice cracked through the air like a whip, a sudden, authoritative presence that left no room for question. He paused, letting the words settle, making sure everyone was listening. “It’s just the press! They’re here to cover something—it’s nothing to panic about!”

But no one seemed to hear him. The shouting continued, the panic didn't die down. Izuku clenched his fists, frustration building again.

But then, an idea hit him—a risky one. He formed his gun arm, steadying himself as got ready to fire. He aimed at the ceiling.

BANG!

The deafening sound of the gunshot sliced through the air, instantly silencing the crowd. Every student froze. All eyes snapped to Izuku, wide with surprise and uncertainty.

Izuku didn’t flinch. He stood tall, his voice calm but firm. “EVERYONE, CALM DOWN! LOOK! IT’S JUST THE PRESS! WHY ARE YOU ALL PANICKING LIKE THIS?”

The room fell quiet, the students now realizing how quickly they had lost control. A few hesitant glances shifted toward the windows, and sure enough, the press was gathered outside, cameras flashing, reporters talking amongst themselves.

Izuku shook his head in disbelief, his voice rising with frustration. “This is U.A.! For crying out loud, we were specifically told to evacuate in an orderly fashion. What if someone got hurt in all this?”

His words cut through the noise, striking a chord. Slowly, the students started to process what had just happened, the panic ebbing away.

Izuku took a breath, his tone softening but still carrying authority. “Please. Everyone just go to your classes, one at a time. This is over. Let’s not make this worse than it already is.”

One by one, the students began to move, far slower than before, but there was no more chaos. No more panic. They filed into their classrooms, each of them still shaken, but now following orders.

Izuku watched them go, his eyes steely and unwavering. He glanced at Jiro, who had uncovered her ears. She gave him a small, grateful smile.

He didn’t smile back, but his eyes softened.

"Glad I could help," he muttered quietly.

Principal Nezu sat behind his polished desk, his small paws neatly folded as he watched the blond sitting stiffly across from him. His usual cheerful smile remained, but there was something sharper in his gaze. Calculating. Predatory.

“I’m sure you can think of a handful of reasons why you're here today, Bakugou,” Nezu said softly, voice polite but with an undertone that made the air feel heavier.

Bakugou didn’t respond, but the faint sneer twisting his face spoke volumes.

“Ah, good. I'm glad we're on the same page. That saves us time.” Nezu reached into a drawer and retrieved a thick folder. He opened it with deliberate slowness, eyes flicking to Bakugou’s tense posture. “Let’s get right to the point, then. Your conduct toward your fellow students has been... concerning. Disturbing, even.”

Bakugou’s lip curled, but he remained silent.

Nezu began reading aloud. “On your first day, you attempted to attack Izuku Midoriya without provocation—a move that required Mr. Aizawa's direct intervention. Since then, you’ve continued referring to your classmates as 'extras' and regularly threatened physical harm."

He turned the page. "Then there was the training exercise: an event in which you blatantly disregarded All Might’s explicit warnings by firing your grenade gauntlets at full strength, endangering a fellow student’s life.” Nezu’s eyes lifted. “Frankly, I’m beginning to regret allowing you to keep those... toys.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. His palms itched. He wanted to blast the smug look off that tiny creature’s face.

Nezu smiled wider, as though reading the thought. “Oh, but that’s just the surface, isn’t it?” He slid his paw to the side and pulled out a second file. This one was thicker. Worn. The edges of the paper inside were frayed from handling.

Bakugou's stomach dropped.

“I did some digging into your middle school history,” Nezu said lightly. “Now, I expected some disciplinary marks given your... personality. Imagine my surprise when I found nothing. A spotless record. Perfect behavior.” His eyes gleamed. “Curious, isn't it?”

Bakugou swallowed.

“So,” Nezu continued, “I made some calls. Spoke with a few parents of your former classmates.” He opened the folder and casually flipped through the pages. “Ten complaints about persistent harassment and intimidation. Eighteen reports of children returning home with burns consistent with your quirk’s signature. And every single parent said the same thing: their concerns were ignored. The school protected you, Mr. Bakugou.” He paused. “And you took full advantage.”

Bakugou’s breath caught in his throat. His mind raced for a defense, a retort—anything—but Nezu was already leaning forward.

“Ah, yes,” Nezu said, his tone still light, but the air around him shifted. The predator was no longer playing with his prey. “And then there's Izuku Midoriya.” He tapped the file. “The reports were... quite damning. Years of relentless bullying. Quirk-based assaults. Psychological torment. There’s even a recorded incident where you encouraged him to—“ He paused, eyes narrowing. “Well. Let's not repeat that vile suggestion here.”

Bakugou’s hands clenched into fists. His palms sparked. The tension in the room became suffocating.

Nezu sighed. “Do be careful with those explosions. My desk is quite expensive.”

The sparks died instantly.

The principal settled back into his chair. "Now, let's be clear. Under normal circumstances, behavior like yours would warrant immediate expulsion. I could have you out of this institution before the next bell rings, and no one would question it. You have displayed traits that are not only unbecoming of a hero but dangerous to the very people you’re supposed to protect.” He closed the file with a decisive snap.

Bakugou's heart pounded in his ears. Expelled. His entire future, gone in a single conversation.

“But I’m not going to expel you,” Nezu said.

Bakugou blinked. “What?”

“Yes. You're staying.” Nezu’s smile returned, sharp and knowing. “You have potential, young Bakugou. Wasted, misguided potential—but potential nonetheless. And I am quite curious to see whether you can rise to the occasion... or if you'll confirm the worst assumptions about you.”

Bakugou’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

“However,” Nezu continued, “understand this: from this moment on, you will be under constant surveillance. Your interactions with your peers, your conduct during training, even your demeanor in the halls—everything will be monitored.” His voice dropped. “You step out of line even once, and you're gone. No appeals. No second chances.”

Bakugou’s breath was shallow, but he managed a nod.

Nezu’s ears twitched with satisfaction. "Good. Now, one final thing." He leaned forward, his eyes locking with Bakugou's.

“Not only is failing to record incidents in favor of a particular student wrong,” he said, voice cold and deliberate, “but it is also very much a crime. And after I did some research on what that school did to Izuku Midoriya, one of your past victims, when he was there..." He paused, tapping the folder. “I very much have the means and plan to issue that school to be shut down.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly. Nezu held his gaze for a long, suffocating moment.

“Heroism isn’t about domination,” Nezu continued after a pause. “It’s not about proving you're the strongest. It's about saving lives. Right now, you act like a thug playing hero. If you don't fix that—if you don't learn to care about more than your ego—you'll become the very thing we train heroes to stop.”

The silence was deafening.

“That will be all,” Nezu finished. “You may go.”

Bakugou stood, legs unsteady, and walked toward the door. His hand gripped the handle tightly. He didn’t turn around.

“Oh, and Bakugou?” Nezu called.

He stopped.

Nezu's voice softened to a near whisper. “If you ever, ever raise your quirk against Izuku Midoriya or any other student again... I won’t just expel you. I’ll make certain you never get within fifty feet of a hero license for the rest of your life.”

Bakugou walked out, the weight of those words pressing down on him with every step.

Nezu sat back, his grin returning. He flipped the file open one more time and hummed softly.

“Let the game begin,” he murmured to himself.

Chapter Text

Izuku sat stiffly in the chair across from Principal Nezu, his entire body practically radiating nervous energy.

The diminutive principal had been staring at him with that ever-present knowing smile, the kind that made it painfully obvious he was at least ten steps ahead in whatever conversation they were about to have. It had been thirty seconds of silence now. Thirty long, agonizing seconds where Nezu simply observed him, sipping tea like this was just another Tuesday.

Izuku’s mind was going a mile a minute. What did I do? No, seriously, what did I do?! He hadn't broken any rules—at least none that he was aware of. Had he bumped into someone? Was he too loud in class? Had Aizawa-sensei finally reported him for overanalyzing every lesson and muttering too much?

Then, it hit him like a truck.

The hallway incident.

Oh crap.

He’d used his Quirk. Sure, it was to calm down a group of panicking students before they could trample each other, but he still used his Quirk. And considering his Quirk turned his entire arm into a firearm—non-lethal rounds or not—yeah, that was definitely against school rules.

His stomach dropped.

Oh no, oh no, am I getting expelled? No, that’s too extreme—maybe suspended? Oh, that would be bad—no, wait, that would be horrible! My mom is going to kill me. I am dead. I am so—

“You seem nervous,” Nezu finally spoke, breaking Izuku out of his self-induced panic spiral. His voice was light, lilting, amused. Mocking, almost. “Is there a problem, Midoriya?”

Izuku gulped. “P-Principal Nezu! I—I’m really, really sorry! I know we’re not supposed to use our Quirks in the hallways, but I panicked, and I just acted without thinking, but I swear I didn’t mean any harm! Please don’t suspend me!”

“Suspend you?” Nezu tilted his head, taking another sip of tea. “Oh heavens, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Izuku blinked. “Huh?”

“In fact,” Nezu continued, setting his cup down, “I actually called you here to commend you.”

“…Huh?”

“If not for your quick thinking, students could have very well been injured in that stampede,” Nezu said, as if Izuku should have known this already. “It was a rather chaotic moment, was it not? Humans are quite fascinating in how easily they can slip into a herd mentality. Ah, but that is a discussion for another time. The point is, you used your Quirk efficiently and with minimal collateral damage. I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer my thanks.”

Izuku’s brain had officially blue-screened.

“…Oh. Uh… y-you’re welcome?”

“But!” Nezu’s eyes twinkled as he suddenly pulled out a file. “That is not the only reason you’re here.”

Oh. Okay. There it was. He was in trouble. Just a delayed sentence.

Nezu flipped open the file and scanned it, though it was obvious he already knew what was inside. “You see, I wanted to discuss your Quirk.”

“My… Quirk?” Izuku furrowed his brows. “Did I do something wrong with it?”

“Oh, quite the opposite,” Nezu said, looking pleased. “I found something very interesting when reviewing your performance. On your first day at U.A., during the quirk assessment trials, you formed a weapon that was not originally listed in your base arsenal.” He gave Izuku an expectant look. “Now, I presume your doctors mentioned the possibility of your Quirk developing new weapons?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess?” Izuku scratched the back of his neck. “But I didn’t really… think too much about it. It kinda just happened.”

“Yes. Precisely.” Nezu snapped the file shut and steepled his paws. “Your Quirk has immense potential, Midoriya. And yet, you seem to be—how do I put this politely?—grossly underutilizing it.”

Izuku flinched like he’d been smacked. “W-Well, I—!”

“No, no, no, I’m not here to scold you,” Nezu waved a paw dismissively. “Rather, I would like to present you with a challenge.”

“A challenge?” Izuku echoed, now intrigued despite himself.

“Yes. Before the end of the month, I want you to create at least one new weapon of your own design.” Nezu’s grin widened. “Take this as a learning opportunity. Push the boundaries of what your Quirk can do.”

Izuku’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “You… want me to experiment with my Quirk?”

“Oh, most certainly!” Nezu beamed. “If you do not, you will stagnate! And stagnation, my dear boy, is unacceptable!”

Izuku blinked rapidly. This… was not how he expected this meeting to go.

Nezu suddenly shifted topics, his head tilting curiously. “Now, about your tail.”

Izuku visibly stiffened. “M-My tail?”

“Yes, yes. I’m aware you typically keep it hidden under your blazer,” Nezu said, swirling his tea. “A rather peculiar habit, considering how well you control it.”

Izuku fidgeted. “I just… I don’t want to accidentally sting anyone. It’s kind of… dangerous.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” Nezu nodded. “But tell me, Midoriya—do you truly believe your tail is so uncontrollable that it must be concealed at all times?”

Izuku hesitated. “Well… no, but…”

“Then why continue hiding it?” Nezu set his cup down with a clink. “You fear hurting others, which is admirable. However, living in fear of your own Quirk is not. If you do not trust yourself, how can you ever expect others to?”

Izuku fell silent, staring down at his hands. He’d never really thought about it like that.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “…Alright.”

Nezu clapped his paws together. “Excellent! That will be all, then. You may return to class.”

Izuku stood up, still processing everything that had just happened. “Thank you, Principal Nezu.”

“Oh, no need to thank me,” Nezu said with a chuckle. “Just don’t disappoint me, Midoriya. After all, it would be such a shame if all that potential went to waste.”

Izuku swallowed nervously.

Yeah. No pressure.

As Midoriya stepped out the door, Principal Nezu’s ever-present smile remained fixed in place. Only once the sound of footsteps faded down the hall did he let the file in his paws gently lower onto his desk. His beady eyes flicked toward the ceiling, an unsettling glint reflecting off their surface.

The security breach.

Most of the world assumed it was just another example of the press pushing too far—an all-too-common event in the hero society they so desperately clung to for entertainment. After all, reporters had swarmed the campus, slipping past the front gate, cameras flashing, voices raised in desperate cries for a story. A nuisance, surely, but nothing more.

At least, that’s what they were supposed to think.

Nezu tapped a claw against the file, his ears twitching ever so slightly. He knew better.

The reality of the situation was far more insidious.

It hadn’t been a mere case of the press slipping through security in a moment of carelessness. No, something—someone—had dismantled U.A.’s defenses. Not bypassed. Not disabled. Destroyed.

The front gate? Eroded down to dust. The security turrets? Reduced to rusty scraps, their reinforced plating warped beyond recognition.

That alone had been enough to make his fur bristle, but the true concern came after the chaos had been contained.

The breach had been deliberate.

Once the reporters were corralled and arrested—each now facing a six-month sentence for trespassing—Midnight had discovered something far more alarming.

The cabinet.

The one containing every class schedule.

The door had been left wide open, files scattered across the floor, their papers hastily rifled through. Not all of them had been touched—whoever had been there was searching for something specific.

And yet, they hadn’t bothered to close the cabinet. Hadn’t even attempted to make it look undisturbed.

It had been a distraction. A well-placed, well-orchestrated distraction.

Nezu sighed, the sound almost amused despite the weight of the situation. How curious. Someone had gone to great lengths to orchestrate this, but their carelessness in leaving the cabinet in such disarray suggested one of two possibilities: either they had run out of time, or they had been too eager to cover their tracks properly.

