Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Izuku Midorya was expecting many things out of his first day at U.A., it was his dream school after all. What he was not expecting was his childhood friend(?) Bakugou arguing with the stiff blue-haired man from the entrance exam first thing in the morning about the formers' conduct.

Looking around the classroom in more detail, it seems that the verdette had been one of the last to arrive due to him getting lost in U.A.'s labyrinthine hallways. His classmates varied wildly in how they reacted to the situation; some sat quietly in their seats, others chatted animatedly with one another, and a few appeared to be wary of the escalating argument between the two boys, there was also one that was… vibrating? Was that their quirk?

Before the quirk-obsessed boy could fall down the rabbit hole of his own thoughts, the girl that he had saved during the entrance exam from the gargantuan 0-pointer started a mostly one-sided conversation with the boy, introducing herself as Ochako Uraraka and thanking him profusely. The flustered Izuku barely managed to stutter out his own name before the blue-haired man, seemingly finished with his argument, strode over and introduced himself as Tenya Iida with a perfect 90-degree bow to Izuku.

It was then that a deep voice interrupted all conversation in the room. "If you're here to make friends, then I suggest you go home." Izuku looked towards the source of the voice and found… a bright yellow caterpillar? No, wait. It was just a scruffy man in a bright yellow sleeping bag.

The scruffy man walked up to the podium at the front of the room. "Eight seconds for you all to quiet down. Needs a lot of improvement. Anyway, I'm Shouta Aizawa, the coordinator of your hero-major classes for this semester, and likely future semesters as well. Now, everyone grab the gym uniform that has been provided for you, get changed, and meet me in gym gamma." After he finished, he grabbed a pile of nearly identical track suits and placed them on a nearby desk.

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The class had assembled at the gym, though from the look on Aizawa's face, it wasn't fast enough. He gave a short speech about how standardized physical examinations were outdated due to the use of quirks being banned, and that today's exercise would be those same tests, but with the free use of quirks.

"Alright, Quixote. Come up here and demonstrate the ball throw." At Aizawa's words, a small blonde girl, the one that was vibrating(?) in her seat earlier stepped forward into the outlined circle. Aizawa handed her the ball and stepped back. "Now throw it as far as you can."

The girl replied with a quick "Yes, sir!" as if she was in the military, got into a pitcher's stance, and threw the ball with such force that a small breeze could be felt. The ball itself was launched quite far, according to the reading that Aizawa's device showed; 216.8 meters. The rest of the class were either in awe of the distance or excited at the prospect of freely using their quirks. The excitement died down as quickly as it began once Aizawa stated that the lowest scorer would be unenrolled from all hero classes for having 'no potential'.

The class went through the tests with more fervor and determination than most had displayed before, though for some like Bakugou, that was never an issue. The students easily reached high scores with their unrestricted quirks, or in some cases, sheer athleticism. Izuku was having a field day watching the others' quirks in action, his habitual 'mutter storms' interrupted only by his name being called to take the tests.

Throughout the tests, Izuku noticed that one classmate of his didn't appear to be using their quirk, aside from himself, of course; the same girl that had demonstrated the ball throw earlier, Quixote, if he recalled correctly. Was she a foreigner? Why wasn't she using her quirk? Was it a simple physical enhancement? He was soon jolted out of his thoughts by Aizawa calling him for the ball throw.

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After a broken finger and a very awkward confrontation with Bakugou about his newfound quirk, the rest of the tests went without incident. The lowest scorer ended up being a small man with purple ball-like hair, reminiscent of grapes, named Mineta, who nearly broke down in tears at the prospect of being booted from the hero major, before Aizawa revealed the whole thing as a 'logical ruse' and dismissed them to get changed into their regular clothes and pick up their syllabi.

Most of them had similar schedules as the hero major had little flexibility in terms of its classes and time slots, though there was some difference due to some of the students already having credits for general education classes as well as a difference in the few elective classes they were allowed.

The rest of the day passed without incident as it was entirely general education classes. For some, it was a welcome respite from the hectic morning, for others, it was the most stressful part of being a hero major. Izuku was, of course, the former, having studied extensively to make up for his lack of quirk or physical strength until he met All Might, though his studious habits never left him, alongside many of his less desirable habits.

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After classes had wrapped up, Quixote found herself in her dorm room with little to do. Sure, she could re-read any of the dozens of hero magazines and interviews that rested upon her bookshelf for the nth time, and though she would never shy away from such a thing, the monotony of doing so had gotten to her, even if she would never admit it.

Her amber eyes locked onto one of the more peculiar items within the room, seeing as it was one of the few items that didn't feature the image of any hero. A Spanish guitar, well maintained, yet not so well used. She knew how to play, taking to the instrument like a fish to water, but between her physical training, studies, and obsessing over the latest issue of Heroes Monthly, she never had the time to properly practice.

Since she now had the time that she had previously lacked, she picked up the guitar off of its stand, sat down on the side of her bed, and began playing. Her fingers flew across the strings, playing a familiar yet unfamiliar tune. Her playing wasn't perfect due to lack of practice, yet she still lost herself within the melody, her strumming guided purely by instinct.

As time passed, Quixote slowly, yet noticeably, improved. Any and all errors in her technique had been corrected and forgotten. All good things, however, must come to an end, as Quixote was interrupted by the sound of knocking on her door.

Quixote snapped out of her trance and answered the door quickly, leaving the guitar on her bed. Upon opening the door, the small woman was met with a somewhat familiar face; another woman, a bit taller than Quixote herself, with purple hair and elongated earlobes, now dressed in loose, casual clothing.

"Ah, miss Jiro, correct?" Quixote asked. "Wherefore hast thou visited mine abode?" The aforementioned Jiro, one of the students of U.A. hero course 1-A, blinked in surprise, unused to Quixote's unique manner of speech.

"Uhm… come again?" She asked, not having understood a single word that the blonde had uttered.

"Wherefore hast thou visited mine abode?" Quixote repeated in nearly the exact same manner as before.

"In Japanese, please." Jiro flatly requested.

Quixote tilted her head slightly in confusion before she grasped the meaning of Jiro's words. She cleared her throat. "Why are you at my dorm room?" Her voice had seemingly lost its energy along with its whimsical and archaic speech pattern.

"Oh, well I just heard someone playing… was that Spanish guitar?" Jiro asked, eyeing the contents of Quixote's room, skimming over the ludicrous amount of hero memorabilia to find that there was, indeed, a Spanish guitar on the small woman's bed.

Quixote let out a small gasp. "My apologies, was I playing too loudly?" She was a bit nervous that she may have left a bad impression on one of her classmates, possibly more.

"Huh? No. Well, maybe. But I'm not angry about it." Jiro tripped over her words a bit. "I just wanted to know where you learned to play like that. I mean, it isn't exactly a common instrument around here."

Quixote thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should take this inside rather than the hallway." She moved aside, allowing the other woman entry. Jiro, realizing that their entire conversation thus far had been in a public space where any of their classmates could have walked by, blushed a bit before entering the merchandise-filled room.

Quixote sat on her bed, next to the focus of conversation, while Jiro sat in the desk chair, turning it around to face the room's occupant. "I fear I cannot answer thy query, miss Jiro. I have not been availed any formal training for mine instrument, I simply allow my fingers to flow naturally." Quixote had regained her odd manner of speech.

"So you're self taught, then?" Jiro asked, gradually being able to parse Quixote's words.

"That I am!" The blonde replied with enthusiasm.

"That's some talent." Jiro muttered under her breath. "So, where'd you even get the thing? Like I said, you don't see many of those in Japan."

"I knowe not. It had resided within mine home for as long as I am able to recall." Quixote attempted to remember where the guitar had come from to little success.

"So it's something your parents just had laying around?" Jiro noticed that the other woman began to have a downcast look the moment she had mentioned the blonde's parents. Her mind swam with the possible implications of that reaction before she decided to change the topic.

From then on, the conversation devolved into mundane things such as what electives they were taking or what their other hobbies were, Quixote's being incredibly obvious. Throughout the conversation, Jiro acclimated to Quixote's particular brand of weirdness and was careful to avoid any mentions of the latter's family or, possibly, lack thereof.

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[EXTRA: WHEREIN IS RECOUNTED DON QUIXOTE'S EXPOSURE TO THE HERO OF HEROES!]

Quixote found herself in front of the office of U.A. 's dean, Nezu. It was not the first time she had been summoned here, and yet those large doors remained imposing. She walked up to the doors, knowing that they would open before she even thought about grabbing the handle.

Sure enough, the doors opened, and she strode over to the dean's desk. "Tea?" Nezu offered.

"Gladly." Quixote accepted without hesitation, a feat that few people were capable of. As the chimera poured her a cup, she began the conversation properly. "Wherefore hast thou sent for me today, sir Nezu? Is aught amiss with mine results in sir Aizawa's apprehension test?" She asked. It was understandable, after all, it was a quirk apprehension test, and she…

"Nothing of the sort. I simply believed that this would be better done before your first proper heroics class." He then activated the intercom on his desk. "You may come in now."

Before Quixote could ask who was entering, the doors opened swiftly, a loud, booming voice accompanying them. "I AM HERE! AS YOUR HEROICS INSTRUCTOR!" That voice. Quixote would know that voice anywhere. But, it couldn't be. Could it?

She turned around towards the source of the voice. Only to be met with her idol in a garish pinstripe suit. "A-All M-Might? As mine, mine…" Quixote then slumped in her chair, fortunate enough not to fall on the floor.

"Will she be alright?" The top hero asked, concern lacing his otherwise boisterous demeanor.

"Oh yes, she'll be quite alright. Though I suspect that she will be out for quite a bit. She has quite the zealous love for heroes, you see, so meeting you, the number one hero in person. Well, you get the idea." Nezu assuaged the concerns of his newest teacher.

"Ah, I see. I suppose it was best to do this before my class tomorrow." All Might nodded in understanding, recalling a certain other student of his that had a very similar reaction upon meeting him for the first time.

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Twenty students sat, waiting in anticipation for their Applied Heroics instructor to make his entrance. Though said instructor's name wasn't printed on the syllabus, since he had recorded the acceptance letters, many of the awaiting students had already figured out the identity of the tardy professor.

"I AM…" A loud, easily recognizable voice boomed from beyond the classroom door. "COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!" All Might, the top hero in Japan, did the opposite of what he described. Sliding over to the podium in one fluid motion, facing directly towards the students the entire time.

Despite his bizarre entrance and inaccuracy, the enthusiasm of the majority of class 1-A couldn't be suppressed. Especially that of one Quixote. She had literal stars in her eyes as she gazed upon the larger than life hero, her excitement uncontainable as she vibrated in her seat, a talent reserved for only the most diehard of fans.

"NOW! OUR FIRST LESSON SHALL BE…" The hero rummaged around in his hero costume for a moment. "BATTLE TRAINING!" He announced while brandishing a card with the character for 'battle' on it. One student, a frog-like girl, questioned the choice of lesson, but All Might quickly brushed it aside.

"BUT HOW COULD YOU BE HEROES IF YOU DON'T LOOK THE PART? THAT'S WHERE THESE COME IN!" He gestured towards one of the classroom's walls where twenty numbered cases popped out. "CHANGE INTO THESE AND MEET ME AT SITE BETA! YOUR SEAT NUMBER SHOULD MATCH THE CASE FOR YOUR COSTUME!" With that, he fled the room as suddenly as he appeared.

The students excitedly grabbed their assigned cases and rushed to the locker rooms. The grape-haired boy had attempted to peek via a hole in the wall between the rooms, which was quickly shut down by an earphone jack to the eye and the hole being plugged, courtesy of Yaoyorozu.

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Quixote was the first of the class to arrive on site, rushing forward at blinding speeds to meet with her idol that much faster. Her hero outfit was quite simple in design, resembling a suit of medieval plate armor with red padded fabric beneath it and a matching red cape (Made to resemble her E.G.O. suit but with red fabric instead of pinstripe). Of course, it was made using high-quality materials and modern methods, so it was far more resistant and protective than the armors of old. In her off-hand she held her helmet; as much as she wished to show her face to the public, she couldn't deny the importance of cranial protection. In her main hand was a large lance, longer than she was tall, though that wasn't much of an accomplishment as she barely crested 155 cm. At her hips were two sheathed shortswords, for when villains were too close for her lance to be practical, and on her back were a collapsible bow and a quiver of blunted arrows.

"EXCELLENT COSTUME, YOUNG QUIXOTE! YOU'RE LOOKING MORE HEROIC ALREADY!" All Might gave a thumbs-up alongside his signature toothy smile.

Quixote nearly fainted in pure joy. "A-Ah, to be granted praise by sir All Might… today is a joyous day indeed!" Thankfully for all parties involved, she did not. She had JUSTICE!™ to deliver, after all.

The other students arrived shortly afterwards, each in their own flashy outfits that most definitely protected nothing, with few exceptions. "COSTUMES MAKE THE HERO AFTER ALL! YOU'RE ALL LOOKING READY TO FIGHT CRIME!" All Might then began explaining the exercise.

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"Fie! To be given the role of villain 'pon mine very first heroics lesson! 'Tis such ill fortune!" Quixote despaired at being assigned the villain role. Not only that, but she had been paired with her most villainous classmate against, in her opinion, the most heroic (aside from herself, of course).

"Quit whining, extra!" Her teammate, Bakugou chastised her. "Just shut up and watch as I put that stupid Deku in his place, and that tin can too!" The explosive blonde boasted as he left the room, lacking the patience to deal with Quixote's lamentation. Shortly after, All Might signalled the start of the match.

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Quixote stood still before the mock bomb, lance held perfectly straight at her side. A task that was becoming increasingly more difficult as explosions shook the building more and more as the match went on.

After a couple of minutes, she heard a different sound; that of increasingly loud footsteps. She quickly put her helmet on and readied her lance.

The door burst open, revealing a man clad in similar armor to Quixote's own; Iida. "Halt, villain! Surrender now!" He demanded, unknowingly inflicting severe mental damage upon his opponent by calling her a villain.

Quixote recovered from her stupor, thankful that her helmet covered her face much like her adversary's. "I shall not, hero, for I have been entrusted with this solemn duty. Thou shan't lay even a single finger 'pon this contraption of mine!" She had regained her vigor and levelled her lance at Iida, ready for the inevitable fight.

Iida, knowing time was not on his side, dashed forward, his engines propelling him at a speed most could only dream of. He kicked at Quixote's head. Not the most honorable action, but the most efficient one, and, unlike most of their classmates, she had head protection.

Due to the height difference between the two and her quick reaction time, Quixote ducked under the kick, aiming a counter attack at Iida's side with her lance. It didn't strike true, only a glancing blow that did little more than scratch his armor. It did, however, make him retreat a fair distance, putting space between him and his objective.

After a tense moment, Iida charged in again, going wide in an attempt to grab the mock bomb without defeating Quixote. Quixote then swung her lance directly in his path, halting his momentum with a mighty Clang and knocking the wind out of him. Though it was primarily a thrusting weapon, it was still a large hunk of steel, and had the corresponding force behind it.

This time, Quixote pressed her advantage, going on the offensive. With great force, she thrust her lance at the still recovering Iida. Iida tried to evade the attack, running to the side and, hopefully, around the steadfast sentinel. Unfortunately, an ill-timed large explosion shook the building, disrupting Iida's footwork.

This time, Quixote got a clean hit in. The force of her strike knocking her opponent to the floor, she quickly wrapped her provided capture tape around his wrists while she could.

"YOUNG IIDA HAS BEEN ELIMINATED BY CAPTURE!" All Might's voice rang in all of their ears.

Quixote then helped the defeated Iida to his feet. "'Twas a fine bout, like the jousts of old." She said with an unseen smile. "Though I fear that this battle is far from over."

As she finished saying that, All Might's voice returned. "YOUNG BAKUGOU HAS BEEN ELIMINATED BY CAPTURE!"

"I should get going. I would not want to get in either of your ways." Iida then left for the observation room, his smile also unseen.

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In seemingly no time at all, though in reality it was a couple of minutes, the door to the bomb room swung open. In walked Midoriya, his costume ragged from his fight with the blonde bomber, exposing his bare arms, one of which looked like it was severely broken, and parts of his chest, which were covered in burns of various sizes and degrees.

"Shouldst thou truly continue this fight? Thou lookest as if thou hast journeyed through the fiery pits of hell itself." Quixote questioned, genuinely concerned for the other's safety.

"I'm, I'm fine." He panted out, clearly not fine, but unwilling to give in nonetheless.

"Very well, if that is thy answer, then I shall end this bout posthaste!" Quixote then charged at the injured Midoriya, lance poised. He dodged the initial thrust, though Quixote remedied that by swinging her lance in the direction that her opponent had leapt, striking center mass.

Midoriya stumbled back a few steps, not prepared for the sheer force behind Quixote's hits. He assessed the situation; he was injured and fatigued, he had less than five minutes to finish the match, and in his way was the smallest girl in class who somehow hit way harder than expected. Maybe she did have a strength or muscle augmentation quirk… no Midoriya, focus.

As Quixote charged in for another thrust, Midoriya concluded his plan. Leaping towards the mock bomb with One For All coursing through his legs, he propelled himself faster than his opponent could react. At the apex of his jump, he reached out with his uninjured arm.

"HERO TEAM WINS BY DISARMING!" The boisterous voice of their professor reached their ears. Midoriya lay next to the bomb, left hand pressed against it, unable to move due to One For All taking its toll on his legs.

Without another word, Quixote put her lance onto her back and scooped Midoriya up into a princess carry, much to the latter's embarrassment, and carried him out of the building where medical bots were waiting with a stretcher.

She laid her opponent onto it carefully. "A fine tactic within the rules of the exercise, however… loathe as I am to say, if I had been a real villain, I would have easily killed you and fled. Perhaps, a smidgen less self sacrifice is in order." Quixote admonished lightly, still quite concerned over Midoriya's state. All the green bean could do was mutter out an apology before being carted off to the infirmary.

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Quixote arrived at the observation room as quickly as she could, her teammate notably absent. Iida had arrived long before her, both being faster and having left earlier.

"WELCOME BACK YOUNG QUIXOTE! WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF BREAKING DOWN YOUR MATCH!" All Might greeted her as she sat in a nearby chair. "NOW, WHO DO WE BELIEVE THE MVP OF THE MATCH IS?" He questioned the class.

Yaoyorozu was the first to raise her hand, although many of the students simply vocalized their opinions, mostly in favor of Midoriya, due to defeating one of his opponents and securing the bomb, though some were in favor of Quixote, being the only other participant to have defeated another.

All Might then called on Yaoyorozu. "I believe that MVP should go to Quixote. She never once strayed from the objective and consistently stood between it and her opponents when she fought, until the very end of the match. Midoriya, though he won the match, fought Bakugou alone when he could have fought alongside Iida, resulting in Iida being overpowered by Quixote and severe injuries on Midoriya's part. Not to mention that Midoriya's match-winning move left him helpless. In a real-world scenario, he would have been killed by the remaining villain."

The tall woman's impromptu lecture seemed to sway the opinions of most of her peers, crowning Quixote as the MVP of her match, something Iida, the only other participant present, had no qualms over.

"Though I gratefully accept the title of MVP, I was not without fault. I underestimated how far Midoriya was willing to go to achieve victory, I left the objective open for but a moment, ultimately costing me the match." Quixote reflected upon her shortcomings.

"SUCH HUMILITY! A GREAT ATTITUDE TO HAVE, BUT WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY, LET'S BEGIN THE NEXT MATCH!" All Might cut the conversation there, well aware of his limited teaching time.

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[EXTRA: OF THE EXTRAS AND THE NON-EXTRAS!]

"Fie! To be given the role of villain 'pon mine very first heroics lesson! 'Tis such ill fortune!" Quixote lamented.

"Quit whining, extra!" Her teammate, Bakugou chastised her. "Just shut up and watch as I put that stupid Deku in his place, and that tin can too!"

"Extra!? I'll have thee know that I am the main character of this fic!" Quixote rebuked.

"Like hell you are! If that damn Deku isn't the main character, then it should be me!" Bakugou broke the fourth wall as easily as he breathed.

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Chapter Text

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It had been a few days since the battle trial, most of class 1-A's time was spent reviewing their actions during the trial (some more than others) and going through actual basic training as it was clear that most of the students didn't actually know how to fight properly.

Then Aizawa had to shatter their complacency. "Today, you're all going to decide something that will shape your entire four years here." The tension in the room grew thick, with some of the students audibly gulping. "You're going to choose class representatives." He finished flatly, instantly dispelling the tension, only for it to be followed by a deluge of disorganized self-nominations.

Iida quickly put a stop to all of the nonsense. "I believe that the best way to appoint representatives is democratically!" He exclaimed.

"But won't everyone just vote for themselves, kero? It's not like we've known each other for very long." Asui gave her concern.

"Which is precisely why those with multiple votes will shine as exemplary leaders, being able to accrue the trust of others so quickly." Iida justified his method.

"Or we couldst simply make it an open vote in which voting for oneself is prohibited." Quixote spoke. "Verily, if one cannot support their chosen leader openly, then 'tis no support at all!" She finished with an air of finality that, unbeknownst to Quixote herself, left little room for argument.

The names of every student were written on the board with space for tally marks next to them. One by one, each of them were called up to put a mark next to the name of another student. The only real incident being Bakugou trying to vote for himself, but after a harsh glare from many of the other students, but mostly Aizawa, he reluctantly put his mark next to Kirishima's name.

Quixote - 5

Yaoyorozu - 4

Midoriya - 4

Iida - 2

Asui - 2

Kirishima - 1

Bakugou - 1

Shoji - 1

Aizawa looked at the results for a moment before dryly announcing. "Quixote's representative, now which one of you will become vice-representative?" He then looked at Midoriya and Yaoyorozu.

"I-I'll ce-cede my position to Yaoyorozu." The green bean stuttered out. "I honestly didn't expect to get o-one vote, let alone f-four." He closed in on himself, realizing that the attention of most of the class was on him.

"So be it. Quixote's rep and Yaoyorozu's vice rep. Any objections?" Before Bakugou could object, Aizawa continued. "Both of you, see me in my office after classes today."

Yaoyorozu curtly nodded her head and retook her seat. Aizawa didn't wait for an answer from the stunned Quixote, quickly moving on with the lesson.

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"So, how're you feeling, o' fearless leader?" Ashido teased the newly appointed representative over lunch.

Quixote pouted for a small moment, which only encouraged further teasing, as the other girls around the table, especially Ashido and Hagakure, found it all too adorable. "Fearless I may be, but a leader I am not. I am quite vexed as to how I came to have the hopes of so many others placed upon me so quickly."

"Well…" Hagakure chimed in. "You were pretty awesome during the battle trial. And, like… you're super cute, so…"

"Speaking of, I still can't believe that you carried Midori out of that building bridal style." The pink woman gained a wide, almost feral, grin. "He looked just like a bruised tomato by the time you got him to the stretcher. So spill, is greenie your type?"

"My type? I know not what thou asketh of me. I do, however, see sir Midoriya as an erstwhile comrade and a respectable hero in training." Quixote hadn't answered as the others expected, seemingly clueless about the implications of the question.

"No, no. What I meant is; do you like him? Like like-like him." Ashido asked again, clearer this time.

This time, it seemed that Quixote caught on to the true topic of conversation. After a moment she levelled the most deadpan expression anyone had seen the blonde make at her would-be interrogator. "No."

That single word, especially spoken with so little emotion, rivalling even Todoroki's disposition, had caught Ashido and Hagakure off-guard, as well as Jiro who, although a couple of tables down, could hear the details of the conversation.

"Oookay then, Midori's not your type. So, who is?" Even after that 180 flip in personality, Ashido wasn't going to give up when gossip was on the line.

Quixote merely maintained her uncanny neutral expression for a few moments, her answer lingering silently in the air between them, until she spoke once more in the same neutral tone. "I am here to become a hero, not for romance. My type is irrelevant."

"Woah, Mina. You knocked the accent right out of her." Hagakure attempted to lighten up the mood.

Ashido went to say something back to her invisible friend, but was interrupted by an alarm blaring, signaling a level 3 security breach.

"Level three? What's that mean?" Ashido asked, the first of their group to regain their wits.

"It means that unidentified or villainous individuals hath trespassed upon university grounds. In other words; a break-in." Quixote replied, looking at the throng of people that had crowded the exit in a panic.

Despite her excitable and whimsical demeanor, Quixote was observant, taking in every detail of the situation she could. The crowd, the mob of reporters outside, the positions of her classmates. She had a plan.

She calmly walked over to the periphery of the crowd where a classmate of hers was standing, unsure of what to do. "Lady Yaoyorozu, couldst I trouble thee for a megaphone?" She asked the taller woman.

Said woman, after a moment of being caught unawares, obliged her representative, handing her a brand new megaphone. Quixote took a deep breath and spoke as loudly as she could through the device. "Enough! 'Tis merely the press! And even if it were villains, hast thou forgotten that sir All Might is on the campus? Now calmly make thine way to the exits in an orderly manner!"

Fortunately, Quixote's impromptu speech had the desired effect. Not quite calming the crowd, but giving them enough time to think about the situation, overcoming the initial shock and panic that had plagued them.

"And you wonder why people voted for ya." Quixote's dignity was then shattered via Ashido glomping her, followed swiftly by Hagakure.

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A couple of weeks had passed, and it was time for class 1-A's first trip to one of U.A.'s many specialized facilities, though the students themselves weren't privy to which one they were headed to.

Iida had attempted to direct his classmates into a seating arrangement that he had come up with despite not being a representative. It took Quixote using her 'serious face'™, as Ashido had recently coined it, to get Iida to stop. Only for the bus to be arranged differently than the man had predicted, rendering the entire situation moot.

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The class was now en route to their destination, wherever that may be, so many of the students passed the time with idle conversation. "I'm a bit blunt, and typically say what's on my mind…" Asui, or Tsu, as she preferred to be called, prefaced. "... but, what exactly is your quirk, Quixote? I don't think I've ever seen you use it."

This question had caught the ears of most of the bus, even those that hid their interest behind a veil of indifference. "It's gotta be something awesome!" Kirishima stated with his usual toothy smile.

"Perhaps it is highly situational." Yaoyorozu posed.

"Or maybe it's so powerful that using it during training would be overkill." Kaminari put forth his two yen.

"It's probably some sort of muscle augmentation or physical enhancement. She's a lot stronger than she looks." Midoriya gave the results of his limited analysis.

Most of the other students now looked at Quixote with eyes full of expectation. Normally, she would bask in such a thing, but she knew that those expectations would never be fulfilled. She looked towards Tsu, who had sparked this whole conversation. "I… have no quirk."

Four words. Four words silenced the entire bus. Four simple words had changed all of her classmates' opinions on her, for better or worse.

"Hah! Quit lying. There's no way that U.A. would ever accept a quirkless nobody." Bakugou refuted Quixote's statement, though a certain green-haired individual felt that the comment was more directed at him than anything.

"Deception is unbecoming of our class representative!" Iida chopped towards Quixote. "I understand that you may wish to keep details of your quirk secret, but that is no excuse for lying to your peers."

The unexpected pair's denials had convinced many of their classmates of Quixote's supposed falsehood, though some of the more perceptive of them, such as Jiro and Shoji knew that the small blonde was being honest.

"So that is what thou truly thinkest of me? …I appreciate thine honesty, if little else." Quixote returned to her whimsical persona, though the ones who could tell of the girl's honesty knew that it was forced.

The rest of the trip remained painfully quiet, the mood irreversibly soured by the previous conversation.

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The class vacated the bus, only to find themselves before the "Universal Studios Japan!?" Kaminari exclaimed with all the hope he could muster.

"No, it's obviously the Unrivaled Space for Jams" Jiro prodded the electric boy with one of her jacks as she made the sarcastic remark.

Their bickering was interrupted by the appearance of a new staff member. "Actually, it's the Unforeseen Simulation Joint." Uraraka began fangirling at the sight of her favorite hero. Many students had thoughts along the lines of oh god, there's three of them now.

Thirteen ushered the class inside the facility, a wide open space containing many isolated simulated disaster zones around a central plaza. "Now before I begin, there's one thing I want to say. Well, two or three or four…"

From then on, Thirteen gave an impromptu lecture about quirk safety. Seeing as the topic held no relevance to herself, Quixote allowed her mind and eyes to wander. As much as she loathed the idea of ignoring the advice of a hero, listening to such a lecture after the conversation on the bus would have dampened her mood even more.

Because of her wandering eyes, she saw it. What looked like a dark crack in the air, near the center of the plaza. The crack began to widen before her eyes, she knew what she had to do. She discreetly pulled out her phone and sent a text to one of the few contacts within. Aizawa noticed, but let it be since he didn't want to interrupt Thirteen for something so minor.

Quixote noticed the lack of reaction from her teacher and looked back at her phone. The message had failed to send. She moved closer to Aizawa and whispered to him. "Villains, twelve o'clock, comms are down." The teacher looked confused for a moment before he saw the now fully open warp gate.

Aizawa immediately rushed in front of the group, getting between them and the villains that were now pouring out of the warp gate. Many of the students now noticed the oddities. "Is this part of the exercise?" Kirishima asked.

"No." Aizawa replied. "Those are villains."

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[EXTRA: IN WHICH THE FORCES OF TOMORROW ARE FORESHADOWED!]

In the far off city of Deika, it was a normal Thursday morning. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming. On days like this, people like Re-Destro, were holed up in their office plotting their schemes and scheming their plots. Said self-styled revolutionary suddenly got up from his seat and looked in the direction of Musutafu, though there was no window in that direction.

"I sense… a disturbance. A violation of the natural order." He stood like that for a few seconds before snapping out of his trance and returning to his work.

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Chapter Text

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Eraserhead leapt into action immediately, not waiting for the presumed leader of the group, who was covered in severed hands, to finish monologuing. Flying down the entrance’s staircase at speeds that would be concerning for anyone less dexterous, he met the mob of thugs in a one versus one hundred brawl.

Thirteen directed the students back towards the door, only to find that it was locked tight, their own security measures used against them. Before they could attempt to force it open, a portal of black mist formed before them.

“I do so apologise for our sudden visit, but it appears that All Might is absent. Would you happen to know where he is, Ms. Thirteen?” The mist man spoke politely, but considering the current circumstances, it came off as more mocking than anything else.

Before the space hero could respond, three of the students she was meant to protect leapt at the villain, one of them with a characteristic scream of “DIE!”, before Bakugou, Kirishima, and Quixote were swallowed up by a hastily created warp gate.

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The three most eager students of 1-A fell into what they could only assume was the ruins zone that they had only gotten a brief glimpse of. “Great, stuck with Shitty Hair and Deku 2.0.” Bakugou complained as he righted himself.

“Must you always be so crass young Bakugou? ‘Tis not the time for name calling.” Quixote examined their surroundings in more detail, noticing small movements every so often.

“Uh, guys? We’ve got company.” Kirishima pointed at a group of four thugs approaching them.

“And they are far from the only ones.” Quixote supplied as many more villains appeared.

“Alright extras, I’ll handle the fifty on this side. If you two can’t handle the rest then you shouldn’t be a hero major in the first place.” Bakugou relayed his intentions before blasting off like a certain villain group.

“That arrogant… to hell with him, I shall smite fifty-one of them!” Quixote had been challenged to a contest, and she always played to win.

“That’s the spirit! So manly!” Kirishima said his catchphrase before facing the horde of oncoming thugs and getting into a combat stance.

Quixote was the first to engage, charging in with an ignited passion, she swung her lance around and thrust it as if it were weightless, knocking several villains off their feet with the sheer force behind her every strike.

Kirishima acted as her shield, intercepting some of the attacks meant for her and making sure that none of the villains got too close to her, though he found it difficult to catch up to her frenzied gallop. Aside from his mobility issues, the two worked well together; Kirishima as the wall that could hit back quite hard, and Quixote as the fast-paced heavy hitter.

The only true difficulty they encountered were some ranged quirk users firing various attacks at them from inside some of the buildings. Fortunately, although Kirishima had no options for ranged combat, Quixote had prepared for such a situation.

Kirishima learned many things about his class representative in these few minutes. Namely that she could be quite competitive, seemed to have near infinite stamina, as she hadn’t broken a sweat throughout the whole ordeal, and that she was apparently a very good shot with a bow.

The redhead contemplated if he was actually needed or not. The, in his opinion, extremely manly blonde likely could have won this on her own, but he liked to think that he at least eased the burden a little.

As the duo headed from the pile of unconscious villains that they had created, they came upon the work of the walking grenade. ‘ Our pile is bigger. ’ Quixote thought to herself with an air of smugness.

It wasn’t much later before the blonde bomber made his way over to them in his typical fashion. “Well, you guys were faster than I expected. Unless you just ran away.” He said with a sneer directed at Quixote.

“Let us make haste to the plaza. Even if sir Eraserhead doth not require our assistance, our other compatriots may have also been transported into the jaws of villainy!” Quixote exclaimed, no, commanded . Not that the boys were going to do anything else.

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The sight that they encountered upon exiting the ruins was far from what they expected. The common thugs all lay defeated, leaving only the main three villains: The mist villain who had warped them, the hand villain, who was currently monologuing to a downed Eraserhead, and the bird-like villain who was holding him down.

“Alright, we should have a plan before we sally forth. Young Bakugou, canst thee handle the mist villain?” Quixote began planning.

“Yeah, I noticed that the only solid part of him is that neck brace, probably his weak point.” As egotistical as he was, he wasn’t stupid. Bakugou knew that a proper plan would increase their chances of survival.

“Then after I engage the one with the hands, you jump in and take him by surprise. As for sir Kirishima, thine best position wouldst be stalling the beaked one, prevent it from harming others until backup arrives or we handle the other villains.” Quixote finished her basic plan before looking back at the plaza.

As she readied herself, she noticed that a few of her classmates were exiting the flood zone, specifically; Tsu, Mineta, and Midoriya. And that the hand villain was heading right at them.

“Curses! Now!” Quixote rushed forth, hoping to intercept the villain before it was too late.

She was, in fact, too late. The villain had moved more swiftly than expected and now had Tsu by the face. When nothing came of it, he turned around towards Eraserhead, but before he could say anything, Quixote had pierced him with her lance alongside a cry of “UNHAND HER, VILLAIN!”

The villain staggered away from the students as blood seeped into his shirt from the puncture wound. “Gah! More mobs? Noumu!” He ordered the gargantuan villain. Said villain reached their position swiftly, already moving to strike Quixote, only to meet the hardened guard of Kirishima.

“Dang, that’s the hardest hit I’ve taken in a while. But not hard enough.” Kirishima gave his signature sharp-toothed smile, ready to take as many hits as needed.

“Damn it! Kuro-” The hand villain was cut off by the sound of explosions in the direction of his other ally. The mist villain lay on the floor, tackled by Bakugou and held at explosion-point.

He looked back to Quixote with pure rage in his crimson eyes. “You damn cheater! I’ll kill you!”

Quixote, by contrast, had a smile stretching beneath her helmet. “Surrender now for thine own good villain! Justice has prevailed!”

The hand-man’s only response was charging towards her in a blind fury. “Thy choice is made.” Quixote said more to herself than her adversary. “Tsu, get sir Eraserhead to safety! Midoriya, assist Kirishima in stalling Noumu! Mineta, to me!” Quixote relayed her orders. She was the class representative, after all.

Midoriya and Tsu wasted no time in following their orders while Mineta, who would normally be over the moon that a woman, even one that he considered relatively plain, wanted to be anywhere near him, was hesitant to fight such a dangerous villain, even if he was injured.

Though he was scared, he remembered what the others that he was warped with had said to him. He refused to be such a coward when others needed him.

Quixote dodged the villain’s attempt at a grab and warded him away with her lance. “Mineta, try and lock him in place, if only for a moment.” The boy nodded before popping off his hair clumps.

Though the villain was physically impressive, so was Quixote, both of them evading the attacks of the other. But unfortunately for the villain, Quixote was not alone, it took only one good shot from Mineta to trap the villain. Quixote then rushed behind him and swung her lance with all of her strength. With a resounding CLANG , the villain was out, falling to the floor.

Quixote then moved to assist with the beaked villain. It seemed like Todoroki had also joined the fray as its lower half was coated in a layer of ice, not that said layer lasted long as it was strong enough to shatter it.

She saw an obvious weak point, the villain’s exposed brain. The question was; was she willing to exploit it? For the lives of her peers and instructors, absolutely. “Kirishima, boost me!” She relayed as she jumped over to the aforementioned, who, in turn, caught her feet in his hands and threw her as high as he could while she jumped again, allowing her to reach greater heights than normal.

“FOR JUSTICE!!!” She cried as she embedded her lance in soft pink tissue. The villain roared in pain, but it couldn’t do anything about it due to the others keeping its arms in check. Quixote tried to thrust her weapon deeper in an attempt to fell the remaining threat, but her strength failed her.

“Midoriya! Strike the pommel with all of thy might!” She ordered.

“But that’ll kill them.” He replied nervously.

“It’s either their life or our own! We’ve not the luxury of mercy at the moment!” Quixote argued, beginning to struggle with keeping the lance in place due to the villain’s wild thrashing.

Midoriya thought to himself. He never wanted to kill anyone, but he knew that he may have to do so eventually, heroics was a dangerous career, he just never expected it to be so soon. But before him was Quixote. Like himself, she was quirkless, powerless , and yet, she was so unlike him.

An unwavering, courageous force. Though he may be physically stronger with All Might’s quirk, she was so much stronger than he ever was. She was risking her life for others with no hesitation while he was stuck in his own head. She was a hero, a true hero.

“Kirishima! Boost!” Midoriya ran forward, executing the same technique as Quixote had earlier.

“Todoroki!” Quixote called, and a sheet of ice formed over the titan, holding it in place for a moment.

But a moment was all they needed.

“TEXAS SMASH!” Midoriya landed his move, feeling the recoil that he had become familiar with over the past few weeks. The lance was pushed clean through the creature’s skull and its contents, embedding itself in the concrete floor behind the behemoth.

The, now headless, noumu slumped to the floor, its regeneration powerless to prevent instantaneous death.

“Is… Is it over?” Kirishima asked, bloodied and bruised even beneath his hardened exterior.

“No, not yet.” Quixote answered. “Tsu!” She called up towards the entrance. “Take sir Eraserhead or lady Thirteen’s quirk suppression cuffs and toss them over!”

But before the frog girl could find the requested item, the door burst open. “ HAVE NO FEAR, STUDENTS, BECAUSE I AM HERE! ” All Might did not have his trademark smile, no, he looked furious.

However, this had the unintended effect of making Bakugou briefly lose concentration, but that was all the mist man needed. As fast as he could, the warping villain transported himself out of the student’s grasp and took the unconscious hand villain with him via another gate.

“Shit! I let him get away!” For the first time in years, the bomber’s anger was directed at himself, at his amateur mistake that cost them the two villains behind this attack.

All Might surveyed the situation with increasing horror. The haggard and damaged states of his students, his unconscious and heavily injured colleagues, what had to be over a hundred beaten thugs, and a massive headless corpse.

“Mr. All Might, some of the other students are missing, ribbit .” Tsu told the tardy pro. “They’re probably in the conflagration and downpour zones.”

The man only nodded before zooming over to where he was needed. He had already failed his students enough today, he had to do at least something to help.

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[EXTRA: OF THE MANY WOES ASCRIBED DURING MANDATORY COUNSELING!]

“Do you feel any guilt or remorse for killing that Noumu person?” Hound Dog asked. The students of 1-A had been summoned to his office for one-on-one mandatory counseling following the USJ incident and giving their statements.

“No, I do not. I knew it had to be done to protect the lives of mine comrades and instructors. Especially after knowing that it was artificial. What does bother me is that I ordered another to do the deed in my place. I forced him to do something that no person, hero or otherwise, should have to experience so early in their life.” Quixote was as honest as she could be. Seeing how hurt Midoriya was, not just physically, but mentally… it hurt her. She was the cause of such intense pain. What kind of hero was she, to do something so cruel to her own classmate.

“Do you believe that you should apologise to Midoriya?” Hound Dog kept his composure like the professional he is, all the while jotting down notes.

“I… I know not what to say to him, how I can even face him, or mine other classmates for that matter.”

“Then, do you believe you could have done better? Resolved the issue without such measures?”

“Looking back on it, I could have waited for sir All Might to arrive. But, in the moment, at the time, I was unaware that we had been able to call for reinforcements. So, no. I do not believe that it could have been resolved without bloodshed.”

“And if something like this were to happen again?”

“I would do the same if it meant the safety of numerous others, though I refuse to be put in such a situation again. I will get stronger, strong enough that I may avoid such scenarios, strong enough that should the time come once more, I will be able to bear the burden myself, rather than forcing mine comrades to carry it.” Quixote spoke with steely determination, her willpower evident through her gaze.

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Chapter Text

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The students of 1-A were still reeling from the attack they had suffered in lieu of their first rescue lesson, though a silver lining for them was that the worst injury suffered by the students was Midoriya’s self-inflicted broken arm. The same couldn’t be said for the instructors, however, as both Thirteen and Eraserhead were hospitalized.

Though most of the students were physically unhurt, they suffered the psychological scars of the event. Being surrounded by so many villains, even incompetent ones, so early in their training frightened them. The worst part was seeing the state of their professors, professional heroes hand picked by the dean, as they were brought into ambulances.

The one most affected had to be Midoriya. After all, he killed one of the villains. Not just incapacitated or even injured, but killed them. He tried to rationalize his guilt away, nobody blamed him for it, the villain was engineered, artificial , he had done it under the orders of his class representative, who was in command at the time due to the pros being unconscious at the time. But every time, it all just sounded like excuses to him.

And then there were his thoughts on said representative; the ever enigmatic Quixote. She had asked, no, ordered him to take a life. He didn’t blame her for it, it was a desperate situation and he was the one who chose to follow such an order.

His thoughts on her were more complex than that, though. She was just like him; quirkless, useless . But… she wasn’t useless, was she? She was consistently one of the better performing students in the class, the only subject she didn’t excel in being classical literature, though considering she was likely a foreigner, that was understandable.

She had taken action where others had faltered, taken control of such a hopeless situation and turned it around. She was quirkless, powerless, and yet, she was more courageous than most, more heroic than most. The very reason he had inspired All Might to make him his successor, she had in spades.

It was like looking into a warped funhouse mirror. She was so much like him. A quirkless hero otaku that had just as many, if not more, oddities in her personality that most would consider undesirable. But where he was quiet, timid, and awkward, she exuded absolute confidence, inspiring others with her seemingly limitless energy. And, most importantly to him, she had gotten into U.A., she achieved what he couldn’t, what he gave up on.

