Work Text:
Present:
The wind had quieted, but the air still smelled of burnt ozone and blood.
Somewhere in the heart of what had once been Jaku City, the remnants of a battlefield lay silent—cracked concrete, melted steel, and long-cooled scorch marks streaking the earth like claw marks. A broken street sign leaned sideways, its lettering faded, half-buried beneath rubble and ash.
A soft crunch echoed in the quiet as Ochaco Uraraka stepped forward, boots pressing into soot-covered stone. She paused, her gloved hand tightening around the object she held. The others waited behind her, giving her space. Bakugo stood with arms folded, teeth gritted. Todoroki’s gaze was distant. Iida adjusted his cracked glasses, not because he needed to—he hadn’t needed to in weeks—but out of habit. Behind them stood the rest of Class 1-A. Older now. Hardened. Whole, yet not.
Not all of them made it.
And not all of them left the same.
Uraraka dropped to her knees, the impact kicking up dust around her. Carefully, she placed the object down in front of the scorched remains of what had once been a statue base—its top shattered in the explosion. A simple green notebook. Weathered, water-stained, and carefully taped along the spine. She’d kept it safe all this time. Carried it through the ruins, through the rebuilding, through every sleepless night when she still swore she could hear his voice.
“I thought I’d read it one more time,” she whispered, barely audible.
The pages fluttered in the wind.
A small white tag stuck out from between two pages. Scrawled in messy handwriting:
“Use this when I’m gone. Just in case.”
Bakugo stepped forward next. His hands were in his pockets. His usual snarl was gone. Instead, his voice was low, dry.
“He always planned this. Damn nerd...”
He didn’t curse more than that. Didn’t scream or punch anything. That had come earlier, when the light faded and the dust settled and there was no body—just a crater and the echo of power too great for one person to hold.
The silence felt heavier than anything else.
Even All Might, once the Symbol of Peace, stood quietly among them, his gaunt face turned to the sky. He had no Quirk now, no strength to lend. Only memories. His eyes shimmered behind the shadows of what used to be.
Beside him, Aizawa crossed his arms, one foot tapping, the way it did when he was holding back emotion. His scarf hung loose around his shoulders. He’d refused to wear the newer version—said it didn’t feel right without the kid around.
There was no ceremony. No flags. No speeches.
Just them.
Just those who had fought beside him.
Who watched him rise one last time into the sky, dragging the monster with him.
Uraraka stood slowly, wiping her eyes.
“We can’t keep coming back here forever,” someone said—maybe Jirou, or Hagakure. It didn’t matter. They all knew it was true.
But none of them moved yet.
Because this wasn’t a grave.
It was the place a boy became a legend.
Where Izuku Midoriya—their friend, their classmate, the awkward kid with notebooks full of hero facts—became the one who saved them all.
The wind picked up again, rustling pages, carrying ash into the sky like snow.
And for a second, just a breath, it almost sounded like someone laughing.
Flashback:
The sky outside had begun to darken, not from nightfall, but from the storm.
Lightning flickered far in the distance, illuminating the torn ruins of what had once been a training ground. It had no name anymore. The war had stolen that too. The land was scarred—splintered earth, overturned steel beams, half-collapsed structures where generations once learned how to save others. Now, it would be the last place he’d see.
Izuku sat on a windowsill of the ruined dormitory, legs drawn up, forehead pressed lightly against the frame. The cold concrete scraped against his skin through the rips in his uniform pants, but he didn’t move. He liked the discomfort. It kept him grounded. Present.
In his trembling hands, he held the old digital recorder Mei had built for him a year ago. It still worked, miraculously. He thumbed the little red button.
Beep.
For a moment, he just listened to the soft static.
And then—
“Um… this is Izuku Midoriya. Or Deku. Or… I guess that doesn’t really matter now.”
A shaky breath. He bit the inside of his cheek.
“If you’re hearing this, then I’m probably… gone.”
He laughed quietly, the sound more of a puff of air than anything cheerful.
“Sorry. That’s… a messed-up way to start this. Let me try again.”
He swallowed thickly.
“I’m recording this because I’m scared. Not of dying. Not really. I mean—I am , but… not for myself. I’m scared of what happens if I don’t stop him. I’m scared that Shigaraki wins. That all of this—the blood, the fights, the friends we lost—it was for nothing. That I wasn’t enough.”
The wind whispered through the open window. His hair fluttered, green and matted with dust. The storm clouds overhead rolled in tighter.
“I don’t want anyone to carry that. The guilt. The weight of it. So I’m asking—if I don’t make it, please… don’t blame yourselves. Don’t think you could’ve stopped me. I made my choice. I am making it now. This isn’t some desperate act of sacrifice. This is what heroes do. This is what I have to do.”
His voice wavered for the first time.
“Because I love you guys.”
He laughed again, harsher this time.
“God, that sounds cheesy, huh? But I mean it. I love all of you. You were the first people who made me feel like I belonged. Like I wasn’t broken. You gave me a place in a world that told me I couldn’t be part of it. That I was too weak. Too emotional. Too… Quirkless.”
His fingers curled tighter around the recorder.
“To Uraraka… thank you for seeing me. Really seeing me. For believing in me when I didn’t. You smiled at me like I mattered even before I had a Quirk. You never treated me like I was fragile. I hope I made you proud.”
“To Iida, you’re the kind of person I wanted to become. Steady, moral, good to your core. Thank you for leading us, even when it hurt. You’re more than a Class Rep. You’re our anchor.”
“To Todoroki… you showed me how to fight pain with kindness. How to be more than what we were born into. I hope you’ve forgiven yourself for things that were never your fault.”