Sloppy. Very sloppy.

Which, of course, was its own kind of danger.

Nezu considered the possibilities, his head tilting ever so slightly as he sorted through the angles. It could have been an act of carelessness—an intruder running out of time. Or perhaps they wanted him to notice. A deliberate mistake meant to provoke a reaction.

If that was the case, the real question was why.

His eyes glimmered with a quiet sort of amusement.

“Curious,” he murmured to himself.

His mind continued its work, threading through the events like a weaver at his loom. The breach wasn’t random. The files weren’t chosen arbitrarily. Someone had an agenda, but the pieces didn’t quite fit together yet. Was it about a student? A faculty member? Or was the target something bigger?

No matter.

Nezu wasn’t the sort to wait for answers to come to him.

His school had been violated. His students had been put in danger. And that? That simply would not do.

Adjustments would have to be made.

Security had already been formidable—when it wasn’t being turned to dust, that is. Clearly, conventional measures were insufficient. So, unconventional it would be.

He would need more patrols. Not just an increase—an overhaul. More eyes, more layers, more contingencies. And, of course, the land itself could be put to better use. Most people underestimated just how vast U.A.’s grounds truly were.

A mistake.

One he would ensure the next intruder paid dearly for.

His paws folded neatly atop his desk, the ever-present smile still resting on his face.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Whoever had done this thought they were clever.

They weren’t clever enough.

Let them play their game. He welcomed the challenge. After all, what fun is intelligence if you don’t get to use it?

With that, Nezu hopped off his chair, humming an eerily cheerful tune.

Time to get to work.

He sat silently in his room, staring at his hands.

"Before the end of the month, I want you to create at least one new weapon of your own design. Take this as a learning opportunity. Push the boundaries of what your Quirk can do."

Okay. Make a new weapon. Piece of cake. Not like he totally created the first one by complete accident or anything.

Izuku took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders.

Alright, focus Midoriya. You did it once, you can do it again.

He focused on his arm, forming an idea in his head. He needed something effective in combat but simple enough to control. Something non-lethal but still powerful. His ball launcher had been a solid choice before, but it had limitations. It required him to find debris to load into it, which wasn’t always reliable.

Maybe something similar, but self-sufficient. A launcher, but with its own ammunition system. Something fast, controlled, and able to adapt mid-battle.

Alright. Let’s do this.

[PROCESSING…]

[HOST RECONFIGURING: LIMB TO COMBAT MODULE…]

[CONFIGURATION MODE: ADAPTIVE RESTRUCTURING…]

[NEW SYSTEM CODE: “GAUSS TRIPLE-LAUNCHER” SELECTED…]

[WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED FORM DETECTED…]

[CORE INTEGRITY: STABLE]

[WEAPON DESIGN: IMPROVISING...]

[ERROR CODE 014: AMMUNITION SYSTEM UNDEFINED…]

[RE-OPTIMIZING INTERNAL STORAGE…]

[MANEUVER MODE: PRECISION LOCK-ON ENABLED…]

[ERROR: STABILIZATION RINGS UNCALIBRATED…]

[RECONFIGURATION IN PROGRESS…]

[TRAJECTORY SYSTEM: AUTO-CORRECTION ENABLED…]

[TRIPLE-BARREL SYNCHRONIZATION… COMPLETE.]

[ASSEMBLING… COMPLETE.]

[ACTIVATING…]

Izuku’s arm began to shift. Nanometal plates extended and locked into place, seamlessly assembling as wires intertwined like veins of molten steel. The metal stretched over his forearm, shifting and folding into itself with mechanical precision.

A new form took shape. The base resembled his original launcher, but this was something far more refined. The barrel was sleek and reinforced, lined with glowing red etchings that pulsed softly as if alive. Three parallel barrels, each identical in size, rotated independently, interlocking in a spiraling motion. Hovering rings surrounded the weapon, spinning at high speeds like gyroscopic stabilizers, adjusting dynamically to his movements. Small vents lined the side, likely for heat dispersal, giving the weapon a high-tech, almost experimental aesthetic.

Izuku slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the creation now fused to his arm.

Okay… this looked way cooler in person.

It wasn’t just an improved ball launcher. It was a triple-barrel precision gauss launcher. Instead of relying on external debris, the weapon generated and magnetically accelerated small, compacted metal rounds stored within micro-compartments. The stabilizing rings allowed for real-time trajectory adjustments, meaning he could curve his shots mid-air if needed. The barrels, if are as similar to the ball launcher as he planned out to be, were basically cannons.

Izuku turned his arm slightly, watching the rings shift with the motion.

“…Well, that was easy.”

He grinned.

This was gonna be fun.

That’s it? That’s all it took? He just came up with some half-baked idea, and his body did all the work, turning it into something ten times cooler than what he even imagined?

Why was he ever nervous?

His eyes widened as a realization hit him like a truck.

What else could he make?

[CHAINSAW HANDS. CHAINSAW HANDS. CHAINSAW HANDS!]

Aha! Chainsaws! Why didn’t he think of it sooner? He grinned like a madman, shaking off his Gauss Cannon before focusing again. Alright, let’s see if this actually—

SHINK!

The moment he thought about chainsaws, boom, there it was. A wickedly large, jagged-toothed chainsaw replaced his hand, humming with barely contained energy.

Huh. That was… weirdly easy.

He flexed his fingers—or at least, the thought of fingers—and the chainsaw revved, vibrating slightly in his grip. Odd. Usually, when he made a new weapon, he had to visualize the design, piece it together in his mind, figure out how it would work… But this time? The second he thought about chainsaws, his body just knew.

And as far as he was aware, chainsaws were not part of his base arsenal.

The thought gnawed at him, but before he could dwell too much on it—

VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

—his desk let out a distressed screech as the chainsaw bit into it like a starving animal, sending wood shavings flying.

“Aw, man,” Izuku groaned, looking at the freshly-mutilated corner of his desk. He sighed, then turned his attention back to the weapon in his hand.

Wait… why did he even make these again?

Yeah, chainsaws were cool and all, but… he’s training to fight villains, not trees. The moment he actually tried using this on someone, they’d be down a limb at best. Yeah, no, this wasn’t gonna work.

“Back in you go,” he muttered.

With a thought, the chainsaw broke apart into a flurry of shifting nanometal, the individual pieces rippling like liquid as they melted back into his skin.

Alright. That was definitely something to think about later. But for now…

Time for more tests.

“Uhh, Midoriya, you feel okay? You look really tired,” Tsuyu asked, her voice as flat as ever, though the way she tilted her head slightly showed at least some concern.

“Huh?” Izuku mumbled, blinking rapidly before covering a yawn with his hand. “Oh, I’m fine, thanks for asking. I just stayed up late testing my Quirk, is all.”

“Ooooh, Class President? Staying up late? That doesn’t speak very well of your qualifications, Midoriya~” Mina teased, flashing a sharp grin as she leaned on his desk.

The comment actually caught Izuku off guard, making him sit up straighter in protest—

And his tail snapped to attention like an exclamation mark.

Mina’s smirk faltered just for a second before returning at full force, eyes locking onto the new target. She jabbed a finger at it, grinning wide. “No way! I thought your tail was just some other weapon! I didn’t know it stuck around—it’s so cute! Can I touch it?”

Izuku was understandably flustered, but the moment she said ‘touch,’ instinct kicked in. He grabbed the harpoon-like tip and yanked it away from her like it had suddenly become radioactive. “NO! No, you can’t touch it, it’s really dangerous!” he said hurriedly, shifting in his seat as he continued pulling his tail further from her reach.

“Oh, come on! Just a little tap! What’s the worst that could happen?” Mina wheedled, still making playful grabs for it.

“Everything!” Izuku snapped, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Ochaco, watching the back-and-forth like a tennis match, let out a giggle. “Mina, I don’t think Midoriya wants you anywhere near his tail.”

“Exactly! Thank you, Uraraka!” Izuku said, grateful for the backup—

Only for Mina to cross her arms and smirk like a villain. “Fine, be like that. But mark my words, Midoriya—I will touch your tail. One way or another.”

Izuku groaned, pressing a hand to his face. “Do you not see the glowing liquid in the canister next to the tip?! That’s literally acid!”

“So?” Mina countered, shrugging like he’d just stated the obvious. “My Quirk lets me secrete acid! I’m basically immune to it.”

“That is not how it works!” Izuku nearly shouted, ears burning.

Iida, ever the model of professionalism, slammed his hands down on his desk with a thud. “Ashido! It is highly improper to go against your classmate’s wishes regarding a part of their body! Especially when that classmate is the Class President!” His arms began chopping in rapid succession, voice rising with each syllable.

“Iida, buddy, I appreciate the help, but you’re making it sound way weirder than it actually is,” Izuku muttered.

“I’m with Iida on this one,” Sero added, smirking slightly. “I’ve seen how fast that thing melts pens. I don’t think your skin being resistant to acid is gonna help you much, Ashido.”

“Pfft. That’s different!” Mina huffed, but she still settled back into her seat, momentarily thwarted.

As Izuku sighed in relief, Ibara, who had been silent until now, pressed her hands together in quiet concern. “I must say, Midoriya, I had no idea your appendage held such… dangerous potential. Perhaps it would be wise to keep it hidden if it poses a risk to others.”

“Believe me,” Izuku groaned, rubbing his forehead, “I try.”

Mina, undeterred, only grinned wider. “You can try all you want, Midori, but I will touch that tail someday.”

Izuku swore he felt a migraine coming on.

The classroom fell into an abrupt silence as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the hallway. Instinct kicked in, and every student scrambled back to their seats just in time for the door to slide open, revealing Aizawa Shouta in all his perpetually exhausted glory.

He swept his gaze over them, eyes half-lidded, the picture of a man who had long since given up on looking enthusiastic about anything.

Good. This class is actually learning.

“Alright, you’re all seated. Now listen up,” he said, his voice as dry as ever. “We’re going on a field trip today. Get your hero costumes and meet me at the bus outside. You have ten minutes. Anyone who comes later than that gets left behind. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” the class answered in unison, some more excitedly than others.

With that, the classroom erupted into motion as students quickly gathered their things and filtered out in an orderly, if hurried, fashion. However, Midoriya lingered for just a second longer, shifting slightly as he turned to face his teacher.

“Uh, Mr. Aizawa?”

“Hm?” Aizawa responded, already half-expecting some complicated follow-up question about the day’s itinerary.

Izuku swallowed, pushing through his nerves. “I was just thinking… would it be okay if we had a class assistant role? Y’know, someone to help out the class and vice rep?”

Aizawa’s brow twitched ever so slightly. He stared at Midoriya for approximately half a second before exhaling through his nose.

“Lemme guess,” he said flatly. “You felt bad for Tenya and decided to make this dumb request to make him feel better?”

Midoriya staggered.

“I—I mean, not just that,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head. “I just… I feel like he would’ve been more qualified for Class President than me. I know it’s dumb, but it doesn’t stop me from asking.”

Aizawa gave him a long, unreadable look. There was a part of him that wanted to sigh and dismiss the whole thing outright, but another part of him—one he didn’t acknowledge often—felt something close to reluctant amusement.

The kid wasn’t wrong.

Before Aizawa could respond, a sudden whoosh of movement interrupted them, followed by a loud voice cutting through the air.

“PREPOSTEROUS!”

Midoriya jolted as Tenya, who had apparently been lingering outside the door, stomped into the room with the intensity of a charging bull. His arms were already in motion, chopping through the air at high velocity as he spoke.

“I cannot, in good conscience, allow such slanderous words against your own achievements to go unchallenged, Midoriya!”

Midoriya, now caught between flustered and horrified, waved his hands in protest. “It’s not that big of a deal—”

“It is a matter of great importance!” Tenya continued, completely undeterred. “You were elected Class President because our peers recognized your capabilities! Your leadership skills, your quick-thinking, and your dedication to your classmates make you more than qualified for this position! For you to suggest otherwise is an insult to their judgment!”

Midoriya, now fully red in the face, tried again. “I-I wasn’t trying to insult anyone! I just—”

“I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS SELF-DOUBT!” Tenya boomed, his movements somehow becoming even sharper. “You have proven yourself time and time again! I, as your classmate, will NOT allow you to degrade your own achievements in such a manner!”

Aizawa, who had been watching this unfold with the same energy as a tired parent watching their kid throw a tantrum in a grocery store, finally cut in with a deadpan, “Okay. That’s enough.”

Tenya immediately stopped, snapping to attention. “Understood, Sensei.”

Aizawa exhaled. “Midoriya, if you wanna make a new role, go for it. You’re in charge. Just don’t mess anything up.”

Izuku, still recovering from the verbal beatdown Tenya had just given him, blinked before a wide, relieved grin spread across his face. “Y-yes, Sensei! Thank you!”

With that, he turned on his heel and scuttled out of the room at full speed, clearly eager to catch up with his classmates.

Aizawa turned his gaze to Tenya, who was still standing at attention like a soldier awaiting further orders.

“…You do realize he just made that position specifically for you, right?”

Tenya adjusted his glasses, his expression firm. “I am deeply honored by his consideration! I will accept this responsibility with the utmost seriousness and dedication!”

Aizawa exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Yeah. Figured.”

The boy quickly turned around and left after Midoriya.

Aizawa watched him go, arms loosely folded, expression unreadable.

That smile… it was painfully familiar.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, pushing the thought away. Let the dead rest, Shouta. This kid isn’t Shirakumo.

Still.

“Problem child,” he muttered under his breath.

And, despite himself, he almost smiled.

Smoke and fire billowed through the streets, screams echoing between the shattered buildings. The two villains stood amidst the destruction, reveling in the chaos. One was a hulking brute with jagged, rock-like skin, his fists capable of shattering concrete like glass. The other, a wiry figure cloaked in shifting shadows, flickered between the ruins, his presence distorting the air like a mirage.

Their rampage had gone unchecked—until now.

A gust of wind blasted through the battlefield, sending dust and debris flying. A booming voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Never fear, citizens—because I am here!”

