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Chapter Text

Izuku Yagi's early years were a strange contradiction of public fascination and private absence. From the moment he was born, the world watched with collective curiosity, as headlines declared the arrival of the Symbol of Peace’s child. People speculated about the boy’s potential, scrutinized his every public appearance, and obsessed over whether he would inherit his father’s strength. But fame isn’t comfort, and adoration isn’t stability. Within the walls of their modest apartment, the Yagi household struggled under the weight of expectations no child should have to bear.

Though the world anticipated a mini-All Might, Izuku bore almost no resemblance to his father. His curly green hair was inherited from Inko, as were his round, expressive emerald eyes and the signature freckles that decorated his cheeks like stardust. He’d heard adults murmur with disappointment when they first saw him, expecting blond locks and muscle-bound limbs. When he was little, Izuku had even tried mimicking All Might’s poses in front of the mirror, puffing his chest and baring a toothy smile, hoping that pretending might make him feel more like the legend he was supposed to become. In time, he grew to cherish that he looked like his mother - someone warm and real, even if she was often tired.

Toshinori Yagi was a hero before he was a husband or a father. His life was consumed by duty, and his appearances at home were sporadic at best. He would drop in between patrols or press conferences with hugs that lasted too little and promises that stretched too thin. Izuku idolized him, like most of the country did, but even from a young age, he could sense that his father’s presence didn’t quite feel permanent. Inko, meanwhile, shouldered the daily burdens alone - household management, groceries, fielding reporters, balancing her job. She adored her son deeply, but stress carved itself into her features like erosion, wearing her down until her patience was thin and her spirit stretched. Izuku learned early to be quiet when her headaches were bad, and to make his own breakfast when she didn’t wake.

The tipping point came one morning when he was four. Climbing onto the kitchen counter for a collectible All Might toy he'd left by the cereal box, Izuku instinctively grabbed the table beside him - and lifted it. Not just nudged. He hoisted the full weight into the air with no effort at all, surprised more by the ease than the action. His mother turned at the sound of legs scraping the floor, dropping the dish towel in her hand with wide eyes. Izuku blinked at her, unsure why she was suddenly crying.

That evening, the Hero Public Safety Commission showed up unannounced. Two officials in clean, pressed uniforms sat on their couch, their tone gentle but firm, offering what sounded like salvation wrapped in protocol. All Might had never disclosed his true heir, and now that Izuku showed signs of bearing All Might's power, they argued, he needed protection, guidance, training. Inko asked about family rights and schooling, questioned whether she could still visit. They reassured her with promises of structure, excellence, and oversight - words she barely had the energy to parse.

The next morning, Izuku was whisked away to an HPSC facility. Inko stood on the front step watching the car disappear, her hand raised in a wave that felt more like a farewell than see-you-later. She knew she'd made the right decision for his future, but it didn’t stop her from crying into his All Might blanket that night, curled on the couch without him.

Izuku didn't understand what "Commission" meant or why he couldn’t sleep in his room anymore, but the facility wasn’t cruel. It was sterile, organized, designed like a boarding school with sleek corridors and muted colors. He was given a new uniform, a structured routine, and access to training grounds that looked like something out of a science fiction film. The staff treated him politely, like a project with tremendous potential. He missed his mom. He missed late-night cuddles and burnt toast breakfasts and quiet evenings with her humming while folding laundry. But slowly, he adjusted. Slowly, he began to believe that maybe they were right: maybe this was what it meant to be born into greatness.

The Todoroki household, to the outsider’s eye, was a shrine to power. The grandeur of the estate, the spotless hallways, and the imposing family name suggested prestige and control. But behind the polished veneer lived a fractured family bound together not by love, but by ambition - by a singular obsession harbored by Enji Todoroki, better known to the public as the Flame Hero: Endeavor. For Enji, family was a means to an end. His marriage was not rooted in romance but in genetics; Rei Todoroki was chosen for her powerful ice-based Quirk, which he believed, when combined with his own, could produce a child capable of surpassing All Might. And so, the Todoroki children were born - each more a result of calculation than affection.

Enji’s vision was relentless, and his parenting was less nurture than dominance. The older Todoroki siblings endured years of neglect that bordered on cruel, forced to bend to their father’s will, their childhoods sacrificed for the sake of a future they never asked for. But it was Shouto - the youngest - who bore the full weight of Endeavor’s expectations. From infancy, Enji watched him with the hunger of a man grasping for legacy. Shouto’s Frost-Flame Quirk was proof of concept, a fusion of both parents’ powers that cemented Enji’s belief in his methods. To him, Shouto wasn’t just a son - he was the chosen one, the culmination of Enji’s obsession with strength.

Shouto, however, was never asked how he felt. His memories of childhood were marked not by laughter, but by long, grueling training sessions in sun-drenched courtyards, the fire side of his Quirk pushed and punished until he cried. While other children learned to read or played with toys, Shouto was sprinting through obstacle courses and absorbing lectures about control and discipline. His father’s voice was always present, sharp and booming, instructing him with the kind of precision reserved for machines rather than children. Love was something Shouto learned through whispers from his mother and the brief, gentle touches she offered when Enji wasn’t looking.

But even that comfort was doomed to fracture. Rei, once hopeful and gentle, slowly became worn by Enji’s suffocating presence. He never raised a hand to her, but his expectations, his disappointment, and his constant surveillance chipped away at her sanity. Each of her children reminded her of the life she’d surrendered, the quiet dreams she’d buried beneath duty. And Shouto - who bore the clearest resemblance to Enji on his left side - became a walking reminder. When he turned five, the tension reached its breaking point. One quiet afternoon in the kitchen, the boy entered looking for tea, tugging at the sleeve of her dress, his innocent face lit by the glow from his fire side. Something inside her cracked.

The kettle was full and boiling. The moment lasted no longer than a blink. A scream, a splash, the hiss of steam - and Shouto was on the floor, clutching his face, crying. Rei was already bending down beside him, sobbing apologies, trying to cool the burn with her ice, shaking as she repeated, “Why did I do that? I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” But apologies couldn’t reverse the scars that had already begun to form.

In the aftermath, Rei was admitted to Fujitani Hospital, a psychiatric ward tucked away on the far edge of Musutafu. Enji gave no interviews and issued no statements. Publicly, he carried on - maintaining his role as the #2 hero, ignoring the whispers that began to seep through social media and hero forums. Shouto, meanwhile, was confined to home training, still under his father’s thumb, silent and withdrawn. He stopped using his fire entirely, rejecting it the way one might reject poison. Every time he looked in the mirror, every glance at his scarred left side, reminded him of the father he loathed and the mother he had lost.

And then, quietly, the Hero Public Safety Commission arrived.

They knew about the burn - rumors had spread farther than Enji anticipated. They had been watching the Todoroki household since Shouto’s birth, waiting for the moment to intercede. The child was too valuable to let the chaos of Enji’s domestic life ruin him. They didn’t approach with sympathy but with strategy, offering to take Shouto into their own custody for proper training and development. Enji, though wary of losing influence, agreed. Even he could see that his methods had only bred scars - physical and emotional alike.

At five years old, Shouto was escorted into a government black car with a solemn face and a packed duffel bag. He didn’t cry when he left. He didn’t wave to his father, or look back at the towering front gates of the Todoroki estate. He simply stared out the window, away from the smoldering legacy that had burned more than just his skin. Wherever he was going, he hoped it would be somewhere his fire wasn’t the only thing expected of him.

For the HPSC, it was another successful acquisition. For Shouto, it was the beginning of something colder - less about freedom, and more about another kind of control. Still, he clung to one thought: at least it wasn’t Enji. And sometimes, even the smallest escapes feel like liberation.

The Yaoyorozu estate was a world of its own - vast, opulent, and eerily quiet. Nestled behind wrought iron gates and manicured gardens, the mansion seemed more like a museum than a home. Its corridors were long and echoing, with walls lined in dark mahogany and crystal chandeliers glittering overhead like frozen stars. For most, it would be a dream to live there. For Momo, it was a place that gleamed but never quite glowed.

Her parents, Aoi and Haruki Yaoyorozu, were titans in the corporate world, each commanding global influence in their respective fields. They adored their daughter in theory, lavishing her with gifts and tutors and the finest materials money could buy. But their presence was fleeting, swallowed by meetings, flights, and boardrooms. Momo was raised in the wake of their absence - cradled by polished butlers, soothed by soft-spoken maids, and educated by private instructors who treated her more like an investment than a child. She learned early to be polite, precise, and unfailingly excellent, but beneath the surface brewed a quiet yearning: to be seen, not just managed.

By the age of four, her life followed a rhythm of solitude masquerading as luxury. She spent her afternoons in the mansion’s grand library, a towering room of leather-bound knowledge that dwarfed her small frame. It was there, curled up under one of the lower reading tables, that her Quirk first stirred. At the time, she didn’t recognize it. She’d been immersed in a textbook far beyond her level - an advanced study on atomic structure meant for upper-level science students. Its diagrams fascinated her, even if the jargon tangled her tongue. She’d re-read a section on molecular bonding for the third time when something shimmered at the edge of her vision.

The air around her arm pulsed with color - a soft cascade of pink and blue sparkles that danced like fireflies - and from her skin, as if pulled by thought alone, emerged a tiny crystalline replica of the molecular diagram she’d been reading. It landed on the carpet with a soft click, gleaming under the library lights. Startled, Momo stared at it in silence, unsure whether to scream or celebrate. Her maid, peeking in to offer snacks, blinked at the sparkling object and knelt to inspect it. Her expression morphed from confusion to awe. Momo hadn’t just manifested a Quirk - she had created something with exacting precision.

By five, she began experimenting. Her instructors noticed, her caretakers whispered, and she herself was becoming quietly obsessed with refining the skill. Where other children were finger painting, Momo was constructing miniature tools and trinkets, each born from meticulous study. She would read textbooks not for fun, but as incantations to unlock the next creation. Her discipline was startling - even unnerving to those around her.

Then came the moment that changed everything.

One afternoon, tucked into the quiet sunroom off the east wing of the mansion, Momo sat cross-legged on the Persian rug, surrounded by reference photos and notes. She'd been studying the physics of nested structures and had taken a shine to the Matryoshka dolls perched on her mother's shelf. When the final doll shimmered into existence from her arm - flawless in size, structure, and artistry - her mother happened to walk in. For a breathless moment, neither of them spoke. Aoi stepped forward as though she’d stumbled into a dream, eyes wide, lips parted in quiet disbelief.

“Haruki!” she called, voice ringing through the halls. “Come quickly! It's Momo! She’s a genius!”

The Yaoyorozus were not prone to hyperbole, but that night they moved like people possessed - conferences canceled, specialists contacted, interviews arranged. Word traveled fast, and within days, it reached the ears of the Hero Public Safety Commission.

When the HPSC agents arrived, they wore tailored suits and polite smiles, but Momo could sense their intensity beneath the pleasantries. They praised her intellect, her discipline, her Quirk’s unprecedented precision. Lady Nagant had once been the Commission’s golden child, they said, but Momo - Momo could be something even greater. Her parents, pragmatic and status-driven, were not difficult to sway. They acknowledged their limitations - yes, they could provide education, but Quirk development, combat training, tactical behavior? That was not their realm.

Momo, though shy, had already voiced interest in becoming a Pro Hero. She’d watched Nagant on television with wide eyes, admiring her grace, her power, the quiet command she held over every battlefield. To train under the Commission felt like a path of purpose - not just for excellence, but to be part of something larger than the empty halls of her childhood home.

And so, at six years old, Momo Yaoyorozu left the estate she had never truly called home. Her parents signed the documents with a flourish and a sense of pride, mistaking her departure for progress. She was escorted out by Commission agents, her suitcase packed with textbooks and notes, her gaze steady as she stepped into the sleek black vehicle waiting in the driveway.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t wave goodbye. Her childhood had been designed around quiet ambition, and now it was being repurposed for something even more exacting: a life shaped not by affection, but by design. Within weeks, she would meet Shouto Todoroki and Izuku Yagi, and the Trust Trio would begin to take form - not born of love or friendship, but forged by control.

Chapter Text

The Hero Public Safety Commission, buried behind layers of classified documentation and sleek public relations façades, rarely exposed the true rationale behind their operations. But after the events of the previous year - the assassination of the former President by Kaina Tsutsumi, their own prodigy known to the public as Lady Nagant - it became clear that their methods had limitations. They had raised her in solitude, molded her to be efficient, deadly, and loyal. Yet she’d fractured. She’d questioned orders, grown disillusioned, and ultimately snapped. The cover story fed to the masses painted her as an emotionally unstable rogue hero, involved in a fatal altercation with a fellow agent. Internally, the truth simmered in private reports and hush-hush transcripts. The new President, a calculating individual with a penchant for behavioral data, refused to repeat the mistakes of her predecessor.

Nagant’s imprisonment in Tartarus hadn’t been about justice. It had been containment - an effort to stop her from leaking systemic corruption, and a warning to future agents who might romanticize rebellion. But locking her away hadn’t quelled the tremors. Keigo Takami, known as Hawks, was showing signs of ideological stress as well. Recruited at seven, he had become a poster child for Commission training - obedient, charismatic, and ruthlessly effective. But by age twelve, he had grown more pensive, more hesitant. His missions were successful, but his reports began to carry subtle notes of philosophical questioning. There were signs. And the Commission read them carefully.

This is how the Triad Protocol was born: a structured socialization experiment veiled in hero development. A calculated attempt to rectify their flaws in grooming by introducing a new variable - interdependence. Solitude bred instability. Isolation encouraged introspection, emotional fissures, rebellion. But if subjects were trained together, raised as a unit, their psychological loyalties would mesh. If one faltered, the others could reinforce the behavioral baseline. And if necessary, threatening one would secure obedience from all. It was weaponized camaraderie.

Behavioral scientists were brought in - experts in attachment theory, adolescent development, and neurocognitive loyalty mapping. The conclusion was a blueprint for the Trust Trio: three genetically and Quirk-wise exceptional children, each recruited under carefully justified circumstances. Izuku Midoriya, Momo Yaoyorozu, and Shouto Todoroki were not randomly selected. They were chosen for contrast, potential, and relevance. Their backgrounds varied - one child of a national symbol, one of elite business magnates, one molded from a hero’s obsession. Each would bring unique psychological layers to the program, and their mutual presence would bind them in an unspoken, carefully maintained alliance.