His voice cracked now, just a little.
“To Kacchan… I never said it out loud, but… you were always my inspiration. Even when it hurt. Even when I hated how much I wanted to be like you. You were the reason I kept pushing. The reason I believed I could be strong. I’m glad we found our way back to each other. I’m glad I got to fight beside you.”
He paused for a long time. Long enough that the wind grew louder, rustling the crumpled note in his pocket. He didn’t pull it out yet. Not yet.
“To Aizawa-sensei… thank you for never giving up on me. Even when I messed up. Even when I cried during training or froze during battles. You looked at me like I was worth something. Like I could be more. I’ll never forget that.”
His throat tightened.
“To All Might…”
Silence.
A drop of water hit the edge of the recorder. Another. Not rain—tears.
“You saved me. Not just when you pulled me out of that crowd. Not just when you gave me One For All. You saved me every day after that. By believing in me. By letting me be something more than just your successor. I know I broke your heart more than once. I know I made mistakes. But I hope, at the end of it all, I was worthy of what you gave me. Of what you saw in me.”
He let the silence breathe again.
“I don’t want to go.”
That confession barely escaped, like it was torn from his lungs.
“I want to stay. I want to graduate. I want to eat too much ice cream on warm nights with everyone. I want to go to pro hero internships and complain about the paperwork. I want to hold hands with someone I love and not feel guilty for surviving.”
His hands were trembling now.
“But I’m not going to get those things. Not all of us will. That’s the truth.”
He wiped his face, shakily. “So if this is my end… then let it be the end of this fight. Let it be the last sacrifice. No one else dies. Not on my watch.”
He raised the recorder slightly, as if trying to speak more directly to whoever was listening.
“Live. Please. That’s all I want. For everyone. For you. Live long enough to find peace. Live long enough to smile without pain behind it. Laugh for me. Cry when you need to. Remember me… but don’t carry me like a ghost.”
He smiled through the tears.
“I’m not a ghost. I’m a spark.”
He clicked the recorder off.
Beep.
The silence that followed Izuku’s message was heavy.
He didn’t realize someone had been standing behind him until a voice spoke—quiet, rough, sharp-edged.
“You really are a damn nerd.”
Izuku flinched and turned. “Kacchan.”
Bakugo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“That’s your last message? Seriously? You recorded a goodbye like some dying side character in a drama?”
Izuku smiled weakly. “I didn’t think you were listening.”
“I wasn’t supposed to,” Bakugo muttered. “But your voice carries. You always ramble too much.”
He didn’t move, just stared out the window where the storm clouds curled above the horizon. The sky looked like it was holding its breath.
“…You really think it’s gonna end like that?” Bakugo finally asked, voice quieter than usual. “You flying off into the sunset with that freak and exploding in a blaze of glory?”
Izuku lowered his gaze.
“I don’t know how else to win.”
“Tch.” Bakugo looked away, jaw clenched. “You always think it’s your job. Your responsibility. Like the rest of us are just side characters in your tragic little movie.”
“That’s not—”
“Don’t interrupt me.”
Izuku bit his lip and nodded.
Bakugo took a breath, his voice tighter now. “Do you have any idea what it felt like—growing up beside you? Watching you cry when you were scared, shake when you stood up, fall and get back up again and again and again even when everyone said you were nothing?”
Izuku blinked.
“I admired that,” Bakugo muttered. “I hated it. But I admired it.”
Izuku’s heart twisted.
“Kacchan…”
“You pissed me off more than anyone ever has. But you were always there. You fought like you had something to prove, and maybe you did. But you were proving it to yourself , not us. That’s the worst part. You didn’t care what we thought. You wanted to be good enough for your own damn standards.”
He exhaled sharply, pacing a few steps closer.
“You think I’m gonna let you die after all that?”
“I don’t want to die,” Izuku whispered. “But if it’s between me and everyone else—”
“It’s not. That’s the point.” Bakugo stopped just in front of him now, scowling. “We’re all going out there tomorrow. We all bleed for this. You’re not the only one who gets to be a goddamn hero.”
“I’m not trying to be a hero—”
“Yes, you are,” Bakugo snapped. “And you are one. Maybe the best of all of us. But don’t you dare think that means you’re disposable.”
Izuku looked up, eyes stinging.
“Do you remember that day?” Bakugo said, quieter now. “After the Sludge Villain. After All Might gave you his Quirk.”
Izuku nodded slowly.
“You smiled like you finally believed you could breathe. Like everything finally made sense.” Bakugo’s voice wavered. “Don’t take that from us. Don’t take you from us. From me.”
Izuku didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
“I’m not good at this crap,” Bakugo muttered, fists clenched. “I’m not good at saying what I mean. But I don’t need to be. You already know.”
The wind howled outside. Lightning flickered, casting them both in a stark glow.
Izuku looked at him then, really looked—at the lines under his eyes, the bruise along his jaw, the faint tremble in his fingers. The same fear they all carried, buried under pride.
“I’m scared, Kacchan,” Izuku admitted.
Bakugo stepped forward and grabbed the front of Izuku’s torn shirt, pulling him close.
“So am I.”
They stood like that for a moment—no punches, no shouting. Just two boys who had grown up side by side, broken and rebuilt by the same world. No longer rivals. Just brothers.
“If you die,” Bakugo said through clenched teeth, “I’ll kill you.”
Izuku laughed, choking on it.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Bakugo let go, stepping back.
“You still ramble too much.”
“You still care more than you let on.”
Bakugo turned to leave.
But just before he did, he paused at the door.
“…Get some rest,” he said without looking back. “You’ve got a hell of a fight tomorrow.”