She had accomplished his lifelong dream, and she didn’t even know it.

The young man spiralled, unlike her, he hadn’t done it on his own, he had gotten lucky enough to inherit All Might’s quirk of all things, but luck was all it was. Wasn’t she, who had gotten so far on her own merits, who had bravely charged in where he had faltered, who gave the same wide,  reassuring smile as his mentor and idol, wasn’t she more deserving of such a power?

The green bean’s rapidly swirling thoughts, and mutterings, thankfully too fast for anyone to comprehend, were interrupted by the subject of many of those thoughts making her presence known as she entered the classroom. “Good morrow, fellow squires! I do hope that thou hast rested and recovered ere last week’s incident!”

Quixote’s ineffable energy was a stark contrast to the gloom that had overtaken the majority of the class, causing some mental whiplash among them, though nobody responded. Seemingly unfazed by the relative lack of reaction, she continued on. “For lo, the sports festival approacheth with great haste! For I have espied the schedule, ‘tis merely a fortnight away now!”

Unlike before, this had the intended effect of lightening the class’ mood, turning their thoughts away from the incident and towards the upcoming event. Many of the more upbeat students such as Kaminari, Ashido, and Kirishima began chatting animatedly with those close to them as well as one another. She had also, inadvertently, proven some of Midoriya’s inner thoughts correct.

The mood was again interrupted by the arrival of a mummy. A very tired mummy that subsisted off of caffeine, spite, and whatever were in those pouches of his. “S-Sir Aizawa! Art thou truly in a condition to-” The class rep was cut off by a glare from one of the few parts of the mummy that were unbandaged. “V-Verily, I shall… take mine seat now.” Aizawa’s continued glare appeared to drain the energy from the girl at a visible rate.

Aizawa let out a muffled sigh and began his announcement. “Well, as the class rep said, despite complications, the U.A. sports festival is still on.” Many of the students gave a loud cheer that was quickly silenced by the grumpy mummy’s glare. “However, it is being delayed while we tighten security. As such, it will replace your practical semester final. You will be graded not only on how far you get, but also on how creatively you tackle the events, as well as” He leveled a look at Bakugou, who gave a slight sneer in response. “your sportsmanship. The internships that will take place afterwards will be your assignment over summer break, so don’t do anything to embarrass U.A., and don’t take the extra time as an excuse to slack off.” Aizawa then took his usual nap as the students began what had become their usual routines.

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A few weeks after the announcement of the festival’s delay, Izuku found himself eating lunch with his mentor in a small office. All Might had attempted to raise his spirits with an inspiring speech, readying him for the sports festival. “What’s wrong, young Midoriya?” Small Might asked, noticing that his protege wasn’t as fired up as he expected.

“I-I just. I don’t know.” He replied.

“Don’t know about what, young man?” The number one hero tried to figure out what was bothering his successor. Was it that exploding boy? He didn’t seem to like young Midoriya very much.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. This power. Your power.”

“Is this about the USJ?”

“W-Well, sort of… I, I just. I don’t think I’m the best choice for One For All anymore.”

Small Might reached over and firmly grasped his student’s shoulder and directed the young man’s emerald eyes to his own electric blue ones. “Perhaps, objectively speaking, you aren’t, not as you are now.” The boy sulked, his insecurities seemingly coming true, but before he could say anything, his mentor resumed speaking. “But I chose you. I chose you because I believe that you have what it takes to be a great hero. I saw in you not great power, but great potential, the true essence of a hero. Even if things get tough, even if you encounter great enemies or setbacks, even if you don’t believe in yourself.” The hero’s gaze was firm, unwavering, yet comforting to his student. “Then believe in me. Believe in the potential I saw in you that day. Believe in the me that believes in you, young Midoriya.”

The tears that Izuku had desperately been holding back unleashed themselves in a torrent of emotions. “Thank… thank you.” Was all he managed to blubber out between the tears.

After the boy had calmed down and the room was drained of the sudden flood it endured, All Might was still left with some questions. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what caused all of this to begin with?” He truly wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“It… it’s Quixote. She just…” Izuku trailed off, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words.

“Quixote? Ah, I can see why she would be the cause of such a thing. From what I can tell, the two of you are very similar.” The novice instructor pondered about the woman. He was initially reluctant to teach her, but she had proved her mettle time and again. He could admit to himself that, if he had met her before young Midoriya, he likely would have made her his successor. That confident, cheerful smile of hers reminded him so much of his own mentor.

“Perhaps you should talk to her, get your emotions out in the open, or just to make a new friend.” He suggested, now that he thought about it, he could see the two of them becoming quite close. Though, even if things didn’t pan out that way, she would likely still be a positive influence on his protege.

“T-Talk to h-her? But, but she’s a g-g-g” The broccoli stuttered out, slowly changing into a tomato.

“A girl?” All Might finished with a raised eyebrow. “But you are already friends with young Uraraka are you not?”

“I- uh yes, but that’s- she’s…” The newly ripened tomato was reduced to a stammering, blushing mess as he contemplated talking to a girl. One that he hadn’t saved from a giant robot while high on adrenaline and delirious from pain. His idol’s barely concealed laughter at his plight didn’t help in the slightest.

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After their lessons for the day were over, Izuku approached the woman who had caused him so much unintentional anguish. He had spent over a week going over what he would say to her, but would she even agree to speak with him? Alone, no less?

Stomping down the doubts that increased with every step, he made it to Quixote who was accompanied by the other high-energy girls in the class that he hadn’t really talked to. He inwardly panicked at the prospect of talking to not only one, but three girls at the same time.

“Qui- Quixote.” He already messed it up, curse his stutter.

“Young Midoriya? Wherefore dost thou needest me?” She answered, unperturbed by the young man’s social awkwardness.

“I- I need to speak with you.” He looked over to the other girls, though he could only really see one of them. “In private, that is.”

“Of course. Though, to be quite honest, I have been meaning to speak with thee for some time as well.” Midoriya blanked. What did she mean? Why would she want to talk to me? Why are girls so scary?

The two of them left to converse in private, though Mina and Toru followed behind, most definitely getting the wrong idea and refusing to miss out on such juicy gossip.

Once the pair were, as far as they were aware, alone, Midoriya began. “I-” Before he was interrupted by Quixote.

“I wouldst like to apologize for mine actions at the USJ. I ordered thou to do something that no person, hero or otherwise, should have to experience so early in their lives. I failed to consider how such an order would affect thy mental state.” She gave a perfect forty-five degree bow as she gave her apology.

Midoriya.exe has stopped responding. A girl was apologizing to him. A girl. Was apologizing. To him. No one had ever apologized to him except his own mother, much less a girl his own age.

It took him an uncomfortably long time to get his thoughts in order. “You- you don’t have anything to apologize for. Even if you gave the order, I still chose to follow it. Without you, we would’ve been much worse off.” He let out some of his honest thoughts, regaining some of his confidence now that the metaphorical dam had been opened.

“I see. That is rather reassuring. Well, now that mine own reason hast been cleared away, wherefore didst thou wishest to converse with me?” Quixote stood up from her bow, standing tall before him, despite being one of the few members of the class that were shorter than him.

“I… it’s difficult to put into words. I guess I’m feeling inadequate. You’re just so courageous and heroic that I’m starting to question whether I really deserve my place in U.A..” He had finally put his feelings and insecurities out there. He was reluctant to do so considering the last time he had voiced his vulnerabilities, his dream was temporarily crushed.

Quixote pondered for a moment, increasing Midoriya’s anxiety with every passing second. “Then, thou believest that U.A. hast made a mistake in admitting thee?” Midoriya violently shook his head. He would never accuse his dream school of such a thing. “Dost thou believe that thine instructors hath made a mistake in teaching thee?” He shook his head again. “Then thou deservest thy place here just as much as any other.”

Midoriya looked at Quixote with shock evident in his eyes. “B-But you-” He was cut off once more.

“If I can be so bold and heroic as thou claimest, canst thou not say the same for thyself? If I am capable of such feats without any great power, then anyone shouldst be capable of such heroism, including thee.” She spoke with absolute conviction, as if what she was saying were an immutable fact of reality. “Allow me to ask young, no, sir Midoriya. What is thy reason for pursuing the path of heroism?”

Many memories flashed in Midoriya’s mind, old and new, painful and comforting. “I want to save everyone with a smile, save them not just in body, but in spirit. I want to inspire hope in people and make the world a more peaceful place.” Though he didn’t realise, Midoriya spoke with passion and confidence rarely seen from him outside of his ramblings.

“A noble goal indeed. Then stand tall and proud, and becometh the hero thou wishest to be. Become the greatest hero you can be. Even if thou cannot believe in thyself, thou wilt have many others that believe in thee, believe in thy dream.” Quixote extended a hand. A rough, calloused hand from the amount of training she must have done to get this far. But to Izuku, it was the most comforting sight in the world at the moment. He took the hand, and they shook firmly, an unspoken agreement to follow their lofty dreams, to reach for their unreachable stars no matter what may befall them.

As the sun began to set, and their hands parted, Midoriya still had one burning question. “Why do you want to be a hero, Quixote?”

The woman in question gave a smile in response, smaller, softer, but much more genuine. “‘Tis only fair that I answer the selfsame question. Mine motivations are quite similar to thine own, as far as what kind of hero I wishest to become. But more than that, I desire to prove, beyond any doubts, that anyone can become a hero, that anyone can achieve their dreams, no matter how impossible they may seem. That is why I have engraved upon mine trusty lance, the words SUEÑO IMPOSIBLE. Dost thou knowest what those words mean?”

“No, I don’t. That’s in Spanish, right?” He answered, he was good at English, nearly fluent, but he could only make vague guesses at the meaning, even with the similarities between the tongues.

“It means Impossible Dream . Quite fitting for someone such as mineself is it not?” Quixote didn’t wait for a response. “I seek to make that impossible dream possible. Not just for myself, but for everyone who has given up on such dreams. Because even if that dream is never truly fulfilled, merely having something to strive for is worth it in its own right.”

Izuku’s words failed him. She was every bit as heroic as he thought she was and then some. She was everything he wanted to be. No. She was everything he could be. She was the kind of hero he dreamt of being, the hero he would one day become and surpass.

“Well then, I shall be off. I look forward to thine performance in the sports festival, sir Midoriya.” Quixote, no, Don Quixote, left for the student dorms, leaving Midoriya with renewed hope and passion ready to face any and every challenge that came his way. He now had people who he believed in, and who believed in him. The hero’s hopes had never been higher for what his future holds.

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[EXTRA: OF THE MANY WOES OF THE GOSSIP MONGERS!]

Once both of their targets of interest left, Mina and Toru left their hiding spot.

“Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting at all.” Mina said to her companion, her voice lacking its usual energy.

“Y-Yeah, it was really personal.” Toru sniffed.

“Wait, are you crying?” Mina asked, the tears on her friend’s face being barely visible.

“It was just so beautiful, you know.” Toru replied while attempting to reign in her tears.

“Yeah, but we can’t make gossip out of this. It just… feels wrong.” Mina was slightly downcast that they had accidentally eavesdropped on such a personal moment.

“You’re right, I think this should just stay between us. Still totally ship them, though.” Toru managed to stem the flow of tears.

“Ditto.” Was Mina’s only response as the pair left.

Jiro stumbled out of her hiding spot a bit away from the scene, her mutation affording her a wider range of options. She said nothing, making her way to the dorms. After something like that, she was going to need a tissue, or three.

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Chapter Text

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Two weeks before the rescheduled sports festival was set to begin, the students of class 1-A exited their assigned classroom, only to find their path blocked by a crowd of students from other majors, as well as some students from 1-B.

“What are they all doing here, kero ?” Tsu asked, only to be shoved aside by Bakugou, a fate shared by every other student that dared to get in his way.

“They’re here to scout the competition, obviously! Not that it’ll do them any good. Now move it, extras!” The explosive boy stomped past the crowd of students.

Another student with lavender hair that seemed to defy gravity strode up to the remainder of the class. “So these are the hero majors, huh? As arrogant as expected.” He spat, his voice filled with disdain.

“Young Bakugou doth not speaketh for the whole of-” Quixote valiantly attempted to defend her classmates, only to be cut off by the Aizawa look-alike.

“I don’t care for your excuses. I’m just here to tell you that there are many people like me who were forced into gen ed because we weren’t suited to that biased entrance exam. But, fortunately for us, if we do well enough in the sports festival, we can be transferred to the heroics courses. Of course, that means that some of you will have to be transferred out to make some room. So consider this a declaration of war.” He let his declaration sink in, some of the students seemed rattled by it, good. Hitoshi wanted them to squirm, them and their flashy, heroic quirks.

Only for the small blonde girl that he had interrupted, seemingly unfazed, to approach him and begin groping his arm. “Wh-What the hell are you doing?” He was flustered that someone would just start groping him out of nowhere, let alone a girl.

“Hast thou been to a gym recently?” She asked, her facial expression unnervingly neutral as she finished… whatever she was doing.

“Wha- No, I haven’t.” He answered honestly, caught too off-guard to maintain his usual poker face.

“And thou expectest to trounce us without any physical capabilities to speak of? Perchance thou were planning to coast by with thy quirk alone?” She had read the boy like an open book.

Hitoshi had no response, so he did the only thing he could in such a situation; he turned around and began walking away. “Prithee, if thou art to declare war, then mayhaps thou shouldst arrive prepared. When such a time arrives, I shall accept thy challenge with gusto!” She called after him. He was very much regretting his, in retrospect, stupid idea, and hoped that he didn’t meet that weird chick in the tournament round, whatever her quirk was. He also needed to look into whether general education students were allowed to use the on-campus gyms.

Along with the mini-Aizawa, many of the general education students left, their message sent, albeit poorly. This left only a pair of students from 1-B; one, a handsome blonde man, and the other, a man with light gray hair who gave the students of 1-A the same impression that Kirishima had given them on the first day, aside from the redhead himself, that is.

“Ah, so 1-A flaunts its superiority. I see that contending with back-alley thugs has given you all quite the swelled heads, so unlike 1-B, the true superior-” The blonde’s rambling was cut off by an abnormally large hand chopping the back of his head, knocking him out cold. He fell to the floor in a heap, revealing a mature looking woman with ginger hair pulled into a side ponytail.

“I apologize for Monoma here. For whatever reason, he takes the whole ‘class rivalry’ thing way too seriously.” The woman bowed in apology in lieu of her downed classmate before hefting said classmate over her shoulder and going back to 1-B’s classroom. The other boy who had come alongside Monoma quickly followed suit, lest he be subject to the same punishment.

After a moment of awkward silence, Kyouka spoke. “Well… that was certainly… something.” Many of the students simply agreed and moved on with their lives.

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The sun was shining brightly upon the U.A. stadium. Said stadium being packed to the brim with eager spectators ready for their belated national watch-barely-adults-beat-the-tar-out-of-each-other day. Truly, the peak of modern entertainment.

But aside from the spectators, there were also the competitors. The non-hero major students either waiting for the first opportunity to bow out, or eagerly vying for a seat in the heroics courses, aside from a peculiar pink-haired student, of course.

The students of 1-A sat in their waiting room, the air thick with tension. It was their semester final, after all. But, thankfully, they could relax afterwards, since the written tests were over and done with.

“Midoriya, objectively speaking, I’m stronger than you.” Todoroki broke the tense atmosphere. “I don’t know what kind of connection you have with All Might, but, whatever it is, I promise that I’ll beat you.” Yet another declaration of war was made, the second of many.

“Such boldness! Verily, I too, vow to give this festival mine all. Such passionate competition shall surely make for a greater spectacle!” Quixote, never one to be brought down by tension, made the third, though much friendlier, declaration.

Before any more declarations could be made, they were called to assemble in the stadium proper. “NOW INTRODUCING THE CLASS THAT REPELLED A VILLAIN ATTACK IN THEIR FIRST MONTH OF TRAINING; THE HERO DEPARTMENT’S OWN CLASS 1-A!” Their overly enthusiastic English professor announced through the stadium’s speakers.

The class walked in two rows of ten, one led by Quixote, and the other led by Momo. Stopping just before the stage. Even less orderly students such as Bakugou fell in line, lest they face the wrath of Aizawa.

“AND COMING AFTER THEM, CLASSES 1-B TO 1-J!” Present Mic’s lackluster introduction preceded the other nine first-year classes as they assembled in a similar fashion to 1-A. “Way to be unbiased Hizashi.” Aizawa chastised his co-commentator once their microphones were disabled.

“AND, LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST, OUR REFEREE; THE EIGHTEEN PLUS HERO: MIDNIGHT!” That truly roused the crowd of onlookers, though making many parents watching at home change the channel at such an announcement. The heroine herself sauntered onto the stage.

“To start off this festival, a word from the first-year representative; Katsuki Bakugou! Come up and make the challenger’s pledge!” The tightly-clad woman called up the worst possible choice, with the possible exception of Monoma.

Bakugou strode onstage and took the microphone in his usual Bakugou way. “You all had better bring your best…” Well, that isn’t so bad . Many students of 1-A naively thought. “... Because I’m gonna win.” And there it is . All of 1-A thought unanimously. The fourth declaration had been made.

Midnight quickly ushered the young man off of the stage, a large device resembling a slot machine taking center stage. “Our first event for today is, drum roll please!” She activated the device as a drum roll played over the speakers. “An obstacle course! Competitors, assemble at the starting line!”

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All of the students stood near the start line, only about a third of them poised to start running, for most of the non-hero students knew they stood no chance of even making it to the second round, let alone winning.

Quixote, however, was unaffected by the sight of so many resigning themselves to defeat, the sheer excitement and energy of the festival flowed through her like her own lifeblood. A race was the perfect event for her, though she wasn’t as fast as someone like Iida, she was made for challenges such as this. She was always wearing a pair of running shoes, after all, as worn as they may be.

“ON MY MARK!” Mic announced. “READY… SET… GO!!!” The moment the race began, a familiar chill assailed Quixote. She jumped just in time to avoid a wave of ice that encapsulated the majority of the competition, then began running on the slippery surface.

The first true obstacle, the ‘Robo Inferno’ as the commentator called it, proved not to be a challenge for the eager squire as the most threatening zero-point robots had already fallen to Todoroki by the time she got there. The other, smaller, robots weren’t much of a challenge to her either. The ones she couldn’t simply run past were dealt with in one or two blows.

By the time she had gotten to ‘The Fall’, she was already in a good position, within the top thirty by her estimation. This obstacle would hardly be a challenge for her, for she was nothing if not bold and agile. She jumped over the many chasms without a shred of hesitation, practically flying from platform to platform, the ropes between them rarely utilized.

The final obstacle, a literal, honest to god minefield , would have given her trouble if enough of the front runners hadn’t brute-forced their way through, leaving a clear path of already-detonated mines for her to tread through.

The galloping blonde crossed the finish line, then slowed down and made her way to the classmates of hers that had already finished. She hadn’t made it into the top ten as she would have liked, but she had made it to the second round, placed fourteenth.

“Ah, miss Quixote, I see you have made it past the first round. And without breaking a sweat, it seems.” Iida greeted her in a stiff manner as usual. Their relationship had mended somewhat when Iida was forced to accept, after confirmation by the staff, that the girl he had lost to was, in fact, quirkless. Though, most would hesitate to call the two friends.

“Forsooth, contests of endurance are mine specialty, young Iida! And sir Midoriya, I must congratulate thee on thine placement!” She greeted the stiff man back, then addressed the much smaller student by his side.

“Uhm… yeah, I still can’t believe I did it, though.” The boy shyly responded, the environment putting him on edge. He still wasn’t used to crowds, much less ones cheering for him.

“Hold thy head up high, sir Midoriya! Thou hast accomplished a great feat!” Quixote tried to coax Izuku out of his shell, to little effect.

Present Mic called time as Aoyama crossed the line in forty-second place, the cut-off point. This was followed by a ten-minute break before the remaining competitors reconvened before the stage.

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The second round was announced as a Cavalry Battle, an event after Quixote’s own heart. The only problem: Nobody wished to form a team with her, either due to her quirk status, being in another class, or simply having already formed a full team. She feared that she would be disqualified over something so minor until someone prodded her shoulder.

“Hey, wanna join my team?” Quixote turned around and saw a familiar head of gravity-defying hair.

“Verily, I-” As she was about to accept the timely offer, her body lost its energy, her expression neutral, and her eyes vacant.

“Great, I needed a front horse. Now, pick me up, I’ll be the rider.” Shinso ordered, Shoda and Aoyama obeying his commands to the letter, while Quixote stood still. “Are you deaf? Get in the front horse position.” The general education student panicked internally at his quirk not working.

“Since when do you possess the authority to order me around?” Quixote replied in a toneless voice. Shinso was sweating internally even more now. He definitely felt his quirk take effect, he could still feel the connection even now. So why wasn’t it working?

“If you wanted my help, you could have simply asked, you know.” Quixote continued, her voice gaining a trace of indignance. “Now, you are going to release your hold over me, then you are going to ask me politely to join your team. Understand?” This had never happened to Shinso before, nobody had ever been outright immune to his quirk like this. Was this why she told him to hit the gym? Because she knew that his quirk wouldn’t do anything to her? There’s no way she could have possibly known that.

Before his thoughts could get out of control, Shinso did as Quixote bade him do, feeling as if he was being mugged all throughout. “W-Wanna join my team?” He couldn’t help some of his nerves seeping through into his speech.

“Verily, I was looking for a team to join! I see thou art lacking a front horse, so I shall lead the charge!” She agreed with her usual energy. Throwing Shinso off with just how quickly she switched personas.

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Much to Quixote’s chagrin, though the second round was bombastic and exciting, she was to lurk in the metaphorical shadows until the last moment. Though she craved the spotlight, she knew that attempting to dethrone the top two teams of Bakugou and Todoroki was a fool’s errand with their current roster.

Though she didn’t like it, the strategy did pay off, as she was allowed entry into the tournament round. Shoda, one of the students who had been overtaken by Shinso’s quirk, removed himself from the competition due to being unable to remember anything from the second round. After a tense mini-tournament of roshambo, it was decided that Shiozaki from 1-B would take his place.

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The first round of the tournament had some of the most and least interesting matches. Izuku had won against Shinso by breaking his own fingers with his quirk, Todoroki had frozen Sero in a giant glacier, Hatsume, the support student, had turned her match into an advertisement before letting Iida win, then Shiozaki had defeated Kaminari by doing nothing, as he walked out of the arena himself after shorting out his brain.

Then, Mina ran literal circles around Aoyama, followed by Tokoyami defeating Momo before the latter could make anything to counter Dark Shadow. But nothing could compare to the brutal brawl between Bakugou and Uraraka. Though the fierce boy had received some backlash from the audience due to the intensity of the match, that was shot down by Aizawa rather quickly.

That left only the final match of the round; Kirishima versus Quixote.

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[EXTRA: WHEREIN IS WRITTEN MIDORIYA’S ANALYSIS OF DON QUIXOTE!]

Name: Don Quixote (She isn’t too picky about being addressed with her title)

Age: 18? (If she doesn’t kill me for asking, then her friends will)

Gender / Pronouns: Female, She/Her (She sometimes calls herself by male pronouns though. It's really confusing)

Quirk: None

The class representative of 1-A. Despite likely going through the same things that I did, she maintains an upbeat, energetic attitude. Since she doesn’t have a quirk to fight with, she uses various different weapons, which she has demonstrated great proficiency with. Her weapon of choice is her giant lance, which she wields with ease despite its weight.

Unlike many of the mid-to-close range fighters in our class, Quixote possesses an option for ranged combat in the form of a collapsible bow, with which she demonstrates great accuracy.

In our training where our hero costumes, and thus, her weapons, are unavailable, she has shown great skill in unarmed combat, borrowing from multiple different styles of martial arts, though it seems that her favored style is a variant of boxing. I don’t know enough about proper martial arts yet to say any more than that.

Below are her attributes on a rough scale of 1-10, with 1 being below the average person and 10 being that of an exceptional pro hero:

Strength: 8/10 (That lance is HEAVY)

Agility: 7/10

Technique: 10/10

Control: N/A (No quirk to control)

Cooperativeness: 10/10

Charisma: 9/10 (Only All Might gets a 10 from me)

Honestly, if she had a quirk, even a relatively weak one, I’d say she’s guaranteed a spot in the top 10 after a year or 2 post-graduation. But, prejudice will be her worst enemy, way more than any villain.

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Chapter Text

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The stands shook with the excitement of the spectators, despite the brutality of the most recent match. “NOW, FOR OUR FINAL MATCH OF THE ROUND!” Present Mic announced, rousing the crowd’s anticipation. “IT’S THE STONE WALL OF 1-A; THE UNBREAKABLE EIJIROU KIRISHIMA!!!” On cue, Kirishima walked out onto the arena, the sheer amount of attention directed at him being a bit overwhelming. Though he did give a couple of waves, mostly to his friends in 1-A.

“AND HIS OPPONENT, 1-A’S VERY OWN REPRESENTATIVE, THE ONE WHO LED A COUNTERATTACK AGAINST VILLAINS; THE QUIRKLESS WONDER, DON QUIXOTE!!!” Quixote basked in the greatly reduced applause after her introduction, seemingly unperturbed by the audience’s reaction to her lack of quirk.

“Dammit, Hizashi.” Aizawa rounded on Mic. “Did you have to announce it to the entire country?” Thankfully, Aizawa had enough tact to wait until their microphones were off.

Hizashi let out a small sigh, rare for the man, and answered. “Look, Shou. I can’t just lie on air. If she took an offer from some pro, only for that pro to find out she’s quirkless, what do you think most pro’s reactions would be like?”

Damn it, Aizawa had been out-logicked. “Did you at least make sure that she was okay with you blasting it on national T.V.?” He asked, resigned to reality.

“What do you take me for? Of course I did.” Present Mic responded indignantly. Shouta should know by now that Mic was nothing if not ethical in his practices. “But enough of that, we have a match to commentate.”

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Back in the arena, Midnight had delayed the start of the match for a few moments while both the audience and the commentators got their collective crap together, both competitors standing there awkwardly.

Kirishima then did something nobody could predict.

He took his jacket off, revealing his bare upper body. His hardened muscles on display for the world to see.

Midnight raised an eyebrow, making sure that her mic was off before speaking. “Not that I’m complaining, handsome~, but is there any particular reason for the eye candy? Got someone to impress?” She asked suggestively.

“Huh? No, nothing like that. It’s just really hot out here, and standing around in the sun didn’t help.” Kirishima answered honestly, taking a bit of the wind out of Midnight’s sails. How the woman wished she could remove a layer in this dreadful heat, but that would jeopardize her bonus from acting as the referee.

Up in the stands, a certain pink girl turned purple. She would definitely find screenshots of that later.

“Then I suppose it’s only fair to respond in kind.” Quixote stated nonchalantly, then removed her own jacket, dropping it onto the arena floor. This action left her completely topless save for a wrap around her bust.

“Woah, manly.” Was all Kirishima could utter at the sight. Despite everything, Quixote’s muscles were more defined than his own, yet still lean, not overly large, easily overlooked with her usual choice of attire covering most of her skin.

The rest of their class was similarly dumbfounded. “Wow, I knew she was strong, but…” Kyouka couldn’t even complete that thought.

“You could grind meat on those.” Kaminari commented, blissfully unaware of the filthy ways his words could be interpreted.

“Her boobs are bigger than I thought.” Mineta and his creepy laugh were promptly ignored by the rest of the class. Especially after the stunt he pulled, trying to trick the girls into cheerleader outfits. It would have worked too, if Quixote hadn’t just texted Aizawa and foiled his lie. Since when did she have the staff on speed dial?

“I have got to get her training regiment.” Uraraka muttered to herself, having just woken up in the infirmary.

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“So, Eraser, who do you think is gonna win this match? They’re both your students, aren’t they?” Mic started the pre-match banter, afraid that shouta’s ‘problem children’, as he affectionately called them, would continue to remove articles of clothing if left to their own devices.

“Quixote will win.” Aizawa stated, as if it were a simple fact.

“Oh? Care to elaborate?” Mic asked, both hamming up the audience and genuinely curious.

“No. You’ll see what I mean in less than a minute anyway.” The grumpy hero clearly wouldn’t say more.

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Midnight went over the rules briefly, each participant agreeing to them wholeheartedly, before the signalled the start of the match.

Both fighters moved immediately, overeager as usual. Quixote made the first move, a simple jab at her opponent’s face to test his defences. Kirishima took the hit without flinching, closing the remaining distance and aiming a right hook at Quixote.

Quixote was able to duck under the attack easily due to her small stature. She knew that the only ways to defeat Kirishima were to get him out of the ring, which was unlikely, pin him down, which would be easier, or to exhaust him by constantly forcing him to harden.

She chose the second option, not wanting to drag the fight out any more than necessary. After she dodged Kirishima’s hook, she grabbed the outstretched arm and threw the boy over her shoulder, then pinned him to the ground.

Kirishima instinctually activated his quirk due to the incoming face-full of concrete, this only sealed his fate. While his quirk did increase his defenses immensely, it came at the cost of flexibility, so he was unable to break Quixote’s hold on him before it was too late.

He struggled on the floor of the arena, trying everything he could think of to get Quixote off of him. “Kirishima, can you move?” Midnight asked, seeing the desperate struggle.

The man had to admit, she got him good. “No, I can’t.” He wasn’t too broken up about his loss. He had been the one to see his representative in action the most, so he knew that his chances of winning were slim, even if he was the crowd favorite due to unmanly prejudices.

“Quixote wins by immobilization!” The R-rated Hero announced, much to the audience’s shock and displeasure.

“WOW! WHAT A STUNNING THIRTY-SECOND KNOCKOUT! How’d you know, Eraser?” Mic reinforced the result to the spectators, many of whom were still either stunned or in denial.

“Simple. Quixote took advantage of one of his weaknesses. Kirishima’s tough alright, but he’s not very flexible. If she wasn’t able to pin him down, then she would’ve thrown him out of the arena.” Aizawa answered in earnest, a rarity for sure. Though the man would never admit it, Hizashi knew that his friend had gotten attached to the odd girl.

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A short break had been called, during which Quixote and Kirishima returned to their class. After putting their uniform jackets back on, of course. Immediately, the pair were swarmed, mostly Quixote as her classmates inquired about her training methods due to the density of muscle that she sported. As well as Mineta making some creepy comments about her being a ‘Dommy Mommy’, which were quickly silenced by a liberal application of the Serious Face™.

After the initial excitement faded, most of the class either went off to purchase some snacks or spoke with Izuku about his upcoming match with Todoroki, the latter being absent.

Before long, the break was over and the quarter-finals began.

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The match between Izuku and Todoroki appeared to be emotionally charged to some degree, with plenty of shouting on both sides. Todoroki ended up being pushed into using the fire aspect of his quirk, winning the match in doing so.

The next two matches were far less interesting, with Iida being too fast for Shiozaki to set up her defenses, knocking her out with a well-placed kick. Tokoyami versus Mina wasn’t even close due to Mina’s acid having no effect on Dark Shadow.

Once more, Quixote’s match was at the end of the round, and against Bakugou of all people. She knew that the tactics that worked on Kirishima wouldn’t work on the walking explosives factory, nor would he hold back against her.

Her only chance at victory was simply to go Plus Ultra.

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“NOW, FOR OUR NEXT MATCH, IT’S THE BLONDE BOMBER; KATSUKI BAKUGOU! VERSUS THE BRIGHTLY COLORED DARK HORSE; DON QUIXOTE!” Both competitors took their place in the ring.

“You may have beaten Shitty-Hair, but I’m not gonna fall for something like that. Someone as useless as you will never beat me.” Bakugou sneered. “But I guess you should still give it your all. Wouldn’t want this fight to be a complete disappointment.”

Quixote seemed unaffected by his taunts. “Thy behavior is unbecoming of a hero.” She began. “And if thou refusest to change thy ways… then I shall beat proper heroism into thee!”

At that, Bakugou grew enraged. She was sounding an awful lot like Four-Eyes, but at least he got what he wanted; a real fight.

The moment that Midnight started the match, Bakugou rushed at Quixote, hands popping with small explosions. He had the advantage when it came to the environment, no cover for his opponents to hide behind, and the heat making him sweat more.

He threw an explosive right hook at her, having yet to break the habit that Izuku pointed out during their first heroics exercise. Quixote grabbed the outstretched limb like she had Kirishima’s, but, unlike with Kirishima, instead of throwing him over her shoulder, she pulled him closer and delivered an uppercut to his chin.

Bakugou sparked some explosions to get the gremlin off of him, which worked, widening the distance between the both of them.

Quixote was the one to charge in this time, darting towards the boy with unexpected speed, and landing a small flurry of jabs on his torso. The rest of the fight became a contest of endurance, both fighters trading blow for blow.

Bakugou hit harder than his opponent, but after a while of the slug-fest that he had found himself in, he began to slow down. His quirk was powerful, yes, but it wasn’t without its downsides. Namely; dehydration if he used it for too long, especially in hot environments.

While battered and bruised, her jacket ruined, Quixote maintained her speed and power. She didn’t give her opponent an inch of leeway, because she knew that any battle of attrition would end in her favor.

After minutes of intense brawling, broken up frequently by explosions, Quixote landed a powerful haymaker on Bakugou’s jaw, his defense too worn down to block it. She took the momentum of the strike and swept the boy’s legs, sending him crashing to the ground with the full force of her attack.

“Quixote wins by knockout!” Midnight announced. This time, instead of shocked silence with the occasional boo, the crowd cheered. Although it wasn’t at the level of their applause for her classmates, Bakugou hadn’t won the crowd’s favor with his behavior thus far, so defeating him garnered at least token appreciation.

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The semi-finals went by in a flash, both Iida and Tokoyami losing in less than a minute. Iida had been frozen from the waist down, unable to start his engines properly or move his legs, while Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow had been slid under by Quixote before she delivered a momentum-fuelled uppercut to her opponent’s beak, knocking him out cold.

Before Quixote could make it to her waiting room, she was stopped by a large figure that she knew all too well. “E-E-Endeavor! P-Prithee, what business hast thou with one such as myself?” She held her excitement back as much as she could, though she still ‘vibrated’, as her friends described it.

“So you’re the quirkless girl that made it this far. Even smaller up close. Whatever, just make sure you don’t lose against my Shoto instantly.” Endeavor looked at her as if she were a wad of chewing gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe before turning to leave.

“Ah! Can- Can I trouble thee for thy autograph?” Quixote asked of the flaming hero, only to be ignored.

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[EXTRA: OF THE DANGERS OF WISHES!]

Both competitors took their place in the ring.

“You may have beaten Shitty-Hair, but I’m not gonna fall for something like that. Someone as useless as you will never beat me.” Bakugou sneered. “But I guess you should still give it your all. Wouldn’t want this fight to be a complete disappointment.”

“My all you say?” Quixote asked as she slowly and deliberately untied her shoelaces before dismounting Rocinante. She then looked back at him with crimson eyes. “Be careful of what you wish for.”

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Chapter Text

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“AND NOW, THE MOMENT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! THE FINAL MATCH!” Present Mic’s voice reverberated throughout the stands. “AND WHAT A FINAL MATCH IT IS! FIRST UP, THE BIGGEST DISPLAY OF RAW POWER IN THIS TOURNAMENT; THE ICE COLD SHOUTO TODOROKI!!! AND HIS OPPONENT, WITH POWER, PRECISION, AND A SIX-PACK CARVED FROM STONE; THE NOBLE DON QUIXOTE!!!”

The reception was mixed among the audience, nearly everyone watching believing that the fight would be over quickly. After all, how could some quirkless girl beat the son of Endeavor?

Both finalists entered the arena. Quixote forwent her jacket due to Bakugou destroying her first, and Todoroki being likely to destroy the replacement she had worn in her match against Tokoyami.

Neither fighter said a word before the match, Todoroki for obvious reasons, and Quixote having said all she needed to already.

The moment Midnight signalled the start of the match, the arena was encased in ice. Quixote had seen such a tactic from kilometers away, jumping and avoiding being stuck in ice. If she had been up against him in an earlier round, simply jumping, even with the impressive height she could reach, would never have been enough to avoid Todoroki’s signature opening move.

Todoroki was powerful, but he was succumbing to fatigue and mild hypothermia due to the way he used his quirk. Quixote, however, had enough stamina to rival all of the top ten heroes combined, having hardly broken a sweat since the festival’s beginning.

She dashed forward, uncaring of the slippery terrain. Her shoes, Rocinante, were made to function well in every environment, including slippery surfaces such as ice. Todoroki sent ice spikes her way, which were evaded with ease.

Once Quixote got close, Todoroki erected a wall of ice, stopping the galloping squire in her tracks. She inspected it for a moment, noticing that it wasn’t nearly as thick as usual due to her opponent’s fatigue. Once she found a weak spot, it took only one clean kick in order to make a hole large enough for her to fit through.

Leaping through the gap, Quixote launched herself at Todoroki, aiming a hook at his left side where she knew he’d be more vulnerable. As the boy was unwilling to use his fire to defend himself, the punch struck true.

Now, Quixote had momentum, and momentum was her greatest tool. She capitalized on Todoroki’s lackluster defenses, every strike meant to stun or push him towards the boundary line, every miss forcing him to back himself further into a corner. His defenses and counterattacks weakening by the second.

“Quixote wins by ringout!” Midnight declared, snapping both finalists out of their tunnel vision. Todoroki looked down. Sure enough, his latest dodge had placed his left foot outside of the boundary line.

“Bit anticlimactic eh, Eraser?” Mic asked his co-host.

“It may seem that way, but this victory showcases Quixote’s greatest strength.” Aizawa secretly felt an odd sense of pride for his problem child, though his voice remained neutral.

“And what would that be?”

“The fact that she somehow has enough energy to outlast the heat death of the universe.” It was difficult to tell if Aizawa was joking, or if he genuinely believed that to be the case.

“Surely she can’t have that much energy?”

“ You don’t have to teach her physical classes.” Aizawa snarked.

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Quixote was over the moon at the realization that she had won the sports festival, she stood atop the exalted podium, a position envied by many. As Midnight made her closing remarks, a booming, familiar voice was heard all throughout the stadium.

“ I AM HERE, TO HAND OUT THE MEDALS! ” All Might declared, the audience vigorously applauding at his cheesy entrance, having jumped down from the top of the stadium walls.

At this spectacle, Quixote began vibrating in excitement and anticipation, her frequent exposure to the Symbol of Peace having done little to quell the hero otaku within her. As All Might began handing out the third and second place medals, she looked upon his hulking form with literal stars in her eyes.

What felt like hours to Quixote passed as the number-one hero handed Tokoyami and Todoroki their medals alongside some words of praise and encouragement. Finally, he made it to the champion.

“ I’ll admit, young Quixote, I didn’t think you’d make it nearly as far as you did. ” All Might spoke in a much softer tone than she was used to hearing from the boisterous man, his statement dulling the light in her eyes.

“ But, I can say with certainty that this is one of the few times in my life that I’m glad to be proven wrong. Take heart, young Quixote, you’ve far surpassed my every expectation, impressed me beyond belief. You earned this medal, wear it like a badge of honor. ” Every word he spoke made Quixote’s mood a bit brighter. By the time that he put the gold medal on her, her eyes were even brighter than when he started.

He meant every word of what he said and then some. This shining star of a girl had proven that young Midoriya… that he could have been a great hero even without the one-in-a-billion quirk they both carried. She exemplified every heroic quality that he could think of. Honestly, if he hadn’t met young Midoriya, he would have been tempted to make her his successor then and there. But for now, all he could give her were his honest thoughts and a genuine smile.

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Once more, the students of 1-A were gathered in their usual classroom. They had been given the remainder of the week after the festival to recover and relax. That relaxation was thrown out of the nearest window with the entrance of a no-longer-mummified Aizawa.

“Alright, as some of you may know, after every sports festival, pros send in offers for internships. These typically won’t begin in earnest until your second or third years. Think of them as an expression of interest or an investment in your future careers.” Aizawa then showed the number of offers for each student who got any.

Shouto Todoroki - 1,762

Katsuki Bakugou - 1,126

Tenya Iida - 375

Fumikage Tokoyami - 183

Izuku Midoriya - 109

Ochako Uraraka - 74

Mina Ashido - 56

Momo Yaoyorozu - 37

Yuuga Aoyama - 24

Denki Kaminari - 22

Eijirou Kirishima - 19

Hanta Sero - 16

Tsuyu Asui - 15

Mezou Shouji - 13

Kyouka Jiro - 9

Minoru Mineta - 6

Tooru Hagakure - 3

Don Quixote - 1

“If you didn’t get any offers, or don’t want to go with any of the offers you got, then come to me during office hours to get a list of agencies that are partnered with U.A. to choose from. Remember to hand in your choice of internship by Wednesday.” Aizawa droned on.

“What the heck, sensei!” Kirishima stood up. “Why’d the class rep only get one offer? She won the whole festival!” Many of the other students voiced their agreements.

“Bias.” Aizawa answered succinctly. “Most of the pros don’t believe she has a future as a hero, or, at the very least, a long one.” He let that sink in, some of the students realizing just how prejudiced their society truly was. “Now, before you go over your choices, you will be choosing your hero aliases since you’ll be doing some fieldwork. Though these codenames can be changed, odds are if you have any level of fame or notoriety, they’ll stick. So choose carefully or-”

“There’ll be hell to pay!” Midnight cut off Aizawa and entered. She sauntered up to the podium while Aizawa slunk off somewhere with his iconic sleeping bag. “Since Eraserhead here doesn’t have the best naming sense, I’ll be your judge today.”

Quixote was the first to write down her codename and present it to the class, beating out even Aoyama’s confidence. “The Dreaming Hero; Don Quixote!” She spoke with absolute confidence. So much so that Midnight didn’t bother asking her usual questions, simply approving the name and letting the girl retake her seat.

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“Well, as disappointing as it is that you only got one offer, I’m curious about who sent it.” Mina spoke to Quixote over lunch.

“Yeah, you beat the toughest guys in class and won the whole thing! I can’t believe that they’d refuse to send you offers over something so stupid!” Tooru huffed in indignation, though she had only gotten two offers more than her friend.

Quixote was taken aback a little by how fervently Tooru was defending her. “I know not who sent the offer. ‘Twas only a notice to meet with sir Nezu after class.” She stated.

“Huh, that’s weird. I didn’t get anything like that.” Mina then looked at Tooru, who gave an exaggerated shrug, answering the unasked question.

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Quixote strode into Nezu’s office, unbothered by the large doors opening upon her arrival. She had become wise to many of the rodent’s more common tricks. “Ah, miss Quixote. Take a seat. Would you like some tea?” Nezu gave his usual conversation starter.