Their living arrangements mirrored the Commission’s expectations. A shared dormitory suite was constructed within a secure training compound deep in Shizuoka, outfitted with reinforced glass windows, biometric access, and private bathrooms to maintain dignity across gender lines. The main room, however, was communal - a soft gray palette with three beds arranged equidistantly around a circular lounge space. There were shelves for textbooks, stacks of personalized training gear, and a central holo-screen for tactical briefings and monitored entertainment. Even their leisure was curated for cohesion.

The Commission monitored everything. Meals were timed and synchronized. Free time was structured to encourage conversation, game-based strategic thinking, and shared responsibility. When one child succeeded in a simulation, praise was distributed to all. When one failed, corrections were issued to the group. Psychological tethering was the goal. The children were prompted to engage in personal dialogue, asked leading questions by behavioral instructors disguised as caretakers. Cameras analyzed facial expressions, posture, and patterns of speech. Loyalty matrices were built in real-time.

In February of 2117, the children were six years old. Izuku had already begun requesting to use his mother's last name instead of Yagi - an early flag of identity separation from his father. Shouto had yet to speak of his family in any genuine emotional terms, though his drawings occasionally depicted icy landscapes and scorched walls. Momo's notebooks were filled with structural diagrams, not just of creations, but of schedules and routines - an indication of her absorption into systematized living. They were adapting. Not thriving, not resisting. Adapting.

At night, when the lights dimmed and the compound quieted, the trio would sometimes whisper from their beds - shared frustrations, flashes of uncertainty softened by sleep. They were children still, despite the Commission’s design. And somewhere beneath the algorithms and oversight, they were beginning to build something real. Whether it would save them or doom them remained to be seen. But as of now, the Triad Protocol was functioning. And the Hero Public Safety Commission watched with quiet, ruthless satisfaction.

By the time May of 2121 rolled around, the Trust Trio had become inseparable. Four years of shared training, joint missions, and carefully curated companionship had formed an unbreakable triad of loyalty between them - each other's home more than any building could be. Still, the Hero Public Safety Commission deemed it time for controlled home visits, a calculated step toward further “humanization.” They claimed psychological stability required sporadic familial exposure, but their eyes watched for cracks. What they really wanted to see was what four years of conditioning had forged in the absence of organic parental warmth.

Izuku Midoriya stepped out of the Commission vehicle with a quiet intensity. His posture was straighter than it had ever been, his uniform pristine, and his expression guarded, as though unsure whether he would be welcomed or examined. Inko greeted him at the threshold of their old apartment with watery eyes and trembling hands. She hadn’t seen her son outside of tightly scheduled visitation windows and carefully censored video calls since he was six, and the boy before her was sharper, sterner, more deliberate. He hugged her - stiff at first, then melting into her arms like he used to when he scraped his knees on playground gravel. The apartment hadn’t changed much, but Izuku noticed every detail. He lingered in the corner where his childhood toys had once cluttered the floor, now replaced with a potted plant and silence.

All Might was absent. As always.

“I’m sorry,” Inko whispered, when Izuku glanced toward the unopened study door.

“I didn’t expect him,” Izuku replied, not unkindly. There wasn’t bitterness, only resignation.

He stayed the weekend. They walked through the park together, shared katsudon in quiet, and she let him talk about Momo and Shouto and the training facility she’d never seen. He didn’t discuss the Commission’s protocols. He didn’t mention the way cameras blinked above his bed or how they measured his response times like stock indices. But he did talk about his teammates - and in that, Inko saw something that made her feel, if not comforted, then less alone. Her son may have changed, but he wasn’t lost.

Shouto Todoroki’s return visit was more clinical. The Commission arranged for him to see Rei in Fujitani Hospital - a facility pristine in design, with marble floors and meditative gardens designed to sanitize even the rawest memories. Rei had improved. Her demeanor was steady, her voice clear, and when Shouto walked into her room, she burst into tears. He didn’t know how to react. She reached for his face - not the scar, but the eye that still held pieces of the child she'd hurt. He let her.

They spoke for hours. Rei told him about Fuyumi’s teaching interest, about Natsuo’s quiet rebellion in academia, about the strange tension back home with Touya’s return. Touya, once thought to be dead - his body never recovered after a blaze that destroyed half a mountainside - had come back two years ago. He was eighteen now, with blue flames licking around his fingers and a voice that echoed more like fury than redemption. Shouto remembered fragments of his older brother - his laugh, his swinging feet off the porch ledge, the way he used to sneak him mochi when their father wasn’t watching. But those were faded memories. Now Touya had replaced him as Enji’s project, and Shouto wasn’t sure if he felt relief or something far colder.

“I’m glad you were taken away,” Rei said softly. “You got somewhere safe.”

Shouto didn’t reply. He didn’t know how.

Momo Yaoyorozu, ever the pragmatist, treated her home visits with the same diligence as a scheduled routine. Once a month, she returned to the glittering estate she'd once wandered as a child. Her parents were often away - London, Singapore, Dubai - their schedules a blur of mergers and acquisitions. The maids received her with quiet bows, the chef prepared her preferred meals, and the library remained untouched, save for the fingerprints she left on ancient science tomes. Her bedroom was spotless, her wardrobe updated, her surroundings tailored to the illusion of “welcome.”

She didn’t resent them. There was no bitterness in Momo’s quiet detachment. Her parents had given her the resources to pursue excellence, and that was enough. Their absence allowed her to devote herself fully to the intricacies of her Quirk, which demanded precision not just in theory, but in biology. Creation was not just a gift - it was a science. She studied atomic composition with religious fervor, memorizing the structural formulae of everything from lithium batteries to Kevlar. Her meals were planned down to micronutrients - food not for pleasure, but fuel for molecular breakdown. Fat storage, metabolic processing, material yield ratios: all calculated.

She often returned to the Commission compound with new ideas sketched in her notebook and a box of Russian nesting dolls she once replicated - her own personal totem, symbolic of complexity nested within simplicity.

The home visits, though varied in emotion and circumstance, shared one outcome: each child came back subtly changed. Not in ways the Commission feared - no signs of rebellion, no tearful refusals - but in the way their bond deepened. In shared stories during nightly chats. In the quiet acknowledgments of what they’d seen and felt. They weren’t just soldiers in training anymore. They were becoming each other’s home.

And behind surveillance screens and encrypted reports, the Hero Public Safety Commission marked their notes with satisfaction. Triad Protocol was advancing according to schedule. The trio was bonded, stable, and effective.

For now.

By the time the Trust Trio reached the age of thirteen, they were no longer simply prodigies trained under the Commission’s gaze - they had become a formidable unit. Their synchronization during joint operations was startling even to veteran agents. It wasn’t just that they fought together - it was how they moved, thought, and reacted as a single force, each one compensating for the other before a flaw could surface. Surveillance analysis logged hundreds of hours of mission footage in awe: Momo circling the perimeter while Shouto froze a choke point and Izuku launched from rooftops with green lightning trailing behind him. The Triad Protocol wasn’t just working - it was flourishing.

Yaoyorozu had honed herself into a tactician whose elegance belied lethal efficiency. Her approach to combat was rooted in control - each motion deliberate, each strike purposeful. When a skirmish broke out, she accessed her Quirk with a clarity that stunned observers. She had developed specific protocols for her creations, mapping molecules in her mind faster than most people could formulate a thought. Her preferred weapons were meticulously chosen and matched to scenario-based outcomes. Throwing knives for silent neutralizations. Katana for close-quarters disarmament. Bō staff for crowd suppression and mobility. Guns were used sparingly, and only when conditions allowed precision - her arsenal split into two categories: lethal with live rounds, and non-lethal with specialized tranq bullets the Commission had engineered to suit her specifications.

These tranquilizer rounds were uniquely effective. Upon impact, they didn’t pierce but splattered - a viscous, brightly colored compound absorbing into the skin. Within seconds, the neuro-suppressant activated. The duration of unconsciousness depended on the variant used - timed meticulously from thirty minutes to forty-eight hours. Each dose was color-coded, each deployment recorded for post-battle analytics. Her aim with these was nearly flawless, and she’d taken to assigning names to them, coding her tactics like a language only her teammates fully understood.

Todoroki, still the quietest of the trio, had come into his own as a strategic powerhouse. The Commission had reclassified his Quirk as Frost-Flame - a more neutral term that reflected his fusion of heat and cold without tethering him to his father’s legacy. At first, his preference for ice was a psychological barrier, his reluctance to touch fire palpable. But training drills, therapy modules, and consistent support from Izuku and Momo had allowed him to soften his rigidity.

He still opened with his right side - ice forming from fingertip to air in lethal bursts, freezing terrain to control enemy positioning. His control was precise: he could layer frost thin as glass or spike it jagged as rebar. His fire, accessed from his left, took approximately 1.5 seconds to channel after disengaging his ice - a tactical delay that opponents often underestimated. Once activated, his flames erupted in sweeping arcs of heat designed not only for damage but pressure. He’d adapted techniques to shift temperature zones mid-fight, forcing enemy combatants into disorientation. He never spoke much during skirmishes, but the other two understood his tells. If his feet shifted right, ice was imminent. If his shoulders tensed, fire was coming.

Midoriya had continued refining Super-Power under the Commission’s rigorous training regimens. At thirteen, his body was beginning to keep up with the strain. He no longer suffered frequent fractures, though deep bruising and muscle fatigue still flared during prolonged engagements. His primary breakthrough came with the development of Full Cowl - a technique that allowed him to distribute Super-Power’s energy across his entire body. Instead of channeling power in bursts, which caused destabilization and injuries, Full Cowl created a steady electrical current through his muscles, giving him enhanced strength, speed, and agility in fluid motion. The current active percentage was 15%, a threshold he was pushing gradually under observation.

More recently, Izuku had begun shaping his fighting technique into Shoot Style. With insight from Shouto’s movement mechanics and Momo’s kinetic layouts, he shifted the focal point of his combat from arms to legs. His reasoning was clear - his arms couldn’t withstand continual shock. Legs, being naturally stronger and thicker-muscled, offered both power and stability. The first iterations were clumsy, his kicks overbalanced and his footwork mismatched. But Momo had designed training grids, and Shouto had helped him visualize movement through temperature gradients. Within months, Izuku was launching himself across the battlefield, spinning midair, and landing dropkicks with seismic force.

Their missions ranged from urban villain suppression to tactical reconnaissance. Each encounter was logged by the Commission, each report fed into Triad Protocol analytics. But even beyond the data, observers knew something rare was unfolding. The Trust Trio wasn’t simply executing operations - they were evolving, layer by layer, into a prototype the Commission never anticipated: children who understood the system they served, yet held onto the humanity beneath it.

They didn’t speak of rebellion. Not yet. But within their shared dorm room, beneath whispered strategics and quiet laughter, lay an undercurrent of awareness. They were being molded. But they were also molding themselves. And in every synchronized move on the battlefield, they proved one thing without fail: they were stronger together than the system that had designed them.

Chapter Text

By the time the Trust Trio edged into their early teens, the Commission’s analysts began to recognize a significant and unsettling flaw in the Triad Protocol - one that hadn’t appeared in simulations or projections, but was now written into behavioral logs and social assessments with increasing frequency. Izuku Midoriya, Shouto Todoroki, and Momo Yaoyorozu were exceptional. They were strategic, adaptable, loyal, and powerful beyond expectation. But their capacity for interpersonal connection stopped cold at each other’s edges. They were, in essence, a closed circuit - no emotional energy flowed beyond their triadic bond.

Field reports flagged this dynamic as both asset and liability. On one hand, the trio operated with uncanny synchronicity. During evaluations, their formation reactions were clocked within milliseconds of each other’s movements. Momo’s decisions fed seamlessly into Izuku’s momentum, which flanked Shouto’s elemental calculations in layered precision. But when placed among other trainees - or even in casual environments with non-Commission personnel - their social engagement plummeted. Conversations were terse or avoided altogether. Eye contact failed to linger. Emotional receptivity beyond their inner circle remained underdeveloped, even stunted.

Hawks, at nineteen, was the only exception. The trio viewed him through a unique lens - part older sibling, part tactical mentor, part insider who hadn’t been swallowed whole by the system that raised him. Keigo’s personality was light, fluid, adaptable. He’d grown up knowing how to smile under scrutiny, how to make people lean in even as he was assessing their vulnerabilities. The Trust Trio respected him, and more importantly, trusted him, enough to allow interactions that felt - at times - genuinely organic. With Keigo around, their emotional range stretched slightly, just enough to make Commission officials wonder if the Triad Protocol had not been miscalculated but rather limited in scope.

The issue was structural. For nearly eight years, the children had been trained in a controlled environment where their personalities were molded around cooperative dependency, not individual development. The Commission hadn’t accounted for the possibility that such deep psychological bonding might create resistance to outside influence - not through active defiance, but simply through the absence of emotional need. They didn’t seek friends. They didn’t respond to charm. They didn’t empathize unless one of the three was involved. Social rituals - humor, vulnerability, small talk - fell away when someone outside their bond attempted entry. Behavioral specialists flagged this as “triadic exclusivity,” a form of emotional insularity resulting from early selective bonding.

This was a problem. In five to six years, the Trust Trio would be field-ready, expected to work alongside Pro Heroes, navigate public environments, engage with civilians, and coordinate missions with external agencies. Hawks was already set to debut next year, his solo missions increasing in intensity and visibility. The plan was to supplement his efforts with the Trio once they aged up - three enforcers working in synergy beside the golden boy. But that plan required integration. And integration required social functionality outside of the triad.

Meetings were called. Protocol adjustments proposed. Some trainers pushed for emotional expansion modules - unscripted interactions, paired exercises with unfamiliar trainees, empathy drills designed to simulate high-stress civilian encounters. Others warned against destabilizing the balance. One psychiatrist warned that forcing relational expansion could fray the thread connecting them. "You can’t undo selective bonding with group therapy," she’d said. "What you raised wasn’t a team. You raised a bond forged in control and survival. Expanding it isn't simple."