The villains barely had time to react before All Might moved.

In an instant, he was in front of the brute, his fist already cocked back.

“TEXAS SMASH!”

The punch connected with the villain’s gut like a meteor strike. A shockwave detonated outward, shattering windows and ripping the pavement apart. The brute’s eyes bulged, a gasp barely escaping his throat before he was launched straight through three buildings, finally crashing into a pile of wreckage, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

The shadowy villain took a stumbling step back, hands raised, tendrils of darkness lashing out to ensnare the hero—

Useless.

All Might vanished from sight, only for his voice to thunder behind the villain’s ear.

“CALIFORNIA SMASH!”

A single, precise backhand sent the villain hurtling skyward like a ragdoll, his own power scattering like mist. Before he could even start falling, All Might leapt, appearing above him in an instant.

“MISSOURI SMASH!”

A crushing axe kick sent the villain plummeting straight down, cratering into the pavement with enough force to send a dust cloud roaring through the streets. Silence followed.

The fight was over.

By the time the police arrived, All Might stood tall, completely unharmed, the two villains unconscious at his feet. With his usual unwavering grin, he saluted the arriving officers before tossing them their newest prisoners.

“Package delivered! I’ll leave the cleanup to you, my friends.”

And just like that, with the crisis averted and hope restored, All Might was gone—already off to answer the next call for help.

1 hour left.

Once everyone had gathered outside in their hero costumes, Iida—true to form—took his newly appointed role very seriously. He stood at attention, a clipboard in hand, and dramatically cleared his throat before addressing the class.

“EVERYONE, PLEASE FILE INTO THE BUS ACCORDING TO THIS DETAILED SEATING CHART!” He held up a neatly printed diagram, lines crisp, names carefully placed. “IT IS PIVOTAL THAT WE ALL—”

“Uh, Iida?” Sato interrupted, peering into the bus with a skeptical frown. “I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

Iida blinked, his confidence wavering for the first time. “What? But I meticulously ensured that the seat—”

Then he saw it.

The bus was not the standard school bus he had planned for. Instead, it was a commuter-style bus with open seating, completely negating his carefully structured plan. He stared at it in mute horror, his hands trembling as he clutched his seating chart. Slowly, his shoulders slumped in utter defeat.

“I have failed once again…” he muttered, hanging his head as if the weight of his own expectations had finally crushed him.

Uraraka, ever the supportive friend, patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Oh, come on, Iida, don’t be so hard on yourself! You did your best. It’s not like you could’ve known the bus would be different.” She tilted her head, a look of genuine curiosity crossing her face. “Actually… how did you manage to print all those copies in the last five minutes?”

“That’s what I wanna know,” Kaminari chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Dude, do you just carry a printer with you or something?”

Iida adjusted his glasses, pushing aside his despair to answer with complete sincerity. “Of course not! That would be impractical. Instead, I utilized UA’s advanced faculty resources to—”

“Yeah, yeah, moving on,” Jiro cut in, already heading for the bus.

With that, the class began filing into the vehicle in a decidedly non-structured fashion, squeezing into whatever seats they wanted.

As Iida stepped onto the bus, still clutching his now-useless seating chart, he sighed deeply. “I shall endure this chaos… but know that I do not condone it.”

His classmates, unsurprisingly, ignored him.

The moment everyone got settled, the bus rumbled to life, and it didn’t take long for chatter to fill the space.

“Well, since we’ll be stuck here for a while, we might as well make some small talk,” Tsuyu suggested, tapping a finger to her lip. “Ribbit.”

“Ooo, sounds good! What are we talking? Gossip? Fashion advice?” Mina asked excitedly, leaning forward in her seat.

“I was thinking who’s the strongest,” Kirishima declared, pumping his fist. “That would be totally manly!”

“Do you ever stop saying that?” Kaminari deadpanned.

“Nope!” Kirishima grinned, completely unfazed.

“I’d say that’s a fair debate,” Sero said, stretching out in his seat. “Anyone got guesses?”

“Todoroki,” Ojiro spoke up, arms crossed. “His ice is overwhelming. My whole team couldn’t do a thing against him during the assessment.”

At the mention of his name, Todoroki gave a brief glance toward Ojiro before returning to his usual brooding silence.

Izuku, watching him from the corner of his eye, couldn’t help but wonder—what was Todoroki’s deal? The guy barely spoke, yet he was insanely strong and had the looks to match. By all logic, he should’ve been one of the most popular students in class, but his lack of interaction made him feel… distant.

Still, why was he so quiet?

“What about Midoriya?”

Izuku nearly jumped out of his seat. “Huh?!”

Tsuyu, the one who made the statement, continued in her usual calm tone. “I mean, he did get first place in the entrance exam and the quirk assessment test. Not to mention his fight with Bakugou, ribbit.”

“Uh, well…” Izuku trailed off, feeling his classmates’ gazes shift onto him.

Mina tapped her chin. “Y’know, I would consider Bakugou too, but no amount of strength makes up for that kind of personality.”

She pointed a thumb at the aforementioned blonde, who was already inhaling sharply to scream obscenities—until he froze. His eye twitched as a realization hit him.

The rat is watching.

Grumbling, he settled for an enraged huff, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat. Seething.

“That being said,” Tsuyu redirected the conversation back to Midoriya, “your Quirk is pretty weird, ribbit.”

“Yeah!” Kaminari chimed in. “Like, it’s kinda like Momo’s, except not really. Plus, that acid tail thing? What’s up with that?”

“I’d assume it’s a secondary mutation,” Ibara spoke up, her vine-like hair gently shifting as she turned to face Izuku. “Though it’s rather peculiar, as mutations of that nature tend to be hereditary. Is your family gifted with similar traits?”

“Ah, uh—” Izuku panicked slightly. “Not… really? I mean, my mom has a mild telekenesis Quirk, nothing like mine. I guess I’m just—y’know—different?”

“Different is an understatement,” Sato commented. “That tail melts through metal.”

“You all are really hung on this thing,” Midoriya said, moving his tail to pointing range for emphasis.

“Either way, you’re still super strong,” Mina said, grinning. “Plus, you’ve got that cool factor going for you.”

“Cool? Him?” Bakugou sneered. “This damn nerd ain’t cool—he’s just a lucky piece of trash!”

“Yet he still beat you,” Jirou smirked.

Bakugou immediately turned to her, eyes ablaze. “SAY THAT AGAIN, EARJACKS—”

“You heard me.” Jirou smirked harder.

Bakugou growled like a rabid dog, while the rest of the class burst into laughter. Even Todoroki, for just a brief second, looked vaguely amused.

Izuku, meanwhile, just sighed. So much for a quiet bus ride.

“No need to argue over who’s the strongest,” Aoyama suddenly interjected, flipping his hair with a dramatic flair. “After all, what truly matters is who sparkles the most.”

“Yeah, you’re super sparkly…” Mina drawled, grinning. “Until you get a stomach ache.”

Aoyama gasped in betrayal, dramatically clutching his chest. “Ah, you wound me, Ashido! Such cruelty! Such barbarism! I may never recover!”

“Don’t worry, dude, we’ll visit your grave,” Kaminari quipped, smirking.

“Only if it’s glitter-covered,” Sero added.

“A grave covered in my dazzling essence? Magnifique!” Aoyama swooned, wiping an invisible tear.

Meanwhile, Bakugou was still fuming from earlier, arms crossed and scowling at the floor. Ibara turned towards him, her expression calm but firm. “Bakugou, I must say, your temperament is most unbefitting of a future hero.”

“Tch, what the hell’s that supposed to mean, vine-head?” Bakugou snapped.

“I mean that one’s strength is not solely measured by power, but also by the discipline with which they wield it,” Ibara stated plainly. “Lashing out at your peers like an unruly beast is hardly befitting of someone who aspires to be a professional.”

Kirishima winced. Oof. That was brutal.

Bakugou twitched violently, his fingers sparking. “You wanna repeat that, holy roller?”

Ibara didn’t so much as flinch. “Yes. Gladly. As many times as necessary.”

Before Bakugou could explode—literally—Tokoyami, who had been silent up until now, let out a deep sigh. “This bickering is frivolous. Strength, after all, is merely a fleeting shadow. It is one’s will that shapes true destiny.”

There was a brief silence.

“…Bro, do you practice saying this stuff in the mirror?” Sero asked.

“I simply speak the truth,” Tokoyami replied cryptically, arms folded.

“Seriously, though, I feel like you’ve got a book of dramatic quotes under your pillow or something,” Kaminari teased.

“That is absurd.”

Dark Shadow peeked out from his cloak. “He totally does.”

“Dark Shadow.”

“What? It’s true!”

Before the conversation could get even more out of hand, Aizawa—who had remained silent this entire time—suddenly spoke up.

“Enough. We’re here.”

The bus instantly quieted. Even Bakugou bit back his next insult as everyone turned to look outside.

Their destination loomed before them, the massive facility casting a foreboding shadow.

The USJ.

The moment the bus came to a halt, the doors hissed open, and the students began filing out, some stretching after the ride, others looking around curiously.

“Alright, everyone, off the bus and stay together,” Iida instructed, already shifting into his Class Assistant role. “We must proceed in an orderly fashion—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, dude,” Kaminari groaned, stepping past him.

As they stepped forward, the massive interior of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint—USJ—came into full view. The students paused, eyes widening as they took in the colossal space before them.

The facility was unlike anything they had ever seen.

Towering rock formations loomed over one section, simulating landslides and avalanches. To the side, an area filled with crumbling buildings stood frozen in a perpetual state of destruction, meant to mimic urban disaster scenarios. A vast artificial lake sprawled further ahead, its still waters eerily reflective, while a thick, smoking wasteland churned with what looked like molten lava.

“Holy crap,” Kirishima muttered. “This place is awesome.”

“It’s… so much bigger than I thought,” Midoriya said, eyes darting between each zone. His muttering kicked in almost immediately. “Landslide zone, flood zone, fire zone—this must be meant to test our response to a variety of emergency scenarios. If they’re set up in different sections, then that means the focus isn’t just combat but also—”

“Breathe, Midoriya,” Tsuyu cut in with a light ribbit.

“R-Right.”

“There are so many places to train,” Sero said, whistling. “They really went all out with this place, huh?”

“Indeed,” Tokoyami murmured, gazing at the dark smoke rising from one of the zones. “It is a domain of calamity, a place where the shadows of destruction stretch long.”

“I knew he practiced these in the mirror,” Kaminari whispered to Sero.

“Yeah, no way this is off the cuff,” Sero whispered back.

Meanwhile, Uraraka was practically bouncing on her heels. “Oh my gosh, this is so cool! This place is insane—”

“Glad to see you’re excited!”

A voice called out, and the students turned to see a familiar figure approaching.

Pro Hero Thirteen stood before them, clad in their signature space-themed hero costume, the white suit giving them the appearance of an astronaut. Their helmet visor glowed slightly as they raised a hand in greeting.

“Welcome to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint!” Thirteen said cheerfully. “I hope you’re all ready, because today, you’ll be learning just how important rescue work is to being a hero.”

Before anyone could respond, Uraraka let out an audible squeal.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh—Thirteen, I love your work! You’re one of my favorite heroes! Your Quirk is so cool, and you’re so good at rescuing people, and—” She stopped, suddenly realizing she was fangirling way too hard. Her entire face went red.

“I-I mean—uh—sorry, I just—”

Thirteen chuckled warmly. “No need to apologize! I’m always happy to see young heroes excited about rescue work.”

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, enough chitchat. Let’s get started.”

Aizawa’s sharp gaze flicked toward the empty space beside him. Where’s All Might?

Something was off. He was used to the man being late, but this felt different. He turned to Thirteen, his voice low. “Where is he?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she tapped two fingers against her wrist—where a watch would be—before making a sharp snipping motion with her other hand.

Time limit cut short.

Aizawa exhaled slowly. Of course.

Pushing that concern aside, he refocused. “Alright, Thirteen. Get started.”

She nodded, turning to the class. “Alright, everyone, I’m sure you’ve all taken your respective combat lessons by now. That means you have a basic grasp of what your Quirks can do.”

The students nodded, a few murmuring in anticipation.

“But I’m also sure you all understand how easy it would be for your Quirks to kill.”

The air shifted.

Aizawa caught the way some students stiffened, their gazes flickering downward.

For most, the thought wasn’t one they liked to dwell on.

But for some—

For Izuku—

He knew this better than anyone.

His Quirk—his gift—turned him into a walking armory. The weapons he created were his lifeline, an extension of himself. He had spent months designing non-lethal options, trying to make sure he wouldn’t cause unnecessary harm.

But even then… he knew. He knew.

A wrong swing. A miscalculated shot. A blade positioned just a little too deep—

He clenched his fists, inhaling sharply.

This lesson might actually be what he needed. He wanted—needed—to learn how to use his power for beyond raw combat.

[!!!]

Every muscle in his body locked up.

His head snapped toward the center of the facility.

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The air itself felt heavier—oppressive. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out whatever Thirteen was saying. His gut screamed at him. A visceral, primal warning clawed at his mind—

Then he saw it.

A flicker of purple.

His blood ran cold.

“…In the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, or USJ for short, you’ll learn how to use your Quirks for rescue outside of combat,” Thirteen continued, unaware of the growing dread settling over the students. “This whole facility is something of a passion project of mine, so I’m glad the next generation of heroes will be using it.”

The class smiled. A few nodded in excitement.

Except Midoriya.

Except Aizawa.

Except Bakugou, whose scowl deepened—not out of irritation, but something else.

Then—

“Whoa, you guys have fake villains too? This place is awesome!” Kirishima’s voice rang out.

Aizawa and Thirteen whipped their heads toward where the redhead was looking.

Izuku didn’t need to look.

His worst fear had already been confirmed.

A portal.

A swirling vortex of deep, unnatural purple mist, expanding, growing, tearing into reality like an open wound.

And from it, figures began to step out.

One. Five. A dozen. More.

Villains.

They poured through the breach like locusts, boots hitting the ground in eerie synchronization. Some were armed with blades and crude weapons. Others cracked their knuckles, flexing claws or hands glowing with the telltale shimmer of Quirks ready to be used.