Quixote accepted the offered tea and sat down before the dean. “Hast there been a problem with mine internship offer, sir Nezu?” Quixote got straight to the point, nearly as blunt as Tsu.

“Not a problem per se, simply that this offer is of a unique nature.” The chimera clarified after a sip of tea. “You see, this offer is not from any one agency, but from the U.A. staff as a whole. Though some of our instructors will be less available due to having their own personal interns.”

Nezu analyzed Quixote’s various stages of reaction, confusion, then understanding, then realization. “D-Dost that include…?” She couldn’t even finish the question, her excitement getting the better of her.

Nezu’s only response was a knowing grin.

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[EXTRA: OF THE INSTRUCTORS AND THEIR AREAS OF EXPERTISE!]

Eraserhead: I’ll teach her how to capture an enemy.

Vlad King: I’ll teach her hand-to-hand techniques.

Thirteen: I’ll give her that rescue lesson that was interrupted.

Midnight: I’ll show her how to deal with the vultures.

Cementoss: I’ll teach her how to minimize property damage.

Power Loader: I’ll get her an equipment upgrade and teach her how to maintain it properly.

Present Mic: I’ll teach her how to reassure the public.

Nezu: I’ll educate her in long-term strategy.

All Might: I’ll teach her how to patrol efficiently.

Snipe: Imma give her a gun.

Everyone: SNIPE NO!

Snipe: Snipe yes.

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Chapter Text

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Quixote’s internship consisted mostly of fulfilling the requirements to obtain a firearms license, much to the horror of all of the staff aside from Snipe and Nezu, and optimizing her hero uniform with Power Loader and the support department student who stayed at U.A. for the summer.

Majima was apprehensive about letting Eraserhead’s problem child meet with his own, however, he resigned himself to the inevitability of such an apocalyptic event, especially since he was convinced that his boss subsisted entirely on tea and chaos.

Hatsume and Quixote had become fast friends due to their similar manic energy and passion for their chosen careers, as well as Quixote being undaunted by the explosive nature of Hatsume’s work. The two of them had proposed several revisions and upgrades to Quixote’s suit that Power Loader was sure had to violate at least a handful of international treaties.

He had ultimately relented on a few modifications, the pair’s sheer tenacity winning over his patience. The gun and holster, which had been approved by Snipe shortly after Quixote had obtained her license to carry, a complete overhaul of the innards of her helmet, including a built-in radio for communication and a user interface that could identify known villains via a face recognition program, and a simple streamlining and material upgrade for the majority of the suit.

Hatsume had wanted to add her recently revised hover boots to the ensemble; such a proposal, alongside the proposal to get rid of the cape, was swiftly denied by Quixote. Something about her running shoes, not that Majima was paying too much attention to that particular conversation, being busy vetoing Hatsume’s wrist-mounted rocket launchers at the time.

The rest of the internship was more in-depth and personalized lessons by the professors that expanded upon what she had already learned in the basic curriculum. When she had her lesson with Aizawa, she expressed her concerns.

“Sir Aizawa, I possess some concerns about young Iida. Prithee, allow me to share them.” Quixote requested during a break in their sparring, a lavender-haired man laying in an exhausted heap some distance away.

“What is it, problem child?” Aizawa droned, perfectly aware of Tensei’s recent career-ending injury and the possible effects on his student.

“To be rather blunt. I have concluded that young Iida is sallying forth to hunt down that villainous hero killer. A noble goal to be sure, but if sir Ingenium could not fell such a foe…” She didn’t even want to think of the consequences of such an interaction.

Aizawa carefully maintained his poker face. “And what makes you believe that?”

Quixote made direct eye contact with him, a feat that most students, especially first-years, were too afraid to accomplish. “Because he is under the guidance of sir Manual, a fine hero, but I doubt that he was young Iida’s greatest offer. Sir Manual’s agency is located in Hosu, which is the hero killer’s last known location as well as the site where sir Ingenium was… defeated.” She couldn’t bring herself to speak of Ingenium’s forced retirement aloud.

Nezu’s chipper voice rang from some speakers hidden in the gym. “Not to worry, miss Don Quixote. I have already put the pieces together for this particular puzzle, and have arranged for Snipe to monitor young Iida after he has finished getting you that license. Would you like to accompany him as a form of patrol?”

Nezu already knew the answer to his question long before he had asked it; an excited and resounding agreement, much to his employee’s chagrin.

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Hosu was practically the same as any other city in the area, though a bit smaller than Musutafu. Plenty of large buildings and shaded alleyways to navigate, though that was Eraserhead’s expertise, not Snipe’s.

The Texas-themed hero wasn’t an expert when it came to night patrols, but he had been rooftop hopping enough to show his new favorite student the ropes. The pair of them had gotten to the city in the late afternoon, enough time to get their bearings before patrolling around the same area that Manual’s agency covered.

Quixote’s new weapon sat heavy on her belt where there had previously been a short sword. It wasn’t the weapon’s weight that dragged her down, nor was it the lethality of the device. It was the special ammunition that felt like lead.

A singular bullet, a gift from her mentor after she had gotten her handgun approved for field use, lay in a small compartment built into her holster. Lethal beyond measure. Enough to kill anyone or anything that lay in its path.

The bullet itself didn’t weigh down on her that much, it was what it represented. This time, if she crossed paths with an insurmountable foe, or one of those lab-grown abominations again, that she would take the shot before anyone else could be hurt.

The duo leapt from rooftop to rooftop, occasionally making their way through alleys when needed. Their patrol was only interrupted by one of two things; a crime in progress, or anytime Quixote spotted a new hero, briefly pausing to fangirl about them and resisting the urge to collect their autograph.

The first couple of nights were little to write home about, even when it came to the subject of their patrol, as Iida was seldom brought on night patrol. Their only encounters of note being a mugging and a couple of petty thieves, which were resolved with great efficiency.

It was on their third day of surveillance that all hell broke loose.

The sound of a distant explosion and a beastly roar were the only warnings afforded to them. By the time the pair had made it to ground zero, it was already a disaster.

Fires raged on everywhere, several buildings had collapsed, and several heroes were engaged in combat with a handful of Noumu.

“Just what in tarnation is goin’ on here?” Snipe exclaimed.

“‘Tis The League’s monsters. Those fiends art endangering the common people now.” Quixote surmised, righteous fury lacing her tone. At once, the two of them leapt into action. Snipe had gone to assist the pros as ranged support while Quixote focused on evacuating what civilians she could.

While she was evacuating the non-combatants, one of the heroes on site approached her. “Hey, you’re a first year at U.A. right?” She turned to meet a face that she had become familiar with over the past couple of days; that of The Normal Hero: Manual.

“Verily I am. Is there an issue?” She asked, every fiber of her being hopeful that her fears were incorrect.

“Have you seen Tenya around? I lost track of him shortly after that monster showed up.” Quixote grimaced beneath her helmet.

“I must apologize, but I have not espied young Iida since those foul beasts appeared.” That answer only served to worry the hero even more. She quickly activated her new radio. “This is Don Quixote. The armor has been tarnished. I repeat, the armor has been tarnished.” That was their phrase for a worst case scenario, especially so, given current circumstances.

“Dagnabbit!” Snipe cursed over the radio. “Got a lead on his location?” He questioned with noticeable strain, likely in the middle of combat.

She was about to answer in the negative when a text from Izuku popped up on her helmet’s UI. “I have just received a request for backup from sir Midoriya, it is a nearby alley.” She told him.

After some background noise, Snipe’s voice could be heard once more. “Alright, I’m a bit tied up at the moment. As much as I don’t want you in danger, I’m givin’ you permission to go to his aid and engage in any necessary combat. But yer first priority is gettin’ him and anyone else outta there, y’hear?”

“Understood, I shall arrive posthaste!” Quixote moved towards her destination with utmost urgency, well aware that every second counted. When she arrived, she saw the back of who she assumed to be Stain engaging in combat with Todoroki, with Izuku, Iida, and the pro hero; Native laying on the ground, seemingly unable to get up.

The alley was too narrow for her weapon of choice to be effective, so she drew her sword with her right hand and held her pistol with her left. Just as Stain was about to strike Todoroki, she fired.

The shot hit one of the walls, not aimed at anything in particular. “I command thee, halt villain!” She made her demands and threat level clear. Stain had instinctively backed off from Todoroki and looked towards the origin of the gunfire.

“More of you already? Guess that means more fakes are on the way. Good for you, brats, you get to live another day.” Todoroki lunged at the villain, only for Stain to vanish as if he were only a mirage.

After confirming that Stain wasn’t nearby, she rushed to perform first aid on the fallen combatants. She handled Native's injuries while Todoroki patched up Iida, with Izuku recovering from Stain’s quirk fast enough to tend to his own injuries.

Quixote had just barely finished when an ear-piercing screech assailed them. She spotted a flying Noumu headed straight for them. With the reaction time of an expert, she aimed her gun at the creature’s built-in weak point, said target growing closer by the millisecond.

Once more, Quixote fired. This time, the shot was aimed at a proper target. It struck true, piercing the beast’s brain and halting the majority of its momentum due to the sheer power behind the customized firearm, or hand cannon, as Hatsume called it.

The Noumu landed in a bloody heap at the alley’s entrance. Within moments, many heroes were on the scene, either attracted by the Noumu or the sound of gunfire.

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The attack ended as abruptly as it began, with Endeavor on the scene incinerating all of the man-made monstrosities, and many pros being called to assist with the terrorism, the actual fighting only lasted for about an hour. What did take time was all of the wounded and deceased, as well as the substantial property damage.

Quixote managed to meet back up with Snipe quickly and gave her account of her encounter with Stain while it was still fresh in her mind. Hours later, they had met with the chief of the HCPD or Hosu City Police Department. The both of them had filled out their incident reports, with Quixote giving her formal statement about the hero killer.

Following that, the three of them made their way to the hospital where her classmates and Native were being treated, to gather the statements of the others, no doubt.

The hospital room that housed the three interns held a very mixed air; Iida’s fury at his target getting away, Izuku’s relief that his friends were okay, and Todoroki’s… something. The boys’ attention was squarely on the entering trio, the former showing surprise at the entrance of Snipe.

The chief didn’t have much to say to Izuku or Todoroki as they had acted in defense of others, even if they currently lacked licenses. A slap on the wrist. Iida’s case was much more severe; he had sought out a highly dangerous villain with the intent to kill and had used his quirk in an attempt to harm said villain.

Iida didn’t appear to register much of the one-sided conversation, instead glaring at Quixote from behind his cracked glasses.

Once the chief had left with the promise that Iida would be brought into custody once he recovered, Iida finally spoke his mind. “You let him get away.” He stated coldly, pure hatred being directed at Quixote.

“I removed three injured people and one hero intern from danger with a single action. As much as I would have liked to bring that cur to justice, getting all of you to safety was mine utmost priority.” Quixote gave her honest answer, Snipe giving a small nod.

“You let him get away .” His emotions now leaked into his voice now. “After what he did to Tensei and so many other heroes, you just let him leave!”

“Now hold on a minute, pardner. Don Quixote here made the right call. Y’all ain’t experienced enough to take on the likes of that outlaw. Speakin’ of which, what in Sam Hill made you think you could handle someone like him by yer lonesome?” Snipe chastised his emotionally troubled student.

“It is not a matter of if I can. I simply must avenge him.” Iida spoke with a burning passion. A flame that would burn him out if it wasn’t snuffed.

“Avenge? Sir Ingenium is alive! Though he may no longer be able to tread upon the field directly, he still lives and breathes!” Quixote’s fire matched Iida’s own in intensity.

“What would you know? You could never understand what it’s like to see him in such a state! I need to bring that monster to justice!” Quixote’s face settled into an eerie expressionless mask at Iida’s words.

“You’re right. To see someone you care about so much hurt like that, as if a piece of yourself had been torn away. I’ll never know how that feels.” She then turned around and left without a hint of emotion, having had her fill of arguments for the day.

Snipe’s expression wasn’t visible beneath his mask, but the others in the room could feel the disappointment behind it. “We’ll finish this talk once we all mosey on down to the station.” At that, he left to check on his pupil.

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Iida’s final sentence was expulsion from U.A.’s heroics department, only to be let back in after at least one semester and if Hound Dog deemed him emotionally stable. He wasn’t in much legal trouble due to the fact that he hadn’t managed to injure Stain at all and his family having good lawyers.

Most of 1-A were surprised that the robotic, rules-loving Iida had gotten booted out of the department for vigilantism of all things. Aizawa had used the empty seat for his new favorite problem child, Hitoshi Shinso, to enter the heroics department following his performance in the sports festival.

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Chapter Text

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“HARK! Fellow squires, ‘tis a most auspicious occasion!” Quixote shouted within the testing site’s lobby, alerting the other various heroics departments to their presence. “Should we weather the trials of to-day, we shall take the next major step along our journeys of heroism!” She then raised a hand in cheer, many of her classmates following suit, their morales sufficiently boosted.

Aizawa had wisely kept a safe distance from his ‘hell class’ as he had begun to call them such as to not be associated. His plan fell apart when a certain seafoam green-haired bane of his existence found him anyway and kidnapped him to the viewing area.

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The first part of the exam was simple; eliminate at least two other examinees by hitting their designated weak points with the provided balls while protecting your own.

Quixote didn’t much like the idea of needing to eliminate other potential heroes to succeed, but she was determined to obtain her very own (provisional) hero license. Due to her distaste of the rules, she had laid low for most of the first half, eliminating the first two unfortunate fools who saw her as easy pickings due to her quirk status.

After getting her eliminations, Quixote only fought to incapacitate rather than eliminate. Over time, the mass of people who sought to eliminate her and her classmates realized just how difficult that would be, alongside most of them being eliminated by those who possessed larger areas of influence due to the nature of their abilities such as the hero hopeful that had summoned a mighty gale.

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Though she didn’t care much for the former half of the exam, Quixote had naught but praises to sing of the latter half. This portion focused primarily on rescue.

With boundless enthusiasm, she charged into the destroyed exam site, searching for survivors.

She had a talent for rescue, it seemed, as with her ever-present smile and ability to blabber on for hours upon hours, most of the mock rescuees were either reassured by her presence or were distracted by her to the point that they had reached the triage zone before they even realized that they were being rescued.

According to the radio chatter, Gang Orca and many of his sidekicks had entered the arena as faux villains. As much as Quixote wished to meet him in person and even test her mettle against a top ten hero, she knew that the rescue operation took priority. She also had her habit of charging into combat recklessly, mercilessly drilled out of her by Aizawa.

Though she was far from averse to combat, she much preferred rescue work. The act of saving and comforting civilians was fulfilling in a way that fighting villainous curs lacked. It didn’t hurt that she was well-suited to the task, either.

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The results were in. Quixote held her (provisional) hero license aloft as if it were a gift from the heavens. She had passed, and with flying colors, no less.

Although Quixote had obtained her license with little issue, some of her classmates were less fortunate. Shinso had faltered in the first half of the exam due to his limited training and the sheer volume of opponents he had faced. Todoroki had apparently had a conflict with a fellow examinee during the rescue portion of the exam while they fought off Gang Orca. And Bakugou had failed for obvious reasons, many of the rescuees were less than pleased with his attitude.

Still, the overwhelming majority of them had passed, a cause for celebration.

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They decided on celebrating in the common area of the dormitory, since renting out some other place would be too costly for most of them, and nobody felt right about sticking Momo with the bill, sans the woman herself.

To the surprise of many of her classmates, Quixote was even more of a party animal than Mina. She was all over the place making sure that everyone present enjoyed themselves, even getting into a breakdancing contest with Mina. The pink girl won, of course, but Quixote had given her a run for her money.

The party eventually wound down, with everyone besides Quixote tiring out and turning in for the night. Quixote herself stayed behind to clean up, much to Aizawa’s approval.

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“Thou must telleth me everything, sir Midoriya! Which villains didst thou bestest in combat? What other heroes were there?” On his way to see U.A.’s newest ward, Izuku was persistently questioned by his class representative about the events of the Shie Hassaikai raid that took place about a week ago.

She had already grilled Ochacko, Tsu, and Eijirou, the others who had been there for information, but she wouldn’t be satisfied until she heard everything from the one who had been at the center of it all. He tried his best to answer her questions, his art of speed talking coming in handy for once due to the speed and volume of questions being asked.

Eventually, he arrived at Aizawa’s on-campus dorm room, where Eri was being moved to. It was decided that this would be the safest place for Eri because of Aizawa’s ability to cancel out her quirk in case it went out of control.

He knocked on the door. A few moments later, Aizawa answered. “Problem child, why is there another problem child with you?” Oh, he forgot she was there.

“Ah, um, she just sorta… followed me here…” Izuku stuttered out, not making eye contact with his professor.

Quixote gasped behind him, bringing attention to the small girl hiding behind Aizawa’s legs. “Who is this adorable little creature?” She squealed, attempting to embrace the little snowball before Aizawa wrapped her up in his capture scarf.

“Don’t surprise her like that, problem child. She’s still getting used to U.A..” He waited for a nod of recognition before freeing one of the many loud blondes that he had become acquainted with.

Quixote looked at the hiding child and cleared her throat in embarrassment. “I apologize if I startled thee. Perchance I shouldst introduce myself first. I am Quixote, or Don Quixote, with Don as a signifier of my nobility.”

The white-haired girl slowly walked out from behind her guardian. “I-I’m Eri. Are you a hero like Mr. Deku?”

“Verily, I am a hero! The Dreaming Hero: Don Quixote!” The Dreaming Hero then struck a cheesy pose. That seemed to bring Eri out of her shell.

Quixote, Izuku, and Eri spoke at length about heroes, fostering yet another hero otaku. Aizawa simply watched from the sidelines until he got a call from All Might needing some help with paperwork. With an elongated sigh and no shortage of reluctance, he left the three of them alone, hoping from the bottom of his shriveled heart that Murphy’s law wouldn’t be put into practice today.

The other three were so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t even noticed the absence of the hobo. After who knows how long discussing heroes and helping Eri with her newfound hobby of drawing, her single horn began to glow faintly.

None of them noticed, not until Quixote began to glow a golden hue. Izuku panicked while Eri froze, both realizing what was happening. Izuku looked around for Aizawa, only to find that he was no longer in the room.

Realizing something had gone wrong, though unsure of exactly what, Quixote unlocked her phone and handed it to Izuku. “Contact sir Aizawa with this.” She then brought up his contact in her phone.

Izuku scrambled to call Eri’s guardian while Quixote, still unaware of what was happening to her, comforted the small girl and soothed her worries. “M-Mister Aizawa! Y-Yes this is Midoriya. Eri’s quirk is going off right now. Quixote’s trying to calm her down but she’s being affected by it. I don’t know how much longer…” Izuku spoke over the phone frantically.

For a tense minute, Quixote tried fruitlessly to calm Eri down, something about her disappearing. Though Eri’s quirk didn’t seem to affect Quixote in any meaningful way, the telltale glow surrounding her indicated otherwise. Then, in an instant, Quixote simply… stopped. She didn’t just stop soothing Eri, but stopped moving completely, her eyes unfocused, her mind somewhere else entirely.

It was then that Aizawa sped into the room and erased Eri’s quirk as soon as he laid his eyes upon her. The golden glow stopped, but Quixote’s distant… no, haunted expression remained.

“You okay, problem child?” Aizawa asked as he grabbed her shoulder. This seemed to snap her out of whatever daze she had been in.

“Ah, yes. I am… fine.” The woman hesitated. Aizawa wasn’t buying it. Though he couldn’t find any physical injuries, or even any notable differences in appearance despite how long she had been exposed to Rewind, he knew that her mind was most definitely not fine.

“Go to your room and rest, it’s getting late.” He concluded. He would need to speak with Ryo about this later.

“I… suppose it is.” It was jarring, to say the least. She was so lifeless compared to her usual demeanor, stalking out of the room and towards her own dorm.

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The squire stood before a full-length mirror in her dorm room, her mind racing a mile a minute. Eri’s quirk had roused her from her dream, brought her to her senses. The metaphorical dam within her memory erased as if it had never been placed there to begin with.

Rest, the hero told her. How could she rest now? Now that she had remembered the truth of who she was. What she had lost.

Before her stood not an image of herself as she is, but her former self, clad in off-white formal wear with a dark brown coat and black boots, reminiscent of centuries old military uniforms, alongside a crimson fur boa over her left shoulder, trailing down to her ankles. But that wasn’t what stuck out to the squire, it was the eyes of her reflection. A bright glowing crimson with vertical pupils, contracted into slits. They were empty, lifeless, soulless. The real squire’s own amber eyes now showing the same emptiness.

What was she doing here? Should she leave? This place wasn’t for someone like her, after all. But then, where would she go? She no longer had a place to call home, nor a family to welcome her back. Then what? Should she continue this lie? Keep putting on that juvenile act?

Then, a voice came to the forefront of her mind, a memory. “ I have conceived an idea most ingenious! I will become… a hero! ” It sounded so ridiculous at the time. But…

The squire looked at the cheap piece of plastic that she had formerly worked so hard to obtain. The picture on it displaying her own face with the widest and brightest smile imaginable. Perhaps that stupid, impossible dream… wasn’t so impossible after all. The only question was:

Would she need to live a lie to reach that dream?

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For nearly a year, the squire donned her false persona. For nearly a year, she studied the art of heroism. For nearly a year, she lived a happy lie.

It was fun, she had to admit. Their concert during the culture festival, celebrating Christmas, and going on her work study with Present Mic. The finals were brutal, but the squire was practically a walking encyclopedia due to her experiences. The practical portion was quite fun, actually, participating in mock battles with the fourth-years who were about to graduate.

Then their second year happened. It was all perfectly fine, idyllic, even. The sports festival went off without a hitch, claiming the gold medal for herself yet again. The first semester final pitted them not against their seniors, but their instructors, with herself and Hitoshi against Power Loader. Honestly, it wasn’t that difficult of a fight, both of them were agile enough to evade all of Majima’s traps and capture him.

Then they went to their summer training camp, which had been replaced by internships the previous year. They worked themselves to the bone, for sure, but they found time to enjoy themselves out in the woods.

Starting with a distant cloud of smoke bathed in blue light, the squire’s dream became a nightmare.

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[Extra: In which Don Quixote is interviewed by her instructor.]

“GOOOOD MORNING LISTENERS! THIS IS YOUR HOST PRESENT MIC!!! I’M HERE FOR AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH THE TWICE WINNER OF U.A.’S SPORTS FESTIVAL; THE DREAMING HERO: DON QUIXOTE!”

“Greetings to all! ‘Tis a great honor and privilege to be here!”

“Now that we have introductions out of the way, let’s get right into the questions that our listeners are just dying to hear the answers to. First one; and this is by the request of many of our fans, are you really quirkless?”

“Verily, I am. Though I may not have been blessed with a supernatural ability, I strive for heroism.”

“To keep chasing a dream like that, now that’s inspiring! Next question; why do you speak with such a strange accent?”

“Strange? I know not what thou meanest. I merely speak in the same manner as the heroes of old, those from before quirks and heroes became commonplace.”

“Going for the classical approach, eh? Interesting choice. Now that I’ve asked the two most prevalent questions, let’s open up for our listeners to call in and ask their questions personally!”

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Chapter Text

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The Squire had to admit, camping was fun. Sure, it was undercut by intense training, but she didn’t mind that. Exhaustion was quite a foreign concept to her.

It almost reminded her of the last time she went camping, when she had been with… she couldn’t bring herself to think of him now, aside from channeling his juvenile mannerisms into her own persona.

“ Could you imagine the looks of awe once we return home and share this tale? ” He had asked over a poorly constructed campfire.

“ A look of disgust would be more accurate. ” She replied, gesturing to the half-cooked bear meat that the pair were partaking in. His only response was joyful laughter, none of her jabs or comments could ever take the wind out of his sails. Not that she wanted to, not back then, at least.

At present, she was to participate in a test of courage. A silly competition where the students of 2-B would attempt to scare them along a predetermined trail. She sincerely doubted that any of their attempts would succeed on her, but she supposed that it would be amusing to see what they came up with.

Her musings were interrupted with the acrid scent of smoke. She looked up, locating the origin; a smokestack lit by blue flames. Wood didn’t naturally burn such a color, so it must be the result of a quirk. A quirk that didn’t belong to any of the students or staff present at the camp.

As she turned to alert the members of the Wild Wild Pussycats that were with them, she saw Pixiebob on the ground beneath some sort of large magnet being held by a villain, another villain with a gecko mutation by their side spouting some nonsense about the Hero Killer. Said Hero Killer was believed to be dead after a sudden halt of activity following the Hosu incident. Many also believed that he was working with the League of Villains shortly before his presumed death.

The gecko man began fighting Mandelay with a monstrosity that The Squire hesitated to call a sword, made by duct-taping several smaller blades into a behemoth of impracticality. Following that, the magnet villain began fighting with Tiger, leaving the downed Pixiebob behind.

Mandelay was distracted during her fight, constantly looking around. “Have any of you seen Kota?” She asked hurriedly. Then it clicked, she was concerned for the child’s safety.

“No, but I know where he probably is.” Izuku volunteered. He was one of the least likely among The Squire’s classmates to get himself killed, normally, that is. With a child involved, she knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for Kota’s wellbeing. She concluded that it was better not to risk such an outcome.

“Tell me where, sir Midoriya! I shall deliver the young one to safety posthaste!” She requested loudly with the poetic drivel that came with her adopted persona. Izuku hesitated for a moment, but one look from her ‘Serious Face’™ as Mina called it was enough to get him to spill the beans, describing a clearing near a cliffside where the boy hid away from his troubles. Even with such vague directions, she was confident that she would find him.

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The hulking form of Muscular loomed over the small child that was Kota, wiping some water off of his face that had come from the boy’s quirk, activated in desperation. “Now I remember why you seem so familiar!” He boomed. “You’re the Waterhose’s kid, aren’t you?” His voice lowered. Kota could only whimper, too terrified of his parents’ murderer to even speak. “Guess I can finally get some revenge for this.” The monster wearing human flesh gestured to his artificial eye, the real one taken out during his capture. “Now… show me your blood!”

With a maniacal laugh that was sure to haunt Kota into the afterlife, Muscular slowly wound up a punch, large muscle fibers piercing his skin and wrapping around the limb. Then, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, he swung his engorged arm at the six-year-old boy. Fist met flesh, and a body went flying away from him. A body of a young blonde woman, rather than a child.

The Squire landed roughly on her feet, sliding backwards a few centimeters. Some blood escaped her mouth from the sheer force of the villain’s strike. That singular strike had broken two of her ribs, possibly three. “Vile fiend. Thou wouldst murder a child with such glee!?” She spoke with unfettered rage, her true emotions aligning with her heroic persona. She looked over to the unmoving form of Kota, physically unharmed due to her pushing him away at the last moment, thankfully, but unconscious from the shock.

Muscular laughed. “Still standing after that punch, huh. Guess there’s a reason why the boss wants you dead. Well, I’d still kill you anyway. You might give me a half-decent fight after a stunt like that. So go ahead, hero wannabe, show me your blood!” With that, muscle fibers wrapped around the rest of the villain’s body as he charged towards The Squire.

She barely dodged the first punch that Muscular threw, countering with a straight of her own to little effect. Though her physical abilities were considerable, they were far outclassed by a man who was solely built for overwhelming strength and durability. Muscular sent a left hook straight into her jaw, sending her stumbling backwards. He followed up with a kick to her abdomen that sent her flying into a nearby tree at the edge of the clearing.

“I’m a bit disappointed, but I have to admit; you’re one of the few people to ever dodge one of my attacks, and even countered to boot! Not that it did you much good.” Muscular mocked her as she slid down the tree’s trunk and collapsed face-first into the dirt. “I think I’ll go dispose of that pipsqueak first. Can’t wait to see your face when I do.” Muscular continued his crazed laughter as he slowly and deliberately made his way to the unconscious Kota.

“Villainous fiend! I… I will not allow thee to-” The Squire struggled in vain to get to her feet, bearing the immense pain that the action brought her. But… what could she even do? She was at an overwhelming physical disadvantage, alone, and bereft of her equipment. Yet, she couldn’t allow this child to die, couldn’t allow herself to die. Not like this. She refused to be defeated by such a monster.

Even if it meant discarding everything she had built over the past year. Even if it meant regressing to her roots. Even if it meant being hunted down by those whom she called friends.

She would slay this beast.

As if reading her mind, the laces on her old running shoes, the final gift from her father, undid themselves.

The Squire dismounted her steed.

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Muscular was having the time of his life. Busted out of prison, then getting to unleash hell on some stuck-up hero students. He even got to find the kid of that hero couple that took his left eye and got him carted off to prison in the first place.

Speaking of that brat.

He stood over the limp child, hoping that those damned heroes were watching from whatever afterlife they had ended up in as he sent their son right to them. Then, he felt something behind him, right where he had sent that blonde girl flying just a few seconds ago.

He turned around with annoyance. That little shit sure was persistent, like all of those other heroes that he swatted down like flies. The only thing he saw was a long patch of crimson fur, and two pinpricks of the same color, like the eyes of a predator. No, not a predator, a monster.

Then the world went black.

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The Squire stepped back from the drained corpse that was once Muscular. With her newly acquired blood, she formed a replica of her old outfit around her and a knight’s helm over her head. She didn’t want them to recognize her. If she would leave them all behind, she would rather they remember her as the heroic image she put forth, rather than the monster that she truly was.

Muscular was a large enough morsel that she could form her entire Armadura and then some, though she would need to use some of her own blood if she wanted to form her lance.

As she approached the boy, now thankful that he wasn’t awake to witness these horrors, she sensed an odd presence, one of those Noumu, judging by the putrid scent. She looked towards the now rising body of Muscular, deciding to put him to use instead of disposing of the eyesore.

“Stall that Noumu until I return.” She stated plainly. The Blood Bag that was once an A-Class villain made no indication of acknowledgement, yet moved towards the undead abomination regardless.

With the eyesore gone for the moment, The Squire picked up Kota as gently as she could manage. Quickly, faster than most could perceive, she deposited him in the camp’s lodge before leaving without a trace.

Now unburdened, she made her way to where the Noumu and her creation were fighting. She noticed a third presence being carried by the beast; Ragdoll. With less than three strikes, she pummeled the creature into a bloody paste, though said blood was unappealing to her, rotted and full of chemicals as it was.

The Blood Bag moved forward in an attempt to drain the poor heroine dry, an attempt that was halted by a singular command from its master. Said master then disposed of the eyesore, the tool having fulfilled its use.

She deposited Ragdoll’s unconscious form next to Kota’s, leaving the same way she came. By the time she was in the combat zone proper, she could smell blood beneath the scent of smoke and the dissipating toxic gas, likely emitted by one of the villain’s quirks.

Moving in, she found three people in a clearing. Two of them, The Squire recognized; Ochako and Tsu. The third was a blonde girl that couldn’t have been much older than the other two, brandishing a bloodied knife as she slashed at the other two women.

The Squire stepped into the clearing, slowly and methodically. Tsu and the blonde villainess picked up on her presence immediately, Ochako following shortly after noticing where the others’ attentions were directed.

“I suggest you cease this meaningless battle. Your forces are already being routed as I speak.” She warned the villain.

Said villain sniffed the air for a moment. “You smell like blood. Did you kill someone?” She asked with glee that would rival people that The Squire would rather forget, she could almost see the Crow-shaped mask plastered over the blonde’s face.

“Yes. Muscular is dead, along with that abomination you lot sent to kidnap Ragdoll.” She brazenly admitted to murdering someone in front of two hero students, not something most would do.

“Wow! You killed Muscular? How’d you do it? What did his blood taste like?” She asked excitedly, a fanged smile blooming across her face.

“Saltier than I would have liked.” The Squire answered honestly, still trying to process the villain’s odd reactions. It seemed that her quirk required her to drink blood, judging from the unusual question and the blood-storing apparatus that she was clad in. “But that’s besides the point.” She directed her killing intent towards the villain. “Go back to where you came from.”

Instead of cowering in fear, as The Squire had come to expect of most people, the villainess’ face flushed and her eyes glimmered with newfound zeal. “Actually, can I… go with you instead?” The blonde had the nerve to look bashful as she spoke, a complete one-eighty from earlier when she was slashing at the two thoroughly confused hero students.

The Squire remained silent for a moment, the villainess taking that as an opportunity to elaborate. “Well, I only started working with Shiggy since mister Stainy worked with him before, but Shiggy isn’t at all what I expected, not cute in the slightest. And he’s mean.” The girl finished her rambling with a pout.

The Squire sighed after a moment. “Fine, come along if you wish. Only because I doubt anything short of killing you would stop you from following me around like a lost puppy.” This was at least one way to remove the threat.

The blonde’s eyes lit up even more somehow, she bounded over to The Squire with incredible agility. “Thanks for letting me tag along! I don’t think I got your name. Mine’s Himiko by the way!” Himiko introduced herself.

“Ah, I suppose I haven’t yet introduced myself.” The Squire spoke. “I am… Sancho.”

The pair of blood suckers left the clearing, one trailing after the other, leaving behind two very confused students.

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This was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.

Aizawa counted up the students after everything had calmed down. Including the ones that had been shipped off to the ICU due to the toxic gas produced by one of the villains’ quirks, he had thirty-eight in all. All of the students under Vlad were accounted for, even if they suffered the brunt of the gas attack. That left only eighteen students from his own class.

According to Todoroki, Bakugou had been kidnapped by the villains, taken through one of Kurogiri’s gates. The other absentee was completely unaccounted for.

Mandelay told him that she sent the representative on a mission to rescue Kota, who was later found in the main lodge next to an unconscious Ragdoll with no apparent injury. Though the rescue mission seemed to be a success, the person sent on it had apparently vanished without a trace.

After he confirmed the wellbeing of both Kota and Ragdoll, Aizawa was approached by Midoriya. “You’re looking for Quixote, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, she’s the only one besides Bakugou who’s unaccounted for.” He stated, he didn’t miss the young man’s wince at the reminder of Bakugou’s current predicament.

Midoriya made eye contact with his instructor. “I know where she went to find Kota. I can lead you there.”

Aizawa looked over to the remaining students being looked after by Vlad, said colleague giving him a subtle nod. “Lead the way, problem child.”

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The clearing showed signs of a struggle, that much was obvious with the damaged trees and upturned earth. The odd thing about it was that it completely lacked blood, there should have been at least some, considering the extent of the damages to the surroundings.

Aizawa heard a gasp from behind him. Being on high alert, he turned around as quickly as he could. “What is it?”

The source of the noise, Midoriya, only pointed to something on the ground in lieu of a verbal response. Aizawa understood the reaction immediately once he saw what had caused it.

A pair of worn brown running shoes, with the word ‘ROCINANTE’ plastered on the side of each. This particular pair of shoes was very familiar to the members of 2-A, as they were always accompanied by a certain student, one whose name was carved into the sole of each shoe.

DON QUIXOTE

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Chapter Text

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To say that the training camp attack was a PR nightmare was an understatement. This was the second time that U.A. students were attacked during school sanctioned events in as many years. And unlike the USJ incident, this one had lasting consequences.

One student kidnapped by the villains, and another one presumed dead. Those vultures calling themselves the press were having a field day, some even blaming Quixote’s quirk status for her presumed demise. Aizawa would have to look into those in particular, or, more likely, Nezu was already on it.

Aizawa entered the common room of 2-A’s dorms, where all of the able-bodied students of his were gathered per his request. Upon his entry, all of the students caved to silence.

“Consider this your post-incident briefing.” He started, making eye contact with every student he could. “Yaoyorozu, Jiro, and Hagakure are still in the hospital, and will be informed of the situation at a later time.”

He then began sharing the useful information, as much as it hurt. “You all need to pick a new vice-representative for your class.” He expected the shock and confusion, using his quirk to calm his students down.

“Did something happen to Yaoyorozu in the hospital?” Kaminari asked, not fully grasping the implication.

“No. Yaoyorozu is now your representative, taking Quixote’s place. As of seven-o-clock this morning, due to the circumstances and evidence surrounding her disappearance, Don Quixote has been officially classified as deceased.” Though he didn’t show it, the news still stung, even hours after he had first heard it. He had lost a student, a student with so much potential. He felt that the guilt wouldn’t leave him for a long time, if at all.

Asui looked pensive for a moment before speaking. “What about her family, kero ? How did they take the news?” Many in 2-A, including her, were aware that family was a sore subject for their passionate representative, though none of them knew the true reason for it.

“Don Quixote has no family. Living or deceased. For all intents and purposes, you all are the closest thing she had to one.” How he hated referring to his student in the past tense.

“Not even dead family members? How is that possible?” Ashido asked, many others sharing the same question.

Aizawa sighed. He knew that he would have to tell this story eventually, he just wished that the subject of said story was here to answer their questions in his stead. “To explain that, I have to give a lot more context. Might as well get comfortable; this is going to be a long story.” He took a seat of his own and began the painful retelling.

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3 years earlier: An unnamed lighthouse.

Now that Aizawa had expelled those snobs calling themselves hero material from his classes, he had a lot more time for his heroic pursuits. One such pursuit had led him to a decrepit old lighthouse, one of the few structures from the pre-quirk era that still stood on Japanese soil.

He had been investigating a small group of human traffickers, narrowing down their base of operations to just a few locations, this rickety old thing being one of them.

Though he was the only hero on site, there were about half a dozen police officers trailing him, ready to back him up at a moment’s notice. It was a group of criminals, after all, it’d be illogical to refuse assistance.

The rusty metal stairwell wrapping around the building’s exterior groaned under his weight as he climbed to the top. Atop the creaking steps was a rusted metal door, shut tightly, no immediate signs of recent use. Still, he had to press on, it was his job to do so.

There seemed to be no windows, an odd choice considering the structure’s purpose. Perhaps that was one of the many reasons that it had fallen into disuse over the centuries. Aizawa attempted to open the door only to be met with stiff resistance, the handle simply wouldn’t budge no matter how much force he put into it.

Aizawa then noticed the door’s rusted hinges, looking like they could give out at any moment. He broke them without hesitation. The door groaned as it fell outwards, now lacking any support.

The outside of the lighthouse was creepy. Old and poorly maintained as it was, it looked like your stereotypical horror movie set. Yet the interior, to Aizawa at least, was far more unsettling.

The interior of the structure housed only one proper room, the walls of said room were covered with hero memorabilia, some of which Aizawa recognized from his own childhood, but most of the articles looked far older than that. What part of the walls weren’t plastered over with various framed posters and the like were obscured by several small bookshelves, each one stocked to the brim with flashy hero magazines and biographies, with several outdated textbooks on hero ethics mixed in. On the wall to both of his immediate sides were jagged red crystals, definitely the result of a quirk. Looking back, those same crystals are what were jamming the door earlier, completely encasing the handle.

The ceiling was quite bare in comparison, sporting a lone lightbulb that bathed the room in a warm light. The floor, on the other hand, was a complete mess. Various crumpled up pieces of paper as well as pens, pencils, and markers of several colors littered the majority of the space. In one corner was a bundle of blankets and pillows in a loose approximation of bedding.

But what truly captured Aizawa’s attention was in the center of the chamber. Lying on their stomach, perched over what seemed to be a half-written letter, was a girl. She was short, about a meter and a half by his estimation, and had short, unruly golden hair framing wide amber eyes. She wore a dark brown coat over grey clothes made in a style that Aizawa didn’t recognize. Clashing with her formal yet disheveled attire was a pair of worn running shoes with text on the side, though he couldn’t quite read it from where he stood.

The girl clumsily got to her feet and addressed the intruder. “Who- who art thou? A visitor? Forsooth I hath not had the pleasure of company since…” She trailed off, desperately reaching for a lost memory.

“I’m a hero.” He stated. “I go by Eraserhead on the field.” He figured that with all of the merchandise surrounding them, the girl must love her heroes. If things went well, he would be able to figure out what was going on here.

The girl seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment. “A-A-A hero!? In my home!?” She then pounced on him with a wide smile, asking a myriad of questions that the hero didn’t remember in the slightest.

Over the course of a whirlwind of a conversation, Aizawa had learned that this girl had been trapped here for an unknown amount of time, with nothing other than her hero merch and blank sheets of paper to occupy her time. He also noticed that there were no traces of food or water inside the lighthouse. The girl was quite confused when he brought it up, as if the very concept of eating and drinking were foreign to her.

He also learned that this girl had been sending letters, although with no proper address, to the various heroes depicted within her abode. They all received a reply without fail. All in the same handwriting.

This entire situation screamed suspicious to Aizawa, so he made the decision to treat the girl as a rescue. “Let’s get out of here. I’m sure you want to see the outside and meet more heroes, right?”

The excitable girl gasped in awe. “Meet more heroes? ‘Tis such a joyous day! I shall sally forth posthaste!” That certainly got her moving.

“Before we go, I should’ve asked earlier, but what’s your name?” A simple question, one that he had forgotten to ask due to the girl’s unique personality.

The question seemed to catch her off-guard, almost like she never expected something simple like that. She stood on one foot and bent her leg, looking at the sole of her shoe. “Don… Quixote.”

Later on, he brought Quixote to Recovery Girl for a thorough medical examination. Despite having lived off of seemingly nothing for at least a few years, she was in perfect health, and capable of physical feats that would normally be impossible for someone of her stature and build.

At first, they thought it was her quirk, but a QF test read negative; the girl was quirkless. After that, the elderly heroine noticed more oddities about Aizawa’s newest problem child. She seemed tireless, not in the sense that she had a lot of stamina, but as if she were physically incapable of doing so. Though she did sleep, it was more out of instinct and habit than out of need for rest. She also healed from physical injuries far faster than any normal person should, sealing small cuts and ridding herself of bruises within minutes.

But the strangest of all was her blood. They had it examined for the QF test as well as running it through every database they had access to in order to find any relative of hers. Her blood didn’t match any known type, it also seemed denser, more viscous than normal blood. Whether due to the unique nature of her blood or there simply being no matches to begin with, they were unable to find any of Quixote’s relatives, living or dead. It was as if she had appeared out of the aether.

What made it even more difficult to completely identify her was her memory, or lack thereof. She couldn’t remember anything from before she ended up in that lighthouse, to the point where everything was a novelty to her.

Then Aizawa brought their findings to Nezu. If anyone could put the pieces together for this puzzle, it was the rat overlord himself. He tested Quixote on her academic knowledge, to surprising results. The girl was extremely knowledgeable, especially on subjects such as history and biology, and being fluent in several languages.

Aizawa later put her through some practical tests per Nezu’s suggestion, finding that she was better at hand-to-hand than even himself on a purely technical level, as well as being proficient with several different weapons, though she preferred an overly large lance for unknown reasons.