Still, the Commission pressed forward. They had no interest in raising weapons with limited operational interfaces. A Pro Hero must be more than a soldier - they must be a symbol, a protector, a negotiator. The public won’t embrace heroes who only speak to each other, who isolate themselves on rooftops and refuse interviews because their circle ends at the edge of three shadows. The Triad Protocol had produced loyalty, yes - but it had also produced dependence. And now, that dependence was becoming an obstacle.

To mask their concern, officials reframed the shift as a new phase of advanced training. The trio would begin attending curated social simulations - school-like environments with peer-level agents-in-training, designed to resemble U.A. curriculum structures. Slowly, intentionally, they would be immersed into broader networks. The Commission wasn’t naïve - they knew such efforts wouldn’t yield friendship. They weren’t aiming for affection. They were aiming for functionality. Adaptability. The capacity to perform among others without the triad as a crutch.

And beneath the surface, the children felt it. They knew something was changing. The schedules shifted. The training formats bent toward unfamiliar patterns. People began appearing in spaces that had once belonged only to the three of them. And while none spoke it aloud, a quiet tension bloomed within the Trio - a fear not of new missions, but of being pulled apart in the name of progress.

Izuku studied people with quiet calculation. Shouto remained silent and unreadable. Momo recorded notes with detailed observations, not of Quirks, but of smiles, gestures, emotional cadence. They were learning, but they weren’t yielding.

For now, the Trust Trio remained a locked circuit. Brilliant. Unshakable. Alone, even in a crowd. And the Hero Public Safety Commission continued watching, calculating whether they could turn cohesion into charisma - or if they had built something too sharp to reshape.

By the time the Trust Trio reached fourteen, the Hero Public Safety Commission’s optimism began to fray into restless concern. Despite the interventions - empathy simulations, peer rotation drills, supervised exposure to unfamiliar personalities - their social boundaries remained rigid and impermeable. Momo, Izuku, and Shouto communicated effectively in tactical situations. They read each other’s energy and body language with the fluency of a shared mind. But beyond that, their capacity for engagement stayed arrested in emotional silence. Their conversations with others never evolved beyond clipped orders or mechanical affirmations. Trainers found themselves speaking into a void lined with polite nods and fixed stares, followed by the retreating steps of three prodigies who had yet to discover the value of community.

Internal reports labeled the situation as "strategic stagnation with social deficiency," a phrase that became a quiet refrain during closed-door meetings at Commission headquarters. They were nearing fifteen - the age at which field exposure and public interaction training should begin to intensify. The Commission was running out of time. They could no longer afford to delay social development if they were to present the trio as future leaders in hero society, not just elite operatives. And so, in an act bordering desperation disguised as calculated intent, the Commission approved a bold maneuver: transfer the Trust Trio to U.A. High School.

Naturally, the move would be conducted under the guise of prestige. The trio would enter the Hero Course through official Recommendations, with documentation affirming their brilliance and aligning the transfer with standard protocol for high-tier candidates. To the public - and ideally, to the students - the trio’s arrival would appear as an aspirational success story: top Commission trainees embarking on the next chapter of hero education. But within Commission files, the true objective was clear. Immersion. Exposure. Integration. Throw the trio into a swarm of personalities, quirks, emotions, ideologies - and hope the stimulus would awaken latent social capacities dulled by years of isolation.

The risk was substantial. The trio, despite their emotional exclusivity, were not naïve. They understood loyalty, and they understood surveillance. They were aware that their movements - even conversations - were monitored by internal operatives trained to log emotional anomalies. Placing them in U.A. risked dismantling that control. U.A.’s culture, while strict, was founded on autonomy, identity, and the freedom to question institutional structures. The Commission remembered what happened with Lady Nagant. Too much freedom. Too many questions. Too much disillusionment. They had lost her, and they would not lose these three.

Safeguards were arranged. Hawks would remain an active liaison, maintaining regular contact under the pretense of mentorship. Commission operatives would integrate into faculty and administration, their roles masked as counselors or logistical staff. Surveillance would increase, discretely. The trio’s curriculum would be tailored - select classes, selective social pairing, calculated exposure to personalities deemed psychologically neutral or stabilizing. If at any point U.A.’s philosophies - or staff - began to influence the trio toward defiance, extraction protocols would activate immediately. The Commission’s stance was immutable. They would not allow their finest products to become critics of the very system that shaped them.

As the transition approached, the Trio remained unperturbed externally. Internally, however, the shift created subtle ripples. Momo revised her emotional logs, studying sociological texts about peer interaction. Izuku began analyzing behavioral footage of past U.A. students, tracking expressions and body language as if preparing for a battlefield. Shouto remained still, his silence thick with introspection. They were aware that their future was not merely about missions anymore - it was about performance, both tactical and social. The stakes had changed.

U.A. accepted them, of course. The Recommendations were flawless. Aizawa, despite his usual cynicism toward institutional maneuvering, agreed to monitor them, recognizing their potential and intrigued by their dynamic. Nezu watched the development with quiet fascination, aware of the Commission’s fingerprints, yet curious to see if emotional autonomy could be reclaimed under U.A.’s guidance.

Time would tell whether U.A. could reach them. Whether laughter between classes, heated debates over strategy, shared exhaustion from training could chip away at their triadic shell. Or whether they would remain as they were - brilliant shadows tethered to a machine that feared its own creation.

April arrived with brisk winds and a quiet tension. On the morning the U.A. academic year was set to begin, the Trust Trio stood before their Commission handlers inside the polished walls of their transport facility. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as officers presented them with final briefings and behavioral goals. The message was simple, but its undertone was cold with institutional precision: assimilate, observe, adjust. A recommendation to U.A. High School was not merely an educational opportunity - it was a test of compatibility. The Commission was not sending soldiers to become students. They were deploying a social experiment in the wild.

“Listen carefully,” one official said, eyes flicking between them like a scanner. “You are expected to remain top-ranked. You are expected to follow orders. And you are expected to learn how to coexist with the civilian population. These kids aren’t operatives, so restrain your judgment and stay focused.”

Momo nodded first, back straight and hands folded in her lap. Shouto gave a silent glance toward the floor, his arms loosely crossed. Izuku’s brow was furrowed, gaze steady but skeptical. They didn't need to speak. They understood the mission well.

When they arrived at U.A. moments before the bell, the hallway was already active with murmurs and footfalls, students filing into their respective classrooms. Upon entering Class 1-A, they were met with a scene of mild chaos: Tenya Iida, posture stiff as a metronome, was chastising Katsuki Bakugou with clipped, exasperated declarations about proper conduct and classroom etiquette. Bakugou, hair bristled like wildfire and temper predictably flaring, responded with explosive dismissals that rattled nearby desks.

The Trust Trio paused, observed, and exchanged synchronized sighs. Their expressions were near-identical - dry, unimpressed, and faintly resigned. Momo moved first, gliding toward seat 20 at the back corner, a position she’d calculated for optimal sightlines. Shouto followed, taking seat 15 beside her with quiet deliberation. Izuku sat in seat 19, directly in front of Momo, his eyes already scanning the room and cross-referencing names with Quirk files stored in memory.

They hadn’t come to make friends. They’d already studied the roster weeks prior: fifteen students with varied backgrounds, power sets, emotional profiles. Ochako Uraraka with Zero Gravity and a naturally warm disposition. Eijirou Kirishima, Quirk: Hardening, extroverted and dependable. Fumikage Tokoyami: Dark Shadow, calm and inward-facing. Every name came attached to a dossier.

Within minutes, the room’s ambient noise dropped as Shouta Aizawa entered, draped in his signature capture weapon and radiating fatigue like a second skin. He didn’t waste breath on introductions or ceremony. Without missing a beat, he handed each student a set of P.E. uniforms and directed them to the grounds with a tone that brooked no argument.

“This is your Quirk Apprehension Test,” Aizawa announced once the class had assembled outdoors. His voice was flat, but it carried. “In middle school, you weren’t allowed to use your Quirks freely. That changes now. It’s time we see what you’re actually capable of.”

Izuku, Shouto, and Momo exchanged a glance, faintly confused. For them, training had never been restricted. Their Quirks had been refined since before they could properly write cursive. But they did not speak up. Instead, they watched as Aizawa gestured for Bakugou to approach the ball throw circle.

“Bakugou,” he called. “You threw sixty-four meters in middle school. Use your Quirk this time.”

Katsuki stepped forward with his usual swagger, wrapped his fingers around the ball, and launched it skyward with a resounding explosion that echoed like a firework. The ball soared - seven hundred and five meters. The class erupted in awe.

Smiles spread across the group as excitement built - finally, they could show off their powers. But Aizawa extinguished their enthusiasm with a single sentence:

“Anyone who ranks last in total score will be expelled.”

Gasps followed like dominoes. Ochako raised her voice first, her concern cutting through the air like a blade.

“That’s not fair!”

Aizawa didn’t flinch. “The world is unfair. Your job as future heroes is to fight against that unfairness. Learn now, or you won’t last.”

From there, the tests began. Speed runs, grip strength measurements, sidesteps, ball throws, endurance trials. Everyone brought out their Quirks, hoping to impress, determined not to be the one cast out.

Izuku activated Full Cowl at 15%, lightning arcing over his limbs in neon green flickers as he tore across the speed course. His form was sharp, legs focused in Shoot Style configuration, core held firm. The Commission had trained him to move like a weapon - now he moved like a missile.

Shouto began each test with his ice, sweeping frost across the ground to propel himself. When directed to demonstrate power output, he flared his flames with precise control, switching elements with barely more than a breath’s hesitation. His scores were near-perfect.

Momo operated with exacting calm. For grip strength, she generated reinforced gloves. For the ball throw, a spring-loaded launcher. For sidesteps, she summoned a bō staff and redirected her momentum with poised pivoting. Her tranq rounds remained holstered, but her capability glimmered beneath every gesture.

They didn’t look for cheers or camaraderie. They measured efficiency and impact. And by the end of the test, it was clear - the Trust Trio weren’t just ahead. They were orbiting a different axis.

Aizawa noted their performances quietly, eyes sharp beneath the folds of his scarf. He didn’t question their skill. But he wondered whether they understood the cost of isolation. As the class filed back inside, sweaty and murmuring, the trio trailed in silence. They hadn’t failed a single metric.

But they hadn’t spoken to a single student, either.

The sun sank lazily behind U.A. High as the final test concluded, leaving the students breathless and caked in a sheen of sweat and nerves. The Quirk Apprehension Test had been a whirlwind of power displays, rushed decisions, and a crash-course reality check on hero training. As the group reassembled in formation beneath the dusk-touched sky, Shouta Aizawa held a tablet in one hand and his signature indifference in the other. His gaze was unreadable as he read off the results.

1. Momo Yaoyorozu

2. Izuku Midoriya

3. Shouto Todoroki

4. Katsuki Bakugou

5. Tenya Iida

6. Fumikage Tokoyami

7. Mezou Shouji

8. Mashirao Ojiro

9. Eijirou Kirishima

10. Mina Ashido

11. Ochako Uraraka

12. Kouji Kouda

13. Rikidou Satou

14. Tsuyu Asui

15. Yuuga Aoyama

16. Hanta Sero

17. Denki Kaminari

18. Kyouka Jirou

19. Tooru Hagakure

20. Minoru Mineta

He didn’t pause for reaction. The names continued, cascading down the list with clinical precision. The students looked around, measuring one another’s expressions, some proud, some disappointed, some stunned silent. Minoru Mineta stood frozen in disbelief at his twentieth-place finish, his face melting into a nervous smile.

Then, Aizawa’s eyes skimmed the group again and he let out a tired breath, the kind that suggested he knew exactly what he’d put them through.

“You’re all still here,” he said. “No one’s getting expelled today.”

A pulse of confusion spread across the class as students exchanged baffled glances. Ochako blinked twice before stepping forward hesitantly.

“But you said-”

“I lied.” Aizawa’s voice cut through her question like a razor. “I needed to push you. Real pressure reveals real character. Heroes don’t get warning signs when the stakes are high. You think villains wait until you’re emotionally ready to fight them?”

A moment of silence followed. Then, a quiet ripple of laughter began - relieved and incredulous. The atmosphere relaxed, the tension slowly dissipating like mist under morning sun.

The rest of the day passed in quiet reflection and unspoken recalibration. Students wandered to locker rooms, comparing scores and bandaging minor injuries. Some shared stories from middle school or speculated about upcoming classes, as the sun dwindled and the buildings cast longer shadows. For most of Class 1-A, this had been a wake-up call. For the Trust Trio, it was another data point - another piece of the puzzle to assess.

The walk home was quiet at first. Their apartment wasn’t far from U.A., tucked into a sleek, Commission-secured high-rise with security clearances and sound-dampened walls. The evening breeze ruffled Izuku’s jacket as they turned onto the main road, their footsteps nearly in sync, the way it always was when their guard was down.

Shouto was the first to speak once they were inside, shedding his uniform top and tossing it over a chair.

“Well,” he said flatly, voice low. “That was theatrical.”

Momo was already in the kitchen, tying her hair up and reaching for a kettle. “Aizawa’s methods were blunt. Effective, though. He got the class to push themselves harder than they would’ve otherwise.”

Izuku flopped onto the couch, stretching his arms along the back. “I get it, but it still feels reckless. What if someone had broken under the pressure?”

“No one did,” Shouto replied, leaning against the kitchen entryway. “And now everyone knows what’s at stake.”

Their voices carried easily through the apartment, no need for calculation or guarded phrasing. With the Commission, every word had a cost. At home - with each other - language was currency freely spent.

Dinner was light. A simple stir-fry with rice and soft egg rolls, cooked collaboratively while Momo dictated measurements from memory. Izuku chopped vegetables with precision while Shouto handled the heat, his fire Quirk subtly adjusting the pan’s temperature without a flicker of excess flame. There was rhythm in their teamwork, silent understanding that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Later, they lounged in the living room, the windows casting the city in shades of cobalt and gold. The television flickered quietly in the background, tuned to a news recap of the sports festival from the previous year. None of them really watched it.

“I wonder who we’ll be paired with for training exercises,” Izuku murmured, half to himself.

“Whoever it is,” Momo said, sipping tea from a ceramic mug, “they’ll have a lot to learn. And a lot to unlearn.”

Shouto folded his arms and gave a faint nod. “We’re here to observe. Not interfere. But that line won’t be easy to walk.”