And then he was gone, footsteps fading down the hall.
Izuku stared at the door for a long time after.
Then he looked down at the recorder in his hand, still warm.
He didn’t press play.
He didn’t need to.
Instead, he turned his eyes to the sky and whispered, almost like a prayer:
“Just a little longer. Let me hold on… just a little longer.”
Downstairs, the lights flickered.
The common area of the temporary shelter buzzed with soft generator hums and the faint murmur of wind against cracked walls. Sleeping bags were scattered across the battered floor like a childhood sleepover gone terribly wrong—pillows frayed, ration bars left half-eaten, laughter dulled by exhaustion.
But they were all there.
Class 1-A, together.
Older. Wounded. Alive.
Jirou sat cross-legged near the old fireplace, strumming quietly on a cracked acoustic guitar they’d pulled from the wreckage of a music shop a few weeks ago. The strings were out of tune, but the sound was enough to keep her fingers moving.
Mina leaned against Momo’s shoulder, head resting there as she yawned. “I keep thinking tomorrow’s just another battle,” she muttered, “but it doesn’t feel like that, does it?”
“No,” Momo said softly. “Because it’s not.”
“It’s the end,” Tsuyu added from her spot on a pile of blankets. “Whether we win or not. The world’s going to change.”
“You mean if we win,” Kaminari said, trying for a grin. It faltered. “We’re gonna win, right?”
No one answered at first.
Then Kirishima nodded. “Yeah. We are. I don’t care how many times we get knocked down. We’ve always gotten back up.”
Ojiro stirred from where he sat sharpening a piece of broken rebar into a makeshift weapon. “Even if we win, we won’t all make it back. We all know that.”
That made them fall quiet again.
In the corner, Sato passed a ration bar to Hagakure, who took it with a quiet “thank you.” Beside them, Tokoyami watched the light flicker against the wall, his cloak wrapped tighter than usual.
Shoji finally broke the silence. “Do you think Midoriya knows we’d follow him no matter what?”
“Of course he knows,” Uraraka said immediately. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, fingers curling around the hem of her shirt. Her voice cracked slightly. “He knows. But… I think he’s afraid we’ll get hurt because of him.”
“He’s an idiot,” Kaminari said, rubbing his temples. “A brave idiot. But an idiot.”
“I think he just… carries too much,” Momo said. “He thinks if anyone else falls, it’s his fault. Like he should’ve done more.”
Jirou’s fingers stilled on the strings.
“He doesn’t get it,” she said softly. “We’re not here because he saved us. We’re here because he let us fight beside him.”
“That’s what heroes do,” Iida added from the far wall. He stood, arms folded tightly over his chest. “They unite people. They bring out the best in others.”
“And sometimes they fall,” Mina whispered.
The weight of that hung over them like smoke.
Then, unexpectedly, Sero spoke up. “Do you guys remember the sports festival? When he broke himself just to keep up?”
They chuckled. Not because it was funny. Just because it felt good to remember something that wasn’t death.
“I remember him crying through the cavalry battle,” Kaminari said with a laugh. “He was apologizing to me while still kicking ass.”
“I remember him giving Todoroki the chance to fight with fire,” Momo said.
“I remember him jumping into a villain’s mouth for Kacchan,” Kirishima added.
“I remember… him trying to float me during training and accidentally throwing me into a tree,” Uraraka said with a soft giggle.
The laughter spread, even if only for a few moments.
It felt good to remember the boy who had become their beacon—not the unstoppable warrior he had become, but the dorky, mumbling, wildly compassionate friend who used to overanalyze hero stats and cry during inspirational speeches.
“That’s who we’re fighting for,” Jirou said after a moment. “Not just because he’s strong. But because he’s him .”
“And we’ll fight with him until the end,” Iida said, resolute.
“To the very last second,” Todoroki added from the back. No one had heard him enter. He walked forward slowly, eyes tired but determined.
“I just hope…” Uraraka started, her voice suddenly small. “I hope we’re enough. That when the time comes… we can keep him standing.”
The group was quiet again.
Not because they didn’t believe her.
But because they all knew—
Izuku would do everything in his power to protect them.
Even if it meant sacrificing himself.
From the hallway, Aizawa stood quietly, listening. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t need to.
All Might stood beside him, arms crossed over his thin chest.
“They sound ready,” All Might said quietly.
“They’ve been ready,” Aizawa replied. “The only one who hasn’t accepted it yet is the idiot with the power.”
“…He will. One way or another.”
Aizawa didn’t respond right away.
When he finally did, his voice was raw.
“I just hope he survives long enough to realize it.”
The storm broke at dawn.
The sky wept as the world fractured.
Ash fell like snow across the broken skeleton of Jaku City. Thunder rolled low and hungry above them, and below, the ruins trembled—cracked concrete giving way to the breath of something unnatural rising beneath it.
Shigaraki had arrived.
He landed without fanfare, without sound.
But the moment his feet touched earth, the world recoiled.
Everything within fifty meters dissolved—buildings, trees, soil, timeworn stone. It all turned to dust in an instant, pulled into decay by the monstrous fusion of man and malice that now stood in the center of the battlefield.
White hair, drifting as if underwater.
Rotting skin plated in bone-like armor, black veins crawling like thorns beneath the surface.
Eyes like raw embers.
A thing that had once been Tomura Shigaraki… and something far worse.
From the shattered rooftop above, Izuku Midoriya landed in a crouch.
The force of it sent cracks spidering beneath his boots. His breathing was uneven—already—though the battle had only just begun.
He was tired.