Aizawa’s eyes burned red as his scarf uncoiled, floating like a serpent ready to strike. His voice was like steel, sharp and unwavering.

"Thirteen, get the students out. Now."

"H-Huh?" Toru stammered, her form barely visible as her gloves clenched. "What’s going on?"

Shoji’s extra arms twitched. "Wait—are those—"

"Real villains," Izuku murmured.

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Cold and distant. A stark contrast to the frantic thudding of his heart. His pilot cap cast a deep shadow over his darkened eyes, hiding the storm brewing behind them.

"Shit," Kaminari whispered. "We're seriously getting attacked?"

At the center of it all, standing at the eye of the storm, two figures emerged.

One was a man.

A ragged black long-sleeve clung to his wiry frame. Pale fingers twitched and clawed at the skin of his neck as if he were itching for something—some relief, some release. Strapped across his body were hands. Disembodied, unnatural, clutching at his shoulders, his arms—one even clamped over his face, just over his crimson eyes.

The other—

Was not a man.

A hulking thing stepped forward.

Darkened skin, twisted and stretched over bulging muscle. An exposed brain pulsed like a grotesque, living engine atop its head. A birdlike beak jutted out from its face, its empty gaze staring at nothing—and everything—all at once.

The first figure—the one with the hands—paused. His bloodshot eyes flickered over the students, the teachers, his fingers still clawing at his skin.

Two teachers. A bunch of children.

No All Might.

His neck twitched. His fingers dug in harder. His scowl deepened.

"Two pieces of fodder," he muttered, voice hoarse, dissatisfied. "A bunch of free EXP. But no All Might."

A pause. Then, a dry chuckle, followed by an unsettling giggle.

His lips curled into a twisted smirk.

"Where the hell is he? He’s supposed to be here."

The beast beside him didn’t react. It didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just stood.

Still. Silent. Waiting.

The hand-covered man clicked his tongue.

"No matter," he murmured. His fingers slowed, his nails dragging over his throat with an eerie, almost pensive rhythm. "Maybe he’ll show up when a few bodies hit the floor. That should wound his pride a little. Don’t you think?"

He glanced to his side.

And the darkness shifted.

The class froze.

A chilling weight pressed down on them, suffocating.

Then—

The mist behind Shigaraki stirred.

A new figure emerged—a man composed of the same violet void, golden eyes gleaming from the swirling haze.

Shigaraki’s lips twisted.

“Kurogiri.”

The mist-man bowed slightly. “Yes, Shigaraki?”

Shigaraki’s red eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

“You know what to do.”

Aizawa was about to speak, but Izuku beat him to it.

“Kaminari! Send an emergency SOS!”

“I’m trying!” Kaminari’s fingers flew over his comms device, but no matter what he did, the screen refused to light up. “They’ve got some kind of jammer—this thing’s completely fried!”

Aizawa’s stomach twisted. That meant no backup. No reinforcements.

His gaze dropped to the horde of villains below, spreading out like a pack of hungry wolves. And then—

He moved.

“Wait, Mr. Aizawa—!" Izuku’s breath caught in his throat as his teacher leaped over the railing. “You can’t seriously be thinking—!”

Aizawa didn’t even look back. He simply pulled his goggles down over his eyes.

“Get the students out of here. I can handle myself.”

Then he was gone.

Aizawa plummeted toward the villains like a reaper descending from the heavens, scarf whipping in the wind.

"The hell—?” One of them—spikes protruding from his arms—looked up just in time to see a blur of black and red crashing down.

Aizawa landed on his shoulders, driving him into the concrete with bone-snapping force.

One down.

A woman with small, barrel-like fingers spun, already firing—click.

Her eyes widened. Click. Click. Nothing.

"What the—?”

She never finished. Aizawa’s boot struck her temple in a brutal spinning dropkick, sending her crumpling to the ground, unconscious before she even hit the pavement.

Two down.

The horde hesitated.

"Shit! Our Quirks—!"

Too late.

Aizawa was already moving. He lunged, scarf snapping forward like a viper, coiling around the neck of the nearest thug. With a sharp yank, he dragged the man into the air before swinging him full-force into three others, their bodies crashing like dominoes.

Five down.

“Don’t just stand there! Jump him!”

They rushed him all at once.

Big mistake.

Aizawa sidestepped a wild punch and retaliated with a vicious elbow to the ribs—a wet crunch as the man folded inward. Before he could drop, Aizawa grabbed him by the collar and hurled him into another attacker.

A blade flashed from the left.

Aizawa ducked low, the knife slicing the air where his throat had been a second ago. His scarf lashed out, twisting around the attacker’s wrist. With a sharp tug, he sent them flipping forward—catching them mid-air with a brutal roundhouse kick.

They hit the ground.

Seven.

More rushed in. Aizawa shot forward, weaving through them like a ghost, his movements fluid, precise—no wasted motion. He ducked, twisted, sidestepped, countered—every attack neutralized before it could even begin.

A thug with brass knuckles swung at his head. Aizawa snatched his wrist mid-punch, pivoted, and snapped it backward with a sickening crack.

Eight.

Another came from behind. Aizawa slammed his heel into their kneecap, buckling their leg before grabbing them by the back of the head and driving their skull into the pavement.

Nine.

The last one standing hesitated, breath shuddering. Aizawa stared him down, gaze sharp as a blade.

“Boo.”

The villain turned and ran.

Aizawa exhaled, adjusting his scarf as the final body hit the floor. He scanned the battlefield—ten seconds. That’s all it took.

“Woah…” Kirishima muttered, eyes wide as he watched Aizawa carve through the villains like a knife through butter.

“That’s enough looking! Everyone retreat immediately!” Thirteen’s voice rang out, urgent and commanding. She had already started ushering the students away, trying to get them out of the facility before things got worse.

Down below, Aizawa moved like a specter of war. His legs locked around a villain’s neck mid-air, twisting with terrifying precision before whipping him into another group like a human projectile. They collapsed in a tangled heap of limbs and groans.

His eyes burned.

He barely noticed as his fingers tightened around the two ends of his scarf. His mind was on the fight. His body moved before thought, instincts honed through years of battle. Two more villains lunged—one swinging a metal pipe, the other pulling back a fist crackling with energy.

His scarf lashed out—one end wrapped around the pipe, the other snapped tight around the second villain’s wrist. With a sharp pull, he yanked them into each other, the force sending them sprawling onto the pavement.

His vision blurred. His eyes were too dry.

He needed to blink.

Just for a second—just one—

He blinked.

The second his lids shut, the air shifted.

Kurogiri vanished.

“Shit.” Aizawa swore under his breath, fists clenching. He’d let the most annoying one slip through.

Above, just as the students neared the exit, a familiar ominous mist bloomed into existence, expanding like ink spilled over paper. Two glowing golden eyes flickered within the void, sweeping over the class’s frozen, fear-struck faces.

“I must apologize for the rude interruption,” Kurogiri’s voice echoed smoothly, dripping with eerie politeness. “But I’m afraid I cannot allow you all to escape so easily.”

The mist grew, stretching like creeping fingers.

“We are the League of Villains, and we are here to put an end to the Symbol of Peace. Though it is rather odd that he is not present…” His voice carried a mocking lilt. “But in the meantime, our associates will be dealing with you.”

Thirteen immediately stepped in front of the students, fingers uncapping, ready to activate her Quirk.

“Like hell they can!”

Bakugou blasted forward, palms igniting in furious explosions. Kirishima was right beside him, fists hardening into stone as he charged straight for the mist.

“Bakugou! Kirishima! Get back—!” Izuku’s voice was thick with urgency, but they didn’t listen.

Until it was too late.

A single, effortless sweep of Kurogiri’s mist swallowed them whole.

Gone.

The class watched in horror. Two of their heaviest hitters—erased like nothing.

Kurogiri barely acknowledged their loss. “Such brash behavior,” he mused. The dark mist curled and coiled, twisting toward them like a living entity. “Now then, let’s not waste any more time.”

The mist surged forward.

It came too fast.

It came all at once.

Izuku’s instincts roared.

He moved without thinking. His Quirk flared to life—metallic wings bursting from his back in a blinding flash of silver. With a desperate twist, he unfurled them, wrapping himself and the two nearest students in last ditch attempt at protecting them.

The mist snapped shut around them.

And then—

Everything vanished.

`

Chapter Text

Falling.

Izuku felt the weightlessness of freefall after a moment of utter darkness.

The cocoon his wings had instinctively formed began righting itself, metallic feathers unfolding with a whispering shing as he slowed his descent. His grip remained firm on the two people he’d managed to snatch from the void before that mist swallowed them whole—Jiro and Momo.

With a practiced ease, he touched down, wings folding to his back as he carefully set the girls down.

“You guys alright?” he asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pounding through his veins.

Jiro groaned, placing her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. “Y-Yeah… just a little dizzy. Thanks, greenie,” she managed, swallowing thickly in an attempt to keep her lunch inside where it belonged.

“Same here,” Momo added, though she seemed far less affected by the nausea.

Izuku gave a quick nod before his gaze swept their surroundings. Jagged rocks, steep hills, harsh terrain. Mountain Zone. His frown deepened.  ‘How the hell did we even end up all the way out here?’

His mind raced. That mist villain’s Quirk—it had to be teleportation. That was… good. It meant Bakugou and Kirishima weren’t dead, nor were any of the others. But if they’d been sent here to be “dealt with” by other villains, that meant—

They weren’t alone.

His pulse spiked as the full gravity of the situation crashed over him. This wasn’t a drill. This wasn’t training. This was real. And the people hunting them? They wouldn’t be pulling their punches.

Jiro shivered, her discomfort bleeding into her tone. “How the hell did they even know we’d be here?”

Momo frowned, thinking. “A data leak is possible. But… they could’ve just guessed, right?”

“No,” Izuku said firmly, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes were locked onto the horizon, emerald green but darkened with an edge of cold fury. “They didn’t guess. If they weren’t sure, they wouldn’t have brought this many people.” He exhaled sharply.

“This trap wasn’t for us.”

His hands clenched into fists, jaw tightening.

“It was meant for All Might.”

The two girls froze.

It wasn’t just what Izuku had said—it was how he’d said it. His voice lacked its usual warmth, the goodwill, or even the occasional nervous stutter. His tone was steady. Cold. Focused.

Jiro swallowed. She didn’t like this. Not one damn bit. But still—there was no way, right?

“But there’s no way they can actually beat All Might, right?” she asked, but the words came out weak, like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

Izuku didn’t even hesitate. His response came like a blade slicing through false hope.

“That doesn’t mean much if we’re dead before he gets here.”

Jiro’s breath hitched.

Momo’s expression tightened. She understood what he meant immediately. This wasn’t just some villain ambush. This was premeditated. They were moving like an army. If they had the numbers and confidence to try and take down All Might, then…

They wouldn’t hesitate to kill a few students.

Izuku exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “We need a plan. We can’t just sit around and wait for help that might not come in time.” His mind was racing, thoughts snapping together like puzzle pieces. “At least one of us needs to escape and call for reinforcements.”

Jiro let out a dry laugh. “Oh, sure. Just slip past a bunch of bloodthirsty villains who probably outnumber us ten to one. No big deal.”

“We don’t have a choice.” Izuku ignored the sarcasm, hand on his chin, mind working a mile a minute. ‘Think, think, think! Who had the best shot at making it out? Who was fast enough? Who was reliable enough?’

His eyes widened.

“That’s right—Iida!”

Momo’s head snapped up. “He’s the best chance we have.”

“He’s fast,” Izuku continued, nodding to himself, “and he’s the most reliable person we’ve got. If anyone can get out of here and reach the teachers, it’s him.” His fingers curled into a fist. “We need to regroup with the others. We have to find Iida.”

Jiro groaned, running a hand down her face. “So basically, we gotta fight our way through a horde of villains in broad daylight with zero prep, half our class missing, and the odds completely against us?”

Izuku shot her a grim smile.

“Pretty much.”

Jiro sighed. “Cool. Love that for us.”

"Alright, let’s ge—"

Izuku barely registered himself moving.

The sound didn’t even reach him in time.

His body reacted on instinct.

His arm flicked up, claws shifting in an instant. Ping! A metallic ring split the air as he caught the bullet— one shot at Momo, mid-flight, his fingers clamping down effortlessly. His sharp eyes locked onto the shooter before his arm snapped forward, launching the bullet right back.

CRACK!

The bullet tore clean through the barrel of the gun, shearing it off with pinpoint precision.

The villain holding it stumbled back, staring at the now-useless weapon in stunned horror.

Momo took a step back, breath catching in her throat as she fully processed what had just happened.

Izuku straightened, wings shifting slightly behind him, his cold gaze locked onto the growing horde of villains emerging from the shadows. His voice was sharp, quiet—lethal.

"They’re here."

A sneering voice cut through the tension.

"Aww, what do we have here?" One of the thugs jeered, twirling a knife between his fingers. His smirk was all teeth, eyes filled with mean-spirited amusement. "Some little runt playing prince charming for the damsels in distress."

Izuku didn’t even blink. His voice was calm. Cold.

"Stay close."

His second hand shifted into claws, his stance lowering as his eyes swept the crowd.

Another thug stepped forward—this one lanky, with an unnaturally long tongue and sunken, beady eyes. He grinned, licking his lips in a way that sent a shudder down Momo’s spine.

"Ohoho, jackpot! I’m gonna have so much fun with these two once we gut that green-haired rat."

Momo stiffened, forcing down her discomfort as she created a sturdy metal staff and shield. Beside her, Jiro’s jaw clenched, fingers twitching toward her jacks.

Izuku, however, wasn’t rattled.

His brain was already working.

‘5… 12… 20… 28.’

28 to 3.

The odds should’ve been terrifying.

Instead, he felt nothing but cold, methodical focus.

One of the thugs lunged forward, knife raised high, aiming to drive it straight into Izuku’s chest.

Bad move.

Izuku moved.

He sidestepped effortlessly, claws slicing out in a clean, calculated arc. The villain barely had time to register the motion before pain exploded up his wrist.

"Agh—!"