Izuku looked up, brow knit with the kind of concern he rarely voiced. “You think the Commission will expect more than that?”

“They always do,” Shouto said simply.

The conversation drifted from mission objectives to idle speculations about their classmates’ personalities. Momo noted Ochako’s quick moral compass, wondering how often that would clash with U.A.’s pragmatism. Izuku recounted Bakugou’s explosive throw with admiration tinged in tactical curiosity. They each had observations - conclusions still forming, evaluations still flexible.

But beneath the strategic dissection and tactical musings was a rare, soft intimacy. The Trust Trio didn’t have many spaces where they could afford vulnerability. This apartment was one of them. And for the first time in a long while, they laughed - real laughter, not the calculated mimicry they used in public.

Tomorrow, they’d go back to the roles assigned to them: prodigies of the Commission, anomalous transfers into Japan’s top hero academy. But tonight, in the amber-lit calm of their shared apartment, they were just Momo, Shouto, and Izuku - three teens trying to understand the people around them, and themselves.

Chapter Text

The second day at U.A. began like any other typical academic morning, filled with lectures on Quirk history, ethics in hero society, and civic responsibilities. Though the students of Class 1-A were still adjusting to the rhythms of high school life, energy buzzed just beneath the surface. For many, this was their first real taste of hero training. For three, it was simply another formality to observe.

Izuku, Shouto, and Momo each moved through the lessons with sharp efficiency - quiet, precise, composed. They wrote down only the necessary notes, already familiar with most material from their years at the Commission compound. It wasn't until the afternoon block arrived, marked boldly as Hero Basic Training, that the tension shifted noticeably in the room. Aizawa gave no preamble. Instead, a familiar figure strode through the classroom’s front entrance, his towering silhouette and booming presence setting a ripple through the air.

All Might had arrived.

He smiled brightly in true symbol-of-peace fashion, though Izuku watched him with a subtle crease in his brow. His father hadn’t changed. Still heroic, still magnetic, still publicly adored—but for Izuku, the admiration was lined with a fragile thread of emotional distance. All Might had been absent when Izuku needed warmth, presence, guidance. And even now, standing in his full glory before the class, Izuku could feel the gap between legacy and reality tug at him. He sat straight but quiet, his eyes locked and unreadable.

All Might welcomed them with all his signature flair before transitioning to the reason for his arrival: their first combat training exercise. With excitement building in the room, he directed the students to change into their hero costumes and meet him at Grounds B.

Inside the changing rooms, students buzzed with excitement over personalized gear. For the Trust Trio, donning their costumes was more ritual than novelty - it was armor, identity, a layer carefully constructed through analysis and precision.

Momo wore her costume with graceful confidence. The deep burgundy leotard clung with tailored security, accented by golden lines that hinted at regality and functionality. The side thigh openings gleamed with subtle purpose - she needed exposed skin to use her Quirk. Her cape flowed like a commander’s mantle, protective and ceremonial, with a gemstone at her throat that shimmered quietly. Every element of her suit served a dual function: tactical and symbolic. The watch on her wrist flickered with molecular data. Even her boots bore structural enhancements for terrain adaptability. She looked prepared - not just as a hero-in-training, but as someone who had studied battlefield composition to the molecular level.

Shouto’s costume contrasted Momo’s sleek elegance with tactical bulk and utility. The navy-blue gear wrapped around him like a climate-controlled fortress, featuring embedded tech that regulated both heat and cold. The T-shaped ice-blue stripe across his torso doubled as a visual target and spatial marker. His utility belt held medical capsules, each coded and placed for rapid access. The boots were reinforced with spiked soles for stability across multiple terrain types. The wrist guards weren’t just armor - they were kinetic regulators, condensing thermal power and releasing it with precision. Wearing the suit, Shouto looked like a walking embodiment of equilibrium - frozen steel wrapped around volatile flame.

Izuku’s costume was a study in contrast - streamlined, symbolic, and brutally functional. The dark teal bodysuit was armored at all the critical joints, reinforced for impact absorption. The gloves, modified through Commission support tech, allowed controlled bursts of One for All. His mask, with its ear-like protrusions, was meant to invoke his father’s iconic silhouette, though Izuku rarely wore it fully - except during missions where anonymity mattered. And when the mask was on, shadows fell over his face in a way that revealed only his vibrant green irises, adding an eerie echo to All Might’s public visage. His iron-soled boots gleamed with readiness - his Shoot Style still developing, but already dangerously effective. He didn’t speak as he adjusted the last fastening, but Momo saw the tension in his shoulders.

Grounds B came alive with movement as the costumed students assembled. All Might stood at the center, voice booming and posture grand as he explained the rules of the exercise.

“Today, you’ll be paired into teams - half heroes, half villains. The villains will guard a mock nuclear weapon deep in a simulated facility. The heroes must stop them - either by reaching the core or capturing them. Villains win if they hold out the full time or capture the heroes themselves.”

The structure was deliberately chaotic. It required spatial thinking, adaptability, and emotional control. All Might asked for questions. A few hands twitched upward, but no one spoke. The instructions were clear. For the Trust Trio, this was familiar ground, merely wrapped in educational fabric.

As students whispered about team matchups and strategy, Izuku remained quiet, already calculating likely pairings and assessing how U.A.’s more emotionally expressive students might respond under pressure. Shouto stared at the arena map, noting temperature zones and floor layouts. Momo scanned equipment bins nearby, mentally cataloging what materials could be recreated in time-constrained scenarios.

All Might’s booming laughter softened as he looked over the class, proud but silently observant. His eyes lingered, just briefly, on Izuku. There was something unreadable in the gesture - not recognition, perhaps not even paternal warmth, but an echo of curiosity. Izuku didn’t return the glance. His mind was already locked onto mission prep.

As the training was about to begin and pairings assembled, tension pulsed in quiet waves. The Trust Trio stood together, spaced but united.

All Might motioned toward the randomized chart, its screen flickering with assigned matchups: ten teams, each paired for hero-versus-villain trials.

Team A: Izuku Midoriya & Ochako Uraraka

Team B: Mezou Shouji & Shouto Todoroki

Team C: Momo Yaoyorozu & Minoru Mineta

Team D: Katsuki Bakugou & Tenya Iida

Team E: Mina Ashido & Yuuga Aoyama

Team F: Rikidou Satou & Kouji Kouda

Team G: Denki Kaminari & Kyouka Jirou

Team H: Tsuyu Asui & Fumikage Tokoyami

Team I: Mashirao Ojiro & Tooru Hagakure

Team J: Hanta Sero & Eijirou Kirishima

A murmur pulsed through the group as students registered their teammates, eyes flicking with surprise, relief, or in some cases, quiet dread. Izuku Midoriya scanned the list calmly and landed on his pairing with Ochako Uraraka. He didn’t show reaction, though internally he acknowledged that this match would present unique variables. He knew her Quirk and temperament from Commission files - Zero Gravity and a naturally optimistic emotional baseline. Useful, if managed correctly.

Shouto found himself paired with Mezou Shouji, a physically capable, emotionally quiet student whose Dupli-Arms Quirk offered flexible reconnaissance. Shouto gave a small nod. Acceptable.

Momo Yaoyorozu stared down at the glowing assignment beside her name. Minoru Mineta. Her jaw visibly stiffened. She turned to All Might with measured formality.

“I request a redraw,” she said, voice calm but firm.

The Symbol of Peace chuckled, seemingly dismissing her concern. “Part of being a hero is working with what you’re given! No redraws!”

Momo didn’t argue further, though her eyes narrowed. She’d already begun recalculating her tactics to adjust.

Bakugou, as expected, had a different kind of question. “How hard can we hit?” he asked, voice charged with eagerness, a grin creeping across his face like a live wire.

All Might gave a hearty laugh. “This is training! So be careful not to cause any real injuries, but use your powers responsibly. Remember, you’re here to learn.”

The first matchup was soon announced: Team A, Izuku and Ochako, versus Team D, Katsuki and Tenya.

Team D headed into the building first. Tenya Iida moved with sharp, calculated strides, eyes flicking toward the stairwells and corner points as if running mental pathing algorithms. Katsuki Bakugou walked a half-step behind, hands stuffed into his pockets, expression unreadable. Once inside, they located the dummy warhead stationed deep in the west wing - a glowing core mounted to the floor surrounded by scaffold-like wiring and soft sirens that activated when touched. The area was dimly lit and filled with props meant to simulate structural hazards and blind spots.

Katsuki scanned the room with faint disinterest. “We guard this thing. Easy.”

Tenya, ever the tactician, pointed to possible entry points. “There are three viable routes. Upper balcony, east corridor, and ventilation. Assuming Team A makes use of Midoriya’s mobility and Uraraka’s Quirk versatility, they may attempt a gravity bypass through the vents or a shock entry from the second floor.”

Katsuki grunted. “They try it, I’ll blast them straight out.”

Tenya adjusted his glasses and gave the briefest nod. “We secure this objective for ten minutes. No unnecessary risks.”

Their dynamic - abrasive confidence paired with mechanical discipline - was functional. And the moment the countdown began, they took positions without another word.

Outside, Izuku stood beside Ochako as All Might handed them their comm devices and greenlit their entry. The boy didn’t fidget. His gloves flexed slightly as One for All stirred within him, quiet sparks pulsing across his arms and legs in subdued arcs. His voice was low as he turned to his teammate.

“Three routes. Ventilation is fastest. You float me up, I scout. You circle east and draw attention.”

Ochako blinked, nodding quickly. “Got it. I’ll aim for distraction, keep my eyes on Bakugou.”

Izuku didn’t smile, but his focus locked in instantly. As the doors to the training building slid open, the pair stepped into shadowed corridors where echoes bounced like sonar, tension building in electric hums. Somewhere deeper inside, two opponents waited - guarding a weapon that symbolized more than a scenario.

As the buzzer sounded to initiate combat, Izuku and Ochako moved with rehearsed precision, splitting at the T-junction beyond the entry floor. Dust motes shimmered faintly under the flickering hallway lights as the pair activated their comms, keeping quiet footsteps as they weaved around barricades and inactive surveillance units scattered as part of the scenario design.

Izuku ascended through the wall-mounted piping system, his mobility augmented by bursts of One For All channeled sparingly through his limbs. He approached the main ventilation shaft, scanning its intake perimeter before gently speaking through the comm.

“Tenya and Bakugou are covering this route,” he murmured, breath steady despite his elevated pulse. “They’ve anticipated vent entry. If we go in this way, it’ll turn into a frontal clash. We need to draw them out.”

Static crackled softly on the line before Ochako replied, her voice calm and focused.

“What do you suggest?”

“I bait Bakugou,” Izuku answered, crouching near the frame of a broken stairwell railing. “He’s impulsive. If I can get him to chase me, it’ll clear the zone around the weapon. You focus on Iida - I don’t think he’ll abandon his post if he believes someone’s trying to reach it.”

There was a pause. Izuku waited, expecting standard acknowledgement. Instead, her voice came back with a subtle note of praise.

“Smart thinking, Midoriya. Quick adaptation like that? That’s hero material.”

His eyebrows knit briefly, fingers flexing slightly as her words settled into him. That kind of compliment wasn’t foreign - it was just usually delivered behind debrief tables, during tactical reviews, or stamped into numerical rankings. To hear it so casually, unprompted and warm, gave him an unexpected flicker of discomfort. Not negative - just strange.

He exhaled quietly and responded with a near whisper.

“Thanks.”

Then the line went silent as both of them positioned themselves for the next phase. Izuku slipped through the upper corridor while Ochako descended toward the east wing, angles tightening and sound dimming except for the hum of hidden sensors tracking their movement. Their plan was in motion. The bait was set. And the game had just shifted.

In the upper corridor just adjacent to the west wing, Izuku moved quietly along a support beam, peering downward through the grated framework that opened into the central chamber. Bakugou was pacing near the simulated missile, posture impatient and eyes twitching toward movement. Izuku made his presence known with surgical subtlety - just enough to be seen but not long enough to be caught. A controlled burst of One For All propelled a small concussive flick of wind near the railing where Bakugou stood. Nothing damaging. Just enough to make the blond’s head snap toward the source, irises narrowing with gleaming fury.

“Hey, Kacchan,” Izuku called out, voice echoing faintly through the steel girders. “Still using brute force over brainpower? Some things never change.”

Bakugou snarled immediately, his hands flaring with sweat-induced combustion. “What the hell did you just say?”

Izuku didn’t wait for a reply. He dropped silently from the ledge into a lower hallway, boots landing with a muted thud, and sprinted down the corridor at half pace - just fast enough to keep Bakugou interested, just slow enough to ensure pursuit.

With a roar, Katsuki gave chase, explosions trailing behind him in staccato bursts as he tore through debris and bypassed the main support zone entirely. The bait had worked with mechanical efficiency. Izuku noted this internally with quiet surprise. For all of Bakugou’s pride and raw combat instinct, he’d taken the hook without hesitation. Izuku had expected resistance. A trap countermeasure. But the blond had abandoned the objective like wildfire to chase him.

He darted deeper into the facility’s side wing, allowing the simulation's uneven terrain to absorb Bakugou’s explosive trail. Izuku kept his body relaxed and agile, bouncing off walls and ledges with minimal exertion. Too easy, he thought, not arrogantly, but with sincere analysis. Perhaps Bakugou’s edge dulled a bit under emotional pressure. Still dangerous - but predictable.

Meanwhile, within the west wing control zone, Tenya Iida stood with furrowed brows, gaze flicking between the remaining entry points and the direction Katsuki had just vanished into. The explosion noises became less frequent, muffled now by distance and reinforced walls. He raised one hand instinctively toward his comm, but didn’t speak into it. His role was defensive. Static guard. Yet uncertainty bloomed as he took one step in the direction of Bakugou’s pursuit trail - only to stop mid-motion.

Ochako saw the hesitation through a cracked panel near the base of the central stairway. She had been gliding quietly toward the core, body buoyed by her Zero Gravity field, hands clenched at her sides in preparation to de-tag the warhead structure. As Tenya paused, she floated forward with careful restraint, calculating timing, descent angle, and tag radius all in one breath.

Just as she neared striking distance, Tenya turned sharply, vision locking onto her. His engines roared without preamble, and he surged forward in a blur, cutting her off with ease. Her shoes grazed the floor as gravity returned, and she stumbled slightly, regaining balance. His reaction time was flawless - so fast that the space between her fingertips and the glowing warhead core had never closed.