Not from running. Not from fighting. Not from the dozen bruised muscles in his side or the fracture in his left shoulder. He was tired because he knew what this would cost.
His hand clenched at his side. Sparks of energy danced up his forearm—remnants of Fa Jin pulsing like a heartbeat.
Shigaraki turned toward him, smiling that broken, jagged smile.
“You came.”
Izuku didn’t respond.
His fingers trembled. He forced them still.
You don’t get to hesitate. Not now.
But God, he wanted to.
He remembered the look on Kacchan’s face last night. The fear he tried to bury. The quiet, final don’t die . He remembered the way Uraraka couldn’t meet his eyes. The way Aizawa stood silently behind everyone, gripping his scarf like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The way All Might looked at him—not as a successor, but as a son.
He remembered all of it.
And then, clear and cold as steel, Gran Torino’s voice echoed in his mind:
“Sometimes, to save someone… you have to kill them.”
His throat tightened.
Back then, he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t believe in killing.
He wanted to save Shigaraki.
But now?
Now he could feel the weight of every life behind him.
Every scream. Every body. Every gravestone.
There was no saving what stood before him.
“Did you think you could redeem me?” Shigaraki asked, voice like gravel grinding over rusted metal. “That this would end with a hug and a speech?”
Izuku swallowed hard.
“No.”
“Oh?” Shigaraki grinned wider. “So you’ve finally stopped pretending. That’s good. That’s progress.”
Izuku’s voice, when it came, was soft—but firm.
“I didn’t come here to kill you out of hate.”
“Oh, don’t lie to yourself, Midoriya. You’re full of hate. I can see it now. That little glimmer in your eye—”
“You’re wrong.”
Shigaraki paused.
“I’m full of grief.”
Izuku stood straighter, wind tugging at the tattered remains of his cloak. Blackwhip slithered around his shoulders like a living shadow, reacting to the fury he kept barely leashed beneath his skin.
“I grieve for the people you hurt. For the lives you destroyed. For the kid you used to be. But I’m not here to save you.”
He took a step forward.
“I’m here to make sure you can’t hurt anyone else.”
Shigaraki laughed. “You’re just like All Might. Still clinging to the illusion of justice. Still pretending this world can be saved.”
“I don’t care about illusions.”
Another step.
“I care about them.”
Far behind him, he could hear it—fighting, screaming, his friends battling tooth and nail to hold the line.
Jirou’s voice crackling through damaged comms. Momo yelling orders. Kirishima taking a hit he shouldn’t survive. Uraraka calling out his name, already too far away to catch him.
He shut his eyes for half a second.
“Even if I die here,” he said, voice shaking, “they’ll keep going. Because they have each other.”
“And what do you have?” Izuku asked, opening his eyes.
Shigaraki tilted his head. “Everything.”
“No,” Izuku whispered. “You have nothing. ”
Shigaraki roared and lunged, a wave of decay screaming outward—
Izuku moved.
Fa Jin ignited beneath his feet, launching him sideways as Blackwhip cracked across the air. Smokescreen exploded behind him as he vanished from sight. Danger Sense screamed in his skull as Shigaraki’s hand barely missed him by inches.
He’s too fast. Too strong. This body—
You won’t last much longer, murmured the voice of the Second in his head.
I know.
Izuku gritted his teeth and surged forward.
Not because he thought he would win.
But because he couldn’t let anyone else lose.
The battlefield burned.
Not with fire—but with effort . With desperation. With the bright, stubborn spark of resistance.
As Izuku faced Shigaraki at the heart of the storm, the rest of Class 1-A was fighting to hold the world together.
Because the war wasn't over yet.
With the League dismantled and the generals captured, the battlefield now crawled with the remnants—fanatics, rogues, quirked mercenaries who had pledged themselves to chaos. Mindless, raging Nomu thundered through the wreckage like beasts unchained, eyes glowing, jaws slack.
And Class 1-A stood between them and the end.
“Left flank! More incoming!” Momo shouted as a monstrous Nomu crashed through a half-collapsed building.
With a grunt, she formed a rapid-fire launcher and tossed it to Sato , who caught it mid-stride and fired into the thing’s chest, sending it staggering. Kirishima was already there, hardening just in time to block a retaliatory strike, the sheer force sending him skidding backward.
“Still standing!” he roared, teeth bloody, eyes wild. “ You’re not getting through us! ”
Jirou, perched atop a broken light post, funneled her heartbeat through shattered speaker wires she’d rigged on the fly, unleashing a sonic shockwave that flattened a wave of rogue villains trying to sneak through the smoke.
Behind her, Kaminari grinned with one bloody lip. “How’d I do, support queen?”
“Not dead yet, so better than usual,” she shouted, eyes shining with adrenaline.
“I’ll take it!”
Todoroki stood at the center of the northern line, ice spiraling out beneath him in jagged pillars while fire exploded around his other arm. His breaths came ragged and short, one eye nearly swollen shut.
A fire-powered villain hurled a molten spike toward his chest.
Uraraka came from above, touching it midair and sending it harmlessly floating upward.
“You good?” she called.
He nodded. “Watch your left.”
She ducked just as a wild strike passed by her ear. “Thanks.”
Their teamwork had no hesitation. No gaps. Just trust.
Iida moved like lightning through the fray, carrying the wounded to cover, pivoting to strike down hostiles with brutal efficiency. He paused beside a crumbling wall, panting, before spotting a small girl trembling under the wreckage.
She couldn’t have been older than five.
Without thinking, he dropped everything and ran, turbine engines shrieking as he reached her just before a piece of concrete gave way.
“I have you,” he whispered as he shielded her body with his own. “I have you.”