His grip failed. The knife clattered uselessly to the ground. Before he could even process the injury, Izuku’s foot lashed out—

CRACK.

The heel of Izuku’s boot smashed into the side of his head. Joints dislocated. Teeth broke. The thug crumpled, out cold before he even hit the ground.

Two others barely had time to react before two mechanical claws snapped around their heads with a vice-like grip.

WHAM!

Skulls met solid rock. The ground cracked under the force. They didn’t get back up.

Another villain—a hulking brute with rock-like skin—roared in fury and charged.

Izuku let him come.

At the last second, he pivoted—sliding just out of reach—his claws digging deep into the villain’s side as he passed. The cut wasn’t fatal, but it hurt.

The brute stumbled, but Izuku wasn’t done. He ducked behind him, claws flashing—

Swipe.

Not too deep— crippled.

Not too shallow— useless.

The thug let out a strangled yell as his achilles tendon was severed. His massive frame crumpled instantly, knees slamming into the dirt.

His head barely had time to tilt forward before—

CRACK.

Izuku’s boot collided with the back of his skull, sending him face-first into the ground. Unconscious.

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then one of the remaining thugs let out a slow whistle.

"…Well, shit."

The long-tongued villain—who had been grinning just moments ago—was now staring with wide eyes, sweat dripping down his brow.

"H-Hey, man," he stammered, taking a cautious step back. "M-Maybe we don’t gotta do this, y’know? We, uh… We can just walk away, yeah?"

Izuku tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. His claws gleamed under the sun light, blood dripping from their edges.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"You should’ve run the moment you pulled the trigger."

Then, with a powerful flap of his wings, Izuku vanished into a swirling dust cloud.

The villains froze. Panic set in the moment they lost sight of him. Eyes darted wildly—until someone looked up.

"There! Up there!"

Hovering above them, wings spread wide, Izuku loomed like a specter against the dim light. One of his hands had shifted, no longer claws, but something far more dangerous. A barrel.

“The hell?” one of the thugs muttered, eyes widening.

Izuku took aim.

Then fired.

A missile screamed through the air, too fast for any of them to react. It didn’t hit anyone directly. It didn’t need to.

BOOM!

The explosion ripped through the center of the crowd, shockwaves flinging bodies like ragdolls. Smoke trailed their airborne forms before they hit the ground hard.

Before they could even recover, two more missiles shot down in quick succession.

BOOM! BOOM!

The already-scattered group fractured even further, breaking into smaller, disoriented patches. Perfect.

Izuku folded his wings and dove.

He was a green blur, a silent force of destruction, his trajectory locked onto the largest remaining cluster.

Then he crashed.

The impact was brutal. He landed directly onto the biggest of the bunch—some towering, four-armed meathead—his boot slamming into the man’s skull and driving him into the dirt like a nail through wood.

The villain grunted in pain, but reacted fast, swinging two of his massive arms to crush the teen on top of him.

Too slow.

With a sharp metallic snap, Izuku’s wings shot forward, their edges catching the villain’s arms mid-swing. The force alone should’ve been enough to deflect, but the moment the wings made contact—

SLAM.

They pinned the arms down, harder than anyone expected.

"What—?!" the brute’s eyes bulged. "You—!"

He never finished.

Izuku’s hand shifted in an instant, nano-metal twisting, reshaping. The smooth hum of warping tech filled the air before metal plates locked into place—his gauss cannon.

The stabilization rings detached, floating into position around the triple-barreled weapon, their rotations accelerating. The warning whine of an impending shot filled the air.

Izuku leveled the weapon at the villain’s head.

The man’s face turned pale.

Izuku smirked.

"Lights out."

BOOM.

Three metal spheres blasted out, propelled by raw magnetic force. The impact was instantaneous, a sickening crunch echoing as the brute’s head snapped back.

Out cold before he even knew what hit him.

Izuku rose to his full height, his eyes already locking onto the next two rushing villains.

One had jagged, serrated bone claws protruding from his fingers and elbows, glinting under the light. The other? Completely unremarkable. No visible quirk. No standout features. Just... a guy.

That was almost insulting.

He had already trimmed the herd, ensuring Jiro and Momo only had five goons left to deal with. The largest remaining cluster was around eleven strong. The rest? Either unconscious, moaning on the ground with shattered bones, or sporting a mix of burns and bruises that’d put them on bedrest for weeks.

These guys were weaker than expected. Way weaker. Hell, most of them were just regular street thugs with quirks barely worth mentioning.

That meant one thing—the so-called "army" wasn't as coordinated as he initially thought. Whoever was running this mess wasn’t selecting elite fighters. They were just grabbing goons off the street, handing them weapons, and hoping for the best.

And judging by their performance?

Not even strength in numbers could save them.

The clawed villain charged first, his sharpened bones gleaming as he lunged.

"You're mine, brat!" he snarled.

That raised a question.

Izuku leaned slightly to the side, effortlessly dodging the reckless attack. The villain sailed right past him, his expression shifting from fury to surprise as he stumbled.

Izuku didn’t even spare him a glance.

Before the first thug could recover, the second was already there, throwing a wild punch. Izuku casually raised his gauss cannon, catching the strike mid-air. A sharp metallic clang rang out as the man’s knuckles suddenly hardened like steel upon impact.

‘So that’s his quirk. Neat. Still useless.’

Another swing. Blocked.

A second. Blocked.

The third came in as a wide right hook—too wide. The guy overextended, twisting into the punch.

Big mistake.

With a lazy lean, the fist sailed past him, leaving the man wide open.

Izuku lined up his shot, barrel aimed directly at the villain’s exposed ribs.

How exactly do they plan on killing All Might?

"Here's some career advice—" Izuku smirked.

BOOM.

The shot slammed into the man’s side with enough force to send him rocketing backwards, his body becoming a blur before crashing into a cliffside. A thick cloud of dust erupted on impact.

Izuku let out a low whistle. "Hope he had a retirement plan."

The bone-clawed villain, having finally caught his balance, turned just in time to see his buddy’s limp body embedded in the rock.

"...H-holy shit—"

Izuku finally looked at him.

"Still wanna call me ‘brat,’ or are we skipping to the part where you piss yourself?"

The villain froze for a split second, staring at the dust cloud where his ally had been launched. His hesitation lasted only a moment before his expression twisted into unfiltered rage.

With a guttural roar, he charged again, claws bared, aiming to carve Izuku’s face clean off.

Reckless. Predictable.

The moment his hand lashed out, Izuku's own clawed fingers snapped forward, meeting the attack head-on with brutal precision. The impact was instant—his metal-plated hand shattered the villain’s bone claws like brittle glass. A sickening crack echoed through the air.

The thug barely had time to scream before a spinning elbow slammed into his jaw, dislocating it on impact. His head snapped sideways, his eyes momentarily dazed.

Izuku didn't let up.

In the same motion, he twisted his body in the opposite direction, momentum carrying through into a devastating spin kick to the ribs. The thug staggered, gasping as the air was forced from his lungs—only for Izuku to seize his head with a clawed grip, yanking him forward before driving a knee straight into his cranium.

A dull, wet thud rang out as the villain’s body went slack for a split second. But Izuku wasn’t done.

He pivoted, gripping the thug’s face tightly, using the built-up momentum to slam him into the ground with bone-crunching force. Before the dust could even settle, Izuku’s wings flared open—then with a powerful flap, he surged forward, dragging the thug’s body through the jagged rocky terrain like a battering ram.

Then, without losing speed, he whipped around, twisting his body and—

BOOM!

—planted the villain into the ground once again with enough force to rattle the earth.

The thug twitched, a broken heap embedded in the crater.

Izuku barely had time to breathe before movement flickered in his peripherals—three more rushing in.

Perfect.

The first swung in wildly, a thick brute with brass knuckles coated in electricity. Izuku ducked under the punch and swept his leg out from under him. As the thug fell, Izuku caught him by the collar, then spun and hurled him straight into the second attacker like a human cannonball.

The second villain—an axe-wielding maniac—tried to adjust, but it was too late. His ally crashed into him, sending both tumbling.

The third was smarter, closing the distance before Izuku could recover from his throw. A rapid jab streaked toward him, the villain’s hands glowing with an eerie blue energy.

Izuku leaned back, just narrowly dodging, feeling the energy heat the air near his face.

His own hand snapped forward, seizing the villain’s wrist. Before the thug could react, Izuku yanked him forward and kneed him in the gut, forcing a choked gasp out of him. Then, in one fluid motion, Izuku twisted the guy’s arm behind his back, flipped him into the air, and drove him straight down into the rocky ground with a wing-assisted axe kick.

A split second later, the first two had untangled themselves—only to see Izuku already airborne, his gauss launcher locked onto them.

He smirked.

"Smile for the highlight reel."

BOOM-BOOM!

Twin shots fired, and the two were blasted in opposite directions, disappearing into the rubble.

Momo raised her shield just in time to block a wild swipe from a thug, his knuckles meeting solid metal with a loud clang. He hissed in pain, stumbling back—just as Momo’s bo staff crashed into the side of his skull.

The force of the strike sent him staggering, his vision swimming. He barely had time to shake off the daze before Momo shifted her grip and jabbed the staff into his gut, forcing a harsh wheeze from his lungs.

Without missing a beat, she stepped forward, spun the staff, and swept his legs out from under him. The thug hit the ground hard, groaning—only for Momo to conjure a taser gun in a dazzling burst of multicolored light.

She wasted no time.

Click!

The taser cables shot out, embedding themselves into the thug’s chest. He barely had a second to react before a brain-numbing surge of electricity coursed through his body. His limbs convulsed violently before he finally collapsed, out cold.

Meanwhile, Jiro was already on the move.

A brute with massive, boulder-like fists swung at her, aiming to smash her into the ground. She smoothly dropped into a knee slide, gliding under the thug’s massive arm as it came crashing down behind her, missing by inches.

Grinning, she popped up on one knee and stabbed her earjacks straight into the ground.

A moment later—

BOOM!

A concussive blast of sound erupted beneath the villain, sending him soaring backward. His massive frame slammed into the dirt, skidding several feet before coming to a stop.

Dazed, he groaned, trying to shake off the ringing in his ears. He barely had time to process what happened before a shadow loomed over him.

Momo.

With a powerful leap, she came down, gripping an almost cartoonishly oversized mallet that she’d conjured mid-air.

WHAM!

The sheer force of the swing nearly folded the thug in half, his skull bouncing off the dirt as he slumped motionless.

Jiro let out an impressed whistle, rising to her feet.

“Damn, I felt that secondhand.”

Momo flipped the mallet over her shoulder, exhaling slightly.

The three remaining villains—who had been charging in—immediately skidded to a halt, eyes darting between the two girls and their incapacitated allies.

Jiro smirked, casually rolling her shoulders.

“Man, these guys are washed.”

The biggest of the three walked out with a scowl, radiating danger. Unlike the others, this one actually looked like a hardened villain—bald, with a jagged scar running from his forehead down past his eye and over his lips.

He wore a sleeveless black combat vest reinforced with metal plates, cargo pants, and heavy-duty boots. Faded tattoos covered his muscular arms, and his fingerless gloves crackled faintly with energy.

“You little princesses think you’re top shit, huh?” he sneered, rolling his shoulders. A sick grin split his face as he cracked his knuckles, small flickers of orange energy sparking between his fingers. “Cute.”

Then he charged.

Momo reacted instantly. She pivoted, spinning once to build momentum before swinging her war mallet with enough force to break ribs.

Crack!

The mallet stopped dead.

No reaction. No grunt of pain. No sign that he even felt it.

Momo’s eyes widened. “What?”

Before she could recover, the villain lunged. She barely managed to jump back, creating distance as Jiro took her turn.

Plugging her jacks into the ground, Jiro unleashed a devastating blast of sound, the vibrations tearing through the air toward their opponent. The sheer force should’ve sent him flying—

But again—nothing.

His eyes glowed orange, veins in his arms pulsing with energy.

“My turn.”

With a boom, he slammed his fist into the ground. A shockwave of energy exploded outward, tearing through the battlefield like a mini-earthquake.

Jiro was launched off her feet, crashing hard. Momo barely held her ground, throwing up her shield just in time. The force pushed her back, boots skidding against the rocky surface.

This guy wasn’t just some thug.

He was a problem.

“Yeah! Get em’ boss!” One of the backline thugs cheered, while the other one, the same one with the unnaturally long tongue looked at him, “Boss?”.

The thug shrugged, “I don’t know man”.

Momo barely had time to register what had happened before the villain closed in again.

He threw a right hook, and she barely managed to raise her shield in time. The impact sent vibrations up her arm, but she held firm, pivoting back to gain space before swinging at his head with her mallet.

Again—nothing.

The thug smirked wickedly, his fist crackling with orange energy. Before she could react, he swung downward with terrifying force.

Momo braced, raising her shield, but the moment his fist made contact—

BOOM!

She was launched off the ground, the impact sending her flying back. Her shield was ripped from her grip, her mallet slipping from her fingers as she tumbled across the rocky terrain.

She rolled with the momentum, gritting her teeth as she forced herself back to her feet, heart pounding.

‘This doesn’t make any sense.’

The mallet swings should’ve at least done something—even if he didn’t feel pain, the force alone should have made him stagger. But it was as if the kinetic energy just... vanished.

Jiro wasn’t waiting around to figure things out. She was already on the move, ducking low and blasting a continuous wave of sound at the thug. The vibrations hit him in full force, his expression twisting slightly in irritation. He shook his head, visibly uncomfortable, but his movements barely slowed.

‘Tch. Not enough.’

Jiro narrowed her eyes and adjusted the frequency, the high-pitched resonance growing sharper. The thug grunted, his smirk faltering as his hands twitched involuntarily.

It was working—barely.

“Annoying brat,” he growled.

His fists pulsed with light again, the orange glow intensifying. Before Jiro could react, he clapped his hands together—

A shockwave detonated outward, the force sending her flying backward, tumbling across the battlefield like a ragdoll. Her earjacks sparked as she skidded, barely catching herself on one knee before glaring up at the villain, breath ragged.

This was bad.