Tenya’s stance remained neutral but ready, one hand hovering in defensive posture. Ochako scanned the area quickly. No loose objects. No weapons. Only decorative rubble designed for obstacles - not utility. She pivoted, trying to circle, but Tenya mirrored her effortlessly, speed and precision forming an unbreakable barrier between her and the objective.

Ochako furrowed her brow, determination stiffening her shoulders, though inwardly she knew the gap in capability was clear. Without reinforcements or gear, Tenya’s raw mobility would outmatch hers in every direct attempt. Still, she waited, calculating anew, knowing the match wasn’t over. Not yet.

The clash between Izuku and Katsuki unfolded in a whirlwind of thunderous footfalls, blasts of heat, and the flickering glow of green lightning. The corridors of the simulation building blurred around them as their fight expanded across three floors and a half-demolished stairwell. Izuku darted from cover to cover, letting calculated bursts of Super-Power ripple through his legs, angling each movement to stay just ahead of Katsuki’s explosive lunges. His gloves vibrated faintly with stored impact, the air stinging with residual detonation heat.

“Still charging in like that, Kacchan?” Izuku called out mid-leap, his voice sharp but level. “You never did like thinking things through.”

Katsuki’s response was immediate - a high-pitched whistle of ignited sweat and an angry shout as he rocketed forward through a wall of loose drywall. “Don’t call me that! You can’t just show up again and act like we’re still friends!”

Izuku pivoted off a bent scaffolding rail, narrowly dodging a blast that singed the fabric of his jumpsuit. The air pressure shifted, hot and unstable, but Izuku held position. He knew exactly what to say to stir Bakugou, but his voice lacked cruelty. It was taunting only in its rhythm, in the way it leaned on familiarity.

“Sorry, Kacchan. Just feels natural. You’re still loud. Still reckless.”

Bakugou slammed a gloved palm against the floor mid-roll, sending a wave of concussive force upward. Izuku leapt clear, flipping back onto a higher ledge with a rush of green arcs trailing behind him. The expression on the blond’s face was more than rage - it was hurt buried beneath layered frustration.

“You just disappeared,” Katsuki shouted, not holding back as his voice echoed off every steel beam. “One day you were there - annoying and stubborn - but you were there. You were my friend. And the next? Nothing. No messages. No explanation. Just gone. And now you show up like none of it matters?”

Izuku stood facing him, chest heaving slightly as sweat rolled from his jaw. He didn’t interrupt. Bakugou’s blasts had slowed - no longer wild, no longer destructive. Just steady pulses of rage given voice after being held in too long.

“I didn’t choose that,” Izuku said finally, low and unreadable. “I didn’t know leaving would cut ties. I was… taken in. I was trained. For this. For Super-Power.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, fists sparking gently as his body rippled with residual tension. “No one told me,” he snapped. “They made me think you’d ditched us. I waited, and you never came back.”

“I didn’t know you were waiting.”

Their eyes locked - one charged with flame, the other crackling with current. The room was hot with static and memory, but Izuku saw what he’d been waiting for: that half-second of distraction. Katsuki’s stance had loosened.

Izuku lunged, fast and calculated, his tape spiraling from his wrist with mechanical efficiency. It wrapped cleanly around Bakugou’s ankle, tightening instantly. The blond stumbled, losing balance as the binding effect engaged, locking him in place against the framework behind him.

All Might’s signal buzzed in from overhead: Villain captured. Hero team proceeds.

Izuku stepped forward, gaze steady, not triumphant but respectful. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For not knowing what you needed. Back then.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. His eyes were downcast, the fury gone, replaced with something that felt heavier. Izuku didn’t linger. He turned, channeling another burst of Super-Power into his legs and sped off down the corridor. Uraraka needed backup. The match wasn’t over.

But something between them had cracked open. Just enough to let the past breathe.

The moment Izuku entered the simulation chamber, the tension in the air shifted palpably. The corridors that had once echoed only with the sound of Tenya’s gliding footsteps and Ochako’s careful maneuvers now carried the faint hum of Super-Power, green lightning crackling along Izuku’s calves as he took in the scene with exacting clarity. Tenya had Ochako cornered - his body angled between her and the warhead, his engine-enhanced speed preventing any real openings for her to maneuver.

Izuku didn’t hesitate.

His muscles surged as One for All flooded through his legs - not the usual 20%, which would shatter concrete and tear through flooring, but a delicate 8%, calculated perfectly for containment. With a single breath, he launched into the air, twisting his core mid-flight and flipping forward like a coiled spring. The Manchester Smash came down like a bolt, his heel cutting the air in a clean arc that thudded into Tenya’s armored shoulder just enough to force him off-balance without causing injury. The floor beneath them cracked in a shallow spider-web pattern, vibrations spiraling outward with muted ferocity.

Tenya stumbled sideways, his engines sputtering as he recalibrated, surprise flashing across his usually stoic face. The precision of Izuku’s strike - and the controlled force behind it - had left him momentarily stunned. It was all Ochako needed.

She launched herself forward, Zero Gravity activating instantly as she floated across the last remaining distance. Her hand extended, fingertips brushing against the mock warhead’s glowing surface. The moment they made contact, the simulation alarms blared, signaling immediate shutdown.

“Team A: Victory secured,” echoed All Might’s voice from the overhead intercom, exclamation dripping with theatrical pride.

Izuku landed with a practiced roll, breath steady and eyes already scanning Ochako for any signs of strain. She turned and gave him a wide grin, hair floating slightly from residual gravity shift.

“That timing,” she said breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Izuku gave a small nod, the charge in his limbs dissipating slowly. He turned to Tenya, who was now regaining his footing with a quiet nod of acknowledgment - no bitterness, only the clarity of defeat recognized in full.

With the match complete, the simulation lights dimmed, restoring the building to its idle state. Team A had secured the objective, not with brute force, but with coordination, adaptation, and a final maneuver that had balanced tactical finesse with just enough power to tip the scales.

Izuku didn’t celebrate. He merely adjusted his gloves, his mind already recording variables, footwork adjustments, emotional cues. Another trial. Another lesson. And above all, another step toward understanding the battlefield where heroes are shaped.

Inside the simulated facility, Mashirao Ojiro and Tooru Hagakure hurried up the stairwells, navigating prop-strewn hallways to reach the fourth floor where the training staff had placed the mock payload. The building’s temperature remained neutral - standard for simulation scenarios - but Tooru knew better. She unfastened her boots, then her gloves, stripping completely as they reached the payload’s location. The familiar shimmer of refracting light around her vanished; her Quirk, Invisibility, now unimpeded. Ojiro positioned himself near a corridor junction, tail swaying faintly in anticipation.

“We hold here,” he said. “I’ll block whatever entry route they pick, and you act as surveillance.”

“Got it!” came Tooru’s voice from empty air, light-footed as she moved toward a blind spot by the rear wall.

Moments later, Shouto Todoroki and Mezou Shouji entered the building silently, stepping across the ground-level threshold with minimal sound. Mezou’s Dupli-Arms unfolded into wide fans of sensory receptors, ears and eyes flicking across corridor surfaces in waves of detection.

“Fourth floor. Two heat signatures,” Shouji announced, voice calm. “One stationary. One shifting near the northeast quadrant.”

Shouto gave a single nod, brushing his gloved fingers along the wall as they ascended slowly.

“Exit,” he said simply.

Shouji’s eyes twitched. “You’re freezing the structure?”

“They won’t see it coming,” Shouto replied, and with that, the taller boy turned quietly and slipped back outside.

Alone, Shouto moved up one more level until he reached a cleared space with decent structural support. He centered himself, closed his eyes for a breath, and exhaled slow.

Then, with a sharp raise of his left arm, fire flared faintly beneath the glove. His right arm followed with a gust of frost, erupting across floorboards, walls, stairwells - all of it encased in a sharp wave of crystalline ice in seconds. The temperature dropped like a stone. Pipes shrieked. Air warped.

Mashirao tried to leap backward but his bare feet had frozen mid-motion - ice locking him to the tile beneath with brutal speed. His tail swung reflexively, striking the air and cracking a chunk from the frozen wall, but not freeing his stance.

Tooru, entirely invisible and unguarded, realized too late that her soles had locked as well. She gasped - a sound registering faintly as a shimmer of displaced air - but the freeze sealed her in place before she could vocalize a strategy.

From the opposite stairwell, Shouto strode in with quiet power. The payload sat untouched. He reached forward, palm steady, and pressed one hand to the glowing surface.

The buzzer sounded almost instantly. Shouto turned his gaze to Mashirao and Tooru, still trapped, though unharmed. “Don’t feel bad,” he said evenly. “You’re not weak. You’re just not trained for this kind of precision.”

All Might chimed in over the speaker system, voice full of pride as Shouto melted the ice with his left side. “That was brilliant, Young Todoroki! Methodical, elegant, decisive!”

Back at Ground B, the next pairing was already lining up. Team C versus Team G.

Momo Yaoyorozu stood with calm concentration as she reviewed schematic routes and tactical data for the simulated facility, her fingers tapping along her watch screen. Minoru Mineta, beside her, bounced in place nervously, glancing frequently at Momo with a mix of awe and dread.

Across the field, Kyouka Jirou adjusted her sound equipment, earpieces snug behind her hair as she scanned for vibrations. Denki Kaminari stood with idle energy, his grin loose but his eyes focused. Sparks danced across his fingertips as he readied himself.

All Might stepped forward once again, voice booming.

“Next match - prepare for deployment! Heroes, Villains, to your positions!”

And just like that, the simulation reset. The next clash awaited.

In the dimly lit chamber on the third floor of the simulation building, Momo Yaoyorozu stood poised near the payload, her tablet-like watch flickering with molecular data and her mind scanning layouts and composition protocols. She turned toward her assigned teammate, Minoru Mineta, who was supposed to be prepping alongside her for defense. Instead, his gaze was not on tactical maps or structural blueprints - it was settled unabashedly on her chest.

“Listen,” she began, voice composed but clipped with annoyance, “the heroes will likely separate and flank. If they approach from the west stairwell, that puts the blind spot near the-”

Mineta didn’t respond. His eyes were still fixed, his thoughts clearly anywhere but strategy. Momo narrowed her gaze, exhaled slowly through her nose, and grabbed a sheet of polymer substrate from her belt pouch with measured grace.

“Just stay here and watch the payload,” she said, dry and dismissive. “Try to be even marginally useful.”

With that, she strode out of the room, her heeled boots making almost no sound despite their height. Years of Commission training ensured she moved like a phantom, her weight distributed with surgical care, balance fine-tuned for stealth in restrictive environments. Down the corridor she advanced, fingertips brushing lightly against the walls for spatial feedback. Her Quirk pulsed softly beneath her skin.

Kyouka Jirou caught the faint sound a second before Momo came into view. The twitch of her earphone jacks told her everything - an intruder close, moving with deliberate silence. Kyouka pivoted instinctively, fingers reaching toward the speakers at her hips to channel a shock pulse.

But she was a beat too slow.

Momo materialized from the shadows with a sleek polymer-frame pistol glistening in her grip. A shimmer of pink-and-blue particles faded from her arm as she finished manifesting it. Her trigger finger squeezed once. The specialized tranquilizer round sailed through the air with a soft whump and slapped Denki Kaminari squarely on the cheek.

He flinched backward, laughing.

“Paintball? That all you got?” he said, fingers reaching up to smear the oddly viscous compound from his skin.

Then his pupils dilated.

His legs buckled.

Denki staggered, blinking hard, trying to focus on something that was no longer there.

And finally, with a slurred mumble, he collapsed unconscious.

Kyouka lunged, plugging her jacks into the floor to charge a seismic pulse. Momo stepped to the side with effortless control, letting the shockwave reverberate through the wall behind her. She dropped the gun, ducked under Kyouka’s left arm, and pivoted inward, her knee grazing the ground as she swept the shorter girl’s legs.

Kyouka stumbled, and before she could reroute her output, Momo surged upward, striking her jaw with a clean palm thrust that sent her sprawling. The impact was decisive, not brutal. Just enough pressure at the angle between jawline and temple to induce a blackout.

She landed silently on one knee, watching Kyouka’s unconscious form settle on the floor beside Denki.

Momo rose, brushed her gloves off, and spoke coolly into the comm device.

“Team C secures the objective. Two hostiles neutralized.”

Her voice betrayed no strain, no triumph - just calm efficiency. The match ended seconds later, and the room’s emergency lighting shifted to soft green. Training staff began to enter, logging the performance and preparing for the next scenario.

Back in the control center, All Might leaned toward the monitor, blinking twice before letting out a low whistle.

“Sharp as ever, Miss Yaoyorozu,” he muttered. “Commission-style precision… but tempered with restraint.”

And as Momo returned to the staging area, her cape flowing behind her in quiet folds, her expression was unchanged. She hadn’t come to impress. She had come to execute.

Chapter Text

The news exploded across morning broadcasts like wildfire. 𝚂𝚢𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝙹𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚄.𝙰. 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚢  read bold banners on every channel, accompanied by grainy shots of All Might striding across the U.A. campus gates. For most viewers, it was a moment of national pride - a legend choosing to pass the torch to the next generation. For the students at U.A., particularly Class 1-A, it felt less like a headline and more like a looming pressure. All Might wasn’t just a teacher. He was a symbol. A name etched in history. And now he was part of their daily lives.

As media vans crowded at the campus edges, reporters shoved microphones toward flustered students hoping for a soundbite. Eraserhead - Shouta Aizawa in full disheveled glory - appeared from the admin building with all the patience of a man fresh out of sleep and already regretting his schedule. His scarf flicked once as he walked through the crowd, muttering under his breath.

“Interviews are not part of school policy. Please leave.”

The reporters didn’t. One tried to follow him inside, tripping an unseen security node embedded in the main walkway. U.A.’s defensive system activated with a soft thrum - a translucent dome shimmered briefly across the entry border as reinforced panels began to rise from the ground, effectively sealing off the inner campus with chilling precision. Students and faculty were unharmed, but the message was clear: access was a privilege, not a right. Reporters scrambled backward, a few still filming as the barrier flickered and held.