As he assessed her abilities, he saw potential in her that none of this year’s students possessed. That, coupled with her fascination with heroes led Aizawa to put forth the idea of enrolling her, moulding her into a model hero, much to Quixote’s own delight.

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Aizawa finished his abridged retelling of the events. “As for what exactly was going on back then, we never found out. Nezu’s leading theory on the matter is that she was some sort of test subject, but it’s still just a theory.”

With Aizawa’s conclusion, the room was cast into an oppressive silence. The students still trying to process all of this new information. It explained so much about why Quixote was the way that she was, and yet it only left them with more burning questions. Though, none of them were in a state to voice such questions.

Seeing that his students would be busy in their own heads for the time being, Aizawa left. He had a press conference to prepare for.

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“Wow, nice place you got here!” Himiko chirped. She stood before a large villa with a distinct electric blue roof alongside her new BFF (Bloody Friends Forever).

“It isn’t mine. Or, it wasn’t until a few hours ago.” Sancho replied dryly, having moved into the final stage of grief over this sassy lost child that seemed glued to her side. The building in question had been left to her by an old friend. Shocking that someone like her would be included in someone’s last will and testament, but considering the author… it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination.

It was surprisingly easy to claim her ‘inheritance’ and keep her relative anonymity intact. She merely needed to contact the law firm that her friend had hired to look after her assets after she ‘passed away’, and answer a few questions that ‘only Sancho would know’.

Eccentric as ever, that woman.

Nevertheless, now Sancho had a place to call home, and a frankly unreasonable amount of money, factoring in all of the bank accounts that she had managed for… Father…

She mentally shook herself out of her reverie and strolled up to the unfamiliar manor as if she owned the place. She did own the place, but that was besides the point.

Missing an extra set of footsteps, she spoke, not turning around to do so. “Though it may not be cold this time of year, it wouldn’t do to stay outside all night, now would it?” She hated how the chipper ex-League member had wormed her way into Sancho’s cold and desolate heart.

Once inside, Sancho removed her helm, uncomfortable as it was. She would need to adjust it later. Himiko let out a shrill squeal. “Oh my God! You’re such a cutie under there! Wait, you’re that hero student that Shiggy wanted us to kill. But you’re a villain, right? Or maybe vigilante, now that I think about it.”

“That heroics student was merely a persona that I have discarded. And I am no vigilante, they at least have some higher cause that they fight for.” Sancho inspected the place that was to be her home for the foreseeable future. Far from the worst accommodations that she had dealt with, but nothing could compare to… on second thought, a comparison like that was quite unfair.

Himiko followed behind her, that lost puppy comparison that Sancho had made when they first met proving rather accurate. “So you were, like, undercover or something? That’s so cool.” It seemed that Sancho’s new pet cat would find any and every reason to admire her.

“Or something. Pick a room and go to sleep, I don’t care which one.” Sancho pointedly ignored Himiko’s comment of choosing Sancho’s own master bedroom as she retired for the night, though it was more early morning by this point.

Laying in a bed far too large for someone of her stature, Sancho contemplated what she would do next. This world held no place for her; had never had a place for her. She would need to carve her own place in it. Sure, she was at no want of money, but she was still required to feed every few months or so.

Would she fall into seclusion once more? No. She had enough of that. Then, her wandering mind dredged up another unwelcome memory.

“ The night approacheth with great haste; Yet thou shalt hew open a path, cleaving the shadows in twain, With the blessings and approval of thy family of which there is no equal, Challenge and vanquish all things perilous, And at last—reach true happiness; Thus how indubitable, The magnificence with which mine ingenious adventures of to-day shall shine. ” A far too familiar male voice echoed in her head, only to be undercut by a female voice.

“ Which is… our adventure, as well. You remember the words, right? A Hero must maintain a head clear of corruption, speech free of deceit, and conduct guided by clemency. Show courage in adventure, and bear pain in suffering. And pray, forget not the mercy for the downtrodden… … and last but not least… … Pursue your dream, even if it means wagering your life in the chase. Should you ever fail to stand by even one of these tenets… I’ll smack you guys upside the head myself. Steel yourself and always, always keep moving forward. ”

Sancho cursed these memories of hers, too stubborn to stay locked within the recesses of her mind. She couldn’t just sit idly by after remembering that of all things, lest she incur the well-meaning wrath of her friend.

She now knew what she had to do, but she would be no hero, she had long lost that opportunity. She would rid this world of the scum that infested it, but she would do it her way. Becoming a monster that struck fear into even the most heinous of villains. And what better way of doing that, than slaying the infamous self-proclaimed Demon King.

That bastard’s had it a long time coming, anyways.

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[Extra: Cat.]

Sancho had to admit it. Curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Himiko was being clingy in her annoying, yet endearing way, her arms wrapped around Sancho’s waist as her head rested in the smaller woman’s lap, a contented smile plastered on her face.

Sancho took her hand, and pet the top of Himiko’s head. A soft purring noise emitting from the latter.

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Soft.

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Chapter Text

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“It appears that the authorities are more competent than I thought.” Sancho was genuinely impressed by how quickly the police and heroes had located and surrounded the bar that acted as the League of Villains’ base of operations.

Sancho herself was only privy to the location due to bribing Himiko with a few blood packs of… an unimportant origin. She supposed that the kidnapping of Bakugou had lit a fire under them.

Well, if law enforcement could do its job properly for once, it would save her some energy. And if they couldn’t, that would just be more blood for her. Perhaps she’d even save some for Himi-

No, Sancho. You are not responsible for the stray. Do not give her treats.

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The raid was going well. All of the League’s members were trapped by some wooden hero and Kurogiri was knocked out. That was until all of the League and their hostage began choking and were warped away.

Now that was a new trick. Not unexpected from the stupidly named supervillain.

All Might seemed to know where they had warped off to, jumping off at speeds imperceivable by the average human. Sancho, however, was anything but average, trailing behind him while remaining unseen.

The scene that they had arrived at was akin to hell itself. Noumu of all shapes and sizes were rampaging through a small army of police officers and heroes, all surrounding what was once likely a warehouse, though now it was only a collection of rubble.

Standing at the epicenter of this chaos was Shigaraki, Sancho refused to even think of him with his ridiculous alias. Next to him was the League alongside Bakugou. All Might barreled straight at the self-proclaimed Demon King, shouting that stupid name all the way with far more venom than most thought the oaf capable of.

“ALL FOR ONE!” The two dying old men clashed, sending everything and everyone around them flying away with the sheer force they put out. This gave the explosive hero-in-training a chance to escape his captors, one that was aided with the timely arrival of some of his classmates… and Iida for some reason. Someone didn’t learn his lesson, apparently.

The students, although talented, weren’t a match for the seasoned criminals. Sancho sighed, deciding to step in before things inevitably got worse.

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Things were bad. Very bad.

Izuku thought that he and the tentatively named Bakugou Rescue Squad could handle this.

Get in, get Katsuki, and get out. Simple twenty-minute mission.

They could not handle this.

They tried to grab Katsuki quickly with Iida’s help. His Recipro Burst being perfect for the situation. The League, while surprised, simply used some magnetism quirk to yank him back to them.

With their position compromised, the BRS were forced into a head-on fight with the League. Within mere moments, the students were pushed back, completely outclassed by their opponents despite all of their training.

Just when it seemed that the students would lose, their conflict was halted by a set of measured, calm footsteps. So out of place, given the environment. The source of those footsteps being a surprisingly small figure, wearing what looked to be classical western military attire beneath a dark brown coat, but what caught Izuku’s eyes, was the long, crimson fur boa that coiled around their ankles, and the helmet of the same color, the only thing visible in the gaps of its visor being two gleaming red dots.

This new arrival matched up with the account that Ochako and Tsu gave of their experience during the recent attack. Sancho, if Izuku recalled correctly. The villain that was the murderer of Muscular, unlikely savior of Kota and Ragdoll, and their best lead at finding out where Quixote was. Aizawa didn’t give them any details on what happened to Muscular exactly, but Sancho’s words from back then painted a vivid enough picture.

Though small, shorter than Izuku, they walked with such confidence and purpose that the fighting around them stopped cold. That and the killing intent that was emanating from them, far worse than what he had felt from Stain during the Hosu incident.

“I suggest,” They spoke with absolute authority, making clear that despite their words, this was not a suggestion, but a command. “That you return that ‘precious item’ to them before things get much worse for you.”

Those crimson orbs locked onto the League’s leader, Shigaraki, waiting for a response. “What’s an NPC like you gonna do? Try and make one of us turn traitor again? Fat chance. These are my party members, so you can take your Charisma stat and-” Before the crusty man could finish, Sancho’s hand was wrapped around his throat.

“So you have chosen death. Can’t believe that fossil chose someone as foolish as you to be his successor.” Everyone was stunned, not a single one of them having seen Sancho move, much less able to stop them.

Shigaraki lifted his left hand in an attempt to decay her arm, only for it to be chopped off in an instant by a crimson blade that Sancho had seemingly pulled from nowhere. Shigaraki couldn’t even steam in pain with the hand wrapped tightly around his windpipe. The other villains, in a show of comradery, roughly shoved Bakugou over to his classmates. “Alright, alright. We’ve returned what has been stolen, so could you please return our leader to us?” A masked villain in a yellow trench coat negotiated while raising his hands.

A few seconds of stiff silence that felt like hours passed before Sancho roughly threw Shigaraki to the ground. “Leave this place if you value your lives.” They said before a pink glow enveloped them.

Sancho was pulled towards Magne, the latter intent on crushing the former’s skull. “Like hell we’d just let you go after a stunt like that, missy.” She raised her large bar magnet in preparation for an attack that never came.

Faster than the eye could see, Magne’s head was crushed like a grape in Sancho’s grip. “I can see why Himiko was so eager to leave you fools. How stupid can you be?” Magne’s body didn’t fall, nor did blood pool around it. Instead, her blood flowed upwards, like a vermillion river, into Sancho’s hand. The blood congealed and solidified into the shape of a long, thin, spiral of a lance, like someone had taken a double helix and made it excessively jagged and pointy.

Only once the lance was complete, was Magne’s dry husk of a body permitted to fall to the ground.

“You should follow her advice, young ones. She’s not an opponent you can defeat as you are now.” The deep, resonant voice of the one Shigaraki called Sensei entered their ears. Shortly afterward, one of Kurogiri’s portals opened behind them, with the source of said portal being thrown in by Sensei.

The rest of the villains, horrified by the ease with which Sancho had executed Magne, quickly took the advice, with Shigaraki being the most hesitant. The portal closed, and the League vanished without a trace.

Sancho then turned around to the students. “You have what you came here for. Now leave before those death wishes of yours are granted.” She spoke coldly before walking towards the fight between the symbols of Peace and Fear.

Izuku couldn’t just let her walk away so easily, no matter how much she frightened him, he needed answers. “What did you do to Quixote?” Sancho stopped in her tracks, and her response chilled him to the bone.

“Don’t bother looking for her. You’ll never find the body.” She said it so nonchalantly, as if it were common knowledge. Before any of the students could inquire further, the crimson villain was gone.

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Toshinori Yagi had to admit, despite his stubborn streak, that he was on his last legs. Perhaps if this confrontation had happened a year, or even a few months ago, he would’ve stood a chance.

It had been too long since he passed the torch on to young Midoriya. The final embers of One For All within himself were all but extinguished.

All For One had just landed a solid punch into his side, digging into the old injury. The blow made him cough up a mouthful of blood and revert to his true self, an emaciated stick of a man. The pain forced the Symbol of Peace to his knees, his true self laid bare for all to see.

The large figure of his nemesis towered over him, clicking his tongue beneath that tasteless mask of his. “I have to say, I’m quite disappointed, All Might. I expected a fight. Not… this. I didn’t even get to do my grand reveal.” Despite his words, the villain spoke impassively. “Oh well, may as well tell you while I still can. My successor, Tomura Shigaraki, is actually Tenko Shimura, your beloved mentor’s own grandson.”

Yagi was stunned. He had failed. He failed his mentor. He failed his predecessors. And he would soon fail his pupil as well. But he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He focused what remained of One For All in his arm, much like young Midoriya had done at first, bulking it up to what it would look like in his ‘muscle form’. “UNITED STATES OF SMASH!”

His fist collided with something, sending shockwaves flaring out around them. His arm gradually shrunk, the power leaving it.

Yagi couldn’t believe his eyes. Though he had been pushed back, All For One still stood.

That was it, then. Yagi’s power was gone. That left only young Midoriya to protect everyone from this monster.

No.

He couldn’t allow his successor to fight in his stead. Not when All For One had his own protege running around. He would need to use his last resort. The one he had forgotten to tell young Midoriya about.

“ Remember, Toshi. This is our last, and I mean LAST resort. Every holder of One For All has carried this since the first. Honestly, this thing could probably kill All For One and dismantle his criminal empire within days if we used it right. The reason that none of us have used it so far is because this comes from a villain. Someone even All For One fears. To use this would be like trading in the devil you know for the devil you don’t. Only use it if there’s no other option. ” He recalled his mentor’s words.

Even if it meant potentially calling forth an even greater evil than the one that stood before him, he couldn’t allow his adversary to come into contact with young Midoriya.

He reached into the folds of his now incredibly baggy hero costume until he found what he was looking for.

A seemingly mundane amusement park ticket. One that constantly smelled of iron.

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Sancho made her way towards the dying old men, one of them looking far more haggard than the other. “Congratulations, you defeated a weak old man. You must feel very proud of yourself, Shigaraki.” She mocked, still refusing to acknowledge that stupid alias.

“Ah, I suspected as much, hearing your voice on television. But feeling that murderous aura again,” He had the gall to chuckle. “It really is you, Sancho.”

“Don’t speak as if we’re old friends. You know why I’m here, oh great and powerful Demon Lord.” She would never admit how much catharsis she felt from mocking him.

“Oh my, acting upon such a grudge now of all times? I’ve no doubt that you could’ve killed me at any time before, so why now?” He never lost that smug smile. Sancho despised that smile.

“Because this is an instrumental part of your master plan. And because your man-child of a successor targeted what he shouldn’t’ve. Nobody puts a price on my head, especially not you or that brat.” Sancho brandished her lance like a sword, the sides were sharp enough to be effective in such a manner, before taking a single step forward.

“An error on my part. I still wasn’t sure of your true identity at the time. Pray, forgive my indiscretion.” Shigaraki spoke in a tone that most certainly did not beg forgiveness.

In lieu of verbal response, Sancho charged forward, her lance aimed at Shigaraki’s heart. The walking fossil attempted some futile resistance, but his pathetic barriers were shattered easily. Her lance skewered his heart, hoisting him off of the ground as she raised her weapon skyward.

Without a word, Sancho drained the man of his blood through her lance, said blood forming a second layer around her lance, one far less jagged, more curved and elegant, a near perfect replica of the one she had gifted to Father, although without any finishing touches.

The completion of her lance ripped the empty husk of a body in two, both halves of the villain falling to the ground. For good measure, she pierced the body’s head.

“You… You killed him so easily…” Small Might seemed to be in a daze at seeing his enemy slain with such ease.

“He was old, injured, fatigued, and frail. This is the expected outcome. Perhaps in his prime, he may have given me a challenge.”

“Are you going to kill me too?” He asked, not in fear, but in resignation.

“No. Your death serves me little purpose.” She spoke honestly. For all intents and purposes, All Might was already dead, in the public’s view, at least. She held little desire to martyr him.

He didn’t relax in the slightest. “Now what will you do? You’ve just killed the linchpin of the underworld on national television.”

“Who knows? Perhaps I’ll pass the time by hunting down his remaining allies. Or perhaps I’ll rid this world of the filth who call themselves with the lofty title of hero. I suppose I can do both.”

“You don’t seem too sure of yourself.”

“Certainty is a luxury for someone like me. True purpose forever out of my reach, like one of the stars in the night sky.” Sancho didn’t often wax poetic like this, but it seemed appropriate for the moment.

The skeletal man seemed to make up his mind about something. “So you intend on continuing this aimless path of destruction?”

“I suppose that’s a fitting way of putting it.” She truly was aimless. No goals or dreams to strive for. Only left merely to exist, never truly living.

The fallen hero pulled something out of his costume, something carrying a familiar scent to Sancho. The moment she recognized the object and made for it, it was already too late.

All Might tore the ticket from its stub.

And all hell broke loose.

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Chapter Text

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Mere moments after the fallen hero had made the worst choice of his ending career, the air around the ruined Kamino Ward began to ripple and distort.

“You utter fool! Do you have any idea what you’ve just unleashed upon the world!?” Sancho shouted at the living scarecrow, the fool having yet to realize the full consequences of his act. Then, she felt it before she saw it. A massive orb manifesting in the air above them, ignoring any and all laws of physics, such was the power of its creator.

Tears and cracks began to form across the orb’s surface, then, like a hatching egg, the outer layer burst, revealing the horrific contents. Cheerful music began playing, loud enough for the entire ward to hear the siren song, that damned music that still stuck in Sancho’s head even after her memories were removed.

The remains of the ‘shell’ unfurled. Within was a large structure, an amusement park with high, crimson outer walls, bright lights adorning the entire thing. Facing them was the park’s entrance, a large opening in the perimeter, allowing many different attractions to be seen. Above the opening was a large sign, whose lights flickered to life, unveiling the name of this accursed place; La Manchaland.

Sancho looked upon the seemingly harmless structure with mounting horror, one of the few beings who knew of the true horrors kept within its walls. It was too soon, she wasn’t ready to return. No, she should never have had to return to that blood-soaked hell in the first place. It had been sealed away for good reason.

The park’s PA system crackled to life, a familiar voice speaking through it. “ Ahem , testing, testing. Is this thing working? Oh, it is? Good. We are positively ecstatic to announce the grand re-opening of La Manchaland! To commemorate this wonderful occasion, we are waiving the entrance fee for the rest of the month. Take advantage of this amazing deal while you still can to enter La Manchaland, where dreams become reality!”

Sancho could feel the myriad of hunger-filled gazes beyond the park’s threshold, dozens upon dozens of glowing crimson eyes, far too similar to her own. She lost control of her breathing, falling into shallow, rapid breaths, the image seared into her memory overlapping with the reality before her. She took a shaky step backwards, then another, until she turned around and repeated the greatest regret in her long life.

She ran away.

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Beneath the large ferris wheel that stood in the center of his life’s work, an emaciated man lay pinned to the base of the eye-catching attraction, alone for the first time in who knows how long.

With his mind clouded by pain and remorse, guided by his responsibility, he responded to the summons that he had given to the first holders of One For All so long ago. Once the barriers of his own creation fell by his will, the park open once more. He sensed a familiar presence, one he had not forgotten despite his experiences.

“So you are alive and well, my Sancho. I hope that you can tell me of the dream that you have dreamt in my stead.”

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In class 2-A’s common room, the dormitory’s residents were crowded around the television, their eyes scouring the screen for any miniscule detail that could help them discern the current state of their friends, though the news camera was focused squarely on the true form of All Might and the bizarre phenomenon happening in front of him.

That villain, Sancho, had fled the scene shortly after that strange park appeared. The students were relieved at that, if she could kill the villain that went toe-to-toe with All Might of all people so easily, she could’ve killed the weakened number one hero with just one thrust of her lance.

While most present had their eyes glued to the screen, one of them, a violet haired girl with headphone jacks attached to her ears was stuck on a single thought. Where have I heard that music before?

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“Sensei!”

“Master All For One!”

Two pained voices cried out in unison as they saw the news feed of the Symbol of Fear being violently disemboweled displayed on doctor Garaki’s monitor. The remainder of the League of Villains behind the pair, stunned by the ease with which the boogeyman of the underworld was slain.

The feed then showed Sancho and Small Might in a standoff, though the media couldn’t catch what they said to each other, it was clear by the hero’s lip movements that a conversation was being had.

Then All Might did… something, and that weird amusement park showed up out of literal nowhere. The moment the structure was shown clearly, the doctor, known for his composure and apathetic attitude towards most things, fell into a panic.

“No. No! He can’t be back! Not now! Not ever! He should be dead! Dead and gone!” Nobody else in the lab understood a word he said, but most of them could put together that the park had something to do with the outburst. They would have to wait for Garaki to calm down before they could get any information out of him, if he ever calmed down, that is.

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In the living room of Sancho’s estate, Himiko watched the news with awe. She knew that her super cute friend would be on the news, but to kill the big bad evil guy behind the League? That. Was. Awesome! It was so bloody! And her BFF’s new lance was so pretty too!

Was that her quirk? Turning the blood of her enemies into weapons? If it was, could she make Himiko a set of blood knives. She’d have to ask later.

Himiko was a bit confused when her BFF left so suddenly. Did it have something to do with that big orb? Probably. She did leave right after it popped open like a party ball.

It wasn’t long before the front door opened, and the owner of the estate trudged inside. Himiko leaped out of her seat to greet her BFF, only to stop short at the haunted expression the smaller woman wore. Why was Sancho scared? She was super strong, right?

The normally alert villain didn’t even seem to register Himiko’s presence as she made her way to the master bedroom. None of this was normal, and Himiko would get to the bottom of it. She only hoped that Sancho would let her.

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Over the course of several months, summer turned to autumn, and autumn to winter. Many civilians had entered La Manchaland, entranced by the music it emitted. Heroes and police had, of course, been sent to investigate the park’s interior and rescue the civilians. So far, none have returned. Kamino Ward was unable to be restored due to the park randomly shifting its location to various points within the district, the edge of the ward littered with missing persons posters.

Strangely, La Manchaland seemed to disappear completely whenever it rained or snowed. At first, the authorities were hopeful that the park would disappear permanently, but it inevitably returned.

The League of Villains hadn’t made any moves, despite evading capture. Their statuses were unknown, but the HPSC was wary to declare them disbanded or deceased without confirmation. That was, until one of their undercover agents reported a sighting of the League’s members.

According to Hawks’ report, the League had integrated themselves within the ranks of the Meta Liberation Army following the destruction of Deika city. They were getting bolder, publishing their manifesto publicly, recruiting heroes, villains, and civilians alike. With their sheer numbers and focus on powerful quirks, they would be a formidable force.

The Commission gathered every combatant they could, even going so far as to recruit heroics students for this operation, much to Nezu’s ire. They had two targets; the main hideout of the MLA, a mountain villa owned by their ‘Supreme Commander’ as Yotsubashi called himself, and the laboratory of one Kyuudai Garaki, hidden beneath a public hospital. The main production facility for the Noumu.

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The villa raid team was surprised at how little resistance there was. No traps, no guards on lookout. Many of them were questioning if they had the right place.

Those questions quickly vanished once they reached the building itself. As they were preparing to breach the interior, the door flew open. The team readied themselves for a fight, until they saw who had crossed the threshold.

Their spy within the MLA, Hawks, stumbled through the open door, covered in blood and gore. The moment he saw the raid team, he spoke hurriedly. “You guys need to get out of here now! Call off the operation!”

“What happened in there, bud?” Fat Gum asked, having caught a glimpse past the open door. It looked perfectly normal, but the smell of blood and death that wafted through made it clear that it was anything but.

“Sancho’s here! She- She slaughtered everyone! The League, the commanders, even Gigantomachia never stood a chance against her!” Hawks was practically hysteric, understandable, given what he’d likely witnessed.

Then, the door opened again. Out walked the villain that had been the talk of the nation for months, the slayer of All For One, Sancho.

The raid team once more raised their guards, far more panicked than before. This villain, no, this destruction incarnate before them had just single handedly slaughtered all of their targets without so much as a scratch on her.

She let out a brief sigh, hardly sparing the heroes gathered around her a glance. “Such disgusting extremism. Now for the repulsive part.” Several of the heroes lunged at the seemingly distracted villain, quirks ready to inflict as much damage as possible, only to miss as she jumped away, completely out of their reach.

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Mere hours before the raid was scheduled, Sancho had obtained the location of doctor Garaki’s lab. She vaguely remembered the doctor, a madman even back then. Now, he’d crossed far too many lines with those disgusting creatures of his.

Her disgust may have been hypocritical, given her own past, but she couldn’t help feeling as such whenever she drew near one of those things.

For this valuable information, Himiko was given a few liters of locally sourced fresh blood, having used her particular set of skills to infiltrate the Commission and gather the information. There was also another part to the raid, some mountain villa that housed the bulk of the Meta Liberation Army.

She wasn’t too concerned with those extremists. Sure, she didn’t particularly like them, nor did she agree with their views, having experienced how modern society treated those without some asinine mutation. Even then, she didn’t have a strong enough opinion on them to act as of now, until, of course, they came knocking with an invitation to some rally of theirs.

Sancho wasn’t too concerned with how they found her, she didn’t try very hard to cover her tracks. The only reason heroes weren’t constantly trying to drag her to Tartarus was that the Commission decided that it wouldn’t be worth the inevitable loss of life and property damage that would result from such an attempt, all of that with no sure chance of success. Not to mention that she hadn’t done much since killing Shigaraki Senior, on account of frequent rain and snowfall.

What she was concerned with, was the fact that they were incapable of taking ‘No’ for an answer. Eventually, she caved in to their pestering, firstly, to get them to stop preaching their dogma at her, and secondly, because she didn’t want to stain her nice carpeting with their innards, as easy as simply killing them would have been.

No doubt the MLA saw her immense power and wished to recruit her for themselves, unaware of the steep price for said power.

It was a quick trip to the meeting point for her, on account of her sheer speed and limited capacity for flight, although it was more like hovering with extra steps. She settled into the underground meeting hall, hidden beneath the otherwise unassuming residence, to the shock and fear of most of the attendees. She figured that the people in charge either hadn’t told most of their members about their little mockery of Jehovah’s Witnesses, or, more likely, hadn’t expected her to actually attend.

The stares and whispers directed at her died down for the most part once the commanding officers of the army began their sermon, though she sensed the brief glance in her direction. The speeches themselves were dreadfully boring, at least when Father spoke nonsense he… she didn’t want to finish that thought. Most of it was the expected drivel of their extremist manifesto and a call to arms. Sancho had heard many of such speeches, over all, four out of ten.

As she was tuning out the nonsense and mourning the lost art of rhetoric, a part of the speech caught her attention. It was a short segment, most likely an afterthought to both the speakers and audience, a few scant words on the quirkless, or, as they called them, nulls . They were offhandedly thrown to the wayside as relics of a bygone era, useless, worthless fossils that were better off wiped out.

That cemented it. Sancho would never deal with these fools again, even if it meant staining her expensive furnishings with their various bodily fluids. Despite her indignation, she had at least the barest decorum to wait until the rally adjourned.

Once the Destro knockoff finished with his drivel, Sancho made a beeline for the exit. A firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Sancho! What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I do believe that this is our first proper meeting. I am Re-Destro.” The chair-bound man extended his other hand for a shake.

“Bold, aren’t you? To touch me when most cower in fear at the mere sight of me. Now, if you would be so kind as to remove your hand from my shoulder before I remove it from your wrist, I’ll be taking my leave.” Her crimson eyes gleamed through the slits in her helmet’s visor. Yotsubashi developed several dark patches on his skin, a subconscious result of his Meta Ability , most likely.

“I simply wish to welcome our newest guest as warmly as I can. But, may I ask, why are you leaving so soon? We haven’t even served refreshments yet.” The man gingerly removed his hand from Sancho’s shoulder, not particularly keen on finding out if she made empty threats or not.

“I have decided that your organization is not the place for me. And, the next time you send messengers to pester me, don’t expect them to return.” She spoke coldly, turning her back on the rapidly darkening man only to see an absolute giant of a man with rock-like skin blocking the exit. He seemed somewhat familiar to her.

“You… are Sancho?” He asked. Clearly, his mind was not his most valuable asset.

“Indeed I am. Now, if you would refrain from blocking the exit, I would like to take my leave.” She was getting impatient with all of these meaningless obstacles.

“You killed master!” He roared, and it clicked into place. This was Shigaraki’s old bodyguard. He was… taller than she remembered. His voice carried with it as much grief, rage, and sorrow as the giant could muster.

“And what of it?” Her words, borne of dwindling patience, silenced the large hall.

One second. Two. Once her words fully registered in the giant’s mind, he flew into a rage and raised his fist, aiming it down at the comparatively miniscule Sancho. “I will avenge you, master!”

She caught the offending fist with ease, moving barely a centimeter for all of the force behind the strike. With a sigh of resignation, she formed her lance and threw the offending fist back at the attacker. This had the intended effect of throwing him off balance.

She jumped upwards, lance poised to skewer the giant’s throat. Her weapon met resistance, yet bore through the hardened flesh undaunted. Oddly enough, despite the new breathing hole Sancho had gifted him, Gigantomachia was asphyxiating, his blood clogging his windpipe.

Much like the ancient tale of David and Goliath, the far larger opponent fell in a single blow, several unfortunate soldiers being crushed beneath the massive corpse. Once more, silence reigned.

Sancho stood atop the mountainous cadaver, studying the crowd, daring them to challenge her. The regular soldiers were frozen in fear, while some of the officers looked on in restrained fury.

“Would anyone else like to bar the exit from me? No? Good. What a waste of time this has been.” That last comment of hers was apparently Yotsubashi’s tipping point.

“All troops, attack!” Perhaps, if he had been thinking clearly, unclouded by his emotions, he may have realized just how badly he screwed up.

Sancho decided to make this quick. One proper technique would be enough for this situation. It was one of the first arts that Father developed, its main drawback being the large amount of blood required to execute it properly.

Fortunately, she was standing atop a lake of fresh blood.

She dispelled her lance and raised her left hand. Immediately, rivers of blood flowed from the giant corpse, forming into a growing vermilion sphere above her open palm. The ball of blood grew enormous, enough to reach the ceiling of the spacious chamber.

Once she deemed that enough blood was collected, she sprang up from her perch, hovering in the air, and announced the name of her technique, much like heroes do. “Don Quixote Hardblood Arts 1: The Sphere.” The feeble troops barely had time to register the order they were given before it was far too late. Sancho swung her left arm forwards like the sword of Damocles, sentencing them all to inescapable demise.

The sphere of concentrated blood crashed against the floor, all of the MLA’s forces shredded apart without mercy, regardless of the power their given abilities held. Only one was spared from the slaughter; Hawks. She was aware of his status, and needed a messenger, so she let him off with only a few scratches. The chamber echoed with the agonized wailing of the MLA until it was cut short along with the lives of its members.

Once she was finished, every surface of the hall was coated with blood, the sheer amount of it capable of reaching up to one’s knees, should they wade through it. Now only Sancho and a shell-shocked Hawks remained.

The two stared at one another for a tense moment, the hero no doubt wondering why he was still alive and fearful of the beast before him finishing the job. His fear response changed from freeze to flight once he was reasonably sure that Sancho kept him alive for a reason. He waded through the small lake of blood that pooled around them, unable to fly due to his feathers being too damp, and ran up the exit stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Now that this waste of her time was over and done with, Sancho had a lab to burn.

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Chapter Text

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Why is it that when their class is involved in anything, it all goes horribly wrong?

The raid was going fine at first, they’d evacuated the civilians present at the hospital and moved in to arrest the doctor. The one they apprehended ended up being a Twice clone, while the real doctor Garaki was safely tucked away in his underground lab, sending wave after wave of his creations after the heroes.

Eventually, they powered through the Noumu to the laboratory itself. They fought off the experimental high-end Noumu and destroyed the capsule containing Shigaraki along with most of the doctor’s projects.

Just when they’d arrested the doctor and seemingly put an end to the madness, a frantic message was sent to their radios. “Attention laboratory team! S-rank villain Sancho is inbound to your location! I repeat; Sancho is inbound to your location!”

A few seconds later, the hospital, lab, and everything within a few kilometers of them disintegrated. Apparently, Shigaraki wasn’t as dead as they thought.

That’s what led to Izuku pummeling Shigaraki with 100% of One For All, sometimes adding Gearshift and Fa-Jin into the mix. It put strain on his body like nothing else, but it didn’t break him like it would’ve a year or two ago.

Shigaraki’s many quirks that he’d inherited from his late sensei were being suppressed by Eraserhead with Manual keeping his eyes from drying out from the act.

Izuku wasn’t fighting alone, though. He had Katsuki, Shouto, and the current top hero Endeavor alongside him. They were slowly whittling down the villain’s enhanced body while keeping him within Eraserhead’s gaze.

Then, Shigaraki threw something at Aizawa, one of the remaining quirk-erasing bullets that had survived the destruction of the yakuza group that made them.

They couldn’t stop it, or even change the trajectory. No matter how fast Aizawa moved, the bullet would still pierce his leg.

The heroes lost. They’d never be able to beat Shigaraki with all of his quirks when they were barely hanging on without them. Then, in a flash of crimson, a large, elegant lance of blood appeared in the bullet’s path, deflecting it into the dirt.

Everyone, including Shigaraki, was stunned. They all knew who owned, no, who created that foul weapon. Seconds later, a short figure appeared, standing perfectly still on the upward-facing pommel of the oversized lance. The crimson orbs behind her visor scanned them all, assessing the situation.

“You!? Again!?” Shigaraki fell into a rage at the sight of the little shit who had ruined his plans at every turn since she showed up out of nowhere and killed his beloved Sensei.

“I see. You’ve already obtained his ‘inheritance’. What a shame.” She spoke dispassionately, with a tone one could mistake for sarcasm.

Shigaraki snarled and leaped towards the vermilion villain. With Izuku’s well-honed senses, he could see what happened, though it took him a moment to fully process. Sancho quickly kicked her lance up and out of the earth to block Shigaraki’s strike, then stabbed him in his unguarded chest. The lance then opened up inside the young man’s body like a parasol, ripping him to shreds in a similar manner to his mentor.

By the time the heroes realized what happened, Sancho crushed Shigaraki’s severed, yet still living, head beneath her boot, making absolutely sure that he was dead. With that, All For One’s carefully crafted plans and criminal empire were mercilessly crushed by an even greater threat.

Sancho was then surrounded by the remaining heroes, Endeavor and his interns included. “You won’t get away this time, villain!” Endeavor roared, eager to capture one of the most infamous villains in Japan. Many of the other heroes were emboldened by his presence and confidence, those that weren’t held expressions of fear or were bound by their duty.

“You truly believe you possess the ability to capture me? When I just did in three seconds what all of you couldn’t do in ten minutes. Just where do you get that unceasing arrogance of yours from?” Sancho was right. Realistically, the heroes’ chance of defeating her in their current state was slim to none. But that didn’t mean that they could give up. Because if they couldn’t, then who could?

Seeing that they weren’t backing down, Sancho shook her head in exasperation. “So many death wishes today. Is all of Japan this suicidal or only those in positions of power? Oh well, I’ll make this quick.”

Endeavor dodged her first thrust, having expected to be the first target. It was either him or Eraserhead, since one could nullify most powers and the other was the greatest firepower of the group. Though he dodged the brunt of the attack, it still left him with a gash in his side.

The hero retaliated with a flaming fist, which Sancho easily evaded. But his goal wasn’t to hit her, it was to guide her. Sancho was hit by one of Izuku’s 100% kicks, the seemingly invincible villain staggered back from the force of the impact. Katsuki rushed in with a flurry of explosions and fired an AP Shot, which was dodged. She swung her lance at Shouto who was preparing an imitation of one of his father’s attacks, forcing him back and ending the attack prematurely.

Aizawa jumped into the fray directly after his eyes recovered. No matter how much he used his quirk on the villain, it didn’t seem to affect her in the slightest. He’d wonder why that is later, but for now, he had to focus on bringing the murderer to justice. He flung parts of his capture weapon at Sancho, trying to bind her limbs, though all he gained was a shorter scarf, as the villain had sheared off parts of it with her lance.

Sancho, annoyed by their teamwork, formed a ring of Shigaraki’s blood around herself. “Don Quixote Hardblood Arts 2: Hardblood.” Speaking the name of her attack out loud, like a hero would their super moves, the ring of blood around her expanded and spun violently, forcing the heroes away and taking many of the lower ranked ones out of the fight.

Her words caught the attention of most of the remaining heroes, specifically the mention of a familiar name. That single moment of off guardedness was all Sancho needed to plant a kick in Endeavor’s solar plexus and hit him in the head with the broad side of her weapon, taking their most experienced hero out of the fight.

The U.A. students and their professor quickly shelved their thoughts for later and refocused on the fight. Katsuki was the first to recover, going in for a Howitzer Impact. When Sancho dodged the move, he quickly aimed at her again and fired one of his stored shots, as there was nothing but Sancho in his attack’s path.

The explosion shook the earth and the other three combatants rushed in. Izuku threw a 30% punch to clear the smoke, revealing an unharmed Sancho with some sort of blood shield in front of her.

Her counterattack against Katsuki was blocked by an ice wall from Shouto while Izuku and Aizawa dashed at her from opposite sides. Izuku charged in slower than Aizawa, having improvised a plan of attack. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t dumb enough to disregard it for such a reason, Aizawa had made sure of that over the past two years.

As planned, Aizawa reached Sancho first, flinging what remained of his scarf at her. Sancho retaliated by forming dual swords out of her lance. “Don Quixote Hardblood Arts 4: Sundering.” She cut the highly durable support weapon to ribbons, landing a couple of shallow cuts on Aizawa himself.

By the time she was done fending off Aizawa, Izuku was in position and his attack ready. This would hurt, but he needed as much firepower as he could muster. He imbued his kick with 100% of One For All, Fa-Jin, and Gearshift’s third gear, the most he could do without breaking himself completely.

The kick landed on the right side of Sancho’s helmet, the impact sent shockwaves that knocked everyone back and shattered Shouto’s ice wall. Sancho had been driven into the ground, a rut carved out by her body. For a moment, the heroes thought they had won, after all, that kick was comparable to a United States of Smash from All Might’s prime. Who could survive, let alone still fight after that?

Sancho slowly picked herself up, getting to her feet and reforming her lance. A spiderweb of cracks littered her helmet from where Izuku had kicked it, a few fragments having already broken off, long blonde strands of hair poking through the holes. “Impressive. I actually felt that one.” Sancho wouldn’t let on how much that kick had wounded her, stalling for her healing factor to recover the wound while siphoning the blood of the defeated heroes and Eraserhead.

“But in the end, all you managed to do was damage my helmet. An impressive feat in its own right, but still far from defeating me.” She continued to stall, monologuing like the villains in those old stories. That was her given role, after all. As she did, more pieces of her helmet flaked off, revealing her right eye to them in full. A deep crimson orb with a vertical slit of a pupil. Much like her companion’s.

“Like hell we're just gonna give up like that!” Katsuki shouted and aimed his unexpended gauntlet at her and pulled the pin. It had the same effect as before, the earth shook, and Sancho was unharmed behind her shield, though it seemed that the force of the blast was enough to put the final nail in her helmet’s coffin.

The right side of her helmet broke apart, and the left side of it fell off without the support of its other half. This time, Izuku didn’t clear the smoke immediately, he knew that Katsuki’s blast would either end the fight due to Sancho being more weakened than she let on, or that it would be just as effective as the previous one.

The smoke dissipated slowly, revealing Sancho’s very much still standing legs and the shattered remains of her helmet first. Even if they didn’t defeat her today, they’d at least know who she is.

“The last desperate embers of the defeated. Pitiful.” Sancho’s voice rang through the smoke. It sounded oddly familiar without her helmet distorting it. Aizawa’s eyes widened and his hair stood on end. The students were confused why their normally stoic teacher would react like that. Until the smoke parted completely, that is.

After what felt like hours of tension and anticipation, the smoke parted, revealing Sancho’s face…. No. Not Sancho’s face. Quixote’s face.

There were a few differences, namely her red eyes that were previously amber, her longer, unruly golden hair, and the indifferent expression that she wore. But it was unmistakably their former representative who had led their class for over a year and was presumed dead, Don Quixote.

“Qui… xote?” Izuku barely managed to mumble it out, stunned that his former representative and friend was not only alive but…

“That is not my name.” She replied coldly, her eyes seemingly boring into Izuku’s very soul. She looked up, noticing a government aircraft approaching their location. “More meat for the grinder? How dull.” She prepared to jump away. Katsuki and Shouto moved in to try and stop her, but were stopped by Aizawa. He knew that there was little they could do anymore, and was still processing the revelation of Sancho’s true identity.

“Why?” Izuku’s question didn’t even register in his mind until after he asked it.

“It was always going to end this way. The blood on my hands has stained them too deeply to be removed. Being a hero was nothing more than a fanciful dream born of ignorance. I have awoken from that dream to a reality that holds no place for someone like me.” With those words, Sancho leaped away from the battlefield, far too swift for any of them to give chase.

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“What happened? Why’s your helmet gone?” Himiko asked once Sancho returned to her manor.

“It broke while fighting some heroes. I suppose there’s little point in making another one now that they know my face.” She carefully omitted the fact that those heroes were her former classmates and professor.

“Aww, bummer. But at least they get to see your cute face now. Hiding it was a disservice to the world.” Sancho didn’t react to the comment, used to the young woman’s antics. “So…. What are you gonna do now?”

“I suppose I’ll do what I’ve been putting off for some time now.” Sancho took in a deep breath, calming herself before she let her emotions drive herself into hiding again.

“I’m going home.”

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Chapter Text

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“I must thank you for coming on such short notice.” Sancho politely greeted her two guests. The act appeared to make the pair even more unsettled than they were when they first arrived.

“That Giran fellow told us that you required our services. May I ask what for?” Gentle Criminal sat with a teacup in one shaking hand and his petrified partner held with his other arm. His face and voice may have maintained the illusion of calmness, but his body language was almost too easy to read.

Sancho would’ve given them a reassuring smile if she wasn’t sure that it would have the opposite effect as intended. “It is not I who requires your particular set of skills. Himiko, if you would.”

Himiko bounded up to the table where the trio sat, brandishing a flash drive. “It’s super easy compared to some of the stuff Giran’s said you guys have done! I just need you to play this video file on every TV, PC or electronic billboard you can. In other words, get as many people to see this as possible.”

“That’s it?” La Brava asked, confused at the sheer simplicity of the task they were given.

“Your message to the people, then?” Gentle inquired, having come to his own rough conclusion.

“Not so much our message as…” Himiko trailed off, remembering how she came to possess the video in the first place. “Well, it’ll be faster if you just watch it yourselves.”

The drive had been procured by Sancho during her slaughter of the MLA, taken from the body of Dabi, recognizable only by his charred skin, while Hawks was off being a carrier pigeon. It originally contained a recording of him dumping his entire tragic backstory and slandering Endeavor while exposing his domestic abuse. Himiko took the liberty of adding in some of the confidential information that she’d collected while impersonating various members of the HPSC.