Momo quickly assessed the situation. Their attacks were hitting nothing. His energy strikes, however, were breaking through their defenses like paper.

They had to figure this guy out—fast.

She formed another shield, steeling herself before rushing in. As expected, the thug reared back his fist, cocking it for a devastating punch. She braced—

Boom!

The impact rocked her, but she held firm, absorbing the blow without being sent flying this time.

The thug scowled and swung again. A heavy haymaker. She blocked it. Then another. And another. Momo let him keep swinging, methodically absorbing each attack with her shield.

And just as she suspected—

His hits were getting weaker.

The kinetic energy that made his punches feel like bombs was gone.

So that’s it.

She pivoted back, swiftly creating a strange-looking capsule in her free hand. Without hesitation, she hurled it straight at the thug.

He instinctively raised an arm to block, expecting it to bounce off uselessly.

Big mistake.

The capsule burst against his skin, expanding into a dense, black orb that latched onto his forearm like living tar.

“The hell?!” he barked, trying to shake it off, but it clung to him, stretching and hardening like an unbreakable substance.

He reached with his free hand to rip it off—

Thwip!

Another orb slammed into his shoulder. His eyes snapped toward Momo—only to see her standing firm, holding a sleek, futuristic-looking firearm.

It was sleek and metallic, with a barrel that pulsed faintly with stored energy. The magazine was loaded with more of those strange black capsules, humming softly.

“Molecular Apprehendor Balls,” Momo stated coolly, aiming precisely. “A creation of my own design. You won’t be getting out of them anytime soon.”

She pulled the trigger.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

One hit his leg. Then the other. Another slammed into his free arm, and two more struck his chest.

The orbs expanded, consuming his limbs like quick-drying cement, locking him in place from the neck down. He struggled wildly, muscles flexing, but it was useless. The material didn’t even budge.

Momo lowered her gun, eyes sharp. “Your Quirk absorbs kinetic energy from attacks and stores it to release in bursts. But if you’re not hit directly, you’re just another thug with above-average durability. That makes restraining you the optimal solution.”

The thug grit his teeth, yanking futilely at his binds. The realization sank in as his body slumped, completely immobilized.

“Fucking bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

Momo didn’t even dignify him with a response.

Meanwhile, Jiro was finishing off the last two villains.

The creepier one lunged at her, snarling, but Jiro slipped under his wild swing and jammed her earjack directly into his ear.

“Here, let me rock your world,” she quipped.

Then she blasted a concentrated bass boom straight into his skull.

The man seized up violently, his eyes rolling back as foam bubbled at his lips. His body hit the ground hard, out cold before he even knew what hit him.

The last thug saw his chance and charged, aiming a sneaky strike at her blind spot.

But Jiro had already heard him coming.

She ducked low, letting his fist whiff straight past her head, and then spun, blasting him point-blank with a concussive soundwave.

BOOM!

The force launched him off his feet, sending him hurtling backward into a solid rock wall. He gasped, stunned—

Jiro didn’t stop.

She pressed forward, channeling a sustained wave of sonic energy, pinning him against the stone as he thrashed uselessly. The rock behind him cracked under the pressure.

Only when she was sure he was down for good did she finally release him.

The thug slumped, completely unconscious.

Jiro dusted her hands off. “As I said, you guys are washed.”

“WAAAHHHH!!”

Kaminari’s panicked screams were less than dignified as he flailed wildly, plummeting toward the water below.

SPLASH!

He hit the surface like a sack of potatoes and instantly sank like one too.

For a brief moment, he just floated there, wide-eyed, bubbles slipping past his lips. Then his brain caught up to what just happened.

Oh shit, I can’t swim.

That thought barely had time to fully form before movement caught his eye.

Something was coming.

Fast.

A sleek, muscular figure torpedoed through the water straight toward him, cutting through the depths like a living missile. Its shark-like features became clearer as it got closer—razor-sharp teeth curled into a grin, beady eyes locked onto him with hungry delight.

Oh shit, I’m about to get eaten.

Kaminari tried to scream—because, honestly, what the hell else was he supposed to do? But instead of words, all that came out was a sad little stream of air bubbles, his oxygen wasting away along with his survival chances.

Panic set in, limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to do something. He tried to swim.

Failed.

Tried again.

Sank harder.

Meanwhile, the shark-villain was practically gleeful, his jaws yawning open like a biological guillotine. Rows of jagged teeth gleamed in the dim underwater light.

Kaminari thrashed even more.

This was it. He was gonna die here.

No more video games. No more hanging out with his friends. No more dumb jokes. Just a dumb, blond corpse floating in the water while some mutant sushi chewed on his bones.

He braced for impact.

And then—

SLAP!

Something wrapped around his torso and yanked him upwards at the speed of terror.

Kaminari barely had time to process what was happening before—

YANK!

He was ripped from the water like a particularly stupid-looking fish on a line, air blasting against his face as he breached the surface with a gasping, sputtering wheeze.

Below him, the shark-villain’s teeth clamped shut right where his body had been a fraction of a second ago, the water churning with the force of the bite.

Kaminari coughed, sucking in the sweet, beautiful air as he dangled helplessly in the grip of—

Wait.

He looked down.

A long, pink tongue was wrapped snugly around his torso.

“…Oh my god.”

He followed the trail up to where Tsuyu stood on dry land, her usual neutral expression completely unchanged despite having just saved him from becoming seafood.

“H-hey, Tsu,” he wheezed weakly. “Uh. Thanks for the, um. Tongue assist.”

She blinked. “You’re welcome, Kaminari.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Kaminari, still dangling mid-air, blurted out—

“…I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Tsuyu blinked again. “Probably not.”

He groaned.

Tsuyu set Kaminari down on the boat, her tongue unwrapping from his torso with a wet plop. He collapsed onto the deck like a soggy ragdoll, wheezing for air.

"Okay," he gasped, rolling onto his back. "So, uh. That happened."

"Indeed," Ibara said, arms crossed. Her vines subtly twitched in anticipation. "But we cannot afford to waste time. The waters are teeming with enemies, and we must formulate a plan before they strike again."

"Agreed," Tsuyu said, glancing at the water. "I saw at least five more moving down there. Maybe more."

Kaminari jolted upright. "Five!?" He turned an unhealthy shade of pale. "Oh, that’s way too many sharks. I signed up for school, not Shark Week!"

Tsuyu blinked. "I don't think they were all sharks, Kaminari. Some of them looked like eels or even octopi."

"Oh, great! So now I get to die to a whole seafood platter. Wonderful." He flopped back down, groaning dramatically. "How do we even fight underwater villains? I can’t punch a guy when he’s swimming!"

"You should start by explaining your Quirk," Tsuyu suggested. "It’ll help us come up with something."

"Oh! Right, okay!" Kaminari sat up again, shaking off his panic. "So, my Quirk is Electrification. I can generate and discharge electricity. The stronger the output, the better it is, but if I overdo it, I, uh… get a little dumb."

"Ah, yes," Ibara nodded sagely. "You become… simple."

Kaminari frowned. "Okay, first off, ouch. Second, accurate, but still, ouch."

Tsuyu, meanwhile, had turned to Ibara with a thoughtful look. Ibara met her gaze, expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, both girls turned to Kaminari.

Kaminari blinked. "...Why do I feel like I just became the focus of an evil science experiment?"

"Kaminari," Tsuyu said, voice calm as ever, "how well does your electricity travel through water?"

"Oh, super well! I mean, electricity and water go together like—" He paused. His face dropped. "...Wait."

Ibara nodded. "Exactly."

Kaminari paled. "Wait wait wait—"

Tsuyu tilted her head. "You electrify the water, Kaminari."

Kaminari’s entire soul left his body. "You guys wanna fry me alive!"

"You’ll be fine," Ibara said, vines subtly coiling. "We will ensure you are not within the water when the shock is delivered."

"That is nowhere near comforting!" Kaminari flailed his arms. "Do I look like a Pikachu to you!? I don’t wanna be a human bug zapper!"

Tsuyu stared at him blankly. "You kind of already are."

"That’s not the point!"

Ibara sighed. "Kaminari, this is our best course of action. You possess the ideal ability to deal with this threat."

"And I’d like to formally reject that ability!" Kaminari dramatically pointed to the water. "Do you see how much ocean there is!? That’s a lot of room for the electricity to go wrong! I could mess up and zap myself! Or you guys! Or some poor random fish!"

Tsuyu blinked. "Aren’t you immune to your own electricity?"

Kaminari opened his mouth, froze, and then slowly closed it again.

"...Okay, technically, yeah, but—"

"So you’re just being overdramatic."

"I—no! This is a completely reasonable amount of panic!" He looked between them, realizing neither was backing down. "Oh my god. You’re actually serious. You’re really making me do this."

Ibara nodded. "Yes."

Tsuyu nodded. "Yes."

Kaminari groaned into his hands. "I hate my life."

Beneath the churning waters, a group of aquatic villains lurked, their predatory eyes locked onto the boat above. The students weren’t jumping back in.

This was getting annoying.

One of the villains, a massive shark-man with jagged scars running along his snout, crossed his arms with a grumble. "Oh, come on! We had one of them!"

"Yeah, and now they’re just sitting up there," an eel-like woman hissed, her long, ribbon-like fins twitching in irritation. "It’s like they know we’re waiting!"

"Of course they know, you idiot," a bulky, crab-clawed villain grunted. His beady eyes locked onto the boat with a scowl. "That frog chick saw us. The second she pulled Sparky out, they were never coming back in."

A sleek, black-scaled villain, reminiscent of a barracuda, let out a long sigh. "I hate when prey develops basic survival instincts. It ruins all the fun."

"Seriously," the shark-man growled. His rows of teeth ground together, his stomach growling in protest. "I didn’t swim all the way here just to get denied my meal!"

The eel-woman flicked her tail irritably. "Then we should just sink the damn boat. Make ‘em have to swim."

The group all collectively growled in agreement.

Except for one scrawny fish-man, who hesitantly raised a webbed hand. "Uh. Anyone else feel like… I dunno… this is taking too long?"

The others turned to glare at him.

"What are you talking about?" Shark-man grumbled.

The scrawny fish-man gestured to the boat. "I mean, why are they just sitting there?" He scratched at his finned head. "Shouldn’t they be, like… panicking? Freaking out? Trying to get as far from the water as possible?"

That made the others pause.

"...Huh," Barracuda-dude muttered, narrowing his eyes. "You do have a point. They don’t look scared."

"Right?" Scrawny nodded. "It’s almost like they’re—"

And then, as if summoned by fate itself, Kaminari was hurled into the water.

There was a moment of silence.

A collective, instinctive "Oh, hell yeah!" rippled through the villains as they all surged toward him, predatory grins plastered on their faces.

And then—

KZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!

The water lit up.

Electricity exploded outward in golden waves, raw voltage saturating the water in an instant. Every single villain was caught in the blast, their bodies locking up, muscles spasming violently as the shock overwhelmed them.

The crab-man managed to let out a gurgled, "I hate my joooooo—" before he seized up completely and sank like a rock.

The others followed suit, limbs twitching as their bodies involuntarily convulsed.

Scrawny barely got out a "Told you so—" before his eyes rolled back and bubbles streamed from his mouth.

Fifteen floating bodies bobbed on the now eerily still water.

Tsuyu, meanwhile, had already leaped from the boat, her tongue latching onto Kaminari’s collar mid-air. She yanked, pulling his limp, twitching body out of the water as she flipped onto solid ground, setting him down with a light thump.

Kaminari was fried. His hair stood on end, his face blank and slack-jawed, the occasional spark flickering off his limbs.

"Zzzt—pikachu dance… hurk—" he mumbled incoherently, drool escaping his mouth.

Tsuyu sighed and patted his head. "You'll be fine, kero."

Ibara's vines unfurled from her hair, slithering downward until they reached the bottom of the lake. She coiled them carefully, ensuring they could bear her weight, then lifted herself smoothly into the air. As she ascended, the tips of her vines brushed against the slack, floating bodies of the electrocuted villains below, but she paid them no mind.

Within moments, she reached land, touching down gracefully beside her classmates. Kaminari, meanwhile, was still in his post-fry state, occasionally twitching as sparks flickered around his head.

Ibara clasped her hands together in silent prayer. "That worked better than I anticipated. We can thank our Lord and Savior for our success," she murmured with a serene smile. "Truly, He alone guides us past these dark times."

"Fllbluh," Kaminari added helpfully, his eyes rolling in opposite directions.

Tsuyu almost lost it. A snort slipped out, but she quickly covered her mouth with her sleeve, while Ibara let out a gentle chuckle.

"Alright, kero," Tsuyu said, shaking her head before turning serious. "We still have to find the others. We got separated when that fog villain attacked, and we have no idea where they are."

Ibara nodded. "Indeed. We should move swiftly before another wave of enemies finds us."

Tsuyu turned toward the distant mass of ruined buildings, barely visible through the mist rolling off the water. "If we sneak toward the center of the U.S.J, we’ll have a better view of everything. We can figure out where everyone is from there."

Ibara and Tsuyu exchanged nods of agreement before both of them glanced down at Kaminari.

He blinked blearily.

"…You guys look like penguins."

Tsuyu sighed and picked him up by the collar. "Come on, Kaminari-chan."

With that, they moved out, sticking to the shadows as they made their way inland.

Scrap ran.

That’s all he could do.

The simulated rain poured down on him in relentless sheets, soaking through his clothes, plastering his hair to his face, but none of it mattered. He had to get away. As far away as possible.

A shriek—an unholy, distorted, inhuman thing—split through the air like the wail of a dying animal. Scrap barely had time to react before something—a body—was sent hurtling through the air, crashing through a mock building like a ragdoll. A heartbeat later, the structure caved in, the impact sending debris and dust shooting out in all directions.

This had all gone to hell.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The mission was simple. They’d found the two kids—the knight-looking one with the stupid lens in his stomach, and the bird-headed freak with the cloak. A fight broke out immediately. That was fine.

The students were strong, sure, mowing down their forces like they were nothing. The knight shot blinding beams of light from his stomach, burning through anyone dumb enough to charge him, while the bird kid and his living shadow thing ripped through people in brutal, terrifying unison.