Tsuyu , bleeding from a wound on her leg, used her tongue to grab a half-buried comrade and pull them behind cover. Shoji shielded her with his massive arms as a Nomu hurled a car their way, the crash deafening.
“We can’t keep this up!” she yelled.
“We don’t have to,” Shoji growled. “We just have to last.”
All around them, the battlefield lit with quirk-flashes and screams.
But there was something else too—something beneath the chaos.
Hope.
Because they had trained for this.
Bled for this.
Grown together for this.
And now, they stood not as students, not even as heroes-in-training.
They stood as a wall.
So Izuku could finish this.
But none of them could see him now.
Not really.
Far from their line, he stood alone before Shigaraki, panting, shaking, his arms bruised and torn from blocking the last hit. Blackwhip whipped wildly around him—panicked, unstable. Float stuttered beneath his boots like it didn’t know whether to lift him or collapse.
“Midoriya!” Aizawa’s voice barked through the comm. “Fall back! You’re too exposed!”
I can’t.
He didn’t say it aloud, but his body already knew.
He wasn’t going to make it back.
The battlefield was slipping away.
Sound dulled. Colors bled at the edges. The weight of the air crushed against his shoulders as if the entire sky was pressing down.
And still—Izuku stood.
His arms hung heavy at his sides, bruised and shaking, Blackwhip twitching uncontrollably like a live wire. The scars across his knuckles split open again with each breath, blood trailing down his fingers and dripping into the cracked earth below.
Shigaraki—if he could even be called that now—was watching him.
Silent. Waiting.
Decay bled from his feet with every step, spreading like a curse.
But he didn’t attack.
He didn’t need to.
He knew Izuku was dying.
“You’re not ready to kill me.”
“But I don’t have to kill you. Time will.”
Izuku’s head pounded, his knees buckling briefly before he forced himself upright. The air shimmered around him—energy from One For All flickering in and out of control, unstable, barely contained.
And still… he reached up and clicked his comm back on.
Static.
Then—“Midoriya? Midoriya, report!” All Might’s voice. Frantic. Cracking.
Izuku closed his eyes.
“...All Might?”
“You’re alive. Thank God—where are you? We can’t see you. You need to fall back. Do you hear me? Fall back! ”
Izuku didn’t answer immediately.
He reached into his belt pouch instead, fingers trembling as he pulled out a small object.
A camera. Old. Scarred.
The strap was half-torn, the lens slightly scratched. A gift from Mei. A tool he’d used in downtime to document the last year of the war—faces, places, moments he wanted to remember even if the world forgot.
His hand tightened around it for a moment.
Then he looked down at the rubble near his feet and knelt.
Gently, like laying down a sleeping child, he placed the camera in a dented metal box—one that had once been part of a roadside vending machine. He pulled his notebook—the last one—from his side pocket and tucked it inside with care.
The notebook’s cover was cracked, stained with blood, dirt, and rain—but inside it was filled to the final page. Not with Quirk analyses anymore.
With memories. Letters. Names.
He snapped the lid shut.
Then he reached for the comm one more time.
“All Might,” he said softly.
His voice was frayed. Not with fear.
With peace.
“If—if you find this frequency after it’s over… there’s a vending unit. West quadrant. Red and white, near the collapsed tram line.”
He swallowed.
“My camera’s in there. And my last notebook.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
Then All Might’s voice came back. Quiet. Fragile.
“Why are you telling me this, my boy?”
Izuku exhaled, eyes focused on the monster waiting ahead of him.
Because he knew.
There was no going back.
“Because I want you to remember me,” Izuku said. “Not as the last wielder of One For All. Not as a soldier. Just as a kid who got lucky enough to meet his hero.”
“Midoriya—”
“I’m glad it was me.”
The words cracked halfway out.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back.”
Behind him, the others were still fighting.
Still holding the line.
Still alive.
And they would stay that way.
He would make sure of it.
“I’m going to end this now,” Izuku whispered, mostly to himself.
Then he took a step forward.
Another.
Every movement sent lightning crackling up his limbs. The storm above responded, as if pulled into him. As if One For All itself was becoming unstable—imploding under the weight of his conviction.
The ground around him buckled. Air pressure dropped.
He wasn’t going to just use One For All.
He was going to become it.
Behind the curtain of smoke and ash, Shigaraki lifted his head.
“You’re going to burn yourself out, Midoriya.”
Izuku’s feet left the ground, Float activating one last time, rising through the swirling ash like an ember caught in the wind.
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t need to.
This wasn’t a conversation.
This was goodbye.
His body screamed. Blood ran down from his ears. His heart stuttered.
And still he pushed forward.
One final charge.
Every vestige. Every spark. Every ounce of One For All left inside him poured outward, surrounding him in a corona of light so bright it turned the storm itself into day.
Below, the world watched.
Class 1-A stopped mid-battle and turned toward the center.
They all knew.
They all felt it.
The storm twisted into a spiral above Jaku’s ruins.
A column of golden-white energy rose higher with each heartbeat, swirling around Izuku Midoriya like a cocoon of starlight, like a storm held together by sheer force of will.
Down below, the earth crumbled. Entire buildings were reduced to shadow beneath the light. Shigaraki stood in the center, arms spread, face warped with confusion—for the first time, not in control.
He looked up, and for a heartbeat, he looked afraid.
High above him, Izuku was still.
Suspended between heaven and earth. Bones cracked. Vision doubled. Muscles seizing.
One For All was coming apart inside of him— not in resistance , but in acceptance.
It was ready to end.
So was he.
And then the world went silent.
The battlefield blurred, smoke peeling away like fog until Izuku stood in a space made of nothing and everything. A starlit void. His breath caught in his chest as he turned slowly—
And saw them.