The video on that flash drive was currently the most damaging thing to the Commission and heroes in general, and not a single one of them knew it existed.

Sancho, having judged that the situation was handled, turned to leave her villa. The hero slander was Himiko’s idea, though Sancho could admit that the Commission and its close heroes appalled her with just how rotten they were. At least Sancho didn’t bother hiding how monstrous she truly was anymore.

“Where is she going?” La Brava asked Himiko. The blonde paused for a moment.

“Somewhere important to her.” She answered vaguely, unsure of the true answer herself.

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Sancho waited near the flattened expanse that was once Kamino Ward. Any remaining buildings or debris had been crushed by La Manchaland appearing atop them. Missing persons posters littered the periphery of the cordoned off area, people that would never be seen again, not as themselves, at least.

The park manifested for around six hours per day every day, barring days when it rained or snowed. Various heroes, mostly those specialized in reconnaissance, patrolled the surrounding area, able to monitor any civilians who attempted to enter the park, either entranced by the music and appearance of the structure, or in an attempt to retrieve a missing loved one, and stop them from throwing their lives away.

It mattered not to Sancho, no hero would be able to stop her from doing anything. She’d proved that against the best of both the new and old generations of fools in spandex. Besides, in just a few minutes, they’d all be too distracted to care about a single villain flinging herself into that deathtrap like a moth to a flame.

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Four people arrived at the 2-A dorm building, two of them holding expressions of horror and shock, though one was far less pronounced than the other. One clenched their jaw in barely contained rage. The last was merely downcast, silent.

They were greeted by the other students in the class, all of them unharmed as they were on the other raid team.

“You guys are okay!” Mina exclaimed the moment she spotted them.

“We were worried when you guys didn’t come back for a while.” Sato added.

Momo observed the ragged state the four were in. “What happened over there?” She asked the question that was on everyone else’s minds.

There was a brief pause, none of the quartet sure of how to respond, until Katsuki spoke. “Sancho happened.”

Having seen the devastation left in her wake at the MLA’s base, those two words were enough for the students to think of all of the terrible possibilities. Aizawa, deeming that enough of an explanation for the time being, left without a word.

“Most of the raid team died, though, not to her.” Shouto added, he explained roughly what happened during the raid before Sancho arrived. During that, Izuku made his way to the small shrine in the common room. It was made by Quixote’s friends after her ‘death’ was made official. Various photos of her, such as the results of the last two sports festivals, were on display alongside parts of her hero costume and her shoes, the only thing they found of her in that forest.

Katsuki stood next to him, expressionless. The shrine, and the memories it represented all felt hollow now. Izuku questioned everything he knew about the person he thought was his friend.

Shouto continued his recollection of the raid’s events. Sancho’s brutal and effortless execution of Shigaraki, their brief, yet intense fight, though he omitted the names of the techniques that Sancho had uttered mid-battle.

Once he got to the part where Katsuki’s blast knocked her helmet off, Shouto stopped. “So what did she look like, man?” Kaminari asked, blunt and failing to read the room as usual.

“Was she secretly a total babe the whole time?” Mineta was ignored for the sheer stupidity of the suggestion.

“You fuckers want to know what she looks like?” Katsuki didn’t move from his position, yet his voice carried over to the rest of the class. “Take a good, long look.” He gestured to the photos on the shrine, then stalked off towards his room before anyone could question him further.

“What? There’s no way it’s her! Quixote’s…” The word ‘quirkless’ died on Toru’s invisible lips. “She’d never do something that brutal!” She corrected herself. Most of the class looked to Izuku and Shouto to uproot the seed of doubt that Katsuki had planted in them.

Silence was not the answer they were hoping for.

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To most, it had been a normal day so far. Far from the chaos of the large-scale raid that had claimed so many lives recently. The vast majority of the Japanese population, even many villains, were hoping that this calm would continue for longer.

Their hopes were, of course, crushed mercilessly.

Without warning, nearly every active screen fizzled into static, breaking away from whatever had been displayed before. After a moment, a video began playing on all of them simultaneously.

No matter what anybody tried, the HPSC included, the video could not be stopped. All of the secrets of the Commission were laid bare before the public. Everything from the admittedly expected embezzlement to the assassinations and human trafficking done by the organization alongside covering up the crimes of various heroes, including the current top hero Endeavor.

Classified files containing nearly everything the Commission had covered up over the years were repeatedly uploaded to every major media sharing platform. No matter how many times the Commission’s damage control team took them down, they’d always resurface.

By the time the HPSC was able to locate the source of their trouble, it was too late. With the public’s trust in heroes waning over the past couple of years with the League of Villains’ antics, All Might being exposed, the disaster of the MLA raid, the heroes’ general inability to do anything about Sancho or La Manchaland, this was the breaking point for most of the population.

Within hours, news outlets across the nation began covering the incident. Even many of the studios in the Commission’s pocket had turned on their patron organization, smelling blood in the water. Mobs of people formed around the HPSC headquarters and the hospital where Endeavor was recovering from his injuries, demanding answers.

Endeavor, being in intensive care after having most of his organs rattled and ribs broken by Sancho’s kick, was unable to answer. The Commission, on the other hand, was too busy trying to control the damage and make use of the connections they still had left to care about what the public thought.

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With the telltale rupturing of its outer shell, La Manchaland opened for the day. None of the heroes present noticed two figures, one leaving and one entering the park. Though one of the cameras that had been set up had caught them, it would be far too late by the time anyone reviewed the footage.

Sancho looked at the fleeing form of a lesser kindred with mild disgust, though she did nothing to stop the snivelling coward from fleeing his home. She had more important things to do.

Going in the moment the gates opened, she passed by several well-dressed bloodbags, much like the zombies of fiction, only craving blood instead of brains, though they were more dangerous than the undead by virtue of their limited regenerative properties and use of hardblood. They also retained some of the skills they had before the conversion. Any human that was fed on by a Bloodfiend such as herself would inevitably turn into one unless they were disposed of properly or turned into a proper kindred instead.

The mindless beasts hardly acknowledged her presence. Her blood wasn’t appetizing to them.

Sancho strode into the dark reds that defined the first area of the park. Strings of lights and brightly painted signs littered the area, discarded flyers for the park strewn across the ground. More bloodbags dressed in the centuries old style that defined the park and its residents roamed around aimlessly, ready to rip apart any human that wandered in. Speaking of, though they had masks sewn onto their faces and their attire was different, Sancho could vaguely recognize some of their appearances from the posters outside La Manchaland’s sphere of influence.

She made her way through the familiar winding pathways to the shooting gallery. Even if its overseer wasn’t there, the device she needed would be. A few lesser kindred, clad in similar dresses and masks to their direct superior, noticed her. Though, they were too afraid to approach. Sancho wasn’t exactly known as the friendliest individual in the family, coupled with having been apart for more than two full human lifetimes, there were several layers of awkwardness and unapproachability to the situation.

Once inside the attraction, she took the shortcut to the back area, which happened to serve as the overseer’s office. Once she opened the door, she was greeted with a sight that would make most humans run or retch in disgust. A woman with long black hair with crimson highlights styled into large ringlets wearing a vibrant red dress was stitching a masquerade mask onto the face of a vacant-eyed bloodbag.

“Still haven’t tired of that odd hobby of yours, have you, Nicolina?” Sancho asked. The other woman, Nicolina, stopped still for a few seconds, before stiffly turning to face Sancho, her plague doctor-like mask hiding whatever expression she made.

“L-Lady Sancho! Well, ain’t that a surprise!” Her shifting eyes beneath her mask betrayed her nerves. “Why’re you here?”

“To undo the lock. I must speak to Father.” Sancho replied plainly. She was not in the mood to mince words. Especially not with the one who made that vile headpiece for Father.

Nicolina stopped for a moment, frozen in thought. Very rare for someone as impulsive as she, but fear was a powerful motivator. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure the others will be happy to see you again after so long.” As if they’d ever been happy to see her, even before they stabbed Father in the back.

Sancho fiddled with the controls and opened the first lock on the final attraction, where she could sense Father. Not bothering to look back, she made her way to the second area of the park.

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A haunted house. The physically largest attraction in the area, and host to the second lock. This area wouldn’t be an issue. Its overseer, Curiambro, was a complete pushover when it came to Father. Though, it wouldn’t be a problem if he did resist. He wouldn’t be a match for Sancho in peak condition, much less whatever emaciated state he was currently in.

A few of the kindred followed the guidelines of the attraction, jumping out of their hiding places to scare her, although they were the ones who were frightened once they recognized her. She took the stairs down to the basement confessional, a haven for the staff of this dreadful park, aside from the one who ran it, that is.

Most of the kindred there were too lost in their own misery and thoughts to register her presence. The confessional booth itself was unoccupied at the moment. She opened the compartment where Curiambro himself would normally be. Lo and behold, he was there, physically, at least. His eyes, from what she could tell beneath his goat skull-shaped mask, were hollow. He kept muttering nonsense, his sanity having been worn away by the collective sins of La Manchaland.

She reached into the compartment for the lock, undoing it with practiced ease despite the obstacle that was Curiambro’s limp body. He wasn’t exactly a small man.

She turned to leave, her business here concluded, but a raspy voice stopped her. “Lady… Sancho. Have you… come here to punish us for our crimes against Father?” The man in a blackened mockery of a catholic stole and matching suit asked, almost as if he expected to be struck down for merely asking.

“I will speak to Father first. Then I will make my judgments.” That answer seemed to satisfy the man, as he let her leave without another word.

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The third area of the park, dyed in hues of violet, was the most active of them all. Various thrill rides such as roller coasters dotted the area, not to mention the gaudy parade that marched through every so often.

Said parade was marching now, a distance away from where Sancho exited the confessional. “Even now, she gives me the most trouble.” She muttered to herself.

She jumped from structure to structure, quickly catching up to the procession. That garish, yet admittedly catchy music blaring out of the various speakers that littered the area. It also didn’t help that all of the kindred in the parade were singing along.

Resisting the urge to hum along to the song, Sancho landed on the leading float, face to face with the overseer of the parade.

The ‘princess’ of the parade regarded Sancho with cold disdain. “Come to suffer with the rest of us, have you?” Though her bone-white butterfly mask hid most of her face, it did not hide her frown.

“So it seems. Pleasure to see you again too, sister.” Sancho matched the platinum blonde princess’ venom with her own.

The third overseer, Dulcinea, still held little more than contempt for ‘Father’s favorite’ as the violet-clad kindred sometimes called her. “I assume you’re here to reunite with Father. Far be it from me to stop you. Not that I could in this miserable state.” She lamented how far she’d fallen. Deprived of sustenance for literal lifetimes, the effects simply could not be undone with a few months of irregular feeding.

Without another word, Sancho undid the third and final lock located on the float while returning Dulcinea’s gaze. Once it was done, Sancho leapt away, not wanting to spend another second with… her .

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The gate to the final attraction loomed over Sancho. A weathered, discolored thing, yet it still held firm.

She steeled herself, pushing the unlocked doors open. She couldn’t stifle the gasp that left her once she saw what was beyond those doors. “Father… What have they done to you?”

Father simply looked at her from behind the garish headpiece that remained firmly attached to his platinum locks. His body was suspended against the base of the ferris wheel that stood tall in the center of the park by a myriad of hardblood stakes driven through his torso.

Despite the immense pain he must have been in, he smiled. “So you have returned to me, my Sancho. Tell me, how was that dream that you have dreamt in my stead?” He asked, his voice as gentle as she remembered it.

“I have awoken from that dream to the cruel reality that lies beyond. But, I suppose it was fun while it lasted.”

“So you too have given up on The Dream. It took us quite a long time to face the real world, did it not? These stakes are the result of my children’s efforts to wake me from that impossible dream. Ah, do not resent them for it, Sancho. I did not give them the luxury of choice in the matter.”

“So you have forgiven them for this?”

“Yes. I have accepted the undeniable nature of our family. Will you embrace the present La Manchaland as well, Sancho?”

“If that is your decision, then I will accept it. Though, don’t expect me to play nice with the others.”

Father let out a small chuckle. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I know how you four are.”

He held out his hand in invitation. “Welcome home, Sancho.”

Chapter Text

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Japan was left in utter chaos. The people’s trust in the government and their heroes had crumbled. All of the lies and secrets that the HPSC had tried to bury had been unearthed and exposed, and their highest ranking heroes had all been exposed as frauds in the eyes of the public.

All Might, who had been secretly withering away for years.

Endeavor, who had bought his wife and abused his children.

And Hawks, who had been bought by the Commission as a child for his useful ability.

Other high-ranking and respected heroes, such as Crust, had been killed or severely injured during the failed raid operation. Those who remained able to work either retired due to the psychological trauma of the event, or grew disgusted at the government’s actions once they were exposed, and spoke out against their former employers.

The HPSC had tracked the source of the leaks to the suspected home of the most powerful villain remaining within Japan’s borders, Sancho. Of course, they found nothing useful when they searched the place. Any people or equipment that may have been there were long gone by the time the Commission was able to enforce its will.

Though they could search the property, they couldn’t seize Sancho’s assets, which were shockingly vast, until she was properly arrested. Something that wasn’t a problem with most villains, but Sancho was far from most villains.

With the government’s, or rather, the HPSC’s lack of sufficient answers to the public, the civilian population began to protest. When nothing substantial came of them, they began to riot. It didn’t help that Detnerat, the MLA’s main public face, had been illegally supplying the civilian population and minor villains with support equipment, making the riots a tangible threat even to the few remaining heroes under the Commission’s influence.

The HPSC had to do something, anything , to try and calm the public’s outrage. The abdication and subsequent arrests of many of their high-ranking members had worked, temporarily, at least. The people wanted change, the old system had failed, a new one would be needed.

Many changes were in the works, but they would take time to enforce. Until then, the Commission needed to mollify the rioters somewhat. They needed to take action and show that they could be trusted. They needed to resolve what they were unable to before.

The Commission had three options, two really. The first and worst one was relying on their previous tactics and maintaining the status quo as they had been. That would fail immediately. As much as they liked to call the civilians ‘The ignorant masses’, they weren’t stupid enough to fall for the same tricks anymore.

The second option was arresting the cause of all of this madness, Sancho. There were two major problems with this course of action. The first was the act of arresting Sancho herself. The government simply did not possess the force necessary to bring her in, and that was supposing that Tartarus could even keep her contained for any substantial length of time. The second issue was locating her. They had found her, but the location itself was currently outside of their reach. She had entered La Manchaland.

That brought them to their third option, the destruction or possible pacification of La Manchaland. None in the Commission liked this option, but it seemed to be the only feasible one. Not to mention that in the same reel of footage that had captured Sancho’s location, another individual was seen leaving the park, outside of the shambling corpses that normally left the park, that is.

Whether the individual was a survivor or a part of the park itself, they would provide information that the HPSC sorely lacked. Although many had entered La Manchaland, very few had left intact, and fewer still in a state to provide their accounts of the park’s interior.

From what they had gathered, the park itself seemed to be a fully functional amusement park, with all the attractions and amenities that one would expect. That was where the normal ended. The samples that they had gathered revealed that the park’s structure consisted primarily of solidified human blood. The staff seemed to have been ripped straight out of old fairy tales. Bloodthirsty, red-eyed monsters in the shape of people, inhumanly strong and with varying levels of hemokinesis, or blood control.

The layout of the park was quite simple, divided into three main areas that appeared to have their own ‘overseers’, presumably more dangerous than the regular staff. A sealed off area in the center of the park, not attributed to any of the three major areas, was where they suspected the key to ending La Manchaland’s reign of terror lay.

The problem with attempting to get rid of the park was that they lacked manpower at the moment. Even going after the escapee would put too much strain on them.

None in the Commission liked what they’d have to do, but the chaos rat was currently their best option.

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Aizawa was very apprehensive of this. Sure, Nezu had agreed to the operation, but the Commission’s track record with these things, as well as their current reputation, led him to expect the worst.

Fortunately, they weren’t entering La Manchaland. Not yet, anyway. They were to track down an alleged escapee that had briefly been caught on camera leaving the park, apprehend them if needed, and hand them over for questioning.

What could possibly go wrong?

It was a short train ride to what was left of Kamino Ward. The place had been practically untouched after nearly a year since it was reduced to piles of rubble.

Aizawa instructed Kouda to ask the urban wildlife to help scout the area while the rest of the class scouted normally in small groups. They had no way of knowing if the escapee was hostile or not. Even if they weren’t, his problem children could be targeted by rioters just for wearing their hero uniforms.

Kouda’s new friends were more helpful than he thought. They’d found a mostly intact warehouse nearby that apparently reeked of blood. Even if it wasn’t a part of their mission, they couldn’t just ignore something like that.

As they got closer to the building, some of the students with a heightened sense of smell picked up on the metallic stench. But most of the smell didn’t come from the warehouse itself, but the figures that aimlessly shambled around it.

Aizawa recognized those things from the file he’d been given on La Manchaland. The park’s staff called them bloodbags. Though, unlike the ones from the park, these bloodbags were clad in normal civilian clothing.

He hadn’t given his students the full file yet, since they weren’t supposed to enter the park for now, but he’d told them enough that the more observant ones, such as Midoriya or Yaoyorozu, realized the threat.

The representatives looked to him for confirmation. He reluctantly nodded.

Almost instantly, the frontline fighters of the class sprang into action, catching the animated corpses by surprise. Aizawa tried using his quirk on a few to see if the process of being turned into a bloodbag could be reversed through it. Though it prevented the shambling bodies from using their original quirks, it didn’t have any other noticeable effect.

The slow-moving corpses were little more than a warm up for the hell class. They may have been empowered, but they were originally just civilians, with no combat prowess to speak of.

Defeating them had been the easy part. Getting rid of them for good was another matter entirely. They were just as monstrous and irreversible as the LoV’s Noumu, with a similar Kill On Sight order attached to them, but unlike the Noumu, these things still looked mostly human. Not to mention that the only one of his students to have actually killed one of those things was Midoriya, though it was under… someone else’s orders.

Very few of his students were able to work up the courage to dispose of the bloodbags, though Aizawa could tell that none of them particularly enjoyed the deed.

As they got closer to the epicenter of this madness, they encountered bloodbags in hero outfits. Nobody recognizable, unless you were Midoriya, that is. They weren’t anyone special, just sidekicks to some low ranked heroes. They proved more of a challenge than the previous batch of hostiles. They were better equipped, many had quirks suitable for combat, and they retained at least some of their skills and physical capabilities.

The act of killing them was more difficult than the others. Though they were both people at one point, his students held heroes in much higher regard than regular civilians. They were all going to need a few sessions with Ryo after this.

Once they cleared the immediate area around the warehouse, Aizawa put together a combat team to face whatever was in there, they had killed at least a dozen sidekicks, and likely the heroes they worked for.

He selected Midoriya, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Ashido, Sato, and himself. The rest either didn’t specialize in combat, or were unsuited to fighting in such an enclosed and unstable structure. They were to make sure that any remaining bloodbags were dealt with and that nobody got in or out of the building until the operation was concluded.

Some of the students (Bakugou) grumbled at not being picked for the team, but they were smart enough to understand his reasons.

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Once they were inside, Aizawa was thankful that he didn’t bring Asui. The stench of blood and gore was overpowering to him, let alone someone with a stronger sense of smell. Nearly every surface inside the warehouse was coated in a layer of blood and viscera at varying levels of decomposition. Though Aizawa could bear the horror, some of the students he’d brought retched almost immediately, with many on the outside gasping in horror after looking through the open doors.

There were fewer bloodbags inside than out, though the mere fact of their existence, alongside the consistency of the surface they were walking on, made stealth an impossibility. They methodically made their way through the building, dispatching every reanimated corpse they found.

On the far side of the building from where they’d entered, they came across a bloody throne of sorts. None of them wanted to imagine how such a thing was constructed. Much of the blood in the surrounding area had solidified into jagged, crystal-like structures. There were two people there, one seated in the macabre throne, and the other standing to the side of it.

The one on the throne spoke first. “Goodness, more heroes? I thought your types were meant to be in short supply.” The man wore a bloodied dress suit with a cravat, an expensive-looking cane leaned on the side of the throne. The most eye-catching thing about the otherwise average-looking man was the golden festival mask sewn onto the upper half of his face, two vibrant crimson dots shining through the eye holes with an eerie glow.

“Who are you?” Aizawa asked simply. Though he didn’t want to converse with the obvious villain, he needed information.

“I shall impart this upon thee only once, so listen well. Thou mayest address me as Prince Cassetti, the Sixth Kindred, or a Kindred of the sixth generation, the rightful prince in refuge from his Family!” The man eagerly answered the query, clearly the type to bask in the attention of others. Aizawa hated dealing with these types, though they were usually the daylight heroes’ problem.

“Wh-Why did you do this?” Midoriya stammered out, referring to the gore surrounding them that was once people.

Cassetti seemed offended, though by the question itself or Midoriya’s manner of speech was unknown. “Thou art a chatty one, so rudely before your prince. Yet I am feeling generous, for I am quite sated at the moment. As thou must have seen on thy journey here… this place is a hall of banquet for a feast most majestic.” He spread his arms and gestured at the macabre surroundings. “No matter how many bloodbags I create, no matter how much I devour them… the humans just won't stop coming! I only enjoy what was cast into my maw!”

There were many things that irked Aizawa at the moment, the man’s startling similarities to Sancho, such as the obsession with blood, the glowing red eyes, and the peculiar manner of speech that he had, but what was most important in the moment was… “You created those things? How?” Not to mention that Cassetti spoke about humans as if he wasn’t one, something he’d only heard Nezu do, but the villain before him clearly wasn’t a quirked animal.

Cassetti flashed a wide, predatory grin. “Wouldst thou like a live demonstration? Thou hast brought quite the selection of morsels before me.” Some of the students shivered under his gaze, like prey before something higher on the food chain.

“How predictable. You humans always want to know, to learn. But when thou must stain thy hands for knowledge, only cowardice remains! Well, it’s not as if the creation of those insignificant things is even remotely interesting. They are merely byproducts of our magnificent power.” Cassetti continued on, thoroughly enjoying the sound of his own voice.

Yaoyorozu spoke next. “Earlier, you said that you were in refuge from your family. Does that have anything to do with your escape from La Manchaland?”

Cassetti was visibly upset by the question, even through his mask. “No. NO! I can’t go back! Won’t go back to that hell on earth! There was no living in that place! Only a slow, painful death!” He ran his fingers through his short brown hair as he rambled. “That is why I left that rotting place! To form my own kingdom, my own dynasty! I even sired a Kindred of my own! And I’ll create enough for my kingdom, rules be damned!”

“He’s crazy.” Sato stated plainly. It was obvious that Cassetti was not the picture of mental health.

“You think the one next to him is gonna be any better?” Kirishima asked, looking at the other person who hadn’t yet spoken or moved. She wore casual clothing, though Aizawa could see the small support items she carried, similar to Kaminari’s hero uniform, though with red instead of black. One thing that caught his attention were her eyes, the same color as Cassetti’s.

Midoriya’s eyes lit up in a manner that was now familiar to the others in the room, villains notwithstanding. “That’s The Charged Hero: Multicrack!” He exclaimed. “Her quirk allows her to generate electricity through her movement and use that electricity to empower herself to move faster or hit harder.”

“Ah… allow me to introduce my Kindred to thee, to be the first of many since my escape, for the kingdom I intend to build.” Cassetti regained his lucidity in time to prevent Midoriya from muttering on. “My Kindred, my loyal squire… who shall be at my side as I build a dynasty of my own, my Family…”

Multicrack interjected for the first time. “Shall I dispose of them, Lord Cassetti?” She asked.

“But… you’re a hero!” Ashido blurted out in confusion.

“The word ‘hero’ doesn’t mean crap anymore. Especially when your back’s against the wall and all of your sidekicks are dead.” She spoke dispassionately, much like Aizawa. “But I can tell you one thing; once I accepted my Lord’s blood into my veins, it was like being reborn. I’ve never felt better.”

“You… you monsters!” Kirishima shouted in righteous fury. “You won’t get away with this!” That was something even Aizawa could get behind, not that he’d admit it.

“I enjoy humans like you. Don't cry, bawling and bowing and sniveling on the ground for your lives! Lunge at me instead! The aggression, the boiling blood, oh, how I love the fire!” Cassetti then snapped his fingers, a line of bloodbags entering the area soon after, civilian, hero, and villain alike.

Multicrack took position in the center of them as the heroes got in their battle stances. Blood flowed around her, rapidly crystalizing over her skin and clothing like armor, a large sword of the same material forming in her hands.

“I thought you said her quirk was like Kaminari’s.” Ashido turned to Midoriya.

“Her quirk shouldn’t be able to do anything like that! That power is more like…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Aizawa too had noticed the similarities in abilities between Multicrack and Sancho, though the former’s creations were far less refined than the latter’s.

“This power is no quirk. It is what my Lord has blessed me with in exchange for servitude, along with his mercy.” With that, the former hero charged at them alongside her mindless allies.

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Chapter Text

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Aizawa moved to intercept Multicrack before the fallen heroine could reach his students. Though his quirk didn’t have any effect on what she’d supposedly inherited from Cassetti, namely her boosted physical capabilities and blood-related abilities, it did render her original quirk powerless.

He was used to fighting opponents that were stronger than himself, having taken down his fair share of heteromorphic villains, but the real issue was the blood control she possessed. The ability itself wouldn’t normally be a problem since it was like a lesser version of Kan’s quirk, the main problem lay in their surroundings, their blood-soaked surroundings.

Though her newfound control over blood clearly wasn’t her most powerful or developed ability, it was enough to trip him up every so often, enough to compensate for being unable to use her most practiced abilities.

Although Multicrack had formed an impressive weapon, and said weapon gave her enough reach to compete with Aizawa’s scarf, she clearly wasn’t very experienced with it. Her swings, while powerful and swift, were inaccurate, and often overreached. He’d wrenched the sword out of her hands once, but she just formed a new one out of the abundant blood around them.

The pro and ex pro fought each other to a standstill, but Aizawa could tell that he was tiring quicker than his opponent. The thing was, he didn’t need to beat her, just occupy her long enough for his students to take care of the mindless bloodbags and support him. As much as he didn’t like this strategy, he was confident in his students’ abilities. Confident enough that those things shouldn’t be a tangible threat to their lives.

The main thing that concerned the underground hero was Cassetti himself. The man hadn’t moved from his horrific throne, but, although Aizawa had no way to gauge his combat prowess or lack thereof, he had been heavily implied by Multicrack to be stronger than herself both before and after her defection. There was no way of telling if or when he’d join the fight.

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Aizawa was beginning to feel the fatigue through his adrenaline. Though he could jump from rooftop to rooftop and patrol for hours at a time, fighting, especially against a roughly equal opponent, was a far greater drain, both physically and mentally.

That’s when Multicrack was shot. Most of the bullets deflected off of her blood armor and sword, but a couple had pierced her defenses.

“Sorry we took so long, sir. Defeating the bloodbags was easy, but finishing them…” Yaoyorozu trailed off. The students were still put off by the use of lethal force. Understandable, but it was sometimes unavoidable.

Midoriya then came in with a momentum-fuelled kick to Multicrack’s back. For some reason, it seemed to hurt him more than it hurt her.

The other students moved in to surround the fallen heroine. “I can’t believe it.” Cassetti said from upon his throne. “My right hand. The first Kindred I’ve sired without Father’s blessing… is this bumbling fool!?” He stood up and grabbed his cane by the shaft rather than the handle. “It appears that I must handle this myself.”

The remains of the bloodbags crumpled in on themselves and the surrounding blood then flowed towards him, coalescing around his body and cane. His cane formed into a jagged weapon in the vague shape of a glaive. Around his body formed crimson armor similar to Multicrack’s, though it covered more of him, including the left side of his face and forming a cape behind him.

He swung quickly at the group, heedless of his ally in the center. The entire group, including Multicrack, dodged the obviously telegraphed attack. The fallen hero retreated to the edge of the building, focused on recovering from her injuries.

Yaoyorozu fired more shots from her quirk made rifle, unlike with Multicrack, none of the bullets pierced Cassetti’s armor. The villain ignored the useless projectiles, swinging at Sato, who was beginning to suffer the drawbacks of his quirk. Kirishima took the hit in his place, being knocked back a meter. Though the redhead’s arms hurt from the powerful strike, it didn’t draw blood.

The lack of blood seemed to draw Cassetti’s ire. He focused his attacks on the rocky student, attempting to break his guard. In response, Kirishima entered his ‘Unbreakable’ mode, enraging the mentally unsound villain even more. This, of course, opened him up to attacks from the others.

Aizawa himself couldn’t do much damage to Cassetti, only restrain him somewhat. Just like with Sancho, his Erasure was completely ineffective. Sato, Midoriya, and Asui were far more successful at actually harming the crazed villain with their augmented strength. Midoriya also helped Aizawa restrain Cassetti with his black whips.

Yaoyorozu switched to another firearm, one that was smaller, but had more penetrating power. A ‘hand cannon’ as some of the students called it. This time, her shots were effective. Aizawa and Midoriya’s restraints keeping Cassetti from dodging or deflecting the bullets.

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The fight dragged on for minutes, a seemingly endless cascade of blows traded between both sides, but they’d finally worn Cassetti down. The villain was panting and injured, small rivers of blood running down his sides.

“It’s over villain. Surrender.” Aizawa stated, keeping his breaths as steady as he could.

“Over? HA! Foolish humans! It isn’t over!” Cassetti shouted. Like before, the blood from the surrounding area flowed towards him. In seconds, his injuries and fatigue vanished as if they hadn’t been there to begin with. Multicrack stood beside him shortly after, unharmed as well.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Kirishima uttered through heavy breaths. He was the most exhausted of the group, having been constantly assaulted by Cassetti and forced to keep up his maximum hardness to stay standing.

“How can we even win against this, kero ?” Asui, along with the others, was beginning to lose hope.

“Don’t worry, guys! We still have our trump card. Even if we weren’t planning on using it here.” Midoriya tried to rally them to mixed results. Aizawa was aware of the ‘trump card’ that the students had brought, though he didn’t like it.

Before the students could enact their plan, some chatter came over the class’ radio channel. “Oh crap! That’s bad!” He could make out Mineta’s voice.

“What are you- OH SHIT IT’S-” Kaminari.

“Finally! A rematch! Bring it on, bitch!” Bakugou.

“This is not the time for that, Bakugou! We must steel ourselves for a difficult battle!” Iida. Aizawa still couldn’t believe how his parents had wormed him back into the heroics department considering his involvement with Kamino.

“She’s… ignoring us?” Uraraka.

“Ignore moi? Impossible!” Aoyama.

“Hey! Your fight’s with me, asshole! Don’t ignore me!” Bakugou again.

“She’s too fast for us. Shouji, Jirou, can you get a read on her location?” Todoroki.

“I’m trying, but she’s surprisingly quiet.” Jirou.

“To think she’d strike now of all times. What a mad banquet of darkness.” …That could be anyone.

“She’s headed for… Eraserhead, incoming!” Shouji spoke with uncharacteristic urgency.

Mere moments after Shouji’s words, part of the roof caved in.

“What now? More heroes?” Multicrack turned towards the newly formed dust cloud.

“N-No… that’s…” Cassetti, the villain that had shown nothing but elation and fury thus far, quaked in fear.

“So you have broken our rules not once, but thrice. How vile. Have you learned nothing, whelp?” They knew that voice. All of them did. Though, most of those present were not used to such a harsh, cold tone being made with it. Sancho.

“I… I…” Cassetti stuttered, trying desperately to form a coherent sentence. He abruptly fell to his knees in a dogeza-like position. “I beg for the mercy of the Second Kindred! I beg for the mercy of the Second Kindred! I beg for the mercy of the Second Kindred!” He continued to repeat that phrase ad nauseam, becoming more frantic with each repetition.

This seemingly insurmountable opponent that had cornered Aizawa and some of his best students was now shamelessly and desperately begging for his life.

The dust cloud dissipated, revealing a helmetless Sancho. The students present other than Midoriya flinched. Though they had been told of Sancho’s true face, seeing it in person was a different experience entirely.

“You disobey direct orders twice, then sire your own Kindred without Father’s approval, and yet you retain the audacity to beg for your pathetic life?” Sancho was well and truly offended. “Perhaps if you hadn’t broken yet another of our laws, I would have left your fate in Dulcinea’s hands.”

Cassetti only begged harder, as if Sancho were the personification of death itself, until a glob of blood formed around his mouth. “Silence, worm. I shall not suffer your meaningless pleading anymore. You and your kin have been consigned to death for your transgressions. Now, coagulate, and melt away.”

At Sancho’s proclamation, both Cassetti and Multicrack writhed in pain, their bodies twisted unnaturally. Blood began flowing from them as if it were being wrung out. This continued until both of the villains that had once seemed so threatening were reduced to red stains on the floor.

“Stop!” Sancho turned towards Ashido. “Please stop this! You’re our friend! You wanted to be a hero! Why… Why are you doing this?” Tears began forming at the edges of the pink girl’s eyes.

“Because it is my duty. Nothing more.” Sancho responded in her usual neutral tone. “A word of advice, heroes; If you wish to live long, healthy lives, then stay as far away from La Manchaland as possible.”

“That doesn’t answer my question! Why did you betray us like this? We were friends! You were our leader!” Ashido would not be dissuaded from this line of questioning, no matter how dangerous it may be.

“That desire to be a hero was nothing more than a delusion born of ignorance, a fleeting dream. But I have awoken from that dream. This is who I’ve always been. A heinous villain.” Despite her words, Sancho did not speak them in a self-deprecating manner, merely stated them as if they were a fact.

“There’s no way you were always like this! Nobody is born evil!” Midoriya interjected.

“You know not of what I had done before I was imprisoned in that lighthouse. How many I have slaughtered by the mere act of perpetuating my own existence.”

“If you’re so committed to being a villain, then, as heroes, we must stop you.” Yaoyorozu’s statement was punctuated by a loud gunshot. She had used the trump card.

The bullet opened up a large hole in Sancho’s left side, though the villain was still standing. “Using my own weapons against me? Some heroes you are. It matters little, though. My job here is done.”

Despite her severe injury, Sancho showed no signs of pain as she leapt away, far out of their reach. Perhaps Midoriya could give chase, but he was too fatigued from the previous fighting to do so.

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After the failed operation, Aizawa compiled what he had learned. Cassetti referred to himself, Multicrack, and Sancho as Kindred, calling himself a Kindred of the sixth generation, while Sancho was one of the second generation. He didn’t know if that was reflective of their age, but it was clearly reflective of their hierarchy. Sancho was far more powerful than Cassetti, being able to kill him with little more than a flick of her wrist.

Sancho had mentioned two other individuals; Dulcinea, and someone called Father. Dulcinea was likely someone of roughly equal rank to Sancho, having been referred to by name, while this Father person was likely the leader of whatever group they were a part of.

Both Sancho and Cassetti had similar abilities, as well as the same glowing crimson eyes. Not to mention that Erasure didn’t work on either of them, meaning that their powers didn’t come from their quirks. They were both connected to La Manchaland as well, with Cassetti having originated from it and Sancho being the only person on record to leave the park intact after it closed.

Whoever was behind La Manchaland, Sancho was connected to them. They would find out more as they explored the park, hopefully.

Aizawa would rescue his student.

Even if it was from herself.

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Chapter Text

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Stain was conflicted.

On one hand, the world had seen those fakes for what they were. On the other…

Maybe those fakes had been a necessary evil. Without their posturing and attention seeking, Japan had fallen into near anarchy. Not to mention his once ironclad faith in All Might had been shaken, though he’d never say it.

Seeing the true hero in such a sorry state, nearly dead at the hands of the League’s sponsor, then at the mercy of that new villain. It was a shock to his system, but, in the end, it only reinforced his belief that action was needed, not pretty words.

He didn’t kill fakes anymore. At least, not the ones still acting as heroes. They were at least doing something . Mostly, he killed the people who had gone full villain in the chaos and the fakes who had chickened out and retired early.

Speaking of villains, he wasn’t sure how to feel about the most powerful villain around, Sancho. She was a villain alright, no doubts about that, but she’d purged the underworld of most of its filth and had been the one to expose those fakes.

There was also something he’d noticed that most others seemed to miss. Sancho never initiated fights against heroes. Every time she’d fought heroes, to his knowledge, it was always in self-defense.

Even Stain himself had fought heroes that, while they were leagues below All Might, he respected out of necessity. Take Ingenium for example; He was, by all accounts, a model hero, aside from the blatant nepotism. He had never been Stain’s target, but it was impossible to get away from him without injuring the man.

It wasn’t often that the Hero Killer’s mind wandered like this, especially in the middle of a kill, but the fake that he was targeting, a chicken that formerly went by the alias Rosespanner, was so pathetic that Stain hardly needed to pay any mind to the fool.

Though his mind wandered, he still picked up on another presence in the alley, as faint as it was. “Who are you?” He whipped his head around to face in the person’s general direction.

Stain expected many things, a vigilante out for vengeance, an underground hero here to arrest him, that weird hobo with the scarf again. What Stain was not expecting was a girlish squeal of delight.

“Mister Stainy! It is you! I’m such a huge fan!” A young blonde woman skipped out into the open, her hair up in messy buns and a cheshire grin splitting her face.

Stain felt something that he hadn’t experienced in years.

Fear. True fear.

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Izuku was awash with several emotions after the briefing. Half of it was an organized summary of what they had pierced together from Sancho and Cassetti’s ramblings, the other half being what the HPSC had compiled about La Manchaland itself, and to expect some of the bloodbags inside to look like heroes and sidekicks, the cost of this information.

There were a few details that were new to him, the main one being the new information on the overseers of each area. Two of them were only referred to by title; The Barber and The Priest, while the third and final one had been called ‘Lady Dulcinea’ by some of the park’s staff.

If that Dulcinea was the same one that Sancho mentioned, then did that mean she was one of the other overseers? No, neither of those titles fit Sancho.

Who was Sancho, really? Was she one of those Kindred? Had she been one of them all along, or had she joined them in exchange for her life like Multicrack had? Why was she trying to be a hero in the first place as Don Quixote? She said that she ‘awakened’. What did that mean? Did one of the villains have some sort of mind-altering quirk that caused her to commit all of those horrific acts? Speaking of quirks, why didn’t Erasure work on any of them? If those powers aren’t quirks, then what are they?

“This is the seventh time you’ve started mumbling, Deku.” Katsuki snapped him out of the habit that Izuku could never seem to break.

“Sorry, Kachan. It’s just that there’s really nothing else to do while we wait for the park to open.” Izuku looked away sheepishly, only to see some of his classmates passing the time ruining their friendships via the power of UNO.

“Draw two, Kaminari.”

“No u.”

“You do know that the reverse card doesn’t actually do that, right?”

… They’d be fine without him.

Katsuki clenched his fists in frustration. “Alright, I’m done standing around and waiting! Open up, you fucking cowards!” He shouted to the air as if the park could hear him from… wherever it went when it closed.

Then, seemingly heeding Katsuki’s provocation, La Manchaland began to manifest. Many of them set timers for around five hours, so that they could escape the park before it closed if needed.

“I swear I’ve heard this piece somewhere before…” One of his classmates muttered under their breath as the cheery music began blaring from the park’s sound system. Izuku would file that away for later.

Despite the hesitation of many of the students, they approached the front gate. As they did, Izuku felt something. It was similar to when the Vestiges communicated with him early on, fragmented voices filled his mind.

“ Is that it? Well, how will you… live on? ” A woman’s voice, one that he’d never heard before.

“ Thank you… for everything. Don't forget those hero magazines. ” Sancho. Was she… speaking to the woman?

Sancho’s voice invaded his mental space once again, though this time it was frantic, desperate, and accompanied by agonizing screams. “ Please, please! I don't want an adventure, stop! Please! ” She sounded like she was in tears. Just what had she gone through?

“ I have conceived an idea most ingenious. ” A man’s voice this time, with confidence that would give even All Might a run for his money. And that was a lot, coming from Izuku.

“Yo! Earth to Midbro! You good, man?” Kirishima brought Izuku out of… whatever that was. Was it another facet of One For All? No, he didn’t have the time to question it right now.

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is just… a lot.” He gave a non-answer. Technically not lying to his friend.

“Heads up guys. We have company.” Jirou stated, sensing the wave of bloodbags that the park expelled whenever it opened.

“Finally, some goddamn action! Bring it on zombie ripoffs!” Katsuki charged into the fray, palms alight with his quirk.

Some things never change.

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“How the hell did you rope me into this?” Stain asked as he watched the wannabe heroes fight at the entrance of La Manchaland from atop a somewhat nearby building.

“Because you want to see Sancho almost as much as I do and judge those mini-heroes.” Himiko suppressed a squeal. “I can’t wait to see the inside of that place! It must be so bloody and pretty!”

There were many ways that Stain could respond to her craziness, but considering that he was just a different kind of crazy, he didn’t respond at all. There was a bit more to his cooperation than what the girl had stated, mostly her alleged personal connection with Sancho and hand in exposing the fakes.

The both of them were planning on entering behind the group of hero wannabes and exploring the place on their own, hopefully getting in contact with Sancho to figure out what the hell was going on in that place.

But for now, Stain’s focus was on some explosive kid at the front of the pack. He didn’t like the look of the loud pomeranian. He was also rather angry about that failed vigilante being brought back into heroics after committing such a serious crime. Nepotism strikes again.

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After Aizawa’s class defeated the numerous bloodbags at the entrance, they noticed some disturbing things about them. They had all been dressed in old European style clothing, matching the aesthetic of the park, and every single one of them had masks sewn onto their faces like Cassetti had, though these masks were far more simple than his.

The park’s speakers crackled and a woman’s voice emanated from them. “ La Manchaland, bloom your smiles of joy~ La Manchaland, a place of freedom to dream side-by-side with Bloodfiends. We wish you a wonderful stay here~ ” The sheer joy and peppiness in her tone put off the majority of the class.

“Bloodfiends? What are they talking about?” Hagakure asked.

“It’s likely that the people running this park don’t see themselves as human anymore, considering the way Cassetti spoke about humans as if he wasn’t one of them. Perhaps due to whatever or whoever their blood-based powers originated from, since they aren’t their quirks.” Yaoyorozu laid out their assumptions. Those guesses were the best that they had for now.

The speakers crackled again. “ Admissions end in five minutes! Please form a line and enter in an orderly fashion. Remember: enter through the back left, and exit through the back left~. Entry may be difficult once the admissions are over, so please wait by the gate with your blood packs! ”

“B-Blood packs?” Mineta looked like he was torn between being terrified or being disgusted.