But then they got lucky.

One of their guys—just some nobody in a ski mask—lobbed a brick. A goddamn brick.

And it worked.

The thing smashed into the knight’s skull just as he doubled over, clutching his stomach like his Quirk had backfired. He went down like a sack of meat, his body hitting the pavement with a sickening thud, blood pooling beneath his blonde head.

The villains cheered.

The bird kid froze.

That was the moment everything changed.

Scrap saw the second his eyes landed on his fallen classmate. His expression shifted—no, something shifted. The writhing mass of shadow behind him—the thing they’d just barely managed to pin down—exploded.

The villain holding it down was sent flying, slamming into a wall so hard his bones snapped. The shadow didn’t stop. It grew.

Bigger.

And bigger.

And bigger.

It swallowed the bird kid whole, leaving nothing but a feral, monstrous silhouette in his place. Its once-yellow eyes ignited into a furious, glowing red.

It rose—towered—over the battlefield, its sheer size swallowing the light around it.

Then, it let out a roar that rattled Scrap’s bones.

And the massacre began.

Now, Scrap was running for his life.

The screams of his comrades were drowned out by the gut-wrenching sound of flesh being torn apart. He didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t. Every fiber of his being screamed to move—that if he stopped, if he hesitated for even a second, he would be next.

A building. Up ahead.

He threw himself inside, barely making it before another whoosh of monstrous movement carved through the air.

Scrap collapsed against the wall, chest heaving, lungs burning. His vision swam with panic. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, fast, erratic, desperate.

What the fuck was he doing here?

No—what the hell was that thing doing in a school?!

He clamped a hand over his mouth, sucking in shallow breaths, forcing himself to be silent. His only salvation now was the dark. The deeper he hid in the shadows, the better.

Then came the worst part.

Silence.

No more screams. No more inhuman screeches. No more distant thunder of destruction.

Just quiet.

His breath caught in his throat.

Had it moved on?

Had he actually escaped?

Then—

THOOM.

An impact. Heavy. Sudden. His whole body went rigid.

Something landed on the roof. The ceiling cracked.

Splintered.

He didn’t dare breathe.

They hide in the shadows…

The roof was ripped away like a toy lid.

Scrap could only stare, frozen in abject horror as two massive, burning red eyes peered down at him through the rain.

…Trying to evade the consequences of atrocity after atrocity.

It was there. Right above him. Looking at him.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to wake up.

But his body betrayed him.

But I am the shadows.

The monster's jagged, pitch-black maw yawned open, impossibly wide.

Scrap barely had a moment to process it before it lunged.

And I do not welcome guests.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

He didn’t even get to piss himself.

Melt struggled, his body locked in a prison of ice that bit deep into his flesh. No matter how much he strained, how much heat he forced from his hands, the ice wouldn’t budge. It just ate the warmth, swallowed it whole like a living thing, draining him faster than he could fight back.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It had been an ambush—quick, decisive, overwhelming. The students barely had time to react before Melt and his crew descended on them like a pack of wolves. It should’ve been easy.

But then the white-and-red-haired kid lifted his hand.

In an instant, a wave of frost washed over the battlefield.

The unstable mudslides, the cracked earth—everything was swallowed by a solid wall of frost. The Landslide Zone had become something out of a frozen hellscape. What was once loose ground, impossible to stand on, had turned to sleek, glacial ice, trapping everything in its path.

Twenty villains. Gone. Wiped out in seconds.

The only things left unfrozen were their heads, helplessly poking out of the ice like discarded dolls.

Shoto Todoroki let his gaze sweep over them, cold and impassive, before turning to his classmate.

“Stay here.”

Koda, trembling, nodded without a second thought.

Todoroki didn’t hesitate. He strode toward the nearest villain—Melt, whose palms still glowed faintly orange as he tried, desperately, to melt through his prison. But the glow was flickering now, dimming, as the cold gnawed away at his strength.

Todoroki stopped in front of him. Expression unreadable.

Then, he lifted his foot and tapped the ground.

A fresh surge of ice exploded over Melt’s body, slamming into him with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. His limbs—already aching, already useless—vanished beneath another thick layer of frost.

Melt sucked in a sharp, panicked breath. His entire body screamed in agony. The cold wasn’t just cold—it was a creeping, consuming thing, sinking into his very bones, numbing him from the inside out. His fingers twitched uselessly, his nerves too sluggish to obey.

Todoroki crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with the villain.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His voice was quiet. Deceptively calm.

Melt swallowed hard.

“The way the cold creeps in. It doesn’t stop at your skin—it digs deeper. First, it numbs. You don’t feel the pain anymore. That’s when people think they’re safe.” Todoroki tilted his head slightly, his breath misting in the frigid air. “But that’s the body’s first mistake. Because once the pain fades, the damage begins.”

Melt’s breathing was coming faster now, shallower. The ice was tightening around his ribs.

“Your cells? They’re already dying. Each second that passes, they shrivel up, collapse, turn into dead weight. Your blood thickens, slows down, becomes sluggish. Your organs start shutting down—your stomach lining crystallizes, your lungs struggle to pull in oxygen, your heart strains to push something that isn’t even liquid anymore.”

Melt’s chest spasmed as he gasped, horror gripping him tighter than the ice itself.

Todoroki’s voice dropped lower.

“In fifteen minutes, your body won’t be able to tell the difference between heat and cold. You’ll start feeling warm. Comfortably warm. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re going to be okay.” His mismatched eyes glowed faintly in the frozen light. “That’s the final warning. The moment you start feeling warm is the moment you’re dying.”

Melt felt sick. His heart pounded against his ribs—too slow, too weak.

Todoroki leaned in, just slightly.

“But,” he murmured.

Melt tensed.

“I aim to be a hero. And murder would be… inconvenient.”

A pause. A deliberate one.

“So here’s my offer.”

Melt didn’t dare blink.

“For every question you answer, I’ll thaw an inch of ice.”

A cruel, suffocating silence stretched between them.

Melt clenched his jaw, shivering violently. “Y-you b-bastard—”

Snap.

Todoroki flicked his fingers, and the ice thickened. It climbed up, swallowing half of Melt’s face in a heartbeat. His skin burned, his lips split, his breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps.

He was going to die.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll talk!” The words came out in a frantic rush, his last shred of pride shattered.

Todoroki gave him a slow, satisfied nod.

“Good.”

The Ruin Zone burned.

The air was thick with smoke, firelight reflecting off his crimson eyes as he prowled through the wreckage like a lion surveying his domain. The sounds of groaning villains filled the air, bodies twitching in the ruins of what used to be walls, pillars, and maybe even their pride.

And he was just getting started.

A flicker of movement.

His eyes snapped to the right. A villain, some idiot with a crowbar, had made the mistake of thinking he could get the drop on him. Hah!

Bakugou let him get close. Let him think for half a second that he had a chance. Then—

Boom!

His explosion sent him rocketing past the incoming swing, twisting mid-air with unnatural speed. He landed low, skidding across the ground before launching forward with a blistering right hook—an explosion to the gut.

The villain didn’t just fall—he was launched, his body flailing like a ragdoll before he slammed face-first into a burning husk of a building.

Another villain made the mistake of trying to crawl away, dragging himself across the rubble with a broken arm.

Bakugou pounced.

He blasted forward with a deafening boom, twisting mid-air and hammering his knee into the bastard’s spine. The villain screamed as he was driven back into the ground with enough force to crater it.

“Fucking pathetic!” Bakugou sneered, wiping soot from his cheek before turning to find more toys—ahem, targets.

A whole group of them this time. Five, maybe six. They were already running.

Cowards.

Bakugou loved it.

"Oh, you think you can just leave?"

Another blast from his palms, another deafening boom. He shot through the air like a cannonball, his body flipping into a violent corkscrew. The villains barely had time to turn around before he was on them.

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, EXTRAS?!"

One of the villains turned and panicked, throwing out his hands in some desperate attempt to activate his Quirk. Didn’t matter what it was.

Bakugou was already there.

He dove low, twisting under the villain’s outstretched arms, then planted his palm against the guy’s chest.

Boom!

The poor bastard was sent sky-high, flipping uncontrollably before his body crashed onto a crumbling walkway above. The structure groaned—then collapsed, burying him in tons of rubble.

The others didn’t even try to fight.

They just ran.

Bad move.

Bakugou screamed forward, twisting mid-air before coming down—both palms first.

Ka-boom!

He came down like a meteor. The explosion went off at point-blank range, a detonation of light and sound that eviscerated the street beneath them.

The villains were launched like ragdolls, limbs flailing, bodies bouncing off debris like human pinballs. One slammed headfirst into a broken streetlamp, the steel warping on impact. Another was flung straight through a car windshield, his scream cutting off with a wet crunch.

One of them—a burly guy with a stupid-ass viking helmet—only got clipped by the explosion. He hit the ground hard but managed to cough.

The villain flinched as the living bomb landed, his body illuminated by the background fire covering the buildings of the Ruin Zone. Some were simulated by the USJ. Most were by him.

He was having the time of his fucking life. Beating up on these bozos as much as he wanted and not even getting reprimanded by that damn rat? This was paradise.

If only these idiots had Deku’s face on them.

He stomped towards the viking-helmeted villain, practically foaming at the mouth with pure glee.

"Pathetic!"

The villain barely had time to look up before Bakugou’s boot crashed into his ribs, flipping him over like a kicked can. The guy tried to scramble away on instinct, but Bakugou stomped on his back, pinning him to the ground.

"I wouldn’t even keep you as a slave in my empire!"

The villain choked out a curse, reaching for his belt—some kind of weapon? Some trick? Bakugou didn’t give a shit.

He grabbed the guy by the helmet, hauling him up with one hand like he weighed nothing. Then—without hesitation—he drove his fist into the villain’s stomach.

Boom.

A point-blank explosion inside the bastard’s gut.

The air left the villain’s lungs in a single, strangled wheeze. His body jerked violently before Bakugou let go, letting him collapse to the ground in a smoking heap.

Bakugou exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

He scanned the battlefield.

Bodies everywhere.

Fire and smoke everywhere.

The smell of sweat, blood, and victory in the air.

And the best part?

No one was stopping him.

No teachers, no rules, no nagging Deku, no damn rat telling him to ‘show restraint.’ Just him and a playground full of punching bags.

Bakugou cracked his knuckles, licking his lips.

His hands were already itching for the next one.

"Empire?"

Bakugou’s manic grin faltered. Shitty Hair. He forgot about him.

"Be quiet!" he spat, snapping his head toward Kirishima, who had finally caught up with him.

The redhead raised his hands in surrender, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Hey, hey, chill man, we're on the same side."

"I’m on my side! Now piss off so I can find more dumbasses to blow up!" Bakugou barked, already turning to stomp away.

But of course, Kirishima just had to keep talking.

"Dude, you’ve already beaten up all the bad guys. Don’t you think it’s time for, I don’t know, a plan? We need to meet up with Midoriya and the ot—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Because in an instant, Bakugou was in his face, so close that the scent of smoke and sweat practically choked the space between them.

"You want a plan?!" Bakugou snarled. "Here’s a plan: Your dumbass goes to find the other extras while I hunt down that mist-headed bastard. And don’t you ever—ever—say Deku’s name to me again, got it, Shitty Hair?!"

Kirishima blinked, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, alright, damn. You don’t gotta throw a fit about it."

Bakugou scoffed, huffing as he turned away and stomped off, muttering curses under his breath.

Kirishima, because he was an absolute menace with zero self-preservation instincts, jogged right after him.

"Y'know, I don’t get your whole deal with Midoriya."

Bakugou's eye twitched.

"He’s a cool dude! Friends with everyone, total badass, Quirk’s insane—honestly, you two should b—”

"I swear to god," Bakugou growled, voice dangerously low, "if you finish that sentence, I will blast you so hard they’ll be scraping your remains off this dump’s dome for weeks."

Kirishima let out a nervous chuckle. "Okay, okay, jeez. Just joking, man."

Bakugou scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets before continuing his relentless stomping, leaving Kirishima behind.

A beat of silence.

Then, without turning around—

"Are you fucking coming or not?"

Kirishima’s eyes widened just a little, then he grinned, jogging to catch up. "Damn right I am."

Smoke and dust curled through the air, and the ground was littered with unconscious villains—each one taken down in a flurry of brutal, efficient strikes. Shota Aizawa moved like a wraith, weaving through the battlefield, his capture weapon snapping through the air like a serpent.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter.

Didn’t blink.

Cut off the herd

His bloodshot eyes locked onto the last major threat—the ringleader.

Now the boss.

Tomura Shigaraki stood amidst the wreckage, his skeletal fingers twitching with a nervous excitement. The hand on his face barely concealing the manic grin stretching across his lips.

Aizawa’s fingers flexed. His body ached, his elbow burned from overuse, but he pushed through it. He had one target left.

He didn’t hesitate.

He lunged, his body low, his movements calculated. One step. Two. Three. Then—snap. His capture weapon shot forward like a striking viper, winding around Tomura’s wrist.

Aizawa pulled hard, yanking the villain off balance. Then, in one fluid motion, he twisted, slamming a brutal elbow into Tomura’s ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the plaza.

Tomura staggered.

But he didn’t fall.

Instead, his fingers lashed out, grasping Aizawa’s arm.

Pain.

Aizawa gritted his teeth as his skin began to crumble. His elbow burned, the sensation unlike anything else—like his body was actively unraveling. He reacted instantly, using the momentum of his own pain to drive his knee straight into Tomura’s jaw.

The villain reeled, his grip loosening just enough—Aizawa wrenched his arm free and spun, his capture weapon slashing through the air. The cloth wrapped around Tomura’s neck in an instant, and Aizawa pulled.

Tomura hit the ground hard.

No time to recover. No time to breathe.

Two more villains rushed him from the sides, hoping to capitalize on the brief opening.

Idiots.

Aizawa dropped low, one hand catching himself against the pavement as he twisted into a sweeping kick, taking both their legs out from under them. Before they even hit the ground, he was already moving—launching upward, slamming his fist into the first one’s jaw while snapping his capture weapon around the second’s throat and whipping him into the pavement.