The vestiges.
All of them.
Standing together.
Waiting.
Yoichi, the First.
He stepped forward, eyes glassy, smile soft as sunlight.
“I knew,” he said gently, “that this power would one day reach someone like you.”
Izuku trembled, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I’m not enough.”
Yoichi shook his head. “You were always enough.”
Izuku fell to his knees in the starlight, tears burning his eyes. “I didn’t save everyone. I couldn’t stop him before. I—I don’t want to kill, but I—”
Yoichi knelt in front of him, placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay.”
Izuku’s lip quivered.
“I’m scared.”
“We all were,” said Nana behind him. “But you? You moved forward anyway.”
Banjo stepped beside her. “You stood when your body was shattered.”
Hikage nodded. “When your mind broke, you rebuilt it.”
Second’s voice cut through the air. “You looked at impossible odds and said, ‘I still have to try.’ ”
Yoichi leaned closer, pressing his forehead against Izuku’s for a brief second. “You took our burdens. Our regrets. Our pain. And turned them into something beautiful.”
“You made us proud,” whispered Nana, her voice catching.
“You gave us peace,” said En.
“You gave us purpose,” said Third.
“You gave us each other,” said Banjo.
Yoichi’s voice was soft. “And now, Izuku… let us give you something in return.”
He stood and held out his hand.
“Let us carry the weight with you. One final time.”
Izuku stood.
And in that moment—he was not alone.
The light around him burned brighter.
Their voices rose.
Not in fear.
Not in anger.
In unity.
“MIDORIYA!” All Might’s voice cut in, sharp and frantic through the comms. “PLEASE! ANSWER ME—MY BOY— DON’T DO THIS! ”
Izuku’s hand reached up to the comm, trembling.
“All Might,” he said, soft and broken.
On the other end, Toshinori’s voice cracked apart. “Please… please come back. We can find another way—we always do, just wait , just give me—”
“I’m sorry,” Izuku whispered.
“I’m not ready to lose you!”
“I was never going to make it,” Izuku said, closing his eyes. “But I’m glad I made it this far.”
“MIDORIYA!”
“I’m glad… I got to be your student.”
And with a soft click—he shut the comm off.
Below, the light intensified—Class 1-A shielding their eyes, some screaming, some reaching, all too far away.
“DEKU!” Bakugo howled, sprinting through the rubble. “ DON’T YOU DARE—! ”
“Please,” Uraraka whispered, her hands bloodied. “Please come back.”
Todoroki, frozen mid-step, could only whisper, “No.”
Up in the sky, the energy around Izuku began to crystallize—fracturing light dancing across his body like wings.
Every vestige took a stance behind him.
Every memory filled his heart.
His mother’s smile.
Uraraka’s laugh.
Kacchan’s pride.
All Might’s tears.
And then, their voices rose with his.
Together.
One breath.
One soul.
The air split.
Bones shattered.
He surged forward.
“ONE FOR ALL: FINAL—”
The sky caught fire.
“INHERITANCE!!”
A scream of power tore through the heavens.
The light surged down like a divine blade, crashing into the battlefield in a pillar of pure, incandescent fury. A supernova made from willpower, from sacrifice, from legacy.
And then—
Silence.
The sky was quiet again.
No more thunder. No more screaming. No more decay crawling through the soil.
Just… silence.
And smoke.
And the soft rustle of ash falling like snow across a battlefield frozen in time.
They didn’t move at first.
No one did.
Class 1-A stood scattered through the debris, blinking into the distance, trying to understand what they had just seen. What they had felt.
The explosion of light had ripped through everything—pushing back the decay, dissolving the last Nomu, stopping the remaining enemy forces in their tracks. There was no more fighting.
Because there was nothing left to fight.
And at the center of it all—
A crater.
Massive.
Still glowing faintly with golden sparks that drifted upward into the air like fireflies.
Bakugo was the first to move.
His legs nearly gave out as he forced himself forward, boots sliding on fractured stone, eyes wide and glassy, mouth open like he wanted to scream—but couldn’t.
He dropped to his knees at the crater’s edge, hands shaking.
“Deku…”
Nothing answered him.
No voice. No rustle of breath.
Just wind.
Uraraka arrived a moment later, limping, her uniform torn and soaked in blood and dust. She fell beside him, eyes searching the broken earth for anything.
“Where is he?” she whispered. “Where—where is he?”
Her fingers clawed at the rubble.
Mina and Jirou stumbled up behind her, Kirishima not far behind, his unbreakable form trembling like it might fall apart.
Iida arrived with Todoroki, both bruised and battered, both silent.
They all stood around the crater.
And realized, together—
He wasn’t coming back.
Aizawa’s voice came softly through the comms. Raw. Hollow.
“…Confirmed. Target neutralized.”
There was a long pause.
Then—
“...Midoriya… is gone.”
All Might didn’t speak.
He was already running—slipping, stumbling, falling as he sprinted across the battlefield.
His feet bled. His lungs burned. He didn’t care.
He dropped into the crater like gravity had failed him, hitting the earth hard on his knees and hands.
There was no body.
Just scorch marks.
And faint golden embers that danced in the dust.
“Toshinori?” came Aizawa’s voice again.
All Might didn’t answer.
His hand reached forward, shaking, and hovered over a small, partially buried metal object.
A vending machine panel, half-scorched.
He dug, hands frantic, tears already falling.
And then—
He found it.
A scratched, battered camera.
And beneath it—
A notebook.
The last one.
His breath caught.
“No,” he whispered. “No no no—don’t you dare leave me like this.”