“Look there.” Shouji pointed to a comparatively small sign at the entrance. It looked to be a list of various passes and their prices, though said prices were listed in milliliters rather than any actual currency.

“To pay the toll in blood, what a mad banquet of darkness.” Tokoyami would be having the time of his edgy life in any other circumstance.

“No wonder this place smells awful.” Asui remarked.

Bakugou stormed past the gates without paying the entrance fee. “Move it, extras! There’re more villains to kill!” For once, he probably would kill these villains. Lethal force had been authorized while inside the park.

Despite many of their reservations, the rest of the class followed. Shouji noticed the multitude of flyers strewn about the entrance grounds, so he decided to take one and inspect it. On the flyer was a map of the park’s interior as well as a brief description of each area, aside from the one in the center. He shared the useful information with the rest of the class.

They were currently in the first area of three, four if one counted the ‘final attraction’ as the flyer dubbed it. This area was mainly guest services and gift shops rather than actual attractions, and the attractions that it did have were all seemingly mundane, barring a couple of small thrill rides.

This area was labelled as ‘Pretty and Wonderful’, though the reality couldn’t be more different. It was bathed in harsh reds, making the stench of blood even more apparent. Many of the decorations fit the European gothic style that the park’s exterior shared, with some more modern amenities, of course.

“So this place really is an amusement park? It’s even got real attractions and everything.” Kaminari asked, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, it even has a defined theme that it's sticking to, like Mighty World being themed around All Might and some other popular heroes.” Sero added to the thought.

“Even if this place was once a place of joy and amusement as it claims, it is no more than a den of villainy now!” Iida ended that train of thought with his signature chops.

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So they ignored her warning, after all the trouble of giving it to them. It was disappointing, yet completely expected of the heroes. What Sancho wasn’t expecting as she watched the entrance, was two others sneaking in behind the group of heroes.

The unlikely pair of villains headed in a different direction than the heroes, likely to avoid detection. While the heroes were thoroughly exploring Nicolina’s area, the pair headed to Curiambro’s.

Sancho sighed to herself. “What a mess. I’d rather not kill them if I can avoid it, but they’re making that rather difficult.”

Sancho thought for a moment. “They may be able to defeat Nicolina, and Curiambro shouldn’t be much more of an issue, but there’s no way they’ll be able to defeat Dulcinea and her parade, even in their weakened states.”

She could feel Father’s will, even from as far away as she was. The park was an extension of himself, after all. “Watch over Nicolina? Very well.” She wasn’t the biggest fan of Nicolina even before the stunt she’d pulled, but Father’s will was absolute. And unlike the others, she would never disobey him.

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Chapter Text

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“ You okay, kid? That was pretty intense. ” Fifth, one of the past holders of One For All, commented in Izuku’s mind after he’d heard, or rather felt, those voices in his head.

“ What even was that? ” Asked Seventh.

“ A memory. ” Stated First. “ Though I don’t know who it belongs to. ”

“ Was it a telepathic quirk? ” Fourth questioned.

“ No. It’s… something more. It almost feels like One For All. ” Clarified First.

“ It’s Him. ” Third stated with as much respect and fear as was possible for the normally stoic man.

“ Him? ” Sixth repeated in an inquisitive tone.

“ It stands to reason. He was the one who gave us that damned ticket that Eighth had to go and rip up. ” Second spat with his usual amount of venom.

“ Care to share with the rest of the class? Who are you talking about? ” Seventh decided to gracefully ignore the jab at her chosen successor. Even if he deserved it.

Second and Third were despondent. Neither of them wished to share the details of their pasts.

After a moment, Third spoke. “ It doesn’t matter anymore. Just by seeing the state of this place He’s either been dethroned, or He’s changed far too much for our knowledge to be of any use. ”

“ What do you mean by that? ” Fifth was getting real tired of the cryptic act.

“ All I can say for certain is this: This place was a functioning amusement park during our time, a place of smiles and joy. Now it isn’t. ” Second left no room for further questions.

While Izuku was distracted by the voices in his head, though he’d never say it out loud since he’d end up in a mental institute, the group had encountered one of La Manchaland’s staff members, or Kindred, as they called themselves.

At first, the Kindred was indistinguishable from the shambling bloodbags surrounding her. She was dressed in a similar style to the zombie-like byproducts and wore a mask as well. The details that differentiated her from them were her mask being modelled after that of a plague doctor, which brought back some bitter memories in some of the students as well as Aizawa, rather than the party masks that the bloodbags wore, and the bone-white scissor blade that she carried.

Two intrusive thoughts entered some of the students’ minds: Why a single blade instead of a pair? And; Considering the rest of this place, it wouldn’t be too surprising if that thing was made of actual bones.

The Kindred had spotted them, glowing red dots shining through her mask locking onto the group, and she cackled beneath her mask. “It begins! It begins again! The eradication party-party!” Most of the class was reminded of what they’d learned firsthand from Cassetti. Namely, that all of the Kindred were absolutely insane. And apparently shared the trait of strange speaking patterns, though it was unsettling here, rather than endearing like it was with… her .

“More humans, more excitement! More exciting-excited humans!” She continued, addressing them directly now. “Oh, if only they held this party more often, three times a day! So I'll send one of you back out there with two days to live. Go tell whoever sent you here that we’re looking forward to their visit later!”

Katsuki spoke brashly, as he always did. “Like hell we will! How about this; Tell us where the lock is, and I’ll kill you quickly.” He punctuated his ultimatum by making a smatter of miniature explosions dance across his palms.

The Kindred cackled again, even more maddened than before. “I like it! I love it! Splendid! Words so nasty, yet blood so tasty!” It was almost eerie how similar she was to Cassetti. Just what had these people gone through? “Don't be so hasty, though. We've got plenty of events to cover. Fashion shows, popularity contests, oh! How oh-so-exciting! Right?” The Kindred spoke as if this were truly a place of amusement, advertising the various attractions and events the park had to offer.

“Fashion shows?” Realization dawned on Momo’s face. “Is that why you’ve made a mockery of all of your victims?” That realization was replaced with indignation, then anger.

“Well, we can't have you skittering around here looking so unfashionable. You know that, right? Can't have our guests wearing rags that look like they've been stitched together from rat hides. I'll get in trouble!” She exclaimed. Many of the class, especially Yuuga, were offended by that comment. Their hero suits were top-of-the-line!

“I must disagree with you, madame. This armor is tres fabulous.” The Frenchman argued.

The Kindred continued as if she hadn’t heard his protest at all. “We'll dress you all in pretty, pretty dresses and suits, put you up for display in the powder room, and nibble you slowly for a week.” She hummed to herself, seemingly lost in her own fantasy. “Where should I taste first? I'm so excited!” As she continued her reverie, more Kindred approached them, bloodbags following in their wake.

Izuku spoke to his classmates. “I don’t think talking will get us anywhere with them. Let’s fight before we’re surrounded.” For once, the entire class was in agreement.

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Sancho observed the battle from on high, class 3-A, as they now were, against roughly equal numbers. Of course, the majority of those numbers were bloodbags, but there were about a half-dozen lesser Kindred mixed in.

How difficult this fight would be for them depended on how much they’d learned from fighting against that turncoat. Common strategy dictated that one would target the weakest combatants first, then overwhelm the more powerful opponents with numbers.

Most of the time, such a strategy worked, but against Bloodfiends, it was a huge mistake. If they downed or killed the bloodbags, the remaining Kindred would simply feed off of them and become stronger, especially when they were already blood-starved as it is.

Even then, it wasn’t a question of if the heroes would win, but of how many losses they’d take. At full strength, a lesser Kindred would still be handily defeated by some of the more capable combatants in the class such as Bakugou or Todoroki.

The less combat-capable heroes such as Hagakure or Kouda would be weeded out quickly, as they were quite useless here. Kouda, because there were no living animals here to control, and Hagakure, because invisibility was worthless against beings that could smell your blood from meters away.

Bakugou was the first to engage, as always, going straight for the Kindred that had spoken with them prior. Kirishima backed him up by fending off another Kindred that attempted to intercept the reckless charge.

The other four Kindred were handled by Midoriya, Iida, Yaoyorozu, and Kaminari, the last of which had a pair of swords that conducted his electricity. The rest of the class was led by Aizawa into fending off the bloodbags.

Over the course of the fight, Sancho noticed a few details that had escaped her before. Namely, that Midoriya had some kind of case strapped to his back, and that some of the heroes had bastardized her hero costume. As if shooting her with her own gun wasn’t enough.

The swords that Kaminari was using were her own, modified with various parts that conducted and stabilized his electricity. Iida and Aoyama had copied parts of her armor, since the original set wouldn’t fit either of them. Shinsou used her bow whenever he wasn’t close enough to use his capture scarf. And not only had she looted her gun, but Yaoyorozu had taken her cape. Yes, it did match the rest of her outfit, but that was too far.

Thankfully, she hadn’t spotted any of them waving her lance around, not that most of them would be able to lift the thing. If she had, she might’ve gone down there and kicked them out of La Manchaland personally.

After a bit of fighting, a couple of the bloodbags had gone down to Sato, who had gotten impatient and downed a small bag of sugar. A few more had gone down shortly after to Tokoyami and Ashido. It seemed that they didn’t have the patience or foresight to hold back against them.

The Kindred quickly capitalized on this, like sharks smelling blood in the… poor choice of words.

The ones that were closer to their downed ‘allies’ feasted on their blood, empowering themselves and their weapons. Said weapons gained a vermilion tint and grew larger, covered in solidified blood.

By the time the heroes took notice, it was too late. Kaminari, Kirishima, and Iida were being pushed back by the empowered Kindred. Taking note of this, Aizawa sent Shinsou, Ashido, and Asui to assist them, with Todoroki picking up the slack. He was quite suited to fighting large numbers of weak enemies.

The Kindred that Bakugou was fighting was also empowered, but the only thing that came of it was his feral grin widening.

The first Kindred to fall was the one that Kaminari was fighting, not because of the electric hero, but because Shinsou could actually use his quirk on them, unlike the mostly mindless bloodbags. It is rather easy to defeat someone who isn’t fighting back, as Kaminari learned.

After that were the ones that Midoriya and Yaoyorozu were fighting, as they had not been fortunate enough to partake in the downed bloodbags. Speaking of, a few more had been defeated, but only the one that Bakugou was fighting got a taste, the rest of the heroes realized that letting the Kindred feed was a very bad idea.

The next Kindred fell to Kirishima and Ashido using the classic shield and spear tactic. Iida’s opponent fell at almost the same time to a combo of strong kicks from both himself and Asui.

By this point, the only enemy remaining was Bakugou’s. Not because he was weak or incompetent, but because he dragged out the fight in order to stock up on sweat for later use, and he just really liked fighting.

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The final Kindred, the one that had initiated all of this, fell to her knees in defeat, too injured to stand properly. The blood that she’d consumed had done little to aid her against the blonde bomber. “P-Please… Don't kill me.” She begged, truly convinced that the heroes would end her.

Before any of the heroes could respond, she continued. “I… it's been two hundred years since I was this full… Can you imagine… what it feels like to have the ravenousness eat you alive for two whole centuries?”

That gave them pause. Two centuries? How could she possibly be that old? Just what were these people? Before any of them could ask the myriad of questions that ailed them, the Kindred took their moment of silence as a threat and spoke again. “Please, please? I… I got too excited. I'll live like I did before, in the shadows. Like I don't even exist. Please…”

They could hear the faint sounds of sobbing beneath her mask. Aizawa decided to put a stop to this. “I’ll think about it if you tell us where the lock is.” He wouldn’t actually kill her, he was a hero after all. This was simply a logical ruse.

The Kindred looked up at him like some great savior, making his skin crawl. Just how awful was this place, even to its own staff? “H-Head over to that attraction over there. I'll let you in on a shortcut that'll lead you straight to the mechanism.” She pointed over to an attraction labelled as a shooting gallery.

She paused, Aizawa nodded for her to continue. “Enter, and immediately turn-” A flash of red clouded their vision for a brief moment as she was cut off. Once their vision returned, where there had once been a begging villain, was now only a headless corpse.

Said head was now in chunks strewn across the ground alongside the shattered remains of the mask that once adorned it. In the center of the gore was a large crimson arrow. “Shouji! Find out where that arrow was shot from!” Aizawa’s voice cut through most of the students’ shock and horror.

A few moments later, after he’d formed several eyes and ears on the ends of his arms, Shouji responded. “There’s no sign of anyone. Whoever shot that arrow is long gone.”

This response made most of the students restless. Now there was an archer capable of blowing people’s heads off with one shot, and was fast enough to get away without being detected. Yet another threat that they had to be vigilant of.

After a brief discussion, it was decided that Kouda, Hagakure, and Aoyama would head back to base. The first two because their quirks and skills were rendered ineffective here, Aoyama was included so that they’d have a measure of safety as they retreated, and because he lacked the stamina for an operation like this. He’d likely suffer from overuse before they were done with the second area.

Some others (Mineta) wanted to leave as well, but the heroes needed all of the numbers they could get, and the rest of the students were too useful to send back.

With trepidation, class 3-A delved into the most ominous shooting gallery that they’d see in their lives.

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“Leaving so soon?” Sancho’s voice echoed across the empty area. Whatever Kindred and bloodbags that occupied it before had already been defeated by the heroes or ordered away by Sancho herself.

The three hero students jolted in shock, then slowly turned their heads towards her.

“It… It really is you, Quixote.” Hagakure then noticed the bow in Sancho’s hands. “You’ve been watching us, haven’t you?”

Though it was difficult to notice, Sancho could tell that the invisible woman’s legs were quaking in fear. “That is not my name. One merely borrowed from another. To answer your question; Yes, I have been observing you all from the moment you entered the park.”

Though Hagakure was, quite literally, quaking in her boots, the other two were doing far worse. Kouda was petrified, his rock-like appearance only cementing that description, while Aoyama looked sick from something other than quirk overuse.

“... Why?” Hagakure asked the big question.

Sancho paused for a moment, until she arrived at a serviceable answer for the many ‘whys’ that she may have meant. “Because this is my home. It is where I belong alongside the rest of my Family.”

The heroes stared at her for a long moment, either unsure of what to make of her answer or paralyzed with fear.

Once the pause became more awkward than tense, Sancho decided to take her leave. She looked back at them. “By the way, I’ve cleared the entrance for you. Consider it a reward for finally taking my advice.”

By the time the heroes realized what she had said, Sancho was long gone.

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Chapter Text

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Delving inside the attraction, the heroes came upon an open space. Most of the spacious room was empty, only cracked checkered tile remaining, while the space in front of the furthest wall from the entrance appeared almost set for some manner of stageplay, though the stage itself was far too narrow for a proper performance.

Various cardboard cutouts littered the small stage and its immediate surroundings, depicting the set of a pre-quirk-era city. The only source of light in the room were the spotlights directed at the scene.

Speakers littered around the room crackled to life with a grainy-sounding narration, the same voice used for the entrance announcements.

“ Welcome, one and all, to the main attraction of Area One, 'Fantasy Blood-shooting Range'! Things might get a little too spooky for little ones, so hold on tight to your mommy and daddy's hands! Oh, and don't forget about our 'Fashionista Show' attraction! We worked really hard on it. Please pay a visit to pick up a free souvenir gift. ”

There were faint sounds of shuffling, barely picked up by the low-quality microphone, before the narrator let out a yelp of surprise. “ Sancho! Sheesh, you spooked me with your staring again, your grace. Well, I'm thinking of giving out a few souvenirs here. Lady Dulcinea just won't stop teasing me about how my attraction doesn't get a lot of visitors- ” The audio abruptly cut out.

“Is this shithole run by a bunch of amateurs or something?” Katsuki quipped, already done with the sheer nonsense of this operation.

“Did she just call Sancho ‘your grace’?” Hitoshi asked.

“Yeah, and that recording sounded really old.” Denki confirmed.

Kyouka huffed. “They could’ve just been using a low-quality mic. This place definitely wasn’t the highest priority for whatever budget they have.” She gestured to the cardboard setpieces.

The speakers gave out a brief bit of feedback before the narration continued, much clearer than before. “ Wanna know something? ” The lights around the stage brightened, and the setpieces shifted, displaying cutouts of people, some with obvious quirks on one side, while the ‘people’ opposite them had no outward signs of their quirks or their usage.

“ Long, long ago… a forever ago, really… meta-humans and humans weren't as friendly as we are today. How sad and tragic is that? Hating each other like cats and dogs, their every meeting resulting in big brawls. ”

“Meta-humans? We’ve heard enough of that shit already.” Katsuki’s ego had clearly not fully recovered from the MLA incident.

“Maybe they’re using an outdated term because this place is just that old, kero ?” Tsuyu added.

“ Oh? Oh no! Bad, bad Metas are trying to kill those humans! Whatever shall we do? ” The overly dramatic narration continued. The heroes remained silent, waiting for the farce to continue.

“ What-ever-shall-we-do? ” The narrator asked again, clearly more annoyed than last time.

“Is this live?” Izuku asked.

“That would explain the difference in audio quality.” Fumikage concluded.

Ochako spoke up towards where the audio originated. “Try and talk them out of it? Even villains just need help sometimes.” She answered.

“ BZZZT! Wrong answer! Think again! Who's next? ” The narrator harshly rebuked.

Katsuki scoffed. “So what? They’re just villains. Kill the shit out of ‘em!”

“Such speech is unbecoming of-” Tenya was cut off by the speakers.

“ Ding-ding, correct! Very well, then! Here's a chance for you to defeat those bad, bad Metas! How splendidly exciting is this?! ” As she spoke, trap doors opened up and bloodbags flowed into the area, crude targets painted on random parts of their bodies.

As the heroes prepared to fight, Izuku felt a somewhat familiar sensation. The same voice as before, the male one, resounded in his mind once more.

“ In that land…

There won't be any wearisome battles to fight. No constant fear of being murdered…

There shall be only laughter. ”

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There wasn’t anything notable about the fight. Just more mindless bloodbags. The students had gotten used to them by now, for better or worse.

The grainy recording began playing once more after the last bag had fallen. “ Now! I'm sure kiddos are most excited for this part of the attraction! Welcome to the 'Today, I'm This Area's Hero’ attraction! When the bad Metas appear, use those toy clubs we handed out earlier by the entrance to knock 'em all down! Adults can play, too! Now beat that stress outta your syste- ” Once more, the voice-over cut out, replaced by the same voice of the present instead of the past.

“ NO! We don't need to pretend like those fake, toy clubs hurt. Not anymore. Only… Only the real Bloodfiends remain here, now. ” She paused briefly, though before the heroes could use that pause to make sense of her words, the stage shifted once more. It now displayed two figures on a raised platform, shaking hands.

“ Now, the bad Metas, villains who want to hurt humans have all been driven underground. Only the kindhearted, righteous Meta-humans remain on the surface. They made a pinkie-promise with humans that they won't be violent anymore! That they'd live peacefully, happily ever after together! Because what's better than peace, right? ”

The stage shifted again, cutouts depicting cartoonish villains appearing beneath the surface of the platform. “Oh…? But look! Oh, look! The bad, no-good villains are crawling back up to the surface again! Our normal human friends grew scared that the big, bad, scary villains might come back to hurt them again. Spending every hour of the night trembling in fear of no-good villains… not getting even a wink of rest. And you know how important sleep is to skin maintenance. A bad sleep cycle is a leading cause of hair loss and various nasty skin conditions!”

“Well, she has a point there.” Mina interjected, several of the female students nodding in agreement. The stage shifted once more, now only a lone figure clad in deep red was left illuminated by the spotlight.

“ That's when a Hero, righteous and just, comes up with an idea most ingenious. ‘What if… And I mean really, what if… We could create a place in which humans and Bloodfiends may coexist in happy harmony? There, the kindly Bloodfiends will protect humans from evil villains while humans will voluntarily share their blood with the kindly Bloodfiends.’ How's that? Now isn't that really an idea most ingenious? ”

“Bloodfiends. That’s what they’re calling themselves?” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

Tenya chopped the air as he spoke. “But we have heroes to fight against villains. There is no need for these Bloodfiends' protection.”

“ Well, it's only natural that such grand, impressive ideals would be met with some resistance. ” The narrator retorted. “ But a great leader is often flanked by capable vassals who help them realize their ambitions… And soon… ” A cutout depicting the entrance of La Manchaland sprang up next to the lone figure. “ La Manchaland was born! La Manchaland, where your smiles of joy bloom. La Manchaland, where everyone can dream free! ”

More bloodbags crawled through the still-open trap doors. Not enough to overwhelm the heroes, but enough to keep most of them busy. “ But ooh, oh my! Do you see that one thing that's missing from the perfect La Manchaland? ” She continued to mock the heroes as they fought.

“Jeez! How long is she gonna keep yapping for?” Hanta complained as he wrapped up a pair of bloodbags.

“She’s just taunting us. Trying to make us slip up against her minions.” Shouji mollified his classmate.

“ Oh really? Do you really not see what's missing? ” The narrator asked in a distinctly patronizing tone. “ Once you're in La Manchaland, shouldn't one rightly wear something that befits the occasion? And ah, how could I forget those elegant yet tastefully flamboyant masks?! Just like this! This feels much more like a festival now, doesn't it? ”

“So you’re the one responsible for these masks?” Momo hid it well, but her close friends picked up on the anger in her voice. She then shot the last remaining bloodbag clean through the skull.

“ And thanks to all of you, La Manchaland found perfection. With this quarrel quelled, Bloodfiends and humans can now live together in harmony, living in everlasting festivities. The final tally of the bad, evil villains our kindly heroes have slain is… ” She trailed off, pausing properly for once.

“Eh, forgot the count somewhere in the middle. Anyways, you sure killed a *lot* of those big, bad bloodbags. Anyways, you’ve all placed first in the Fantasy Blood-shooting Range competition! Salutations and Congratulations! What shall be your reward?! Drum roll please, everyone~” A stock drum roll played over the speakers as the stage shifted for the final time, an intricate yet elegant device raised up to center stage.

“ Ta-da! Here's a button that opens the path to the finest attraction of all time in La Manchaland~! 'The Haunted: Bloody Mary', the highlight of La Manchaland, the frightening challenge that only the bravest of adventurers dare face! ”

“So this is one of the locks that we were briefed about.” Izuku muttered to himself as he inspected the device.

“Well that was fast! Only two more to go and we can blow this popsicle stand.” Denki commented with his usual lackadaisical manner.

“It’s almost too easy.” Hitoshi muttered.

“C’mon, man. Don’t jinx us like that!” Hanta rebuked.

Ochako moved up to the device. “Enough, guys. We’re on a time limit. I say we should press it before she changes her mind.” As she went to press the big red button, Izuku noticed a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

He reacted quickly by tackling Ochako to the floor, a comically large pair of scissors snipping where she stood mere milliseconds ago. They were similar to the scissor blades that the Kindred had wielded, only that it was a complete pair, and one of the blades was fully red, the other being bone-white.

Mocking laughter came from the holder of those scissors as she hefted them over her shoulder. “How fun, how fun! This is the most fun I've had all week!” Her voice was all too familiar.

Izuku and Ochako scrambled to their feet and got a good look at their assailant. Much like her weapon, she was like the Kindred they’d encountered outside, but more elaborate. Her dress was larger, her mask, gaudier, her hair, longer and styled into ringlets.

“As if I’d let such slovenly people undo our area’s lock.” She gave a slow look at all of them, then let out a light giggle. “So, how did you like the game? Mine's your favorite, isn't it? I was going to add a few more decorations here and there, maybe some frilly lace… But I ran out of time. You see, since Bloodbags can't change themselves, I have to dress each and every one of them myself. Anything too complicated just isn't sturdy enough to stay on.”

“Shut up! We’re done playing your little game! So fuck off and let us through, or just fight us already!” Katsuki had long lost his patience with this woman.

In response, she let out a hearty laugh. “Alrighty then! I’ll cut you all up nice and pretty~!”

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Sancho had waited in the wings for the duration of Nicolina’s long-winded spiel about the heavily abridged history of La Manchaland. She thought to herself about how the fight against her would go for the heroes.

The most likely to falter here would be Sato, Mineta, and Kaminari. Sato because of his dependence on sugar and the drawback of using too much, something that would likely be necessary against Nicolina, even in her malnourished state. The reason for Mineta and Kaminari faltering was far simpler: Nicolina was a pretty woman, and her choice of wardrobe made that extremely difficult to ignore.

Though, it wasn’t just these three at risk. Anyone who earned Nicolina’s ire mid-battle would be lucky to get through with only a few cuts. The only one that would be relatively safe here was Kirishima, but due to that, he’d be taking the brunt of the damage anyway.

Wait, why was she even thinking about this? It didn’t matter who would fail here or not, they’d all lose in the end. Even if, by some miracle, they made it past Dulcinea, they’d still have to get through Sancho herself, not to mention Father. Those heroes were just walking corpses from the moment they ignored her advice.

Whatever. At least they’d give her a good show while they still resisted their inevitable fate.

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Chapter Text

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Nicolina began with a barrage of swift slices, her pair of oversized scissors remaining closed. She demonstrated considerable skill with the unconventional weapon, whirling it around her wrist when she needed speed over power or finesse, yet never fully losing hold of it.

These slices were aimed at the students closest to herself, those being Izuku, Ochako, and Katsuki. Katsuki was able to dodge the wild strikes easily enough, the other two, who happened to be even closer, ended up with a few shallow cuts.

Izuku jumped away from the storm of sharp edges that was Nicolina with Ochako in his arms. Katsuki, of course, stood his ground and fought the overseer head on, with Eijirou scrambling to join him.

“What are you supposed to be, the bonus round?” Hitoshi’s voice reverberated clearly, even through Katsuki’s explosions.

“Hmm… That’s a pretty good idea. I think I’ll start doing this more often.” Nicolina responded as she continued her attempts at hacking Katsuki’s arms off. Suddenly, those attempts ceased as Hitoshi’s quirk took effect.

He confidently strode towards the motionless Nicolina, his capture weapon primed to restrain her. “I finally have a good fight, and you decide to go and ruin it, Eyebags.” Katsuki sulked.

“Then fight faster next time.” Was Hitoshi’s only reply as he made to part the pair of scissors from its owner…

Only to have his torso sliced open as Nicolina brought those scissors up, crimson liquid spraying forth from the wound. “Nice trick ya got there. Shame that someone else already thought of it long before you. Lady Dulcinea made sure that I wouldn’t embarrass myself like that again.” She chuckled before going in for another offensive against Katsuki, Eijirou shielding him once more.

Aizawa’s scarf dragged the limp body of Hitoshi and began to treat his wound alongside Hanta. Thankfully, he hadn’t died from that hit, though he did lose a lot of blood.

Izuku leaped back into the fray with 65% Full Cowling active, Nicolina’s manic strikes even more difficult to evade now since the red blade had grown larger and longer with the blood of their classmate.

He, Eijirou, and Katsuki surrounded her, their classmates keeping their distance, but still filling the gaps in their formation.

Nicolina tired of this deadlock, so she kicked the annoying rock into the crowd of students before dashing at one of the perverts leering at her.

Denki witnessed Eijirou being launched at Shouto and Kyouka before all of his focus was on blocking all of the strikes aimed at him. He made sure to electrify his swords as he did, whenever their weapons clashed, his electricity would travel through the scissors and shock their wielder.

If this were against a normal person, the amount of electricity would cause his opponent to let go of their weapon on reflex. This monster of a woman, however, seemed to barely notice it. She continued her merciless onslaught even as Izuku and Katsuki rushed at her from behind.

The three boys went on the offensive, Nicolina now forced to block and evade their attacks. However, unlike her opponents, she did so with ease, gracefully weaving between their strikes as if dancing to an unheard tune. She even countered them with some snips of her own when they left an opening.

The three of them backed off as the mustard-colored form of Rikido barrelled at the Third Kindred, ramming her with his left shoulder. After making contact with the villainess, his charge continued for all of two meters before stopping cold.

With a crazed laugh, Nicolina carved up the poor student’s left arm and side before Tenya kicked at her, only to receive a further empowered scissor blade to the ankle for his troubles. It was only a scratch, but it still stung fiercely.

An overly long staff struck the side of Nicolina’s head, freshly created by Momo in an attempt to match her opponent’s reach. The staff was easily knocked out of her hands due to the student being inexperienced with a weapon of such length.

While the tactic was ineffective at actually damaging the Kindred, it did keep her in place long enough for a certain grape to stick his balls onto her, trapping her shapely pale legs in place, he was extremely focused on his target for very normal reasons.

Izuku and Tsuyu leaped at Nicolina from opposite sides, both ready to deliver powerful kicks. Izuku’s was blocked by Nicolina’s scissors, but she couldn’t dodge Tsuyu’s.

Before she could retaliate, both of her assailants backed away. Katsuki now loomed above her, preparing a Howitzer Impact. Nicolina swiftly cut Minoru’s balls off of her, allowing her to roll out of the way of the impending explosion.

The resulting smoke impeded the heroes’ vision, only two of them able to reliably sense their adversary. “Mineta!” Was all Shouji could yell before the small hero was nearly bisected from behind. Fortunately for him (and unfortunately for women everywhere), he avoided being cleaved in half thanks to Shouji’s warning, though the tip of Nicolina’s blade still gouged deep into his side.

Through the haze generated by Katsuki’s super move, the heroes saw only two pairs of gleaming red eyes, one pair belonging to an ally, the other to the enemy. Dark Shadow roared as it sent a flurry of swipes at the overseer, uncaring of potential retaliation.

Both opponents’ frenzied offensives blew away the remaining smoke, revealing that, while Nicolina had taken a few good hits, she’d done enough damage to Fumikage that his quirk was now on the defensive. Only a few cuts, but even the smallest cut could be lethal with the overseer.

With their vision now clear, Ochako and Mina dove into close quarters, eliminating Nicolina’s reach advantage. Mina attacked with a spray of acid, forcing the Kindred to dodge, while Ochacko attempted to grab her from behind.

What neither of them expected was for Nicolina to use her lengthened scissors to vault over Mina completely and away from Ochako, forcing her to dodge Mina’s acid instead of its intended target.

As Nicolina landed, she brought her blade down at Kyouka, but it was blocked by an ice wall from Shouto. The recovered Eijirou used this opportunity to launch a right hook at her exposed side. She attempted to block it, but couldn’t get her scissors out of the ice quickly enough.

She freed her scissors from their frigid prison and swept at Eijirou, only to receive a couple bullets to the back, courtesy of Momo, followed by one of Denki’s swords, which was blocked. She then narrowly dodged out of the way of one of Katsuki’s AP Shots, only to be right in the path of one of Tsuyu’s kicks.

Nicolina regained her footing and backed away from the ice wall where the heroes had congregated. She opened her scissors horizontally, ready to cleave the whole lot of them in half.

Before she could close the blades, Shouji came at her from the side and hit her with six simultaneous straights, knocking her off-balance once more. Before she could recover, Izuku had kicked off of one of the walls and hit her in his face with a momentum-fuelled 80% kick.

Nicolina was sent flying back, away from the heroes. She slowly righted herself, using her scissors as support. “Oh, hey… That reminds me.” She spoke, no longer mirthful and manic as she was before. The seams that kept her ivory plague doctor mask in place began to undo themselves from the strain that the intense battle had put them through.

“How rude of me to… not say hello to our visitors… Right…?” She spoke in short bursts, the fatigue from the fight finally catching up to her. Her mask fell, still attached to her through a few struggling seams on the left side of her face. Said face was bloodied and mangled, barely recognizable as human. “I have to be courteous… It's impolite to wear a mask in front of our guests…”

Many of the students recoiled in shock at the state of their enemy. Is this what they all looked like beneath their masks? “Wh… No, don't look! Don't look at me like that!” Nicolina noticed their gazes, filled with disgust, revulsion, and pity. “If you're going to kill me, at least kill me with my mask on, please?” She desperately tried to place the mask back onto her face, holding it in place with both of her hands, her weapon lay forgotten on the floor.

Katsuki scoffed. This bitch took out three of them, then had the audacity to have a mental breakdown over her stupid mask? He wasn’t going to let that shit slide. He sauntered over to the distracted overseer, ready to blast the living daylights out of her.

Suddenly, he jumped back, just in time to dodge whatever was thrown at him from behind the curtain of the stage. The object in question being a lance that had embedded itself in the floor in front of him. A lance that he and some of the others recognized all too well.

“Well done. You were able to best Nicolina. Even if it was with sheer numbers.” Sancho spoke coldly as she casually walked over to her lance. Most of the students stiffened at her appearance, the drastic changes she had undergone from the friend that they once knew no longer hidden.

She looked over to the fallen Minoru and Hitoshi, the heavily injured Rikido next to them. “But those numbers won’t last forever, nor will they be effective against more competent opponents.”

“Like you?” Katsuki sneered, ready for round two.

“Like the one in charge of area three.” Sancho countered. “I’ve no doubt that at least some of you will make it that far, as stubborn as you all are. I suggest that you pray to whichever god you believe in for a painless end, should you face her in battle.”

“What, too scared to fight us yourself?” No sooner had the words left Katsuki’s mouth, that he found himself splayed on the floor, his throat beneath Sancho’s heel.

“You truly are as suicidal as I thought, if you believe antagonizing me is a wise choice. I could flatten your windpipe right now faster than any of your ‘friends’ would be able to stop me. I choose not to fight you directly not because I fear you, but because it would hardly be a fight to begin with. To me, you are not a threat. You are an annoyance.”

She removed her boot from Katsuki’s neck and plucked her lance from the floor. “Now, feel free to advance forth and impale yourselves upon Dulcinea’s thorns, I’ll not stop you lemmings from running off of that cliff. Now, I’ll be taking Nicolina with me.” Sancho then hefted the incoherent Nicolina over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes along with her now unenhanced scissors. She turned her back and walked away, none of the heroes dared engage her in combat after her display with the still coughing Katsuki.

Under his breath, Izuku mumbled. “We’re friends… Aren’t we?” Shortly afterwards, his mind was transported elsewhere.

Before him were open fields filled with various crops, some small mountains lay in the distance. Close behind him was a small town, the kind one would see frequently in rural areas.

“ Peaceful, isn’t it? ” From beside him spoke the spectral form of Fourth.

“ Where are we? ” Izuku asked, realizing that he himself was now spectral, similar to the vestige.

Fourth was lost in thought for a moment. “ This is where I was born and raised. This is one of my memories from before I inherited One For All. ”

“ Why are you showing me this? ”

“ This was not my doing. It seems that One For All is resonating again. Considering the last time this happened, it’s likely that this memory is related to La Manchaland. ”

Before Izuku could inquire further, he noticed something about the town. “ Are those… villains? ” What he assumed to be a group of villains were robbing the townsfolk, some of them even breaking into houses and taking what valuables they could find.

“ Yes, but back then, they were just criminals. Heroes didn’t really exist back then, not as they are now. ”

“ Then who will protect them? ”

“ If I recall correctly, it was- ” Hikage was interrupted as a loud, yet charismatic voice, similar to All Might’s, rang across the town.

“Fear not citizens! For I, Don Quixote, hath arrived to deliver justice upon these vile bandits!”

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Class 3-A casualties:

Tooru Hagakure (ineffective)

Koji Kouda (ineffective)

Yuuga Aoyama (escort)

Hitoshi Shinsou (major injury)

Rikido Sato (minor injury / escort)

Minoru Mineta (major injury)

Tsuyu Asui (escort)

Hanta Sero (escort)

13 / 21 remaining

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Chapter Text

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The common thieves never stood a chance against Father, though he left a few of them for Sancho to deal with. They would have been shredded like paper had she been using anything other than her bare hands, instead being unconscious with only a few broken bones.

Sancho left most of the talking to Father, contenting herself with gathering up the fallen criminals and restraining them in case they awoke. She didn’t pay too much attention to the drivel that escaped her Father’s mouth. How he spoke in such a manner with a straight face, she would never know.

It was the usual spiel, calming down the village of humans as well as shilling for La Manchaland. As if these people had the time or the means to go there in the first place. At least he didn’t make her speak in that ridiculous manner alongside him this time.

During all of this, she noticed a small boy watching her instead of her more boisterous counterpart. What the child found entertaining about menial labor such as this, she didn’t know, but she paid him no heed. If the child sought comfort or entertainment, a far better option was about five meters away.

After Father finished his exhaustive speech, he strode over to Sancho. “Verily, hath those villains been duly restrained?” Sancho had to admit, Don Quixote, the man she called Father, commanded respect and attention, even with his strange manner of speech that he’d recently picked up from that so-called hero in blue. He was tall with long silver hair and piercing crimson eyes, a trait that all of us shared. His distinctive features, alongside his vibrant vermillion clothing made him stand out no matter where he might be.

“They have, Father.” Sancho gestured to the row of unconscious thieves with their arms tied together that she’d made.

Don Quixote huffed. “How many times must I say it, Sancho? Speak with feeling, with passion! Let people know that thou art here!”

“No. I will not speak in such a degrading manner unless absolutely necessary.” Sancho replied coldly.

“Since when have you been such a rebellious child, Sancho? Very well, I’ll not continue this argument. On to better topics; I have gotten new information of the whereabouts of the relic we’ve been seeking.” He was practically vibrating with joy over getting closer to a possibly fabricated relic. Sancho decided not to remind him of the numerous times he’d been fooled before.

Don Quixote continued, taking Sancho’s silence as curiosity. “According to the villagers, there’s a cave nearby where relics from European merchants of old are said to have been hidden away. There is, however, one slight problem.” Sancho raised an eyebrow, indicating for him to continue once more. “There is a fearsome man-eating bear that has made that cave its home.”

“A bear ?” Sancho questioned indignantly. “I could obliterate that poor animal in less than three-”

Don Quixote cut her off. “Now now, Sancho. Right now, we are heroes, and we shall fight as heroes do.”

“With every power at our disposal?”

“No! With honor and righteousness!”

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After an encounter of moderate difficulty with the, admittedly, very large bear, the pair of ‘heroes’ set up camp by the cave’s entrance, the unfortunate bear’s meat slowly roasting above the fire. “We’ve done it, Sancho! We’ve found the famed Helm of Mambrino!” Don Quixote exclaimed as he held the gaudy headpiece aloft. “I cannot wait to return home and regale the others with the tale of this journey.”

“There isn’t much to tell. We didn’t exactly encounter many hardships.” Sancho spoke plainly. Though she did have a bit of fun during these silly adventures of his, she’d never admit it. Not even if he ordered her to speak the truth, if she did, she’d be on the receiving end of the greatest ‘I told you so’ of all time. Truly, a fate worse than death. Not that death was a concern to her.

Don Quixote balked. “Oh, come now, imagine Dulcinea’s surprised look once we get to this part of the story.”

Sancho looked at the mostly-cooked meat. “A look of disgust would be more accurate.”

Don Quixote barked out a short laugh at that, even Sancho herself cracked a small smile. She hadn’t smiled like this in… When was the last time she’d truly smiled?

“Well, now that we have what we sallied forth for, I suppose I cannot put off my responsibilities any longer. Once day breaks, we ride for La Manchaland.”

Sancho could only nod in agreement.

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In the present day, Sancho pushed the errant memory back into the recesses of her mind where it belonged. That memory would forever remain just a memory, one that could never be returned to. No matter how much she wanted it.

She’d already escorted Nicolina to the safety of Father’s embrace, as per her orders. Now she needed to check on Curiambro. She hadn’t paid too much attention to the pair of villains initially, but with the heroes headed to the second area anyway, she had no reason to not be there.

It seemed that the pair of Himiko and Stain were enough to carve a bloody path through the haunted mansion that served as this area’s main attraction. The place was an absolute wreck, the various setpieces were broken, bloodstained, or both. Even the portrait of Father that hung above the staircase wasn’t spared.

Bodies of Curiambro’s kin littered the floor, bloodthirsty monsters slain by other bloodthirsty monsters. Judging from the lack of noise, the pair had likely made it to the confessional by now.

Several sets of distant footsteps caught her ear. The heroes had arrived.

Sancho leaned against the staircase’s railing, knowing it was more than sturdy enough to support her weight, as she waited for them to arrive.

And arrive they did, with nearly half the number they arrived with. A bit more than expected, but not nearly enough to have a substantial chance against Dulcinea. They were, of course, surprised by her appearance.

They all stood there, waiting for her to make a move. Most with fear, some (Bakugou) with anticipation, some with defiant determination, and Midoriya, who seemed to be in a daze.

“This used to be a castle, you know.” Sancho spoke. “And I don’t mean this haunted house, I’m talking about the park as a whole.” She paused, letting the information sink into the tense heroes.

“But a castle isn’t quite inviting, so we had to tear down the walls that kept us protected. All to show the cowering masses that we weren’t the monsters they thought we were. In place of our home, we built a parody of ourselves, sacrificing nearly everything we had for the smallest chance at peaceful cohabitation.”

Uraraka spoke first. “Why are you telling us all of this?”

“I suppose I’m feeling a bit nostalgic at the moment. And besides, villain monologues are a classic trope, why shouldn’t I go all the way?” Sancho answered with a wry grin.

“But you don’t have to be a villain! I know there’s good in you!” Ashido shouted.

Sancho sighed, she’d been doing that a lot lately. “Good. Evil. Neither of those matter here. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, we drink blood. Human blood. Straight from the source. In what society of humans would we ever be accepted, let alone lauded as heroes? By the mere fact of our existence, we are destined for the role of villains, monsters.”

Before any of the heroes could refute, Sancho resumed her speech. “As for me personally, I’ve killed hundreds of people, innocent and guilty alike, to perpetuate my own existence. I cut down droves of men during the Quirk Wars for simply choosing the side that opposed us. Just recently, I massacred the entire Meta Liberation Army without hesitation. Are you saying that all of those people I slaughtered deserved such a fate?”

None of the heroes had an argument against that. Especially with the revelation that their friend(?) had allegedly fought in the Quirk Wars nearly 200 years ago.

“Enough of this. Where’s the lock mechanism?” Aizawa cut in.

“Through a trapdoor in that fake coffin to your right. Though, it’ll likely be undone by the time you get there.” Sancho pointed to the prop in question.

“And why is that?” He inquired further.

“By the same people who left this trail of death and property damage. Unless you believe I was the one who killed my relatives.”

The unsettled students made their way down the trapdoor one by one, if only to get away from Sancho, until only one remained.

Midoriya had snapped out of his daze at some point, though he’d remained silent until now. He looked her in the eyes, emerald green against blood red, steely determination coursing through him. “I know you can be a hero, if you really try. Because even if you’ve done some awful things in the past, you can be better. And… I know that you did at least some good back then.”

With that, he followed behind his comrades. Leaving Sancho alone in the devastated foyer.