Silence.

Aizawa exhaled. His elbow throbbed, the skin raw where decay had bitten into him. His breathing was heavier now, but he stayed on his feet, eyes scanning for the next threat.

Then—

A low, rasping chuckle.

Aizawa turned. Tomura was rising to his feet, his posture hunched but his amusement palpable. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, then tilted his head, looking at Aizawa with something between pity and mockery.

“You haven’t cleared out the dungeon yet Eraserhead,”

A shadow loomed over him.

Aizawa’s instincts screamed. He spun, but it was already too late.

Something huge was behind him.

“You really thought I was the boss?”

A massive shape, inhuman and grotesque, blocking out the light with its sheer size. A monster. A beast. A villain unlike the others.

And it was right behind him.

Thirteen stood protectively in front of the students who had managed to slip past the living void’s grasp, a silent guardian in the chaos of battle.

Kurogiri merely looked on in mild amusement. Interesting, he mused, his mist-like form shifting and twisting. "It seems I have left a few stragglers behind. No matter." His presence expanded outward like a gathering storm, dark tendrils stretching hungrily toward them. "I will deal with the rest myself."

"Oh no, you don’t!"

Thirteen acted in an instant, the fingers of their costume uncapping before an unstoppable force erupted forth—Black Hole surged to life.

The sheer gravitational pull of their Quirk yanked at Kurogiri with terrifying power, threatening to tear him apart molecule by molecule. His form warped violently, the mist curling inward as if caught in a raging whirlpool.

But Kurogiri, ever the composed specter, remained eerily still. His dark form rippled, undisturbed. "A noble effort," he intoned, voice as smooth as polished steel, "but predictable."

Then, with chilling precision—

A warpgate formed directly in front of him.

Thirteen’s eyes widened.

Before she could react, the spiraling vortex of Black Hole’s suction was swallowed whole, vanishing into the void. And then—

A second warpgate appeared behind her.

The distortion of her own Quirk turned against them in an instant.

Gravity twisted in on itself. The unstoppable force of Black Hole bent backward, pulling Thirteen into their own attack.

There was no time to resist.

A violent crunch of metal. The reinforced suit buckled under the implosion, their body flung backward before collapsing onto the fractured floor.

"Thirteen!" Ochaco cried out.

Kurogiri loomed over the fallen hero, a thin, polite sigh escaping him. "Regrettable," he murmured, "but necessary."

But there was no time to relish the victory.

A flicker of movement—

Tenya Iida.

The blue-haired speedster was already sprinting toward the exit, his engines flaring bright, flames bursting from his calves as he tore across the battlefield.

He had received Jiro’s message from Midoriya. He wanted to stay. He wanted to fight. But there was no choice. He had to trust them. He had to warn U.A.

Kurogiri reacted immediately.

A single shift of his form, and he vanished—only to reappear directly in Tenya’s path, his swirling void expanding outward like an unholy eclipse.

"Your escape is not permitted."

Tenya’s eyes widened in horror.

He veered to the side, but it was useless—a warpgate opened before him, an abyss poised to consume him whole.

And then—

Impact.

A flash of movement.

Mezo Shoji.

The towering six-armed student slammed into Kurogiri with all the force of a freight train, his dupli-arms gripping onto the villain’s metal brace with iron resolve.

"You’re not touching him!" Shoji roared, his muscles straining. His tentacle-like arms constricted around Kurogiri’s steel collar, preventing him from shifting into mist.

Kurogiri’s unseen gaze narrowed. "Fascinating," he mused. "You would risk yourself for his sake?"

"Not a risk," Shoji grunted, tightening his grip. "Just keeping you busy."

And it worked.

Because in that split second—

Tenya didn’t hesitate.

With every ounce of power left in his engines, he surged forward—past Kurogiri, past the battlefield—toward the exit.

The world blurred around him.

The exit was right there.

Just a few more meters—

And then—

Darkness.

Kurogiri reappeared in his path, his void expanding like the mouth of a great beast, ready to swallow Tenya whole.

Shoji’s eyes widened in horror as his grip tightened—only to find himself clutching empty air.

‘Damn it!’

No hesitation. No mercy.

But before Kurogiri could activate his Quirk—

A hand.

Gripping tight onto cold steel.

Ochaco Uraraka launched forward, fingers clutching the plated collar around Kurogiri’s neck.

The moment she made contact—

Her Quirk surged to life.

Zero Gravity activated.

Kurogiri’s body lurched, the very plates anchoring him to the ground suddenly weightless.

"What—?"

In an instant, he was airborne, floating uncontrollably as his mist warped and rippled.

Ochaco gritted her teeth, her fingers trembling at the sheer wrongness of touching him. "I knew these plates were real!" she shouted. "You’re not just mist! This is your actual body!"

Kurogiri twisted midair, struggling to stabilize himself—but it was too late. His form wavered, thrown off balance. His control slipped.

And below him—

Tenya Iida was already gone.

Blasting forward with one final, explosive burst of speed, he tore past the swirling remnants of Kurogiri’s warp, his armored legs driving him straight through the exit.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t hesitate.

Because his mission wasn’t to fight—it was to warn.

The second he was clear, he pushed harder, his engines flaring like twin comets as he launched himself toward U.A., a streak of speed cutting across the landscape.

Kurogiri, still floating helplessly above the battlefield, exhaled a slow, measured breath.

"Tch..."

No point in staying.

The plan had already crumbled.

With a final ripple of dark energy, he vanished—warping away to warn Tomura of what was to come.

Momo exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she surveyed the battlefield. The last of the villains lay trapped beneath her Molecular Apprehendor Balls, the expanding black orbs locking them in place. Some struggled, others groaned in exhaustion, but none were getting up.

“That’s the last of them,” she muttered, rolling her stiff shoulders. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving her legs shaky.

Jiro unplugged her earphone jack from the comms device she’d been using. “Lucky us, the jammer was in our zone,” she said, nodding towards one of the restrained villains—a masked one, likely the one responsible.

Izuku adjusted his pilot hat, dusting it off before placing it back on his head. “I just hope Iida managed to get out,” he said, voice low but firm.

Jiro sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah… It’s all riding on him now.”

Momo frowned, glancing at the unconscious villains. "Even if he made it, what if it’s already too late? If All Might doesn’t show up in time—"

Then the ground rumbled.

It wasn’t a quake. It was a tremor, deep and violent, as if something had just shifted the earth itself. The three of them froze.

Jiro swallowed hard. “W-What the hell was that?”

Midoriya’s heart pounded in his chest. He had a feeling. A terrible feeling. His eyes flicked towards the center of the U.S.J.

“It came from the plaza,” he murmured.

He spread his wings wide.

“You two stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll check it out.”

Jiro opened her mouth as if to protest, but a single look from Midoriya shut her down. She and Momo exchanged glances before nodding.

Izuku nodded back—then shot into the air, wings propelling him forward at high speed.

He flew low, his altitude just enough to avoid easy detection. The wind bit at his skin, as his wings carried him toward the central plaza.

And then he saw it.

His breath caught in his throat.

Aizawa.

His teacher’s body was twisted, broken, and bleeding. His head lay in a growing pool of crimson, his leg bent unnaturally, his arms nothing but shattered wrecks of flesh and bone.

And standing over him—

That thing.

The Nomu.

A grotesque, monstrous being that shouldn’t exist, its musclebound form twitching as if its very flesh was at war with itself. Lacerations marred its body were flesh tried and failed to stay together, but no blood spilled. No pain registered.

And then there was the man beside it.

The villain with the hands.

Shigaraki crouched near Aizawa’s broken form, his fingers flexing against his own neck, nails scratching deep into his pale flesh. His grin was manic, stretching far too wide.

“Allow me to introduce you, Eraserhead, to Nomu,” he said with almost childish delight, gesturing toward the abomination beside him. “My bio-engineered Anti-Symbol of Fear.”

Aizawa’s breathing was labored, his teeth clenched in pain. Damn it… His vision blurred. He had tried. He had tried to use his Quirk, but this thing… it wasn’t normal. Even without its Quirk, it was too strong.

Shigaraki chuckled, cocking his head. “He was meant for All Might, but since he’s not here… Two dead pros and a bunch of slaughtered kids will do just fine.”

Izuku clenched his fists. His heart pounded, his wings twitching at the ready.

Then, dark mist coiled into existence beside Shigaraki.

Kurogiri.

“I apologize, Shigaraki,” the mist-like villain said smoothly, bowing slightly. “One of the students has escaped.”

Izuku’s breath hitched.

Iida made it out.

Reinforcements were coming.

It was over.

Shigaraki’s fingers dug into his own neck, enough to draw blood. He twitched, his entire frame jolting with irritation. “Kurogiri… I’d kill you if you weren’t our ticket out of here.”

“I know you would,” Kurogiri responded impassively.

Shigaraki exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Well, game over then. Let’s go.”

Izuku’s heart nearly leaped in relief.

Then—

“But before that…”

NO.

Shigaraki suddenly sprinted toward a pile of rubble.

Izuku’s eyes followed.

His stomach plummeted.

Behind that rubble—

Kaminari. Tsuyu. Ibara.

They were hiding there.

He saw them.

NO NO NO NO—

Izuku moved.

His arm morphed, the missile launcher snapping into place in an instant. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

Fired.

The missile screamed through the air.

The explosion tore through the battlefield, sending debris flying.

It should’ve been enough. No normal person is getting up from a direct hit.

Then, through the smoke—

“I thought that would get your attention.”

Izuku’s blood froze.

The smoke cleared.

Nomu stood there.

Untouched.

Shigaraki’s manic grin split his face. “I was wondering when you’d stop flying up there and doing nothing.”

“You heroes are all the same. Student or not, always going for violence first.”

Izuku didn’t hesitate. He reloaded his launcher, fingers moving fast. ‘If that thing could tank a direct hit and not even flinch…’

Shigaraki pointed at him.

“Nomu. Kill.”

Izuku had seen death before.

Watched it from the sidelines, studied its patterns, understood its inevitability. He knew what it looked like, what it sounded like, the way it whispered into the ears of the doomed before it struck. He had witnessed fear, desperation, and agony in others.

But never had he felt it for himself.

Not like this.

Not with such horrifying certainty.

It all happened too fast.

One second, he was watching from the sky, missile launcher still hot from the shot he had fired. The next—

It moved.

No sound. No blur. No warning. Just movement.

One moment the creature had been standing next to Shigaraki. The next, it was in front of him. Mid-air. Looming. Massive. A wall of grotesque muscle and blood-slick skin.

Izuku’s instincts screamed at him to move, but his body lagged behind. His brain registered the threat, but his limbs refused to cooperate. He was still processing what he was seeing when he realized—

It was already too late.

The Nomu’s arms came down. A hammer of raw power aimed to break him in half.

Then—

Something moved.

Not him.

His wing.

It snapped forward on its own, a reflex not his own, like some unseen force had guided it to intercept the blow. He had no time to question it before—

Impact.

The world cracked.

The sheer force behind the strike sent him careening downward, a cannonball shot from the heavens. Wind howled past his ears. The pressure crushed his ribs before he even hit the ground.

Then—

He did.

The impact wasn’t a crash—it was a detonation.

The earth split open, sending shockwaves tearing through the U.S.J. The dome above trembled, glass windows exploding from the sheer force. A crater erupted beneath him, rock and debris launching skyward in a storm of shattered stone and dust.

For a moment, everything was distant. Muted.

Then pain roared back into focus.

Something inside him broke.

No, not something—everything.

His ribs had shattered. He could feel the jagged edges pressing against his lungs. His arms, his legs—mangled. His vision swam, the edges darkening, his brain struggling to keep up with the signals of sheer agony his body was screaming at it.

A wet cough forced itself from his throat, blood spilling from his lips.

MOVE.

Get up.

 Do something.

He tried.

Tried to breathe.

Tried to push himself up.

But—

The sky was already gone.

Nomu was falling.

Fast.

No time.

No space.

No options.

RUN.

His body wouldn’t listen.

The Nomu hit him like a comet.

Boom.

His wings barely had time to fold around him before the first hit landed.

Then came the second.

Then the third.

Then the fourth.

Each strike was another explosion. Another splintering of bone. Another reason to stop struggling.

But he didn’t.

He fought.

Even as the crater beneath him deepened. Even as blood flooded his throat, his lungs, his vision. Even as his nerves screamed in agony so overwhelming it became something worse than pain—something indescribable.

He fought.

His wings burned from the effort of keeping closed, a final shield against death itself.

Nomu didn’t care.

It simply grabbed the edges of his cocoon.

And pulled.

Izuku’s body jerked as he resisted, muscles straining, wings flexing with everything they had. He grit his teeth, veins bulging from the pressure, from the pain. His bones felt like they were going to snap under their own weight.

But Nomu’s strength was absolute.

The wings—his last line of defense—were ripped apart.

Exposed. Vulnerable. Defenseless.

Izuku gasped, his breath ragged, his vision blurred.

Missiles fired. A desperate, automatic response. They struck Nomu point-blank, detonating on impact, a storm of fire and smoke.

Over and over and over again.

The same rockets that had obliterated the Zero-Pointer. The same projectiles that defied reason itself.

Nothing.

It stood there. Unscathed.

Then—

Nomu reached through the smoke, gripping his launcher.

Then it stomped on his chest.

The pressure alone sent fresh blood spilling from Izuku’s lips.

And squeezed.

Izuku screamed.

It wasn’t just pain. It was something worse.

Something primal.

He felt it. Heard it. The sickening wet rip of flesh and tendon, the snap of ligaments tearing, the pop of a joint being forcibly dislocated, twisted—

Then—

Ripped.

Gone.

His right arm—gone.

Torn from his body in one clean, brutal motion.

Blood didn’t pour—it gushed. A hot, sticky flood soaking his clothes, the ground, his remaining hand, his face. He felt it pulse from his mangled shoulder, each heartbeat pushing more out, a sickening warmth pooling beneath him.

He screamed.

Louder than he ever had in his entire life.

A sound that wasn’t human.

A sound of pure, unfiltered agony.