When All Might found the notebook, he thought it would be filled with statistics.
Battle plans. Power limits. Notes on quirks.
And it was—at first.
But in the final pages, scrawled in the same messy handwriting they'd all come to know, were letters.
One for every name.
Written with love.
Written in case he didn’t come back.
To Kacchan – Bakugo Katsuki
I don’t know how to write this without making you mad, so I’m just gonna say it:
You were my first friend.
Even when things got messy—when we grew apart, when we fought—you were always the one I looked up to. You pushed me to be better, to work harder. I never wanted to beat you. I just wanted to stand beside you.
You became a hero your own way. Loud. Relentless. Unstoppable.
But you also changed.
You grew into someone who cared. You protected us. You protected me. You didn’t have to. But you did.
So promise me something: live. Don’t carry guilt. Don’t burn yourself out trying to make up for what you think you owe me.
You already gave me more than enough.
Go be the #1 Hero.
And when you win your first award, scowl in every picture.
That’s how I’ll know you’re still you.
To Uraraka Ochaco
I’m sorry we never got that second date.
But I want you to know—you changed everything for me. You were the first person who really looked at me and didn’t see someone weak or fragile. You saw me as someone trying.
Your heart is so big, Ochaco. You give and give, even when you’re empty.
So please… let yourself be happy. Eat that fancy mochi. Take too many naps. Fall in love. Travel the world.
Be soft. Be strong. Be the gravity that pulls people into the warmth of your smile.
You made me feel like I could fly, even before I ever did.
To Iida Tenya
You’re the kind of hero I wish the world had more of.
Not because you’re fast. But because you’re steady .
You taught me how to lead. How to own up to my mistakes. You reminded me that following the rules doesn’t mean following blindly.
You have such a good heart, Iida. Please keep it open.
I know you’ll become a great pro—but don’t forget to be a great man first. Go visit your brother more. Build a family. Laugh louder. Let your glasses fog up from crying if you need to.
You don’t have to hold us all up anymore.
We’re okay now.
Because of you.
To Todoroki Shoto
You’re not your father’s shadow.
You never were.
You are calm, and fierce, and kind in a way that most people never get to see. You’re quiet, but I’ve heard your silence speak louder than most people’s words.
Thank you for trusting me. For letting me walk beside you as you figured out who you really are.
You’re more than fire and ice. You’re the middle. The balance.
Don’t shut yourself off. Let people in. Tell your mom you love her more often. Go out with the class when they ask. Let yourself live outside of duty.
The world is better when you smile.
So do it for me, okay?
To Momo Yaoyorozu
I always admired you.
Not because of your intelligence or your Quirk, but because of your heart . You carry so much pressure and responsibility, but you never once let it crush your compassion.
Don’t let people tell you what kind of hero to be.
Be yourself.
You’re allowed to rest. To love. To laugh at dumb jokes. You don’t need to know every answer. You don’t need to fix everything.
Just keep creating. Keep building.
You’ll rebuild the world, Momo.
And it will be beautiful.
To Kirishima Eijiro
You were always the bravest of us.
Not because you charged in headfirst. But because you weren’t afraid to be soft underneath all that armor.
You taught me that vulnerability isn’t weakness. That opening your heart doesn’t mean breaking it.
You’re already the man you hoped to become.
So live loud, laugh harder, and never stop believing in people.
Especially yourself.
To Jirou Kyoka
You made me feel normal.
When things were dark, and my thoughts were loud, you gave me music. You gave me sarcasm. You gave me real friendship.
And I’ll never forget that.
So don’t ever think your voice isn’t strong enough. It is.
Keep writing songs. Keep kicking villains in the teeth. Keep being the loudest quiet person I’ve ever known.
You’re a rockstar.
And you always will be.
To the Rest of Class 1-A
To Mina: You lit every room you entered. Don’t ever dim your spark.
To Sero: Thank you for making me laugh when everything felt impossible. You’re more important than you know.
To Hagakure: I always knew when you were in the room. Not because I could see you, but because you made us feel safe.
To Kaminari: You're smarter than you let on. Don’t hide your light to make other people feel comfortable.
To Shoji: You were the shield I didn’t know I needed. Thank you.
To Sato, Ojiro, Kouda, Aoyama, Tokoyami—thank you for standing by me. For fighting beside me. For believing in me when I didn’t.
To Aizawa-sensei
You scared me at first. I mean, really scared me.
But you gave me the space to grow. You gave me honesty when I needed it. Patience when I didn’t deserve it.
You treated me like someone worth fighting for.
Thank you for teaching me that heroes don’t always need to smile.
Sometimes, they just need to show up .
And you always did.
To All Might
I hope you know… I never blamed you.
You saved me. Every day.
Not just with your strength—but with your belief.
You saw something in me when no one else did.
And even when I was breaking, I clung to that.
Thank you for being my hero.
Thank you for being my dad , even if neither of us ever said it out loud.
Please live now. Rest. Teach someone new. And smile when you think of me.
To Everyone
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer.
I’m sorry I didn’t get to grow old with you.
But I’m not sorry for choosing this.
I would do it all again.
Because I got to love you. All of you.
I hope that’s enough.
End of flashback:
Five Years Later
The memorial sat quietly at the center of a hill surrounded by sakura trees.
Spring wind carried petals through the air, brushing over the smooth bronze statue of Izuku Midoriya—not mid-punch, not in battle, but simply standing.
Smiling.
Notebook in hand.
Coat flapping behind him.
At his feet were the names of the classmates he had fought for.
They visited every year.
Sometimes alone.
Sometimes together.
This year, they came as a class again.