Inside the classroom, Class 1-A was buzzing with conversation - some about All Might, some about the barrier activation, but most centering around their latest assignment. Aizawa stood at the front, his capture weapon coiled loosely around his shoulders, eyes half-lidded.

“We’re electing a class representative today,” he stated flatly, his tone devoid of enthusiasm. “It’s a title with weight. Student council candidates come from this selection. Plus, it shows leadership initiative. Make your case or vote.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, nearly half the class erupted into self-nomination. Arms flailed in the air, voices overlapped - Bakugou declaring he was obviously the strongest, Mina hyping herself as the most fun, Denki trying to claim ‘best vibes.’ Even Mineta offered himself with exaggerated gestures, earning swift avoidance from those beside him.

Tenya Iida, ever the procedural knight, stood with his palm raised above his head.

“We must approach this logically!” he insisted. “Let us hold a vote. Popular choice ensures fairness!”

Aizawa blinked once. “Fine. Write a name. Pass your slips.”

Slips were scribbled rapidly and collected by Shouji, whose Dupli-Arms made him particularly efficient at gathering ballots. The tally was quiet and swift.

When Aizawa read the results, his voice didn’t change. “Class Representative: Izuku Midoriya. Deputy: Momo Yaoyorozu.”

The classroom fell into a hush, followed by a few hums of agreement. Izuku blinked. He hadn’t voted for himself, and he wasn’t sure who had. Momo, seated behind him, arched a brow, intrigued but not surprised.

Izuku stood slowly, clearing his throat.

“Thanks,” he began, voice low but steady. “But I think… Momo’s better suited for this.”

That sparked murmurs instantly. A few students tilted their heads, confused.

“I mean, she’s organized,” he continued. “She understands structure, delegation, field support. She’s a strategist. I’m… still working on a few things.”

His humility didn’t sound rehearsed - it was honest. Momo watched him silently, her fingers tightening slightly around her notebook.

“I’ll take deputy,” Izuku concluded. “Momo should lead.”

Aizawa didn’t react. “Fine. Switch if you want.”

And just like that, the roles flipped. Momo, with a quiet nod of thanks, accepted the title with grace. Izuku sat back down, posture relaxed, but his mind already ticking through what a Representative should be - not just for recognition, but to model something better.

As for the rest of the class, a few still grumbled about the results, including Tenya, whose cheeks puffed in frustration despite his earlier insistence on democratic process.

The bell rang moments later. Homeroom was over. Leadership, however, had just begun.

In the mess hall’s midday haze, sunlight filtered through the skylights and cast soft gold over polished trays and murmuring conversation. Amid the usual din, the Trust Trio occupied a secluded corner near the far window, like a pocket of calm built into the chaos.

Momo and Shouto shared one side of the table, their postures relaxed and companionable. Momo was sipping from a ceramic mug of brewed barley tea between bites of rice and pickled daikon. Shouto leaned slightly toward her, his food untouched for the moment, one arm resting behind her on the bench. His knuckles occasionally brushed the fabric of her uniform, a subtle gesture of familiar comfort. Izuku sat across from them with an onigiri halfway eaten, watching the interaction with the expression of someone long accustomed to their dynamic.

They were talking casually - training regimens, sparring results, minor observations about their classmates. Nothing tactical. Nothing confidential. Just three people who had shared eight years of training and mornings like this before the world tilted toward heroism.

“You need to stop sleeping through your alarms,” Momo teased, not looking up from her meal.

“I sleep exactly five and a half hours,” Shouto replied, his voice dry. “That’s considered optimal.”

“You overslept by ten minutes,” Izuku added, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s not optimal. That’s sloppy.”

Shouto didn’t answer, but he leaned further into Momo’s space. She didn’t seem to notice - or if she did, she didn’t mind. It wasn’t unusual. In common rooms, he’d stretch out beside her, draping his head on her lap like a weighted cat. She’d play with his hair absentmindedly or continue reading as if he were an extension of the furniture. Izuku, who had shared a similar level of clingy affection on occasion, understood the pattern: Shouto touched when words failed.

Their proximity often drew assumptions - murmurs among students who, seeing Momo straighten Shouto’s collar or the way he angled himself toward her in conversation, assumed something romantic. The trio never minded the misinterpretations. If asked directly, they’d blink and say, “No, we’re just close,” then go back to their food, leaving the rest of U.A. to sort out the puzzle on their own.

The comfortable rhythm broke suddenly.

A sharp blare of sirens ricocheted through the ceiling speakers, vibrating against every surface. Lunch trays clattered as students froze mid-bite, turning toward the nearest exit like a synchronized wave. The alarm tone wasn’t the low-level caution used for drills - it was the full-spectrum perimeter breach.

“That’s the defense barrier,” someone said - likely a third-year, his voice straining above the alarm. “Someone bypassed it!”

The mess hall surged with movement as dozens of students bolted for the exit. Conversations dissolved into scattered shouting. The narrow hallway outside clogged instantly, bodies pressing together in every direction - panic folding into instinct. Some tried climbing benches, others pushed against the crowd, everyone scrambling toward whatever semblance of order might exist beyond the corridor.

Shouto moved first, instinctively placing himself between Momo and the flow of traffic, his body braced to shield without conscious thought. Izuku stood quickly, eyes already flicking between patterns of movement, calculating structural choke points and monitoring nearby student responses. Momo remained seated for another moment, calmly assessing the scene as though waiting for a variable to present itself.

It came quickly.

Tenya Iida appeared, spinning through the air with impressive speed. He slammed into the wall atop the emergency exit signage above the central doors and held himself steady against the panel, waving both arms for attention.

“Everyone, calm down!” he shouted. “There is no threat! It’s not an invasion - it’s the press!”

The hall hesitated. Then the words sank in.

Tenya’s voice carried authority, steadiness. He went on, projecting toward the students nearest the back.

“The news crews triggered the barrier trying to breach the gates. Security protocols activated automatically. No one is in danger!”

The crowd slowed. Confusion softened into relief. Breathing resumed. Students began to shuffle back toward their tables, eyes wide and postures slack with adrenaline withdrawal.

Izuku exhaled. Shouto glanced sideways at the now-quiet speakers. Momo tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and took another sip of her tea.

“Too much drama,” she said flatly.

“Too little judgment,” Shouto replied.

Izuku chuckled, sinking back into his seat.

And just like that, the mess hall returned to its simmer - chatter returning in uneven patches, rice bowls refilled, and the Trust Trio continued their lunch in silence deeper than most friendships dared to reach.

The post-lunch return to Class 1-A was quiet only in comparison to the earlier chaos. The lingering tension from the barrier alarm still hummed beneath students’ footsteps, though Aizawa’s tired monotone quickly brought the room back into focus. Standing at the front of the class with his scarf loosely coiled around his shoulders and a tablet in hand, he offered no build-up.

“For Basic Hero Training this afternoon,” he announced flatly, “we’re doing a rescue exercise. Off-campus.”

Eyebrows lifted around the room. The murmurs began to swell in pockets, quickly shifting into excitement. Rescue was a new frontier - less flashy than combat, but arguably more vital. Aizawa directed the class to suit up immediately and board the transport bus waiting just outside the campus gates. The students scattered with electric energy, gathering hero costumes and supplies with the rhythm of practiced choreography.

Once loaded into the bus - a long, reinforced vehicle with side-facing seats and broad panel windows - the class relaxed into discussion. The Trust Trio sat together as usual, clustered near the rear. Shouto had his arms loosely crossed and leaned slightly toward Momo, who sat beside him scribbling notes on terrain patterns. Izuku sat across from them, his body angled forward as he monitored the conversation unfolding between their classmates.

The topic inevitably drifted to Quirks.

Tsuyu Asui, legs casually drawn up beneath her on her seat, blinked once at Izuku before speaking.

“Your Quirk,” she said slowly, “it’s kind of like All Might’s, isn’t it?”

Izuku exhaled through his nose, shoulders dropping slightly. He didn’t particularly enjoy this exchange, but it wasn’t unexpected. With most of Class 1-A unaware of the Commission’s depth or his upbringing, the comparison had always loomed in the background.

“I’m his son,” Izuku said plainly. “I inherited it - Super-Power. It works kinda differently for me, though. I use it mostly through my legs.”

The bus quieted for a moment. A few eyes widened; others exchanged glances of surprise. Izuku didn’t resemble All Might in stature, coloring, or disposition. It threw them - expecting the son of a legend to look more like a carbon copy.

Kirishima leaned forward, eyes wide with genuine curiosity.

“That’s wild,” he said. “You’re strong as hell - I guess it makes sense. But man, I wish I had a flashier Quirk. Something that would make people really notice.”

Izuku raised his head, frowning gently.

“Your Quirk is incredible,” he replied. “Hardening is more versatile than people realize. You can be a hero who holds the front line, protects civilians - there’s power in that.”

Kirishima scratched the back of his head sheepishly but smiled. “Maybe. But still… You, Todoroki, and Bakugou - your Quirks are basically perfect for going pro.”

Across the aisle, Tsuyu interjected with the calm of someone dropping cold water on boiling tea.

“Bakugou's too angry to be popular.”

Bakugou stiffened, eyes narrowing with irritation, but before he could lash out, Denki Kaminari chimed in, barely suppressing a grin.

“Seriously. You could blow up the moon, but if you’re yelling at kids during an interview, no one’s gonna cheer for you.”

Bakugou turned his head slowly, teeth already bared.

“You wanna go, Pikachu?”

Before his hands could spark, the bus rolled to a smooth stop. Conversation scattered as attention shifted toward the sprawling complex ahead.

The building was massive - curved steel domes, open zones mimicking ravines and earthquake rubble, cracked terrain bordered by reinforced partitions. Signage overhead labeled the facility: Unforeseen Simulation Joint.

Standing at the threshold was the hero Thirteen, famous for her work in disaster relief and space-themed aesthetic. Her voice was soft but resolute, amplified only slightly by the mic at her mask.

“Welcome to the U.S.J.,” she said. “Here, we simulate large-scale disasters. Your objective today is to learn to use your Quirks for rescue - not combat. Strength matters less than your ability to prioritize lives.”

Her words cut through the last embers of hallway banter, replacing bravado with gravity. The students quieted. Even Bakugou, still simmering, lowered his hands.

Inside those metal domes, the lessons wouldn’t come from victory - but survival.

And for the Trust Trio, that was a language they already understood.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere within the U.S.J. shifted like a sudden drop in pressure, tense and biting. Thirteen’s calm, measured address to Class 1-A on the importance of rescue was suddenly, violently upended by the opening of a swirling black void at the center of the plaza. The portal twisted reality like melted glass, and within seconds, a flood of humanoid figures emerged. Shadows became silhouettes. Silhouettes became armed threats.

Villains. At least a dozen, maybe more, flanked by three figures whose presence alone twisted the air in unease. They stepped from the portal with purpose - their movement too fluid for amateurs, too bold for cautious criminals. One of them, hands gnarled and half-obscured by tattered sleeves, scanned the students and heroes present with a slow, serpentine turn of his neck.

“No All Might,” he rasped, his voice like sandpaper dipped in oil. “That’s disappointing.”

Tomura Shigaraki, though unnamed to most of the students, carried a presence that felt wrong on a cellular level. His eyes twitched with unspoken chaos as he turned his gaze on the gathering. “Maybe he’ll come,” he added, almost wistfully. “After we kill a few of them.”

Panic surged among the students, rippling like static across their ranks. Some stepped back. Others instinctively flared their Quirks. Izuku, Momo, and Shouto positioned themselves within arm’s reach of one another, expressions sharpening with the precision born of years in Commission simulations. Their instincts were already aligning.

But before the scene could erupt, Aizawa moved.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t posture. He simply turned toward Thirteen and spoke with clipped urgency.

“Evacuate. Call U.A. Reinforcements. Now.”

Thirteen nodded once, her mask shielding any reaction, and immediately began guiding students away from the epicenter of the attack.

Izuku hesitated. His jaw tightened, fists clenched.

“Sir,” he said, voice low and tense, “you can’t face all of them alone.”

Aizawa looked at him with something between exhaustion and steel.

“This is what I do,” he replied. Then, with no further words, he leapt from the platform into the fray.

The villains had already begun to scatter. A firing squad positioned near the rubble zone locked eyes on the incoming Pro Hero, raising their arms and priming their Quirks - plasma generation, shockwaves, projectile bursts. It didn’t matter.

Aizawa’s eyes flashed red beneath his goggles. In rapid succession, each hostile Quirk fizzled mid-air, collapsing like short-circuited machines. Erasure activated. Then came movement - his scarf whipped forward with surgical precision, catching ankles and wrists and flinging bodies to the ground before they could react.

“He’s Eraserhead!” one of them shouted from the rear. “He can cancel Quirks! He needs eye contact!”

A mutant-type villain surged forward - spiked limbs and armored skin glinting in the artificial light. He knew Aizawa’s ability wouldn’t affect his form, and lunged with full-body momentum.

But Eraserhead didn’t flinch. He pivoted, redirecting his scarf in an arc that forced the mutant back with sheer force and positional control. The weapon tightened and released in rhythmic pulses, never letting the villain close the distance. A foot swept out. A knee connected. The mutant crashed into a steel pillar, dazed and staggering.

Aizawa remained upright, breathing slow, eyes scanning for the next threat.

He was alone in the center of chaos, but he wasn’t overwhelmed. Not yet.

And somewhere near the evac zone, Izuku’s fists trembled - not with fear, but the ache of restraint. The fight had begun. And it was far from even.

The moment Izuku saw Eraserhead dispatch the first wave of villains with ruthless efficiency - Quirks erased mid-activation, bodies slammed into debris with whipcord precision - he felt a jolt of guilt pierce through the center of his chest. He had underestimated him. Seeing his homeroom teacher take the lead without hesitation, Izuku realized that heroes didn’t always announce themselves with grandeur. Some simply arrived, assessed, and struck before the chaos took root.

Tenya’s voice rang out beside him, taut with urgency.

“Midoriya! Move!”

Izuku snapped out of his trance just in time to follow the tail end of the group as Thirteen ushered them toward the exit with sweeping gestures and steady instructions. The students hurried in a tight column toward the transport zone - until the atmosphere pulsed.