“How hopelessly naive.”

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With one last swing of Stain’s katana, the Priest fell to the floor, defeated. The basement confessional littered with corpses and pools of blood. Fighting them was fun for Himiko at first, but it got boring after the first few. They were all the same, really, just blood-starved zombies. The only difference being that some of them, like this Priest guy, used weapons.

It also didn’t help that their blood tasted like sewer water to her, probably one of the reasons she’d never even considered asking Lady Sancho for her blood. Her quirk did work with them, but she just craved more blood while transformed, not less. It was a painful experience, to say the least.

Mr. Stainy’s quirk also didn’t work too well against them, only stopping them for a small moment rather than the minutes he had with regular people, probably because of how different their blood is from his own.

But despite all of that, the fights weren’t that difficult. Those guys all fought like animals, and when they didn’t, they were super rusty. Not to mention that they were all malnourished.

That Priest guy put up a heck of a fight, though. Himiko didn’t doubt that the guy could’ve taken a full powered punch from All Might in his prime and lived to tell the tale. It was pretty weird that he kept whipping himself and bleeding out to form his allies’ weapons, as well as extending his own. Maybe he was a masochist or something.

After confirming that the fight was really over, Stain knelt next to the fallen Priest. “Where’s Sancho?”

The Priest looked up at the pair, a single eye showing through his broken mask. “Lady Sancho should be with Father.”

Stain seemed a little annoyed with that answer. “And where is this father of yours?”

The Priest’s visible eye unfocused, his lucidity slipping. “O, Father. Please forgive us our transgressions. We shall repent for our sins forevermore.”

Stain was just about to kick the guy while he was down for going off on a prayer tangent, before a loud voice was heard by the pair. “Halt, villains! Cease this torture at once!”

The villains both turned around to see some weirdo clad in full armor chopping at the air with his forearms. Himiko just barely caught Stain muttering under his breath. “How on earth is that fake here?”

Stain spoke louder now, so that the armored weirdo and the dozen heroes running after him could hear. “So now you decide to talk first and throw hands later, fake? Guess you did learn something after all.” Did Stain have a history with this Ingenium cosplayer?

“I won’t be intimidated by you this time, Hero Killer!” The hero boldly proclaimed. “I warn you once more, evildoer; Surrender now, or face further consequences!”

Stain grinned. “Further consequences like a thirty-fourth life sentence to add to the pile? You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that, fake.” He brandished his still unsheathed katana.

The Ingenium wannabe dashed in, loudly shouting the name of his attack like an idiot. Stain focused, looking for an opening to dodge or counter through. All of this was rendered pointless as Himiko threw a knife into a gap in the hero’s armor around his knee mid-sprint.

The injured hero misstepped, tripped, and fell over. With the sheer inertia he had going, he flew past Stain to the other end of the room, crumpling into a heap in the far corner.

“Nice throw.” Stain remarked.

“I learned from the best~” Himiko responded with a wink.

The other heroes caught up, some clearly winded. Himiko recognized one of the cuties from that forest camp in the crowd. “Where’d Iida go? What did you do to him?” She asked.

Iida, was that mini-Ingenium’s name? “If you’re looking for your loud friend, he’s in the corner over there.” Himiko pointed over to the pile of metal plates with a person buried within. “He tripped.” She added in a way that could rival Lady Sancho’s deadpan remarks.

“Bullshit.” One of the boys scoffed. Some dude with spiky blonde hair.

“I mean, he tripped because I threw a knife in his leg, but he still tripped.” Himiko ‘defended’ herself, much to the amusement of the one who called her out, and the ire of the other heroes.

The tension in the room was cut by a soft click. Everyone turned towards the confession booth where Lady Sancho stood with The Priest over her shoulder. “I took the liberty of undoing the lock for you, since you were so preoccupied.” She paused and turned away. “I also took the liberty of alerting every remaining Kindred in areas one and two to your current location.”

The ceiling above them all shook with the impact of dozens of footfalls. Sancho nodded towards a newly opened staircase, likely from the locking mechanism. “I suggest you move quickly, if you want to survive, that is.”

The other entrances to the basement burst open with a horde of Kindred and bloodbags. The only escape remaining being the stairs that Lady Sancho had indicated.

“Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, and Kirishima! Go through the exit! The rest of you will hold them off with me!” Some hobo-looking guy barked orders at the heroes.

“You go with them.” Stain spoke to Himiko.

“What? Why?” She was puzzled at Stain’s apparent change in attitude.

“Because Eraserhead’s a real hero. I’d rather not see him die in a hellhole like this.”

Himiko had no real argument against Stain. If that was what he wanted to do, then she couldn’t stop him.

The retreating heroes eyed Himiko warily, but they understood that now was not the time to argue.

What awaited the quintet outside was a violet landscape painted various other hues by bright spotlights and the occasional firework going off, as well as the distant sound of samba.

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Chapter Text

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The seemingly endless parade nearly encompassed the entirety of the third area, all but the smallest of side streets occupied by a rhythmic march of countless dancing denizens of La Manchaland. The cheerful music and sheer energy with which the park’s staff danced almost compelled the heroes and Himiko to join in, had they not noticed the shambling, mindless bloodbags and the mutilated corpses of some minor heroes impaled on large poles that would normally bear banners.

The Kindred of this area were clad in royal violet and seemed to carry parasols rather than the more menacing weapons of their counterparts, they also wore more masquerade-style masks, shaped like butterflies.

Bakugou wasted no time in approaching the metaphorical tidal wave of potential enemies. “Tell me where the last lock is or I’ll kill your asses!”

One of the Kindred, a relatively short male one, answered, barely audible over the din of the parade. “New guests? My, we’ve been getting so, so many of those lately. The lock, you ask? Well, it’s with Dulcinea the beautiful, the Lady of the parade, of course!”

“And where the hell is she?!” The explosive blonde roared. The others, especially Himiko, recalled Sancho mentioning Dulcinea. More specifically, that she’d be the death of them if they ever fought.

“Why, at the forefront of the parade, naturally!” The Kindred spoke as if this information was the most obvious thing in the world. Pointing towards the massive ferris wheel visible from every section of the park. The so-called final attraction.

Bakugou wasted no time in stomping his way in that direction, preparing his explosions to blast his way over the crowd. The rest followed behind as to not get separated when they were already low on numbers.

“No, no! Stay with us!” The Kindred shouted after the group. “Stay with us and dance!” As if on cue, several other Kindred and bloodbags broke away from the crowd.

“Of course it isn’t that easy.” Todoroki muttered. He quickly formed a glacier opposite to where Bakugou was re-aiming his explosions, cutting off nearly half of the enemy combatants.

What Bakugou’s subsequent blast didn’t claim was either engaged by Midoriya and Himiko or stalled by Kirishima. Todoroki worked on the combatants behind his ice wall. Before, he wasn’t able to operate at full capacity due to being indoors, but now, he was unrestrained.

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Sancho watched as the remaining heroes, alongside Himiko, slowly trudged through the procession, dodging death at every turn.

The Kindreds and bloodbags weren’t much of a threat to them individually, but the sheer number of them required the invaders to expend more and more of their dwindling stamina.

With the repetitiveness of the battle before her, Sancho’s mind wandered once more. The image of a European-style castle appeared in her mind’s eye, the throne room damaged and its decorations upturned beyond all recognition by the fierce, long duel that had taken place there.

It was a shock to all of them, Father included, that some random human that they’d never heard of could possibly be his equal, much less be bold enough to march up to the gates and demand a duel of him.

Then, she began preaching about heroism. Spouting supposed tales of her heroic exploits, enamoring Father with her theatrics.

So many memories. Memories of listening to that woman’s increasingly unrealistic stories, of being the referee of their pointless bouts, of reading all of those books while in her self-imposed imprisonment. Memories of… That Day.

The final one, she understood. But why?

Why did the rest of them hurt so much to remember?

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The fight through the parade was a slow, draining slog for all five of them. The fact that they’d made it to the front without any major injuries or deaths was a testament to their combat prowess.

Before them was a macabre parade float made to look like some eldritch elephant-like creature. Clearly, no mere mortal could possibly fathom La Manchaland’s choice in aesthetics. Atop the float was a woman with long, platinum blonde hair cascading down a regal violet gown, emphasizing her two, very large… plot points… yes, plot points. Let’s go with that.

“Hey! Stop!” Eijirou shouted, barely heard over the music.

The woman seemed to turn her gaze towards… something, the exact direction being hidden by her mask, before turning towards the heroes (+ Himiko). “Speak. Why must we stop?” She asked.

“The lock.” Shouto got straight to the point, as usual.

The woman’s mouth, the only visible part of her face, turned to a slight frown. “You are not qualified for an audience with Father.”

That matter-of-fact statement was the wrong thing to say to Katsuki. “Who the hell are you to say I’m not ‘qualified’!?” He didn’t try to explode her immediately. Improvement.

The woman hopped off of her perch, gracefully floating down to their level. “I am Dulcinea, the Second Kindred who stands at the forefront of the parade.” She then took out a parasol of the same color as her gown, opened it, and held it over her shoulder despite the lack of rain or sunlight.

“Well, I’m Katsuki Fucking Bakugou, and I’ll show you just how ‘qualified’ I am.” He said with a sneer, small explosions lighting up his palms.

“Resorting to violence immediately. How utterly expected of a self-proclaimed hero. Kindred, kill the rest. The explosive one needs a lesson in proper etiquette.” The moment Dulcinea finished speaking, the remaining Kindred of the parade broke formation and lunged at the other four, leaving Katsuki alone with Dulcinea.

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Katsuki launched himself towards Dulcinea with a flurry of controlled blasts. With a wave of her parasol, now covered in small red spikes, she attempted to send him off-course, a gust of wind following in its wake.

While this did delay him for a moment, he didn’t stop. He got in close, sure that he wouldn’t miss, and opened with an AP Shot. Dulcinea raised her parasol to block the shot. Her guard held, but her precious parasol was damaged in the process, a hole seared straight through it.

Emboldened, Katsuki fired off a few more blasts at her while closing in. Though he could fight from range, he was best in close-quarters. Unfortunately, in close-quarters, she held the reach advantage over him with her parasol, closing it and jabbing at him with its pointed tip, swinging its spiked exterior. Faint gusts of wind accompanied her every strike, guiding them, sharpening them.

Fighting Dulcinea was a nightmare. Every attack that she successfully blocked or countered would make Katsuki bleed more, which, in turn, would undo what little damage he did manage to inflict on her. Even some successful attacks ended with more of his blood being spilled than hers.

Only his super moves like his Howitzer Impact or AP Shot seemed to have any chance of breaking through her defenses. Problem was; they were called super moves for a reason. If he could just whip them out willy-nilly, then they’d just be regular moves. They required some time to set up and were more draining on his stamina, two resources that he couldn’t afford to waste.

Just before Katsuki lost what little patience he had, Dulcinea leapt into the air, similar to Sancho, and positioned her parasol beneath her. She spun it rapidly, a miniature cyclone forming around her. Her and all of the other combatants aside from Katsuki himself.

Whatever she was doing, Katsuki couldn’t let it happen. He blasted his way up, fighting against the current, until he was able to see her through the gale. Katsuki didn’t have time for any fancy moves, so he pulled the pin on his left gauntlet.

The massive explosion sent both of them flying in opposite directions, Dulcinea’s mockery of a super move had been thwarted. As Katsuki fought against the inertia of his descent, he got a good look at the rest of the battlefield. Though his allies were noticeably tiring, there were far fewer enemies left. They’d be able to join him soon.

As much as Katsuki wanted to beat that bitch by himself, he (reluctantly) admitted that he stood a good chance of losing. Both he and Dulcinea grew more powerful the longer the fight lasted, but that would only drain his stamina faster, and if these Kindred had anything, it was stamina.

Katsuki reasoned that his best option was to stall Dulcinea until the others won and moved in to support him.

Dulcinea moved to the main battle, attempting to swing it to her favor, but was intercepted by Katsuki. She had realized what he was doing, but it was too late. All he had to do was stall her for another minute or two, keep her attention until the extra brigade arrived.

It was so weird to count on others.

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Sancho observed the battle, mildly impressed. Bakugou of all people was fighting Dulcinea on relatively even footing, keeping her occupied while the others defeated her subordinates.

It was a fine strategy, considering their limited numbers. But a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. All it would take is one of them faltering, especially Bakugou himself, for this impromptu plan to fall apart at the seams.

If they were any weaker, or if Dulcinea and her kin were not emaciated husks of what they once were, the invaders would be dead on arrival. A strange mixture of strength, determination, and dumb luck not only allowed them to survive, but turn the tables on her.

The remaining Kindred and bloodbags were defeated quickly, as the rest of the invaders realized what Bakugou was doing following that botched execution of The Finale. Seems that Dulcinea was rusty in addition to starved.

Once the other four joined up with the blonde bomber, Dulcinea stood little chance. If Bakugou alone was enough to keep her attention, then the addition of Todoroki and Midoriya was overwhelming for her.

Soon enough, Dulcinea lay on the ground, defeated. Afterwards, the heroes looked around, waiting for someone, having realized the pattern of Sancho’s appearances, while Himiko scaled Dulcinea’s float and undid the lock.

Sancho quickly descended next to Dulcinea’s defeated form. “Looking for someone? I didn’t think you would miss me already.” The heroes all tensed at her appearance, while Himiko looked… conflicted?

Midoriya spoke. “Please, just give it up. All of the locks are undone now.” After a long moment of no response, he carried on. “I… We don’t want to hurt you.”

Memories long past flashed through Sancho’s mind as he spoke. Memories that she wished to forget once more.

“ Sancho, I have come to a decision. ”

“ What is it now? ”

“ I am going to be the best hero in the world. I shall protect the weak and punish the wicked. ”

“ Did you get this idea from that Knight of the Moon or whatever? I am telling you now, this new goal of yours is going to crash and burn in less than three days. Quit stirring trouble and stay put. ”

“ ... ”

“ Remember your last momentary passion with… What was it? Knitting? Embroidery? That lasted a whole two days before you got tired of it. And that was after you sent us out to find all kinds of high-quality yarn for that little passion project. ”

“ Silence, Sancho. You keep balking at my passions with your chastisements. At this point, I am having a difficult time determining which one of us is the higher Kindred. ”

“ Right, but you always do whatever you want to do anyway. ”

Sancho paid the fools no heed, turning towards the center of this madness. She walked towards the now unlocked gate. She could still smell Father’s blood from beyond its confines.

“ Will she be coming today? Again? It is high time you put an end to this rivalry, isn't it? Or... I fear that time may already be long past. ”

“ Indeed. But… I have been having a certain thought as of late. Why does it matter whether someone wins or loses? What matters is that I must hear what comes next in her tale. How dare that human cut her story short at its climax! ”

“ I… Have nothing. I don't know why you keep letting that human in here if you are not even going to fight. ”

“ Yet, Sancho… For all your chiding words of disapproval… Don't think for a moment I haven't noticed you constantly perking your ears in our direction. Especially at the part where the fire manipulating hero encountered the villain that demanded that they pay a toll with a single rice ball on that winding hill path. ”

“ I-I most certainly did not. ”

“ You most certainly did. Ah, speaking of which… Do you suppose the flame hero will eventually come out on top? ”

“ No. I believe that the hardening ability user will overtake the- … Ah. ”

“ Case in point. ”

Bakugou bristled as she ignored them. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Showing you what lies at the end of this foolhardy mission you’ve embarked on.” She answered tersely.

“ But how, pray, will you become a hero yourself? Heroes are but a concept constructed by humans. They will try to hunt us the moment we get anywhere near them. ”

“ Perhaps. For now, at least. But I implore you to think, Sancho. Miss not the forest for the trees. Should we start paving the path for peace now, then… One day, we shall find ourselves coexisting with humans, hand-in-hand. And I shall be the first-ever Bloodfiend to become a hero. Is that not an idea most wondrous? ”

“ ... ”

“ Maybe they'll even make this 'fan club' in my honor. ”

“ Certainly, perhaps in that ridiculously grand dream of yours. ”

“ Yet that is how dreams are meant to be. Ridiculously grand. ”

The heavy wooden doors opened easily under her strength, the chains that once held them closed rattling with the movement. The thick, metallic scent of blood washed over the invaders, so overpowering that all but Himiko gagged on reflex.

“So these are the humans that have deigned to invade our home and hunt us down.” In the center of the fenced-off area was the base of a grand ferris wheel. Impaled upon countless stakes to the attraction, was the speaker.

His face was covered by a gaudy golden headpiece, his long silver hair flowed down onto his tattered vermilion outfit. Bound as he was, all present could feel the sheer power that radiated from him. Only two others had ever evoked this feeling. The greatest hero of their time. And the greatest villain.

“Now, tell me, heroes… How far will you go to enforce those ideals of yours?”

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Chapter Text

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200 years ago; A Certain Castle:

“Sancho. I have conceived an idea most ingenious.” And like that, he’d immediately lost her. This was one of his favorite habits these days, tracking Sancho down, wherever she may be, and lambasting her with his latest ‘ingenious’ idea.

“Please don’t.” Sancho practically begged her Father. It was the only response she could muster at this point, her willpower eroded by many prior ‘ingenious’ ideas.

Father’s face bore a resolute expression, so unlike his typical flippant persona. “I intend to take part in the Meta Wars plaguing the east.”

Sancho felt utter disbelief, the man who hadn’t lifted a finger during the great wars of the twentieth century was now getting involved in the barbarism taking place so far from home? “You can’t possibly mean…” She couldn’t finish that thought. There was no way on earth that a rational mind such as hers would have any hope of comprehending Father’s ‘ingeniousness’, as he would put it. Yet, she knew that something like this was inevitable from the way he’d been conversing with that self-proclaimed hero.

“Indeed. I shall stand with the heroes.” Not an ounce of doubt remained within his voice nor expression.

Sancho could only sigh in exasperation. “Not everyone is going to like your ‘ingenious idea’.”

“Odd. You sound rather… Unsurprised by my suggestion. Did you know that I would suggest as such?” He asked as if he’d just made some grand, shocking announcement.

“I had a feeling that you'd be saying something like that soon.” She could not defy his will, none of them could. Yet that wouldn’t stop some from trying.

His resolute expression morphed into one of concern. “You are concerned about the others, are you not?” Sancho nodded. “You needn’t worry. They are my Family, I’m certain they will understand.”

Father pondered for a moment, only to make an all too familiar expression, one that he only wore when he was about to ask the one question that Sancho truly dreaded in her eternal life. “That brings me to a question, however. Sancho, how is it that you are still without Kindreds of your own?”

“I enjoy solitude.” She quickly rebuffed. Too quickly. “I wish to live the rest of my life looking forward and only forward. I would rather not have anyone tag along behind me.”

He frowned with slight disappointment. “Speak to me again should that change.”

“It will not. But I will.” She answered mechanically. “This war will be a long and difficult one.”

“Indeed it shall, but should it end… In my victory, obviously!”

“Sure, sure.”

Father cleared his throat slightly. “Should it end, I intend to build a place where everyone may be happy.”

“Happy?” Sancho asked after a heavy pause. The word left her lips slowly, as if they were wholly unfamiliar with it.

“What is that expression on your face?”

“It has been eons since that word left my lips.”

He turned away from her for a moment. “Do you recall that place, this 'amusement park' she spoke of? The place where people scream and shudder not from fear, but from joy.” He turned back to her, his expression determined once more. “That is the kind of place I intend to build.”

“I still don't quite understand how one screams from joy…” She’d heard many screams over her long life, but they were always ones of fear or pain. The only joy she’d witnessed was the joy the other Kindred took in the slaughter of humans and the consumption of their blood.

“In that land, Sancho…” Father spoke with more conviction than she’d seen out of any member of their family in centuries. “There won't be any wearisome battles to fight. No constant fear of being hunted…” His determination shifted into a reassuring, indomitable smile.

“There shall be only laughter.”

Laughter, huh?

I hear no laughter here.

Only pained wailing that happens to resemble it.

Morphed and distorted by forced smiles and artificial cheer.

But people can change!

They can improve!

I once thought so as well.

A pity that I, along with my Father and that woman were so sorely mistaken.

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200 years ago; A Battlefield:

Father stood proudly upon the podium, addressing his Children along with some other troops that had mixed in from other units. “A long, painful battle lies ahead of us. The humans that will hate and despise us will be countless. Their hatred will be inconceivable. They will call us monsters, demons, and beasts alike. They will claim that our nature cannot change; that our existence is destined to prey upon them, something they accept as an immutable truth. Thus, now is your final chance: If you do not wish to participate, if you refuse, then I will not stop you.”

The moment that he’d concluded his inspirational speech, Sancho took him up on his generous offer. “I refuse.”

The other Kindred balked at her words. “Has she gone mad?” Nicolina wondered aloud.

Father was taken aback, clearly not expecting anyone to actually back out. “W-Wait, really?”

Sancho sighed derisively. “I know you won't let me go anyway. Just as a child cannot stop being an offspring of their parent, even if they wish they could.”

The other higher Kindred then spoke in turn, first; Curiambro. “The will of the Father is the will of my own.”

Nicolina then declared her agreement in a very Nicolina way. “I haven't had the chance to sharpen my scissors as of late. I'll enjoy this.”

After nodding to both of the Third Kindred, Father turned to the one who had not yet spoken. “What of you, dear Dulcinea?”

“Do as you will.” She replied as if the war didn’t concern her or her Children in the slightest.

With all parties in (reluctant) agreement, Father resumed his extremely inspirational and grand speech. “I am very glad to have my Children stand by my side. Worry not, for I am the strongest there is. As you must all be well aware. Instead, worry about what is to come once the war ends in our victory. Worry about our lives thereafter, about how we will live on.”

Sancho spoke once more. “Well, how will you live on?”

Father replied with utter confidence, yet his answer was indistinct. “I do not know as of yet. However… I suppose… We should be able to lead a more joyous life than we do now. To live without our fates bound to murder of a fellow living being… wouldn't you agree that such a life would be a better one?”

You fought in the Quirk Wars?

We did, yes.

It wasn’t as glorious as you might imagine.

No doubt the horrors of that period have since been watered down for your history classes.

But you won, right?

We won the war against the humans, but we lost the war against our base nature.

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Present; La Manchaland’s Core:

The once elegant and respectable form of Don Quixote now loomed over the heroes, hanging limply from the stakes that impaled him to his creation, waiting for an answer that the young heroes simply could not provide.

Seeing that they struggled to even breathe in his presence, let alone produce a satisfactory answer, he turned to his Child. “Sancho. You… I see… Not even you could change. Not even a little.”

Sancho’s stoic exterior never wavered, she only nodded before speaking. “No. I haven't. Nothing… Nothing changed.”

Her next words held the attention of not only her Father, but Midoriya as well. “Look at me. Your Rocinante has suppressed me for but a passing moment. I am still the same bloodsucking Bloodfiend who cannot survive without bleeding others. Just as how your La Manchaland regressed to nothing but a hunting ground for us to prey on humans.” That last part pained her to say, but it was the truth.

He appeared deeply saddened, even though his eyes were obscured by that cursed headpiece. “Yes, it has. I was wrong. People… Can’t change. We have no choice… but to live shackled onto the path dictated by this disease. My Family, whom I love so much… Have tried to convince me, to turn me to their side… Yet I was too slow. I was the only one who didn't understand, until it was too late.”

“Those three… So this was their doing. To think they would sink so low.” Sancho lamented. She already held a strong suspicion, but she was still inwardly fuming.

“Yes. A throne most fitting for such a pathetic lord, wouldn't you say?” Father spoke, not even attempting to refute her barb. “Sancho… I thought my heart would well with joy and happiness upon laying my eyes upon you again. Yet there is only… Sorrow…”

Sancho didn’t respond. How could she? He was absolutely right. For all of her time borrowing his name, for all her experiences astride Rocinante…

She hadn’t changed at all.

“I thought you… At least you would have explored the world outside in my stead, experiencing adventures even more wonderful than the ones I've heard. But this poor soul I see before me… Is no different from me… Nor my Family. Just a blood-starved, red-eyed victim of this sickness.” He spoke with an air of finality that left no room for argument, not that Sancho would argue against him. He was right, after all.

The ground beneath them all began to shift. La Manchaland was composed of the blood of hundreds, if not thousands, of humans. Blood that someone as powerful as Don Quixote could manipulate with relative ease, despite its solid state.

Walls shot up around them separating all six from the source of this madness. Forming what looked to be a maze.

Kirishima approached the now lone Sancho, and spoke from the depths of his manly heart. “We just hoped that you’d understand, that you’d come back to our side.” His eyes watered over. “That you’d… Be one of us again.”

“Be one of you?” She retreated back to that icy demeanor that she often addressed them with. “But you do not know of our eons of suffering. You do not know of our battles, our struggles, our agony, our victories. I don't suppose you ever will.” She pointedly looked towards Midoriya as she spoke, many things left unsaid when their gazes met.

“I have slowly looked into each and every one of those torturous moments and rekindled my buried memories. And with every memory, it has all risen to the surface once again. The wrath, the hatred, the loathing.” She spoke slowly and clearly, driving every word through them.

“Thus, I can never be one of you again.”

Before anyone else could speak, Don Quixote’s voice rang out, originating from no clear direction. “How glad I am to have you back, Sancho… With you by our side, this place shall be even happier. My Family… Has finally found true happiness. Because they have suffered far too long… They deserve this happiness, more so than anyone. With your return… to La Manchaland… we shall fill this place with even more laughter.”

“Laughter?” Bakugou sneered. “What a joke. We’re gonna kill your ass!”

Don Quixote did not acknowledge him, nor his crass speech. “We have been through so much together, have we not? Sancho. Let us show them what we have lived through… To these ignorant outsiders.”

The area around them began to warp and shift, until it became a near perfect recreation of one of the more infamous battlefields depicted in their history textbooks. Though mere photographs simply didn’t do it justice.

The roads were torn and cracked. Barely-standing skyscrapers dotted the horizon, some still smoldering and ruined from past battles. Though the blood could not recreate the soldiers that once fought, nor their fallen bodies, it could form into the towering machines that dotted the landscape.

Massive metal monstrosities that looked similar to the zero-point robots that both U.A. and Tartarus used. Likely a prototype or far earlier version of the design.

“You were… Foolhardy.” Sancho spoke first, she’d already seen this before.

“Our foes were… Metal giants that stood tall and unflinching, shaking the earth with their every move. Alongside an endless sea of vehicles and artillery. They were formidable foes. Our battles were… Challenging.”

She looked down, away from the faux devastation. “Even there, you dreamed.”

“A hollow dream… Nothing more.”

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Chapter Text

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200 years ago; A Battlefield:

“Hark, my dearest compatriots! Art thou ready to press ever onwards?! We shall soon strike the next battlefield with our full might; speak, if aught ails thee!” Father's boisterous voice echoed after the last of the metal monstrosities had crashed into the ground.

“‘Aught’ ails me.” Sancho replied with her typical deadpan tone, reserved for dealing with her Father’s shenanigans.

Father cleared his throat before answering. “O Sancho, thou art recognized! Speak thy mind!”

Sancho didn’t even have the spare mental strength to sigh before cutting directly to the heart of the matter. “Why are you talking like that?”

“'Tis only right that a hero-to-be must speak in a manner befitting of his stature.” He spoke, bereft of shame. “Ah, and mine heart beats with such volition whenever I speak in such a manner. O Sancho, prithee, why dost thou not speak as I-”

His rambling was cut short by a surviving soldier that they’d overlooked shooting at him. He dodged them all, not that they’d do much if they did hit. Sancho then responded in kind with one of her hardblood arrows, making absolutely sure the man was dead.

She punctuated her kill with a response to his interrupted query. “Because it's ridiculously juvenile.”

So that’s where the speaking pattern comes from?

I’d rather you didn’t bring up my greatest shame.

You seem to be against most of his decisions back then.

Why do you follow him without question now?

Back then, I believed such opposition was in his best interests.

I also knew that the others were wholly against his plan, but they’d never voice it aloud in his presence.

His dream failed.

We all knew it would.

To support him unconditionally in such an endeavor would have merely brought him more pain.

The park was that much of a failure?

La Manchaland, as an amusement park, was extremely successful, never wanting for visitors.

La Manchaland, as a place to redeem ourselves and find a way to avoid harming humans?

An abject failure.

Our kin starved and suffered for a dream that wasn’t theirs.

They all bottled up their cravings, their needs, and their resentment.

Until it all exploded at once.

Right, the blood…

You never found a way to preserve or substitute it?

We did.

Those flavorless bricks did nothing to slake our thirst.

It was never about what little nutritional value it held.

It was about the euphoria that was brought about by feasting off of others.

Such euphoria that, to most Bloodfiends, little else mattered in our limitless lives.

Like a drug.

Not an inaccurate comparison.

The emaciation present in the others is more akin to withdrawal symptoms, rather than true starvation.

The higher Kindred, such as Father and myself, could endure it.

Those further down the line were not so fortunate.

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Present; La Manchaland Maze:

Sancho had vanished within the shifting walls of La Manchaland, leaving the other five to their own devices as the replica battlefield melted away around them.

Each of them stood in silence, finally processing all of the events that had transpired since they were driven out of that confessional.

It felt like years had passed, though it had only truly been the better part of an hour.

“So, what’s your deal? You and No-Nose never explained why you’re here.” Katsuki broke the silence, addressing the only non-hero in the group.

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story.” Himiko’s usual smile was replaced by a downcast expression.

Seeing that none of the others took the out, she relented. “So, I kind of… Lived with Sancho for a while after the whole forest camp thing.”

“‘Lived with her’? As in; she didn’t just kill you immediately?” Shouto inquired.

Himiko grinned, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “She’s a big softie on the inside, kind of like that hobo guy that was with you earlier. She keeps up the uncaring act, but I’ve seen her crack a few times.”

Eijirou thought about it for a moment. “I guess they are a bit similar, especially the glare.”

“Then, she disappeared in here. I originally just wanted to see if she was doing alright or not.” Himiko continued.

“Well, you got your answer. The bitch doesn’t have a scratch on her.” Katsuki had not forgiven her for the humiliating defeats he’d suffered at her hand.

“She’s not okay!” Himiko raised her voice. “She might not be injured, but she’s still hurting!”

Katsuki clenched his fist. “She lied to us for years. Pretended to be a quirkless hero wannabe, only to turn to villainy on a dime and make us all pay for it.” He didn’t shout, he was far too livid for that. “If she wants to be a villain, I’ll treat her like a villain and beat the shit out of her.”

“Kacchan.” For the first time in a while, Izuku spoke. “If she really wanted to be a villain, we’d all be dead.”

Katsuki bristled at the old nickname. Izuku continued, undaunted. “Even if it was under a false name, she was still our friend. She was still a fellow hero, striving for her dream like the rest of us. We trained together, fought together! She’s saved our lives multiple times! Even after Eri undid whatever memory quirk was affecting her, she still stood beside us, as one of us!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she killed hundreds of people. Even if they were villains.” Shouto voiced his doubts.

“Even so, that doesn’t mean that we can just give up on her. Good heroes save civilians in body. Great heroes save them in mind as well. But the best heroes save everyone they can, even the villains they face. Because everyone needs a hero.” As Izuku finished his improvised speech, Eijirou shed a single, extremely manly, tear.

“That speech was so manly, bro. Count me in! Leaving a friend behind is so unmanly.” He walked over to where Izuku and Himiko were standing, putting out a fist for them to bump. The two of them ended up trying at the same time and ended up forming an awkward fist pile, which they briefly chuckled about.

Shouto relented. “If that’s what you think is best, I’ll follow you. If anyone can pull her out of this, it’s you.” He then put his fist into the pile, thinking that this was how such things were normally done.

“Come on Kacchan.” Izuku spoke to the sole person without a hand in the pile.

Katsuki sighed in defeat. “I hate it when you get like this. Fine, you win, but I’ll kill you if we die from this.” He reluctantly placed a fist of his own into the pile.

They all backed out simultaneously, their goals now clear, and their determination at its peak.

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Sancho waited at the entrance to where her Father rested, she was to slay the fools who dared to invade this far into La Manchaland’s confines. Those stubborn fools that couldn’t take a single piece of advice.

She really did want them to stay away.

Around her were the overseers, battered and bruised, but able to fight due to their regenerative properties.

“Y’know, even when Father’s eyes lingered on us, he was never really looking at us. Instead, his gaze was directed at faraway lands.” Nicolina broke the tense silence. “So, we gave him what he wanted; an adventure far, far away from here.”

“What you did was Filial Impiety.” Sancho admonished her coldly. Though they were to work together to fulfil Father’s wishes, she still had not forgiven the trio, nor their Children, for their betrayal.

She could still remember clearly, the echoing screams and the pungent scent of blood. Her Father’s dream turned into a nightmare upon their return from their journey. The same journey that had led Father to the false relic that suppressed their ingrained loyalty to him.

And those stakes. Sancho knew full well who had tortured Father like that. But he was kind, too kind, and he loved each of his Children dearly. Though she had not forgiven them, he had.

“Ah, Sancho… You would have understood had you been here with us.” Nicolina argued. “The blissful, nearly ecstatic taste of human blood after such a long drought. Its flavor was madness.”

“No, that was a horrible sight.” Sancho refuted. Even now, in the rare instance that she slept, she still had nightmares of that day.

“How odd, though.” Nicolina tested Sancho’s patience further. “That you, who was our Father's most loyal Child… Was the first to flee.”

“I did not flee.” Sancho corrected. “He forced Rocinante upon me, and…”

“Do you understand, Sancho? You must continue the adventure in my stead.”

“N-No! Let me fight with you. I will fight by your side, even if-”

“Follow Bari. She will lead you away from here.”

“Rocinante, stop! Stop walking, NO!!! I don't want to leave, I don't! Why do you refuse to obey me? Please, please! I don't want an adventure, stop! Please! Please, Rocinante… Don't take me away from here…”

“Ha ha… So that's what happened! That is why our Father was so weakened, why we could not see even a trace of you anywhere within La Manchaland when the dust settled.” Nicolina cared not for how many tears Sancho had shed that day, begging her Father’s creation to allow her to fight beside him, even against his wishes. “Always stuck to him like glue, glaring at us with that haughty, condescending look whenever we approached.”

“I… Never thought to condescend you.” Sancho meant it. Even if they were not her own Children, she still cared for them. She certainly never despised them, even when they disagreed.

“Lies! You never wore the clothes I'd made for you…” As well-designed as Nicolina’s works were, Sancho wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress. It seemed that she still held a grudge over that.

“What… Why are you looking at me like that?” Nicolina continued after a pause. “It's disgusting, isn't it? We've become so hideous, haven't we?” She clutched her mask, once more sewn tight onto her face.

“Enough.” Dulcinea’s voice cut through Nicolina’s ramblings like a knife. “She won’t ever understand us.”

She was right. Sancho wouldn’t.

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“Quiet, huh.” Bari commented. “But it’s not as peaceful as it seems.” Despite her attempts at conversation, Sancho remained despondent. Understandable, considering her entire world had just been turned upside-down.

“There will be more wars after this one. I can see it now. Humanity’s ever-enduring quest against itself. Their greed will inevitably be their undoing.” Sancho said nothing. Every word she could have said felt hollow and meaningless. “... Look at me, talking the ear off of someone who’s about to forget everything.”

That got a slight reaction out of Sancho, though she still didn’t speak. “I know I said this already, but you won’t remember anything after he’s done. Me, your Father, your Family. All the stories we've shared, including this very conversation.” Bari re-iterated the consequences of such a drastic measure.

“I know.”

“Once your memories are gone, I’ll lead you to your new residence. A place nobody would bother to look.” She knew of an abandoned lighthouse. The place hadn’t been used since the advent of meta-abilities, and likely would never properly function again.

“... Okay.”

Bari was still reluctant to follow through with this. Sancho would never be herself again. “So that's it, then? How will you… Live on?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve lost everything. And now I prepare myself to lose even the remnants of what once was. Do you think that question means anything to me?”

“You ask a question better asked once I slumber.”

“...”

“Thank you, Bari. For everything.”

…

Your silence is deafening.

Who was that?

A friend.

A hero.

…

I’m sorry.

What would you, of all people, apologize to me for?

For not making my mind up sooner.

About what, exactly?

I’m going to do what heroes do best.

I’m going to save people!

Save who?

Everyone here is either dead, or a monster clad in human skin.

Not everyone!

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Chapter Text

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The five of them wandered through the maze for what felt like hours, long enough to grow used to the stench of blood and rot that had ingrained itself so deeply within La Manchaland.

For all they knew, they could be trapped there, constantly running in circles until they starved. But their determination held strong, there had to be an exit somewhere, they just knew it.

Then, they saw it, the gargantuan wheel that marked the center of the slaughterhouse disguised as an amusement park. They couldn’t yet see the base of it, but they at least had a direction to go in.

The group eventually came upon a large space, not quite the center, but with a clear view to the base of the wheel. The path was clear, but a number of obstacles stood in their way. Four, to be precise.

The Barber, Nicolina. The Priest, Curiambro. The Princess, Dulcinea. And The Squire, Sancho.

“So you have arrived, despite all of my warnings.” Sancho spoke. Though her voice was soft, it still echoed across the clearing.

“We’re heroes. Sticking our noses where they don’t belong is our job.” Izuku replied with an uncharacteristic smirk.

Sancho scoffed slightly. “You mistake bravery for idiocy. It is not heroic to leap headfirst into certain death. Especially when such an action saves nobody.”

“Who said anything about certain death?” Katsuki spoke with his usual bravado. “We aren’t that easy to get rid of!”

“I’m well aware of your roach-like tenacity, but even you will not survive a true battle against us.” Sancho was not demeaning or dismissing them. She genuinely believed that they had no chance of victory.

“Enough talking! Can’t we just kill ‘em already?” Nicolina interjected. She cared little for the opinions of her next meal.

“In accordance with Father’s will, we shall exterminate those who dare invade our home.” Curiambro indirectly voiced his agreement.

“Looks like we have no choice.” Shouto got into a combat stance.

Eijirou did the same. “Fighting them all at once, huh. Now that’s manly!”

Dulcinea put away the nail file that she’d been using during the brief conversation. “Oh, are we finally done talking now?”

Himiko said nothing, only drawing her knives and staring Sancho down with a steely gaze.

For a moment, there was only tension. Each side anticipating the movements of the other.

Then Sancho seemed to vanish. A blur of motion that collided with Izuku, sending both of them away from the rest.

Then, the real fight began.

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Eijirou was locked into a stalemate with The Priest. Both of them, it seemed, were the ‘walls’ of their respective groups, able to take the harshest of punishment and hit back with decent power. The problem was that, without support from their allies, locked in combat as they were, neither of them could deal a significant amount of damage to the other.

It became a contest of endurance, one that Eijirou wasn’t sure that he could win. On one hand, the religious villain was heavily injured by his earlier fight with Stain and Himiko. On the other hand, said villain was a Bloodfiend. And if Eijirou and the rest had learned one thing about fighting Bloodfiends, it was that they were practically inexhaustible.

Still, every moment he spent locked in combat with the raving preacher was another moment that the rest of the battle was a four versus three. Or maybe a three versus two, considering that Sancho and Izuku, the undisputed heaviest hitters of either side, had made a considerable distance between themselves and everyone else.

From what Eijirou could tell, the others were in a similar situation to himself; locked in a stalemate. Himiko with The Barber, her finely honed agility allowing her to dodge most of her opponent’s haphazard and frenzied swipes. Shouto ended up with Dulcinea, his large ice walls able to block her wide-range attacks.

Just like Eijirou, neither of them had made much in the way of progress. The Barber would be the easiest to take down, but Himiko, having the least amount of raw power out of the group, lacked the means to do so. Eijirou had a similar problem, himself, while Shouto was occupied merely enduring Dulcinea’s onslaught.

Eijirou felt like he was missing something, but he was too busy anticipating where the next whip lash would land, reflexively hardening before they made contact with his skin. If these villains thrived on blood, then he just wouldn’t bleed. Easy, right?

The Priest’s next strike was interrupted by a familiar-looking explosion. Eijirou would recognize those blasts anywhere.

A Howitzer Impact knocked the villain back, Katsuki landing right next to his friend. Not a word was shared between the two. It simply wasn’t needed.

The pair of them took turns against their adversary, Katsuki on the attack, and Eijirou on defense. An unstoppable force and immovable object together against a common foe. Nothing could stop them.

After trading many blows, The Priest fell unceremoniously, his whip falling away into drops of blood, leaving only his unconscious body and staff. After confirming that he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, the duo wordlessly moved on to The Barber.

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Izuku and Sancho stood ten meters apart, far away from the others. Izuku’s fierce determination clashing with Sancho’s cold indifference.

“We don’t have to do this! I don’t want to fight you!” Izuku pleaded. Despite everything she had done, no matter how unforgivable, he just wanted his friend back.

“Then you can lay down and die. Your wants are of little concern to me.” Sancho knew what he was trying to do, but she’d had enough of that already. That so-called heroism had only led her in circles, a mere vestige of a person, ranting and raving like a madwoman.

“The hero you knew is dead and gone.” Sancho continued, her voice beginning to show some emotion, though said emotion was frustration more than anything else. “I have returned here, so that I may never again forget what I am. So that I may pronounce that foolish dream ended.”

In an instant, the two leapt at each other, fists clashing, producing a shockwave that would have sent lesser fighters flying. They engaged in the world’s deadliest boxing match.

A flurry of blows faster than most humans were capable of perceiving, much less producing. Each and every solid hit produced a thunderclap, a testament to the sheer force behind each and every strike.

But they both knew.

Neither of them were yet fighting at full power.

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“Aw, come on! You just keep dodging! Where’s the action? The bloodshed?” The Barber taunted, her series of unceasing swings and snips constantly forcing Himiko on the backfoot.

After narrowly avoiding another snip, the madwoman continued. “I can see it in your eyes, y’know? That craving, that yearning. You want blood as much as we do, so why fight? From what I can tell, Lady Sancho practically adopted you already. I think you’d make a fine Kindred. Way better than those unfashionable boys in spandex.” She rambled on and on. Her argument may have held some weight to it… If she weren’t attempting to dismember Himiko at every opportunity while letting out manic laughter.

Is this what Himiko sounded like to other people?

Unfortunately for the elder lunatic of the pair, her attempt at persuasion was cut short by an explosion to the face, followed by a hardened gut punch.

The Barber went down like a sack of potatoes under the combined assault of the three, not nearly as tough as her counterpart.

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A heavy barrier lay between them, an adamantine wall of Sancho’s creation. A wall that Izuku couldn’t hope to breach with words alone, not so long as she refused to listen.