Some wore pro hero gear. Some wore simple clothes. Some carried gifts. Flowers. Letters.
And one by one, they spoke.
Kirishima
He placed his hand on the base of the statue, knuckles scarred and calloused.
“You were the bravest guy I ever met, man. I’m trying to live the way you did. Loud. With heart. I still get scared sometimes, though. I guess… I just miss having you around. You made things feel less impossible.”
Iida
“I’ve done my best to honor your memory through action and justice. But I find myself pausing sometimes… wondering what you would’ve said. You always found the humanity in everything. I miss that. I miss you.”
He bowed deeply. “Thank you for leading me when I was lost.”
Todoroki
“I see you in the quiet moments. In the space between missions. When I don’t have to be anyone but myself. That’s when you show up the most.”
He placed a small, white lily beneath the statue.
“You reminded me I was human. I’ll never forget that.”
Jirou
She dropped a pair of earbuds onto the plaque.
“I wrote a song,” she said softly. “It’s stupid. Sad. Really emo.”
A shaky laugh.
“But it’s for you. And it’s full of you. So that makes it okay.”
Momo
“I teach now,” she said, standing tall, voice clear.
“Sometimes, I catch a student muttering about heroes into their notebook and I have to step outside for a minute. I tell them they remind me of someone.”
She smiled, tearfully.
“They always smile back.”
Kaminari
“I tell your story to rookies.”
He leaned against the statue.
“I don’t tell ‘em the ending, though. Just the part where you stood up. Again and again. Because that’s what they need.”
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “That’s what I still need.”
Bakugo
He waited until the others had stepped back. He didn’t kneel. Didn’t cry.
Just stood there, hands in his pockets, scowling at the bronze like it had done something wrong.
“Tch. Nerd.”
A pause.
“I finally made it to #1.”
Another pause.
“…It’s not the same.”
He stared for a long time.
Then whispered, so no one else could hear:
“…I hope you’re proud of me.”
Uraraka
She was the last to speak.
She didn’t say anything at first.
Just knelt. Placed a trembling hand over the engraved name. Rested her head against it like it might beat again.
“I waited for you,” she whispered. “For a long time.”
She took a deep breath.
“I loved you.”
The words hurt. They cracked something open that hadn’t fully healed.
“I still do.”
She sat there for a long time, watching the wind stir the petals across his feet.
“I tried moving on,” she admitted. “I really did. People said it would get easier.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“But I think… some loves are meant to stay. Even if they only get one lifetime.”
She closed her eyes.
“Wherever you are, I hope you still believe in me.”
She stood slowly.
And smiled through the tears.
“For what it’s worth… I never stopped believing in you.”
As the sun set behind them, the class gathered in silence.
The breeze carried their grief like a song.
They were heroes now.
Icons. Protectors.
But here—on this hill, in front of this statue—they were just the kids he loved.
And they would carry him forward.
Always.
As Class 1-A stepped back to give the hill its silence, three others remained behind—each carrying a piece of Izuku that no one else ever truly held.
They weren’t students.
They weren’t just heroes.
They were family .
Aizawa Shouta
He stood at a distance for a long time.
Hands in his coat pockets.
Eyes shadowed under his lashes.
Then he walked forward—slowly—and crouched beside the base of the statue. Not to kneel. Not to mourn.
But to speak.
Just once.
“You were a pain in the ass,” he said, voice low and steady. “Always pushing too hard. Always nearly getting yourself killed. Never listening when I told you to slow down.”
He paused.
“And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
He reached out, ran a finger over the engraved name.
“You made me proud, problem child. You made me hope. That’s not something I do often.”
His jaw clenched.
“Rest easy, kid. I’ve got the others.”
And with that, he stood and walked away—his scarf catching the wind, his heart left behind.
Toshinori Yagi (All Might)
He approached slowly, hands shaking slightly, thinner than ever.
His eyes were glassy. His voice, hoarse.
He had aged more in those five years than in the twenty before them.
But when he reached the statue, he smiled.
It was broken.
But it was real.
“I keep expecting to hear your voice when I turn around,” he whispered. “You always showed up when I least expected it. Maybe… maybe you still do.”
He set a small item at the statue’s feet.
A bent piece of plastic.
An All Might keychain.
The one Izuku had carried since he was a child.
“I wish I could’ve saved you.”
His voice cracked.
“I wish I’d been strong enough.”
He stared up at the bronze face, that hopeful smile frozen forever.
“You became everything I couldn’t be.”
Toshinori bowed deeply—deeper than any hero ever had.
And whispered:
“My boy… my hero .”
Inko Midoriya
She came alone.
No press.
No cameras.
Just her and a single lily.
Her steps were soft, her breath tight. She didn’t cry this time.
She had cried enough.
She laid the flower down gently, then placed her hand on the base of the statue.
“You forgot your umbrella again,” she murmured. “I can hear you now. Rushing out the door. Late, smiling, apologizing.”
She looked up.
“I used to worry you’d never come home.”
A long pause.
“And now you finally did. Just… not the way I hoped.”
She closed her eyes.
“I’m proud of you, baby. I wish I had more time. I wish I could’ve seen who you’d become.”
She leaned forward and kissed the edge of the statue’s foot.
“But I’m glad the world knew you.”
Her voice was barely a breath now.
“I’m glad you were mine.”
She sat beside the statue for a while, legs curled beneath her, watching the petals fall.
Like she was waiting for him to sit beside her.
Maybe he did.
And So…
As the last of them left the hill that day, the breeze shifted.
Carrying the sound of laughter that wasn’t there.
And for just a moment—
They swore they heard a familiar voice say:
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”