A dark mist pooled across the ground like ink spilled from the sky, and a void split open in front of the path. Kurogiri appeared in full manifestation - a silhouette of swirling energy framed by a metallic brace around his neck. The air distorted around him like torn fabric.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he intoned with eerie civility. “We are the League of Villains. And we’ve come with the singular intention of killing All Might.”

His words clanged across the plaza like dropped steel. The group froze.

Bakugou lunged first.

“Like hell you did!” he roared, launching an explosion toward the mist.

Kirishima followed on instinct, hardening his arms into jagged shields, both boys surging into combat without a second thought. But their attacks phased through Kurogiri, dissipated into nothing. The mist responded like water, rippling harmlessly. It was an illusion - no, worse. A spatial medium.

Thirteen flared her Quirk, gearing up to unleash a vortex of suction to nullify the threat - but she was half a breath too late. Kurogiri’s fog expanded around them like a tide, engulfing the entire courtyard in seconds.

A sharp flash - and they were gone.

Izuku awoke mid-splash, swallowed by pressure and salt. The Shipwreck Zone had no floor - only ocean and twisted metal hulls, suspended like skeletons beneath a storm-lit sky. He flailed, lungs burning. A shadow broke through the waves - a predator streaking toward him. Jaws opened.

A blur of motion and a kick sent the shark-like villain spiraling sideways, his body crashing into a jagged steel mast. Tsuyu Asui surfaced beside Izuku, her limbs steady and unfazed.

“You okay?” she asked, flicking her tongue back as she grabbed his collar.

Izuku nodded, coughing.

Tsuyu whipped her tongue forward again, snatching him toward the floating deck. Izuku landed hard, rolling onto his side as Tsuyu followed - Mineta dangling from her tongue and flailing like a panicked leaf.

They regrouped. Mineta immediately began to panic.

“This is bad! Super bad! They’re gonna kill All Might! Why would they even come here - this is a school trip!”

Tsuyu steadied herself against a crate while scanning the perimeter. Villains circled the ship but refused to board, hesitant, observing.

“They don’t know what we can do,” Izuku said quietly, eyes narrowing. “They’re cautious.”

He crouched, hands trembling faintly, mind racing as he remembered file notes - Quirk summaries, behavior patterns, physical traits. If they didn’t know his full output, he could use surprise. Tsuyu’s agility and tongue reach. Mineta’s sticky spheres. Limited field. Advantage: knowledge.

His thoughts were interrupted by a violent wave breaking across the hull. A villain with a water manipulation Quirk had launched a blast that fractured the ship in two. Wood and steel cracked. The deck buckled.

“Now!” Izuku shouted.

He propelled himself into the air, muscles laced with 5% of Super-Power to steady his balance mid-leap. His hand rose - finger poised - and he flicked.

“Delaware Smash!”

A shockwave burst outward across the water’s surface, forcing the tide into a spreading ring. The pressure bounced off debris and funneled back, converging into a swirling vortex. Mineta hurled his sticky spheres into the mix - purple projectiles embedding on villain limbs, hull fragments, and skin. The spheres activated, stretching and fusing everything into a tangle of helpless mass.

One by one, the villains tried to swim clear - but each movement tightened the bind. Mineta watched in awe, barely able to comprehend his part in the success.

“I… I helped?”

Tsuyu smiled faintly. “Teamwork, sticky balls and all.”

With the zone secured, Tsuyu extended her tongue once more and snagged Izuku’s waist, then Mineta’s shoulder, and launched them toward the emergency beacon on the outer ring. They soared through mist and wreckage, breath held, limbs tense.

The escape was clean.

The salty mist of the Shipwreck Zone still clung to Izuku’s collar as Tsuyu vaulted them past scattered debris and onto a stable platform beyond the churning water. Their moment of victory hadn’t dulled the tension; if anything, it had sharpened it. The reality of the villains’ intrusion was no longer hypothetical. It was happening. It was deliberate. And they weren’t simply opportunists - they had come with a target.

Izuku crouched beside a fractured metal beam, his eyes scanning the facility’s perimeter for viable exits. Mineta paced behind him, his hands twitching nervously as sticky spheres popped off his scalp with faint plop sounds. Tsuyu remained calm, crouched like a sentinel overlooking the edges.

“They warped us all into different zones,” Izuku muttered, his voice low but focused. “They split us up to isolate us… separate us from support. From All Might.”

“They want him alone,” Tsuyu murmured. “Make him easier to kill.”

Mineta groaned, clutching his own shoulders. “I don’t want to think about that! Let’s just go - find a way out!”

Izuku stood, the faint glow of Super-Power still fizzing quietly along his legs. He shook his head.

“No. The central plaza’s where Eraserhead is fighting. If we head there, we’ll just get in the way. He’s strong, but even he has limits. That kind of fight will wear him down.”

He looked toward the horizon of dome segments. “We help. It’s our job now. We’re heroes in training.”

The resolve in his voice settled over them like a steel blanket, firm and undeniable.

Meanwhile, in the Landslide Zone, Shouto Todoroki stood amid the aftermath of an ambush.

Ice coated the fragmented remains of the simulated rockfall, frosted thick across slabs and valleys of broken terrain. Patches of charred earth smoldered near his boots - his flames still warm against the winterbite air. The villains who had arrived with him were incapacitated almost immediately. One lay buried beneath a compacted sheet of glacial ice. Another groaned weakly as his singed costume clung to a collapsed pillar. Shouto had barely broken stride.

These weren’t elites. No formation. No coordination. Their attacks were scattered, desperate - like thugs thrown into the deep end and told to swim. He watched them quietly, unmoved.

Two figures attempted a flanking maneuver from the shadowed crevasse behind the collapsed terrain. One lunged low, the other from above. Shouto sidestepped both in fluid succession, spun, and released a flash-freeze that locked their limbs mid-motion. Their bodies hit the ground with dull thuds, encased in ice from chin to ankle.

He knelt beside one - steam curling from his exposed left arm.

“You’ll die of hypothermia if you stay frozen,” he said simply. “I’ll release you in exchange for information.”

The Mountain Zone roared with chaos, the jagged peaks of artificial terrain echoing with the clash of Quirks and the sharp staccato of battle cries. Dust kicked up from scattered scuffles, and the low growl of thunder pulsed unnaturally through the air, lingering just beneath the surface of the conflict. Kaminari, Jirou, and Yaoyorozu stood at the center of it, encircled by a thickening perimeter of villains who moved with practiced malice, advancing slowly but confidently as if they sensed that the trio was cornered.

Yaoyorozu’s brow was knit in concentration as she conjured more weapons from her exposed skin, the edge of her costume strategically torn to make her Quirk more efficient. Sleek throwing knives materialized in her palm, cool and metallic, and she sent them sailing across the battlefield with precise flicks of her wrist. Each blade found its mark, embedding into limbs or armor and halting attackers mid-stride. Beside her, Kyouka had extended her Earphone Jacks into a pair of hostile combatants, sending sharp vibrations pulsing through their bodies, dropping them with grim efficiency.

Despite their coordinated defense, the tension remained brittle. Momo’s stamina was beginning to wane, the rate of creation taxing even her conditioned body. Kyouka’s sonar attacks were limited by range and required her to stay close to the action - dangerously close. Kaminari had remained mostly at their flank, watching the assault with clenched fists but choosing not to unleash his Quirk just yet. Momo noticed his hesitation and shot him a questioning glance between the hurling of blades.

Jirou’s voice sliced through the din. “Kaminari, why the hell aren’t you helping? We’re getting swarmed!”

Denki looked slightly abashed, rubbing the back of his neck while crouching behind a large boulder. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just- my Quirk’s not great for situations like this. I surround myself with electricity, sure, but if I discharge it now I could zap you both by accident.”

He peered over the rock cautiously, assessing the spread of enemies. “I need a weapon. Something that doesn’t make me fry my own team.”

Kyouka stared at him, her frustration mounting. Then, a flicker of recklessness passed over her face - a bold idea rising from desperation. Without hesitation, she crossed the short distance between them and delivered a swift kick to his back, propelling him out from cover and directly into a cluster of villains surging from the rear. He yelped mid-air, electricity instinctively crackling around his body in sharp bursts of golden light.

“What are you-?” was all he managed to shout before the jolt surged outward.

The discharge was instantaneous and brutal. Sparks exploded from his limbs, arcs of lightning striking outward like a web spun from rage and adrenaline. The villains surrounding him convulsed in mid-motion, frozen mid-lunge as volts crashed through their bodies, limbs locking and muscles spasming before they collapsed in twitching heaps.

Reacting in stride, Momo crouched, her back glowing with pink and blue iridescent sparkles as she swiftly generated a thick sheet of insulated rubber, using the last vestiges of her energy to wrap it around herself and Kyouka. The material coiled like a cocoon, shielding them from the destructive wave as Denki’s electricity swept through the zone.

The artificial mountain walls lit up with brief flashes as the final villains dropped one by one, their ambush utterly undone by the burst. When the light faded and the static cleared, Denki stood in the middle of the wreckage, steam rising from his body, his eyes wide and unfocused in that familiar post-discharge haze.

Kyouka smirked, glancing toward Momo. “Not the smartest move, but it worked.”

Momo nodded quietly, peeking out from behind the insulating sheet. “Effective and dramatic. He bought us room to breathe.”

As Denki muttered incoherent lines about pigeons and cheese fries, Kyouka helped guide him back behind cover, the trio now a little bloodied but victorious.

The entrance to U.S.J. stood littered with the scorched fragments of the plaza’s infrastructure, the air thick with dust and tension. Eraserhead, battle-worn and breathing heavily, pressed on against the horde of advancing villains, his goggles cracked and elbow bloodied. The exhaustion in his stance betrayed how long he’d been fighting, canceling Quirks on contact and disabling enemies with practiced precision. But the tide shifted when Tomura Shigaraki emerged from the shadows - his presence chilling the space like a toxin drifting through clean air.

Tomura’s expression twisted into a grin as he observed Eraserhead’s labored breathing and battered form.

“You've done well,” he said, his voice a rasp across glass, “but you’re bleeding now. Just like your Quirk - it only lasts as long as your body does.”

Eraserhead didn't reply. His hair floated as his Quirk engaged again, eyes locked on Tomura's decaying fingertips. But he was a second too late. The villain lunged and gripped his elbow with all five fingers, corrosion unraveling tissue in an instant. With a guttural hiss of pain, Eraserhead disengaged and retreated, clutching his arm as he rolled away through debris, barely dodging further contact.

Before he could recover, the plaza trembled. The hulking silhouette of Nomu barreled forward, crashing through a toppled column as it descended onto the injured Pro Hero with lethal intent. Its bio-engineered frame glistened unnaturally, the creature genetically bred for violence and resilience.

Elsewhere on the field, Thirteen made her move. The Rescue Hero calculated her angle swiftly, spiraling her Quirk into a vortex toward Kurogiri’s gaseous form, attempting to erase him from the battlefield. But Kurogiri responded instantly, manipulating space with chilling grace. The void warped and twisted, and before she could counter, he redirected her own destructive force. It imploded beside her, and she crumpled backward - her suit torn, and her consciousness fading. She was out.

Tenya Iida, witnessing the chaos unfold, sprinted toward the only viable exit. Kurogiri appeared before him in a shimmer of distorted space, cutting off his route, cloaked in mist and menace. But from the left, Shouji burst through - a blur of muscle and motion. His massive arms wrapped around the villain’s form, restraining the warp gate just long enough.

“Go!” Shouji bellowed, and Tenya didn't waste the gift. He vanished into the tunnel ahead, his exhausts flaring against the walls. Kurogiri dissolved from Shoji’s grip seconds later, but the damage had been done.

Izuku, Asui, and Mineta arrived too late. The central plaza was in ruins. Their teacher lay broken, Nomu looming victorious, and Tomura standing arrogantly as if he had already conquered them. Kurogiri warped back beside his commander, bowing slightly as he delivered grim news.

“Thirteen is incapacitated. But the plan… it’s compromised. A student escaped.”

Tomura’s grin collapsed into frustration. His hand twitched violently, like resisting an urdge.

“So now they’re coming,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “We can’t win this against real backup. But we can kill the remaining pests.”

With no hesitation, Tomura lunged toward Tsuyu. His hand outstretched, Decay ready to end her. Izuku and Minoru froze momentarily in shock - time slowed. But Eraserhead, even wounded, locked eyes with the villain and activated his Quirk once more. Tomura’s power fizzled, and the villain recoiled as if slapped. That brief window was all Izuku needed.

With a roar of determination, Izuku launched forward, arm cocked for a powerful smash. But Nomu stepped in - too quick, too durable. The punch connected with the creature’s chest, cracking the concrete beneath them, yet it absorbed the force without budging. Izuku stared in disbelief.

“Impossible…”

Tomura sneered and advanced again, Decay ready. But a thunderous shout shattered the scene.

“Everything will be all right - because I am here!”

All Might’s voice reverberated like a war drum across the plaza. He tore off his tie and blazer, muscle rippling beneath his heroic frame. Then, in a blur faster than sound, he surged into the fray.

His first act was recovery - scooping up Eraserhead and flash-stepping through the plaza, his fists connecting with the remaining villains like steel meteors. They crumbled around him, stunned before they even registered the blows. With precision and power, he reached Izuku, Tsuyu, and Minoru, lifting them effortlessly and carrying them to a distant platform well outside Nomu’s reach.

“Get him to safety,” he instructed, setting down Eraserhead gently in their arms. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Izuku grabbed All Might’s sleeve for a moment, urgency etched into his voice. “That creature- Nomu - it’s different. My punch had no effect!”

All Might turned, blue eyes burning with calm intensity. “It’ll be all right.”

And with that promise, the Symbol of Peace charged back toward the battlefield. The students did not linger. Carrying their injured mentor, they began their retreat, heartbeats thudding like war drums behind them. In the plaza, Nomu roared - its challenge deafening.

The clash between All Might and the villains had begun.

Chapter Text

The plaza vibrated under the weight of raw impact as All Might slammed his fist into Nomu’s chest with a resounding Carolina Smash. The blow cracked stone and sent shockwaves through the U.S.J.’s central dome, kicking up clouds of pulverized dust. The force was tremendous - enough to fold steel girders. But Nomu didn’t flinch. His body absorbed the hit like a sponge, the ripples of force dispersing across his engineered frame.