With a heavy heart, he continued to fight her, matching blow for blow. His, well… Everything hurt, but if it meant saving someone, he’d endure any pain.

Since neither opponent was fighting at full power yet, Izuku had some breathing room to think. Think of a way to convince her to do the right thing and shut this place down. Wait, why wasn’t she fighting at full power yet? It wasn’t like she got tired easily. He didn’t think anyone had seen her physically tire out, even before her descent into the Sancho persona.

One piece of rhetorical ammo for his use, but probably not the best opener. She’d probably just switch into high gear after he pointed it out. Something he’d rather avoid, since he wouldn’t have space to think. What else…

Why was she even doing this in the first place? Because she perceived herself as a villain? That couldn’t be the whole reason. It must be because that Father of hers ordered her to do all of this. But he was her Father, likely the only parental figure in her life. Convincing her to go against his wishes would be like trying to convince Izuku himself that All Might wasn’t the coolest hero ever. Near impossible.

“La Manchaland…” He started, forming his thoughts alongside his words. “It manifests and dissipates at your Father’s will, yes?” He needed confirmation. One of the oddest parts of La Manchaland was its ability to appear and vanish at a moment’s notice.

Sancho furrowed her brow as she threw an axe kick at Izuku, internally debating on whether or not to grace him with an answer. “Such is Father’s immense power. Able to bend even space itself to his whim.”

In other words, ‘yes’. “Then why does it disappear? If they want as much blood as possible, why does La Manchaland close its doors for most of the day? It’s because, deep down, your Father doesn’t want this any more than you do!” Izuku questioned. He’d just found an opening in her mental defenses, and he refused to squander it.

Her movements faltered for a moment. “‘Any more than I do’? Who are you to speak of my opinions?”

Izuku smiled, already knowing the answer. “Your actions have already spoken those opinions loud and clear. If you really wanted us dead, then you wouldn’t fight me empty-handed.”

Sancho leapt back, as if the statement had been a physical blow. Blood began to flow around her, a crimson lance forming in her hand. “Do not question my loyalty, human.”

Izuku merely smiled, before pulling out one of the items that he had carried all this way. A shining metal lance with the words ‘Sueño Imposible’ engraved along the side.

Sancho frowned. “What mockery is this? If you wanted to die so badly, asking nicely would have sufficed.”

Izuku said nothing, only levelling his lance at his opponent, ready for a joust.

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Shouto could only endure as Dulcinea mercilessly tore down his walls one by one. He kept reinforcing them, making more, anything to keep her attacks from reaching him or his friends.

He was definitely overusing his quirk, the fact that he had to use his fire to avoid hypothermia only burned through his already limited energy even faster. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up for.

Trying to end the fight sooner by attacking her wasn’t an option, at least, not a sane one. Shouto lacked the maneuverability of Katsuki and Izuku, the agility of Himiko, or the durability of Eijirou. Dropping his defenses to attack an opponent that could regenerate was suicide.

Then, the attacks stopped. No, they didn’t stop completely, they just weren’t hitting his walls anymore. Finally, help had arrived.

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200 years ago; A Certain Castle:

“... A human. In my home.” The messenger cowered before his venerated ancestor, aware of how displeased he must be with them.

Never before had a human made it past the castle gates, much less nearing the throne room as she was.

Not a moment later, the door burst open. A woman clad in electric blue strode through the gap, no trace of urgency or fear marring her features.

“Another hunter, are you. I must commend your skill, to make it past the vigilance of my Children. It cannot have been easy.” The woman was indifferent to Don Quixote’s words of praise, genuine, despite his current mood. “What is it that you seek from an audience with me? To be obliterated without a trace? Or to join my Family?”

The strange woman’s expression never changed, even from his threat that would make even emperors cower in fear. “... Neither. I seek to challenge you to a duel.”

“A duel?” Don Quixote had heard of the concept, yes, but he’d never participated in one himself. Humans were more than content to abandon their meaningless honor and gang up on him with as large of a number as they could muster. Besides, none could possibly hope to be his equal in combat. Such a suggestion was tantamount to suicide.

“I have no interest in killing for sport, despite what the legends may claim. But I am not so generous as to allow you to leave without consequence. Why should I not fight alongside my Children?” The lord of the castle had entertained this human long enough.

“There are wars going on out there. Did you know that?” She switched the subject as bluntly as a hammer might strike a nail.

Don Quixote scoffed. “A foolish conflict born of fear of change. One that has repeated since the dawn of man. I care not for such petty squabbles.”

“Why do you refuse to take a side? You and your Family could easily tip the scales of conflict in your side’s favor.” The woman seemed confused at his neutrality, despite her flat tone.

Don Quixote’s patience was wearing thin. “Have I not made myself clear already? Or do you require a simpler explanation? I would prefer not to dirty my clothes in this pit fight you call war. I refuse to lower myself to such a level.”

“Is that so?” She asked. “I am here to do one of two things; convince you to take a side in this conflict, or slay you, should that prove to be unfeasible. Because you are more dangerous than either side, so long as you continue to sit here and do nothing.”

“So, duel me.” She urged once more. “Because I know exactly what you seek.”

His eyes narrowed. “Even I am not privy to that information. Yet a human, who knows me not, claims to hold such knowledge?”

“Grab your weapon, answer my duel, and I promise upon my honor as a hero, that I shall give you what you seek.” She rested her hand upon the hilt of her sword, ready to draw.

“A hero, are you? What a pretentious title to lay claim to. None have ever matched me in strength, not even the mightiest of human inventions have so much as left a scratch upon me.”

The woman smirked. “Then I suppose I shall have the honor of being the first to do so.”

The duel continued for three days.

Three days without a victor until it was called off.

Neither of them were willing to exhaust themselves further for such a puerile endeavor.

But it didn’t stop there, right?

No, the woman, Bari, came back.

I’ve long lost count of how many duels took place within that hall.

I only know that every last one of them were inconclusive.

And every time she came, she brought tales of supposed heroism with her.

Father grew enamored by them, bereft of other ways to amuse himself in that old castle.

And you stood by and watched it all happen?

…

You also listened to those tales, didn’t you?

…

That’s how his dream, to be like the heroes in those stories…

Became yours.

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Chapter Text

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Two lances crashed into one another, both carried by unstoppable forces. One, a dull iron. The other, a gleaming vermillion.

“You claim that your goal is to ‘save’ me, yet all I see is mockery! If you truly despise me so, then have the courage to be honest about it!” Sancho bellowed between gritted teeth.

Izuku had finally drawn out some emotion from his opponent, even if it was in the form of anger. It meant that she cared, that he was making progress. “It wasn’t to mock or belittle you! It’s to remind you of who you are! To remind us of the hero; Don Quixote!”

Sancho’s lance pushed Izuku’s backwards, her sheer physical might outperforming even the full power of One For All.

“That.” Izuku was pushed back further.

“Is not.” A crimson aura surrounded Sancho, empowering her even further with blood-fuelled rage.

“My name!” The clash of lances was broken, Izuku sent flying away from her. Immediately, Sancho prepared a powerful attack while her adversary recovered.

“Sancho Arts 2: La Sangre.” Moving so swiftly as if teleporting, Sancho appeared in front of Izuku, thrusting her lance towards his heart. Izuku lifted his lance to guard against the death blow.

The iron lance was shattered by the vermilion.

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“Time for round two, bitch!” Katsuki bellowed as he flung his second gauntlet blast at Dulcinea. Through the smoke, she launched another wave of blood thorns, one that Eijirou was ready to shield him from.

With Dulcinea distracted by the pair of spiky-haired heroes, Shouto could finally thaw himself and get ready to go on the offense. Dulcinea was struck from behind by Himiko, who quickly darted away.

Eijirou then moved into close quarters, unafraid of any damage he might sustain, throwing punch after punch to keep Dulcinea on her guard. The only times he backed off were when either an explosion or a plume of flames were headed towards his opponent.

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Izuku stumbled. Even through his protective suit, even through the durability enhancing properties of One For All, a large gash ran down his left side, vermillion ichor dripping to the ground below.

He discarded the remaining half of his lance, no longer able to serve its purpose, yet still stood tall, despite the pain. He’d endured worse.

“Still standing, are you?” Sancho asked. “Even so, you won’t last much longer if that’s all you have.”

Izuku made a wry smile. “Who said that’s all I’ve got?” He then let out a smokescreen and threw out some black whips, attempting to restrain her.

She evaded the whips easily and dashed towards him once more, poised for another attack. “Useless. I can smell the seeping blood from your injury. Sancho Arts 4: Track.”

Her lance reshaped into a large sword and swept across the area where Izuku had been just moments before, having dodged by floating above Sancho’s reach. He sent multiple air shots at her with his specialized gloves, though they only managed to ruffle her boa rather than inflicting any damage.

“Impressive, but it won’t save you. Don Quixote Hardblood Arts 11: Impaling.” The sword reshaped itself into a longbow. Sancho fired her blood arrows with deadly precision, most missing the mark due to Izuku’s sheer speed and ability to deflect them with his whips, though some did graze him, drawing thin red lines across his body.

Izuku then rapidly descended and leapt at her. “Shoot Style: Gear 4!” Sancho’s weapon couldn’t reshape itself in time, so she took Izuku’s strongest kick unguarded, sending her flying away with an audible crack.

Izuku shot at her again, ignoring his body’s multitude of protests through sheer willpower and adrenaline. He got two more clean hits in before his leg was grabbed and he was thrown violently to the ground.

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“Enough of this!” Dulcinea’s patience wore out under the assault of four measly humans. She blasted them all away from her with her thorns and raised herself above them, pointing her now ragged parasol downwards.

All around them, blood-woven thorns whipped around chaotically in artificial wind, a cyclone full of deadly debris was whipped up.

“Shit, my gauntlets are empty. Think you can take her out, Half’n’half?” Katsuki spoke while enduring the barrage of thorns. By themselves, they weren’t deadly, but the damage added up for everyone but Eijirou, though even he was reaching his limit.

Shouto looked at the explosive blonde. “Yeah, I have something for this, but I need to get close to her.”

Katsuki wasted no time in grabbing his ally and blasting off towards the eye of the storm. Once they got close enough, he threw Shouto at their target.

Shouto bore down on Dulcinea, both sides of his quirk active. “Flashfreeze Fist.” Both of his arms swung at once, huge blasts of fire and ice meeting once they made contact with her.

The collision of the two opposing forces blasted Dulcinea back down to the earth, cracks forming in the brickwork where she landed.

She did not get up.

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Izuku was having a difficult time getting up and out of the small crater he found himself in. His body was covered in wounds of various intensities, many of which oozed blood. Every drop of blood spilled only invigorated his opponent further.

Still, he forced himself to his feet. Heroes never gave up, not until their last breath.

Sancho stared him down from the edge of the crater. “Why do you persist? Why continue this hopeless, senseless fight?” A flicker of pain and sorrow crossed her features for a moment before she retreated back to her usual placidity. “Wake up. I’m not the person you once knew.”

The corners of Izuku’s mouth turned upwards. “Then why are you asking those questions instead of finishing me off?”

Sancho breathed in deeply, calming herself. “La Aventura Ha Terminado.” She reformed her lance, strengthening it and herself with Izuku’s shed blood. “This Adventure…” She slid the tip of her lance across the ground, creating faint sparks of friction, before leaping upwards, directly above Izuku. “Has Ended!”

She threw her lance down at him with enough force to break the sound barrier. In his weakened state, there was no way for Izuku to survive this.

‘Sorry, All Might. I really couldn’t live up to your legacy.’ Izuku closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable impact.

“AP Shot!” A concentrated blast knocked the lance off course. The impact still rattled Izuku, but it wasn’t a direct hit.

Sancho scoffed. “So, that was as much as they were capable of? How far my family has fallen.”

Izuku looked over at where he heard the voice come from, seeing all of his allies running towards them.

“Roaches, all of you.” Sancho spoke, her frustration evident. “Begone!” She raised a single blood-empowered fist and threw it at the oncoming group with all of her might, a vermillion wave shooting outwards.

The wave was blocked by one of Shouto’s ice walls, though it crumbled after that single strike.

“You look like shit, nerd.” Katsuki said the moment they regrouped.

Izuku gave him a wry grin. “I noticed. Think you can keep her off me for a bit? I… Think I know how to save her.”

Katsuki responded with his usual bravado. “Keep her off you? We’ll fucking beat her ourselves.”

Izuku gave a thankful nod to his companions, receiving broad smiles in return, aside from Shouto, whose smile was much smaller.

Then, Izuku reached inwards, for the small tether that had connected him to this place.

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However, Don Quixote, who despaired that this was to be the end of her tale…

Refused to give up.

Stop it.

I’ve awoken from my delusions, come back to my senses.

You may have once called me Don Quixote…

But I am Sancho now.

How could she?

When she knew that all of her friends, her companions, were counting on her.

Cease this foolishness at once!

They fought through many harsh battles together.

Though they were unprepared for most of them.

The wrecked USJ loomed over them, full to the brim with villains of all shapes and sizes.

But Don Quixote made sure her comrades never lost their courage.

The hulking form of the Anti-All Might Noumu appeared, dwarfing the crowd of thugs.

And, leading the charge…

Struck down even the mightiest of foes.

The Noumu now lay collapsed on the ground, headless.

A chibi Don Quixote stood proudly atop the monster’s corpse, lance raised to the heavens.

And when her friends were in danger…

The scene shifted to Hosu, currently in the midst of disaster.

She would always come galloping onwards to save them.

The silhouette of Stain loomed over that of a paralyzed Iida, the only thing between them being Don Quixote.

Stop this.

That isn’t me.

It’s just an empty shell filled with fantasies and lofty dreams.

Every trial that was thrown her way…

The scene rapidly shifted between the sports festival, the provisional license exam, and the forest camp.

Was overcome by her sheer determination, in spite of the odds.

That doesn’t erase my sins, nor wash my hands clean of the blood that has stained them.

Maybe not.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t do the right thing now!

Who are you to judge what is right and wrong?

Do the right thing.

For you and your Father.

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200 years ago; A Certain Castle:

“Answer my duel…” Bari spoke, weapon ready. “And I promise you, upon my honor as a hero. That I will grant you what you seek. I can give you a ‘tomorrow’.”

Don Quixote scoffed. “You speak in riddles, human. Tomorrow is not a promise that hinges upon your blessing.”

The pair of them began to duel, sparks flying whenever their weapons clashed. The two fought at speeds that would make even the likes of All For One and All Might envious.

While they fought, Bari continued to speak. “No, no. That's not the tomorrow I'm talking about. I'm talking about the 'tomorrow' you seek. You've been living out your days mired in meaninglessness, quietly wasting away inside. Drinking human blood, compelled not by your own will but by your sickness. In your countless years of existence… You've never had any reason to exist, have you?”

Don Quixote said nothing. There was nothing he could say, lest he confirm her words as truth.

“But your illness, and this applies to all of your kind, is loneliness. It's the kind of suffering you can't weather through by huddling together with your Family in the dark.” Bari’s words continued to hammer away at the Bloodfiend’s resistance, as if she knew exactly how to get under his skin.

“So I offer you this: Anticipation for what tomorrow holds. In other words… a dream. I can make you dream.” Both of them paused, a large distance created between them. “Shout your name out loud if you would accept my proposition. Let us give it our all, and may the best warrior claim victory in this singular bout.”

For a moment, there was silence in the previously loud throne room. Until Don Quixote spoke once more. “My name… Is Don Quixote.” He readied his elaborate lance, a gift from his closest Child.

“My name is Bari!” She readied her bow, aiming a single large arrow at her opponent.

Don Quixote rushed towards her, lance against arrow.

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“Sancho… Why do you return without slaying them?” Don Quixote spoke to his remaining Child.

Sancho knew that this was betrayal, Filial Impiety of the highest order. But she could not allow La Manchaland to continue as it has. Nor, she knew, would her Father truly wish for that outcome.

“I see… Such a rebellious child. Unlike the others, you never once begged me for life, even as it faded from your eyes.” Her Father had realized what had changed within his Child. It was he, after all, who had resonated with the generations-old power that one of the invaders held.

“My dream was an abject failure, Sancho. Proof of that lies all around us. My unreachable goals were little more than the ramblings of a madman.”

“If you are mad, then that same madness has taken ahold of me. The times we spent together, the nonsense you've babbled at me as we adventured together only nurtured that selfsame madness.” Sancho replied defiantly.

“Then… Was the world you experienced out there… Truly righteous as we had dreamed? A world where heroes are willing to lay down their lives for the sake of others?” Don Quixote asked, his words of doubt and derision laced with the faint traces of hope and anticipation.

“... No.” Sancho knew better. Their world was flawed, rife with violence, conflict, and corruption. A world where might made right, and one’s station was decided by natural talent, rather than effort or passion.

“That is why… All tales are but fabrications. I fell off my steed, Sancho. And the shock roused me to the cold waking world. And I am too hurt, too broken… To dream again.” He sighed, the corroded framework of the attraction he was bound to groaning and grinding upon itself.

“Thus… My dream… Has met its end.”

The Wheel of La Manchaland, which had lay dormant and unmoving for two centuries…

Began to spin once more.

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Chapter Text

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The large ferris wheel groaned to life as it began to slowly spin, the large neon sign mounted upon its center lit up, brightly displaying the name of Don Quixote’s dead dream.

LA MANCHALAND

“Does this wheel not remind you of the old war, Sancho?” The Father asked his wayward Child.

“You mean those hulking metal monstrosities that towered over even the largest of buildings?” The Child answered.

A slight smile, born of nostalgia, graced the Father’s face. “Yes, indeed. I remember how hotly my heart beat as I stood against them in the field of battle.”

The corners of the Child’s mouth twitched, fighting against a similar smile. “I remember running after you after one of them flung your body far away as a result of you underestimating their might.”

The Father’s smile dropped. “Yet you no longer run after me. Now you stand against me.”

The Child, Sancho, had no reply, for her Father was right. Though it was for his sake, she still defied him.

The Father, Don Quixote, raised a single arm, the gondolas attached to the wheel broke off, held aloft under his immense power. He then lowered it until his hand pointed at his rebellious daughter. The gondolas responded in kind, flying at her at speeds impossible to evade for most people.

Fortunately, Sancho was far from most people.

One by one, the gondolas crashed into the ground, each one narrowly evaded by their intended target. Once they’d landed, they burst open, Bloodbags and Kindred alike pouring out of them. One last desperate stand to protect their patriarch.

These lesser beings were no challenge to Sancho, even with their large numbers. Not when a single sweep of her lance was enough to take them out of the fight, even destroying the fallen gondolas alongside them, lest they be thrown at her once more. Whether they survived the strike or not concerned her little. Though their dedication to their Father was admirable, it was horribly misplaced.

Their Father did not truly want this. He only gave in to their selfish demands after centuries of torture. All so that his unfaithful Children could fulfil their twisted desires. Fulfilling his paternal responsibilities in the most gruesome way possible.

Once the area was thoroughly soaked with blood and gore, not a single obstacle remaining, the wheel ground to a halt, its brightly lit sign flickered and died, falling from its lofty position onto the cold, blood-soaked ground.

Don Quixote struggled to free himself from his prison, slowly inching off of the attraction that served as his home for so long. As he loosened himself, Sancho absorbed all of the shed blood that she could, strengthening herself and recovering from the few lingering injuries that she’d suffered from her previous battle.

She would need every last drop she could get against someone like him.

His feet met the earth with a heavy thud, a sickening chain of blood still bound him to his prison, to his macabre responsibilities. His face was no longer obscured by the accursed helm that had adorned it for centuries. Said face had lost its ever-youthful vigor, and his eyes no longer sparkled with joy and wonder.

“Long have I not set foot upon the earth.” He spoke, his voice soft, yet still carrying across the battlefield. Though he had not properly moved in such a long time, he displayed no obvious signs of atrophy.

Sancho observed the chain that still ensnared him. “Even now, you remain bound to this place, to people who refuse to share your vision. You, who was once so free.”

“And what remains for me if not my responsibilities? Enlighten me, Sancho. I tipped the scales of that pointless war, yet there was no coexistence to be found at its end. With blood, I have created this place, yet no family has found happiness within it. I have dreamed, yet the dream only woke me to a heart impaled by stakes and this fetid stench of blood. Look at me, Sancho! I am but Don Quixote… La Manchaland's Don Quixote.” As he finished, the remaining blood around them began to shift, his control much more powerful than hers.

Sancho took a calming breath, and raised her lance against her Father.

She rushed in, going against her Father with her most practiced Art; La Sangre. He raised a small wall of blood to block the powerful blow. It succeeded, partially. The blow was softened, yes, but not stopped completely. A small gash etched itself on Don Quixote’s shoulder.

He responded in kind with a sharp wedge aimed at her center. She deflected it, yet it still hewed into her side.

The fight went on, back and forth, the pair trading blow after blow, never decisive enough to finish the bout. One by one, techniques and Arts were used against one another, a deadly dance of blood and violence. Her arrows against his spear, his great sword against her dual blades.

Sancho had expected to have been bested by now. She knew her Father’s strength as well as her own. Though he may have been weakened by his imprisonment, it shouldn’t have been enough for her to fight him on equal footing. Even if they held the same raw power, he had far more experience, far more skill than she.

Was he… Holding back? Why? Why would he do something so…

“Father, I beg of you. Please stop this madness.” She choked out, now realizing his intentions.

“You know I cannot do that, Sancho. The carousel that is La Manchaland now spins too swiftly for me to safely dismount. I am too bound by my responsibilities as a Father to abandon my Children's desires.” As he spoke, he launched a series of jagged lances at his daughter, only one of which struck true.

A pained expression showed itself on Sancho’s face. “You’re kind. Too kind for people like us. Even back then, when the world was against you… You still held onto that compassion. That is why you saved my life from the periphery of death… Tried to share your love…”

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1605; La Mancha, Spain:

A lone girl lay motionless in the burnt husk of a home, her body covered from head to toe in soot and ash. She bore some small injuries and burns, patches of blood caked onto her hair and skin. Yet, despite it all, the girl still lived.

A figure suddenly appeared, seemingly out of thin air. A tall man with long, platinum locks of hair, and a fine vermillion coat, so utterly out of place with the desolation around him.

“Tell me, why did you seek death?” The strange man asked. So he’d been watching as she set fire to the empty house, not bothering to try and escape its confines, yet didn’t intervene.

“Because I wanted to get away from the pain.” The girl answered honestly. She saw little point in lying to the stranger, she would be dead in just a few minutes, after all.

“How odd. Don't most humans inflict suffering unto others to be freed from their own?” He spoke as if he weren’t human himself, as well as being genuinely perplexed by her choice.

“How could hurting others help… When my pain comes from this… Endless cold?” The girl hadn’t felt the warmth of others at all. She thought that, just for a moment, that she’d be able to feel the warmth of the flames as they took her.

The man’s brows furrowed. “Where's your family? Your siblings?” He seemed almost… Concerned about her… Impossible. Nobody had ever been concerned for her, such a thing wouldn’t change now.

“I never had anyone, not even on the day I was born. I've only known… The cold… The loneliness. So I want to burn myself to ashes like I was never here.” Her vision blurred, the embrace of death beginning to claim her.

“Then…” The stranger began. “Allow me to grant you the will to live. The family I shall grant you will forever be by your side. Come with me.” Such an absurd offer. Why would a complete stranger offer her what she craved most? As she lay dying, no less.

“You may know my name as Quixote.” The stranger, no, Quixote, finally introduced himself. “Or Don Quixote; 'Don' as the signifier of my nobility.”

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“... And made my heart beat once again.” Sancho recalled it all. From their first encounter, to the time spent at that castle under his tutelage, even the silly, nonsensical adventures that he’d dragged her on. Such memories brought an involuntary smile to her face and a wetness to her eyes.

Don Quixote closed his eyes in contemplation, clearly affected by her heartfelt words. He opened them as he spoke once more, a serene smile gracing his lips. “You can stop galloping onward, now.” He raised an arm with an open palm, blood coalescing above it.

The orb of blood grew and grew, until it was nearly the size of the wheel that its creator was chained to. “Your weary heart deserves proper rest.”

He lowered his arm, the sphere of blood falling with it, straight at Sancho. It crashed into her like a tsunami, shredding her all the while.

It felt like forever for the attack to run its course, though it was only a few seconds in reality. Yet, at the end of it all, ragged, bloody, and panting, Sancho still stood.

“It is unfortunate that you continue to be stubborn.” Don Quixote remarked, seeing that his attack failed to end the fight. Despite it all, a prideful smile shone through. “But I am proud that you endured such a powerful blow.”

A moment of silence was shared between the two, Sancho too exhausted to respond. Don Quixote spoke once more. “Yet… What will you do now, Sancho? Your strength must be spent after such a mighty feat.”

Sancho stood firm, no longer gasping for breath. “I intend to fight still. This is not the end.”

Don Quixote now bore a sorrowful expression. “Even if it is not by my hand, even if it is not this day when your tale ends… This sickness will inevitably claim you as it has overtaken me.”

Sancho refused to waver, not after all that had happened. “I know that. Even still. I now know what I must do. I now know what my heart desires. Like you once did, I now have a dream to chase. Not your dream, not Bari’s dream, not the dream of those tenacious fools who invaded this place. My dream.”

A long, tense silence followed her declaration. Then, like a memory come to life, words that were so very familiar graced her ears. “Sancho… I have conceived… An idea most ingenious.”

For once, Sancho humored him not out of obligation, but out of genuine curiosity. “What… Is it this time?”

“Let us test our mights in a duel; in a singular bout of our lances.” She could almost feel the Father of two centuries ago speaking through him, still in there, buried beneath the weight of responsibility and sickness. “Come, now. Let us give it our all.” He gave her a confident grin, one that he had not worn in such a long time.

Sancho hesitated, not because she feared losing, but because she knew of the great pain he’d feel as he struck her down. “Is there no other way?” She desperately hoped there was.

Don Quixote sighed, an invisible weight dragging him down. “This momentum, this responsibility of mine to perpetuate the festival, to provide my Family with what they yearn for… It cannot be stopped. Yet, if you could shatter the burden of my nature, my responsibilities… Would that not prove your dream mightier than the weight of my duty?” He let the question hang, allowing Sancho to process it all.

“Show me. Demonstrate before me the strength of thy dream, the grandeur of it.” He finished, returning to that ridiculous manner of speech that used to plague her as well.

“Still so… Ridiculously juvenile.” Despite her words, a smile crept onto her face.

“How many times must I tell you that it is that very ridiculous juvenility that gives color to life?” His words and voice were warm. Too warm.

He leapt into the air, forming a drill-like lance as he did, and levelled his weapon down at her, floating in the sky above. “My name is… Quixote! I, Don Quixote, declare upon my honor: I shall end that impossible, fledgeling dream!”

Sancho reformed her own helical lance, putting as much power into it as she could manage. “My name is Sancho! And I, Sancho, declare upon my honor: This lance shall end that festering, slothful dream!” She dragged the tip of her lance across the ground once more before leaping upwards to meet her Father’s challenge.

In the skies far above La Manchaland, where all could see, two lances met, the force of their collision so powerful, the very clouds parted before them, unveiling a bright full moon, illuminating the intense battle of wills. The last of the parks’ fireworks went off around them, as if to celebrate the climactic duel.

At first, Don Quixote pushed Sancho back. Yet, Sancho returned the force, the strength of her newfound conviction burning within her. “No matter how impossible it may be…”

Don Quixote redoubled his effort, his lance spinning rapidly. “Until I reach that dream…”

In spite of his immense strength, he was pushed back. He was caught between frustration at his own inability… And pride in his daughter’s will. “I’ll keep pushing to the bitter end!”

Quixote’s lance snapped under the strain. In an instant, his heart was pierced. Sancho looked into his eyes, her shock plain to see, as if, despite everything, she still expected to falter here. Quixote only responded with a beaming smile full of parental pride, despite the immense pain he was in.

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The duo had fallen back down to the earth, outside of the oppressive ruins of La Manchaland.

“Don… Quixote?” Sancho called her Father’s name, desperately holding back her tears as she slowly walked over to his prone form.

“Quixote.” He responded in a hoarse voice, yet… He sounded at peace.

“What?” She asked, utterly bewildered.

“The title of Don now belongs to you, who proved their dream greater than my own.” He answered serenely, seemingly unbothered by the tears that now silently streamed down his daughter’s face.

“That dream of yours…” He continued. “When you fulfil it, and you will fulfil it. Tell me all about it… No matter how many moons it takes… Tell me how beautiful… How incandescent it was… The light of your dream, shining like the brightest star in the night sky.”

“I… I will. No matter what challenge I may face, I will tell you of my journey.” She spoke through sobs.

Quixote took a deep breath. “Good. I’m glad… That I sired such a dedicated child.”

With the last of his strength, he guided her hand with his to the open wound on his chest. The blood that leaked from him flowed to her hand and into the many open wounds on her.

“Wh- What are you-” She exclaimed, surprise overriding her grief.

“A parting gift. It is… A parent’s duty… To support their children.” Even as his blood drained out of him, he still spoke peacefully.

“I love you, Don Sancho.”

“I love you too, Quixote.”

With his lifeblood gone and his strength exhausted…

Quixote’s eyes closed softly, never to be opened again.

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“You guys are alright!” Tohru called over to the two groups of her classmates once La Manchaland collapsed into a crimson rain.

“Somehow, we made it.” A clearly exhausted Momo answered, practically skin and bones with how much she’d used her quirk.

Mina bounded over to Izuku’s group. “You did it! I can’t believe that you guys tore this place down by yourselves!”

“As much as it sucks to admit it…” Katsuki started with that grimace he wore whenever someone outperformed him in training. “It wasn’t us that trashed the place.” He nodded his head to the side.

In the place he indicated lay two people. An unfamiliar well-dressed figure flat on the ground, clearly dead. Kneeling over him was someone she was very familiar with, Sancho, sobbing her eyes out.

“What… Happened?” She asked, shocked to see the normally stoic Sancho weeping like that, over a complete stranger, no less.

“That’s…” Izuku hesitated. “The person laying there is the founder of La Manchaland.”

“Then why is she…” Mina trailed off, unsure of how to word her many questions.

Eijirou answered her unasked question. “Because he’s also her father. And considering none of us killed him…”

That left only two possibilities, neither of which sat well with Mina, or the rest of the class for that matter. Despite all she’d done, she was still their friend for over a year. If it weren’t for her, some of them wouldn’t even be standing there now, they’d be either dead or grievously injured.

Eventually, they all gathered together, aside from Himiko and Stain who’d managed to evade a semi-conscious Aizawa. Sancho pulled herself together, ceased her sobs, and stood.

The class tensed, still wary of her, as she slowly, carefully made her way over to them.

Once she was a few meters away from them, she began speaking. “I must thank you, Midoriya. Because of your words, and all of those memories you had to dredge up, I now know what I must do.”

Izuku beamed. “Glad to know I could inspire even you.”

Sancho’s face remained neutral. “Tell me. Do you still wish to become a hero like All Might? One that can inspire and give hope with just a smile?”

To say that such a question from Sancho of all people was unexpected would be the understatement of the century.

Izuku floundered for a moment before responding. “Yeah, of course! That’s been my dream since I was little! Why do you ask, though?”

Sancho didn’t bother answering him. “Good. I know everything will work out, then.”

“What do you mean by-” Izuku was cut off by the sound of tearing flesh all around him. He looked around at his friends, only to see them all impaled through their hearts by vermilion spikes, looks of shock, horror, confusion, and rage surrounded him.

In mere moments, they all went limp. “Wh-... What…?” His mind blanked. His thoughts jumbled, forming only a singular question;

Why?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why were his friends dead?

Why did Sancho kill them?

Why didn’t she kill him as well?

Izuku didn’t even register the bodies of his friends and teacher hitting the ground, the spikes that had impaled them having retracted.

By the time he could think properly again, the object of his questions was long gone. Replaced by swarms of police officers and other heroes asking him if he was okay and what had happened.

He couldn’t muster up the strength to answer any of them.

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Chapter Text

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Izuku graduated from U.A. at the top of his class. In most circumstances, that would be a great achievement. Unfortunately, it was due to being the sole remaining student in his class.

Even when he was presented with his hero license, when he had finally fulfilled his lifelong dream of being a hero, it all felt empty, meaningless.

Still, for the sake of those who needed saving, he wore his big, dumb smile. Their desperation and the fast-paced nature of his work made sure that very few people noticed that the smile never reached his eyes.

He had encountered Sancho a handful of times since that fateful day. Of course, he never managed to defeat her. No matter how strong he became, how proficient he grew with One For All, it was never enough.

He tried to get answers from her, answers to the many questions that had plagued him since then. Only one of those questions was ever answered, and he’d never forget it.

“Why did you have to kill our classmates? What did they ever do to you?”

“I killed them to shatter that naive hope of yours. You cannot ‘save’ everyone. Nor do you possess the authority to dictate what is good and evil, if such subjective things truly exist at all.”

He didn’t know what she was planning, if anything at all, only that, since the destruction of La Manchaland, the other Bloodfiends had disappeared, and several extremist groups such as the Creature Rejection Clan had been decimated by Sancho’s hands.

Sancho had also slaughtered nearly every hero that she could find. Typically very public and very brutal executions. Anyone and everyone who dared take on the grandiose title seemed to be the target of her wrath.

The public had completely lost faith in the hero system. Nobody believed in heroes anymore, not even other heroes. Many had already hung up their costumes even before Sancho became more active, but the number of remaining heroes had dropped significantly.

The few functioning hero universities had all swapped to other specializations, lest they be Sancho’s next target. The only exception being U.A.. U.A., despite being the only university remaining with a functioning heroics course, had seen an unprecedented downturn in hero applicants.

It seemed that Japan had completely moved on from heroes. Izuku and the U.A. staff were simply stubborn about it.

With the sharp reduction in heroes, along with public sentiment, many quirk laws and regulations had been loosened. To the point that the only trouble one could get in by using their quirk was when they were already in the middle of committing a crime.

Using one’s quirk to aid in criminal activity would still harshen their sentence, but the term ‘villain’ was no longer used to describe such people. In a legal sense, anyway. The term itself would take a long time to completely run its course from the public consciousness.

Now, the only person to be called a villain was Sancho herself. Something that she found rather amusing, according to one of the few police officers that had survived a direct encounter with her.

With heroes and villains practically being a thing of the past, the discrimination between ‘heroic’ and ‘villainous’ quirks began to lessen. In fact, quirk discrimination as a whole had been reduced considerably after Sancho destroyed the MLA and other quirkist groups.

It seemed, for all of the horrible things that Sancho had done, her actions had still changed society for the better. Well, more like scared society into changing itself for the better.

Still, she was a villain, a mass murderer. And he was one of the few remaining heroes in Japan, an agent of the law. He would bring her to justice.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

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To say that Izuku was shocked to get a distress call from Tartarus of all places would be an understatement. The place was practically impenetrable, but when he heard that Sancho was the reason behind it, he flew over immediately.

It was apparent, by the time he got there, why he’d been called in specifically. The bridge to the prison had been blown to pieces; one of the facility’s many extreme security measures. To most, this would be the end of their path, but Izuku could simply float over it to where he was truly needed.

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The interior of Tartarus was a bloody mess, guards and inmates alike had their insides tuned into their outsides, yet far less blood than there should be. Sancho’s handiwork, no doubt.

Izuku delved deeper, following the trail of gore, the bodies of the world’s most dangerous criminals showing little traces of struggle. A testament to Sancho’s immense power.

He was nearing the warden’s office when the entire complex shook. Initially, he thought it was an earthquake, but the subtle sinking feeling, akin to riding an elevator, told him otherwise.

Tartarus was sinking. The last resort of its security. Everyone that still lived within its walls would drown or freeze to death beneath the ocean’s surface.

He ran as fast as he could to the warden’s office, arriving within seconds. The office itself was wrecked and coated in blood, while its owner was currently impaled upon a vermillion, helical lance.

The lance’s owner, Sancho, turned to the new arrival. “Oh, you’re here now.” She greeted impassively.

“Your reign of terror ends here, Sancho.” Izuku stood firm. He would not allow her to escape. This prison would be her coffin for a watery grave.

Wait… Water… Both La Manchaland and Sancho never operated on days where it rained or snowed, nor did Sancho actively seek out maritime-based heroes such as Gang Orca or Selkie unless they made landfall.

Every power had a weakness, a limit. Could hers really be something as simple and abundant as-

“Is that so?” She remarked, unfazed by his resolve as always.

With barely any time to think, Sancho appeared at his side, lance ready. The two then fell into a familiar dance. The both of them knew the other’s techniques by heart now, neither gaining advantage over the other.

But that was fine. Izuku didn’t need to win here, he just needed to run down the clock.

As the fight raged on, alarms blaring all the while, the steady rhythm that they’d been fighting at wore on his nerves.

Why wasn’t she raising the pace? Why wasn’t she pressing for an advantage or even attempting to rush past him?

When the two of them broke away from each other, Izuku didn’t re-engage. Sancho made no attempt to press forward.

In ordinary circumstances, that wouldn’t be out of place. Sancho rarely got aggressive in battle unless she was capitalizing on a weak point of her opponent’s. But here, on the world’s largest sinking ship?

For a while, the two simply stared at one another, still in combat stances. Eventually, Izuku lowered his guard.

Sancho raised a single eyebrow. “Giving up already?”

“I think you’re the one who’s given up. You aren’t even trying to escape this place, are you?” Izuku countered.

Sancho’s posture relaxed. “That obvious, is it?”

“Why?” Izuku asked the question that had been gnawing at him for years now.

“Because, with the destruction of Tartarus, the last of my goals will be complete. There will be no further need of me.” Sancho spoke of her imminent demise with her typical deadpan tone and expression.

Izuku felt his frustration spike. “And what exactly were these ‘goals’ of yours? What were you trying to accomplish?” He nearly screamed at her.

“The eradication of the concept of heroes and villains.” Before Izuku could question further, Sancho elaborated. “Those concepts are inherently flawed, especially when applied to the entirety of society. The moment heroism was turned into an expectation rather than an exception, it lost all of its original meaning. And for heroes to shine, to thrive, they must have villains to fight.”

“You used to see it every day, didn’t you? How people would discriminate based upon whether one’s quirk was ‘weak’ or ‘powerful’, ‘heroic’ or ‘villainous’. The weak, the powerless, were left to the wayside, to fade into the background like extras on a film set. While the powerful were either hailed as great for simply being born lucky, or derided and abused for supposedly being villains in the making.”

“It all became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Those with ‘heroic’ abilities would become heroes, regardless of how little effort they’d put in, and become icons to the public, hailed as great and mighty for doing nothing but wearing impractical yet ostentatious costumes. All the while, those deemed ‘villainous’ through arbitrary means would be left without the barest of chances to make anything of themselves, hero or otherwise. So they’d have little choice other than crime, or ‘villainy’ as people had taken to calling it.”

“I… Sought to change that. At least a little bit. To do so, I needed to remove the concepts that these problems were based upon. Which meant either removing quirks entirely, or changing how they are viewed. Since the former was unfeasible, even with Chisaki’s deranged research, I decided on the latter.”

“I had already dealt a great blow to both heroism and villainy even before the fall of La Manchaland by exposing the Commission’s dirty dealings and coverups, as well as annihilating the League and those Meta Liberation fanatics. But it wasn’t enough to destroy the principles behind them.”

“So I hunted heroes, until only the most stubborn, brave, or otherwise foolish would dare take on the risk of those titles; forcing the changes that would make heroism obsolete as a profession. With the decline of heroism, villainy would naturally follow. Back to simple criminality rather than vilifying people. Though, it needed one final nail in the coffin.”

“The destruction of Tartarus, the largest villain prison in the world. And where the most dangerous villains are kept. Even if people don’t see criminals as villains now, the inmates here, as well as myself, are exceptions.”

“Was that a sufficient enough explanation of my actions?” Sancho concluded her lengthy monologue.

Izuku had to take a while to wrap his head around all of that information, rethinking every event that had led him here.

Until, finally, he asked. “What now, then?”

Sancho responded without hesitation. “We let these antiquated concepts die for good.”

After taking a moment to let her words sink in, he sat down on a piece of upturned furniture that wasn’t coated in blood and viscera. Sancho followed suit, though she didn’t mind the vermillion liquid.

Neither moved, neither spoke. Even as the power failed, and the temperature dropped. They sat there, keeping the other in check.

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With the death of their most successful student and the looming threat of Sancho seemingly gone along with Tartarus, U.A. finally bit the bullet and removed its heroics program from their roster.

Heroism and villainy were effectively dead in Japan, lack of such polarization and overemphasis on quirks made far less people turn to crime than before. Without the showy hero fights, property damage plummeted, discrimination based upon a person’s quirk, or lack of one, was steadily declining, and the average citizen was much safer than before.

Other nations noticed the change, many following in Japan’s footsteps, gradually phasing out heroes and removing the classification of villains.

It wasn’t a perfect system, such a thing doesn’t exist, but it was a step in the right direction. One made in desperation, yes, but made nonetheless.

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Waves lapped against a small island. The island was man-made, only visible during the low tide. It was once home to the world’s largest prison, but now all that was left was a pile of rubble.

A woman in blue dug through the rubble methodically, never showing any signs of exertion or exhaustion. Eventually, she found what she was looking for, an intact hand.

The woman grabbed the hand and pulled with strength that belied her stature, yanking a whole body out of the ruins.

The body appeared to be that of a young woman with long blonde hair and a small frame.

“Still alive, are you? You must be rather durable now.” The blue-clad woman spoke softly.

The blonde’s eyes opened a crack, her vision blurry. “Ba… ri?” Only a single name escaped her lips.

“Nice to see you again as well, Sancho.” Bari replied far too calmly for someone who had just unearthed the world’s most dangerous supervillain.

“Why… Am I still alive?” Sancho asked. She’d fully intended to die for her dream. Yet, just like the last time she’d orchestrated her own demise, the reaper refused to claim her.

“Perhaps you are simply that difficult to kill. Regardless, I know that you no longer wish to remain in this world.” Bari spoke in a manner that was oddly familiar to Sancho, just like when she-

“Thus, I make you this offer. The same offer I made to the remainder of your Family. Come with me, to a world unlike this one.”

“Another… World?” Sancho was baffled for a moment before she recalled who she was speaking with. Of course someone as cryptic and mysterious as Bari would possess such a reality-bending ability.

“Yes, it is simply called ‘The City’. I get the feeling that you’ll be needed there far more than you’re needed here.” Bari explained in a way that answered nothing, just as she always did.

Sancho hesitated before she gave her answer.

A minute later, two people disappeared from the world without a trace.

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