A moment later, Nomu responded in kind. Its enormous arm swung forward in a brutal arc, muscles twitching beneath glossy skin. All Might pivoted on instinct, his body flowing with experience as he evaded the punch by millimeters. He retaliated with another strike - a lightning-fast uppercut aimed beneath Nomu’s jaw - but it was met with the same defiant resilience. The impact connected, but Nomu’s head barely moved.

From the edge of the rubble, Tomura’s grin stretched wide.

“Shock absorption,” he rasped, fingers twitching near his chin. “Nomu was made to kill you. You won’t be able to break him. Not with brute strength.”

All Might narrowed his eyes, scanning the creature’s structure, the way it bent slightly beneath him without resistance. Then, with a thunderous cry, he hoisted Nomu upward by its torso and twisted, his feet gouging into the stone as he launched into a reverse suplex. The motion was flawless - his body a blur of muscle and inertia - and he slammed Nomu spine-first into the sand-packed arena floor.

Mineta, still hauling the bloodied Eraserhead toward the exit with trembling arms, paused as the impact shook the ground. His jaw dropped.

“H-he just suplexed a building-sized meat monster,” he whispered, then threw a fist into the air. “He’s amazing!”

But the celebration was short-lived.

As the dust cleared and the echo of impact faded, the students saw the familiar shimmer of Kurogiri’s warp gate twist open beside the crater. Dark mist pooled around Nomu’s body, and in a beat, the creature began sliding into the portal. All Might held tight, still gripping Nomu’s frame in the suplex lock - but the portal caught them mid-maneuver. Half of Nomu was pulled through, and All Might's legs were planted in the sand, holding fast.

Then the twist happened.

Nomu’s massive hand shot forward and wrapped around All Might’s side - his weak spot. The pressure tightened, and All Might’s expression shifted into rare agony. Kurogiri’s mist thickened, trying to drag the rest of him in.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. Seeing the Symbol of Peace at risk shook him to his core.

“No!” he shouted, launching from the perimeter, Super-Power surging through his legs in a sharp burst.

He sprinted toward the warp gate, boots tearing into the debris-strewn ground - but Kurogiri saw him coming. The villain extended the mist in a fast spiral, aiming to intercept and warp the boy away from the plaza.

Suddenly, a concussive explosion scattered the mist.

“Don’t touch him!” Bakugou roared, blasting in from the eastern flank with a volley of detonations. He struck Kurogiri squarely, scattering the warp field before slamming the villain down with a brutal crash. Smoke rolled over their forms as Katsuki pinned him against the fractured tiles, sweat flaring in sparks around his palms.

Before the mist could reform, an icy wind sliced across the plaza.

Shouto Todoroki arrived from the northern ridge, his boots crunching through the gravel as a burst of frost shot from his right side. The ice surged across the battlefield in smooth arcs, encasing Nomu’s lower half while carefully avoiding All Might’s exposed frame. The temperature dropped instantly - steam curling from the cracks in Nomu’s arm.

“He talked,” Shouto said calmly. “One of the weaker ones - he told me everything. They came to kill All Might. That’s their only goal.”

With Nomu frozen, All Might wrenched free, his muscles coiling as he tore the mutant’s hand from his torso. He stepped back, breath burning against the chilled air.

From the perimeter, Eijirou Kirishima dashed toward Tomura in a flanking maneuver. Hardened arms angled like battering rams, he crashed into the villain’s side with full force. But Tomura twisted with a snarl, sidestepping and extending his hand. Eijirou barely veered away, sensing the danger of Decay.

The battlefield held still for a breath - All Might freed, Nomu encased, the students converging like a tide.

Across the fractured battlefield of the U.S.J., the tide of tension shifted palpably. Tsuyu and Minoru, crouched behind scattered debris and the still-unconscious Eraserhead, were visibly relieved as they watched the rest of their classmates leap into action in support of All Might. Mineta’s wide eyes shone with renewed hope, and Tsuyu tilted her head slightly, letting out a breath that she didn’t realize she'd been holding. Their presence was quickly noticed by Uraraka and several other classmates near the complex’s damaged entrance. They reacted swiftly, rallying to support the wounded. A couple of students rushed to help Tsuyu stabilize Eraserhead and prepare him for evacuation, while Thirteen, her body still damaged from a previous encounter, issued firm but gentle instructions.

“Get back,” she said, her tone urgent yet composed. “We need to let All Might finish this. This fight is beyond any of us.”

As the students began pulling away, dragging their wounded classmates toward cover, the cracks in the villains’ strategy began to show. Shigaraki’s expression twisted into frustration as he watched the tide turn. His voice grated with discontent, fingers twitching erratically near his exposed jaw.

“Kurogiri,” he snapped, “you let them exploit your weakness.”

Pinned beneath Bakugou’s fury, Kurogiri struggled to reform his ethereal mist. Katsuki had discovered the warp villain’s vulnerability: a physical body encased in neck armor at the center of the vortex. His left hand pressed down against the armored shell, crackling with sparks that danced dangerously along Kurogiri’s form.

“Try warping now,” Katsuki growled. “I’ll blow your head off.”

Despite his restrained aggression, the moment revealed how deeply Katsuki had analyzed the enemy - how tactical his rage could be.

Across the battleground, Tomura’s irritation gave way to a cold admiration. He stepped forward slightly, his voice raised so the students could hear.

“You’ve done well,” he mused, almost contemplatively. “You’re only children. Yet you show such initiative. It’s almost… heroic.”

Then he turned his head slightly and issued a chilling command.

“Nomu. Save him.”

A guttural roar cracked through the icy air as Nomu, previously frozen solid by Shouto’s elemental Quirk, began twitching. Frost cracked along its musculature as steam rose from the joints. In moments, the creature regenerated. Limbs reformed, tissue knitted over shards of ice, and the monster shook off its restraints with terrifying ease. The students barely had time to react before Nomu charged toward Katsuki, aiming a powerful blow at the young hero. But at the last second, a massive frame descended like a meteor.

All Might intervened.

His body collided with Nomu’s, shielding Katsuki from the brunt of the strike. The impact sent shockwaves cascading outward, throwing dust and pebbles in every direction. All Might grunted, pain evident behind his brave facade, but he stood firm. Tomura watched with a flicker of awe in his expression as the Symbol of Peace remained standing.

“You really are something, All Might,” he muttered. “But tell me… what have heroes truly done for this world? They create chaos. They inspire destruction. Violence spreads in their wake, masked by capes and smiles.”

All Might, body quivering with strain, turned his gaze toward Tomura. His voice was steady - firm not because of bravado, but born of conviction.

“You don’t understand true heroism,” he said. “You villains have no noble goal. No greater purpose. You're just catalysts for pain. And that… is not justice.”

Despite his waning power, All Might clenched his fists and turned back to Nomu. His breath came in shallow bursts, but his spirit surged beyond exhaustion. He launched forward, fists blazing with energy he could barely contain. The battle that followed defied physics. They clashed at unthinkable speeds, their silhouettes blurring across the landscape. Every punch landed like a cannon blast. Shockwaves erupted with each collision, forcing the students to shield their eyes and ears. The very air seemed to scream under the pressure of their strikes.

All Might knew his time was limited. He couldn’t hold this form much longer. But he didn't need to. He needed only to exceed Nomu’s limit - just enough to break through the engineered endurance. So he went beyond his maximum output. Beyond what anyone believed possible.

Punch after punch landed, and the ground fractured beneath their feet. In one final surge, All Might hurled Nomu high into the air, his feet grinding into the earth as he followed through. As the monster twisted in the sky above, All Might soared after him, coiled his arm back, and with a final cry unleashed the last of his strength.

“Remember this!” he shouted. “PLUS ULTRA!”

The punch landed - an explosive crescendo that tore the clouds and sent Nomu crashing beyond the horizon, far beyond the walls of the U.S.J.

Silence followed.

Then slowly, students emerged from cover, eyes wide, mouths agape. Katsuki stood in stunned silence, fists still clenched, but eyes glued to the Symbol of Peace.

All Might landed amidst the fractured tiles, breathing hard. His form flickered briefly, but he straightened himself.

“It took me three hundred blows to defeat him,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But… in my prime? Five would’ve been enough.”

He turned, sweeping his gaze across the stunned faces of his students, and pointed toward Tomura.

“Your plans are finished. This League of Villains… it's over.”

The tension in the Mountain Zone of the U.S.J. simmered under the shadow of jagged cliffs and overturned debris. Among the fragmented terrain, Denki Kaminari was held tightly in the grip of a lean, crackling villain who went by the codename Tesla - a man whose skin shimmered with residual energy and eyes pulsed like flickering currents. Tesla’s frame was wiry but solid, electricity coursing up and down his veins like liquid lightning. Though Kaminari had attempted to unleash a powerful shock the moment he was ambushed, it did nothing to deter the villain. Tesla had absorbed it without flinching.

Now, he stood with one hand clamped around Denki’s neck, holding him just inches above the ground. Denki kicked frantically, panic settling deep in his chest as sparks sputtered from his fingertips in futile defiance.

“Let’s make this easy,” Tesla said, voice smooth with a faint rasp of static. “You all surrender… or I drain this one down to his last flicker. I have a soft spot for electric types, but nostalgia won't stop me.”

Just beyond a pile of fractured stone, Yaoyorozu crouched in cover with sweat clinging to her temple. Her chest rose and fell, fatigued from her earlier encounters with the villain horde. Her eyes narrowed on Tesla, calculating distances, angles, and the weight of her own exhaustion. Her mind raced through fabrication schematics. She could create a throwing knife - carbon steel, aerodynamic, designed to hit the shoulder and force Tesla to release Denki. But the knot in her gut warned her: she wasn't sure she could summon it fast enough, or hurl it with enough force to disable him. Her reserves were low - not empty, but thinned out, like a candle flickering against the wind.

Beside her, Jirou studied the situation with quiet intensity. Her earphone jacks twitched, coiled slightly as she adjusted the gear in her boots. With a deliberate calm, she rose halfway from cover and called out to the villain.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she said, voice light but firm. “You’re strong. You don’t need to threaten him. I mean, electric Quirks are rare and powerful right? You could probably take on half the pros single-handedly.”

The villain turned, narrowing his eyes. Kyouka’s words were deliberate - an effort to keep his attention on her - but her jack moved subtly, trying to plug into her targeting system, hoping for a sonic blast strong enough to disorient him.

Tesla’s lips curled into an uneven smile.

“Nice try,” he muttered. “I can feel your frequencies. Don’t even think about attacking. One twitch and this boy’s neurons fry.”

The air tightened. The weight of impending failure settled over the girls as Kyouka slowly raised her hands. Momo followed suit with visible reluctance. There was no other way - they had to surrender, for now.

As Tesla tightened his grip around Denki’s neck once more, the Mountain Zone stood silent. The flickering hum of restrained electricity was the only sound echoing off the boulders.

The calm before the next clash had arrived.

The battlefield, once roaring with the thunder of clash and chaos, now stood in a breathless hush. Nomu had been defeated - hurled from the U.S.J. with such force that the terrain still vibrated from the shock. But the cost of victory weighed heavy. All Might remained hunched near the edge of a demolished pillar, his body trembling, muscles slack, and his Hero Form beginning to deteriorate. Every breath he drew was labored, each twitch a signal that his time in that state had all but expired. Yet even as the strength seeped from him, he raised his shoulders and forced a stern expression to mask the decline.

He couldn’t show weakness. Not now. Not in front of the students, nor the enemy.

Shigaraki stood a few paces away, his stare fixed on All Might with a mixture of terror and fury. His mouth twitched erratically as his gaze flickered between the crumbling form and the distant trail Nomu had left behind.

“No,” he muttered to himself. “It… it can’t be. We lost him. He beat Nomu. That was supposed to be impossible!”

The panic that clawed at Tomura’s voice was interrupted by Kurogiri’s cold rumble, soothing but sharp.

“He is weakened,” Kurogiri said, his dark mist coiling in thought. “Look closely. He is barely able to stand. Victory, yes - but at considerable cost. We can kill him.”

Without hesitation, the two villains lunged. Kurogiri’s mist enveloped the area in an instant, warping their movement through space. Tomura’s hand extended with a malicious intent, his Quirk ready to disintegrate the man who had defied their entire mission. But before he could make contact, a green blur darted across the rubble-strewn ground.

Izuku launched forward, his body surging with the raw power of Shoot Style. His boots crunched against shattered stone as he twisted mid-run, readying a smash kick aimed at the vulnerable neck armor housed in Kurogiri’s vaporous form. He knew that if he could just strike true, he could disrupt the villain’s composition for long enough to stop the attack.

However, Kurogiri anticipated the move.

In one fluid motion, his body rippled and bent, warping space to guide Tomura’s arm through the void - emerging inches from Izuku’s cheek. Tomura’s fingers stretched toward him, barely trembling with excitement at the chance to rot flesh on contact.

But the moment shattered with the crack of a gunshot.

Tomura recoiled with a howl, clutching his arm as crimson stained the sleeve of his coat. His grip faltered and Kurogiri’s mist scattered. Another shot rang out through the air. In the Mountain Zone, Tesla - the villain holding Denki hostage - jerked backward as a bullet grazed his side, his grip loosening instinctively.

The source of the attacks stepped into view with the calm precision of a marksman.

Snipe strode forward, his rifle lowered with practiced ease, smoke still curling from the barrel. Beside him, Iida stood tall, his engines steaming slightly from the sprint that had brought him across the zone. Behind them, a wave of Pro Heroes swept into the complex from multiple entry points.

The tide had turned.

As the reinforcements surged, the Heroes began subduing the remaining villains. Quirks lit up the battlefield in strategic bursts - flashes of speed, walls of containment, waves of paralyzing sound - all coordinated, precise. The League of Villains were outnumbered and outmaneuvered. The grim silence that followed confirmed what had already become reality.

Tomura grit his teeth, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Enough,” he snarled. “The mission is over. We failed.”

Snipe didn’t wait. He fired again - twice more - each round striking Tomura’s limbs and knocking him back. Kurogiri’s form surged forward, attempting to envelop his partner and retreat. Just before he could fully escape, Thirteen's gravitational field flared, her Quirk tugging at the mist violently.

Kurogiri strained against it, distorted and flickering, but after a moment of struggle, his portal reformed and vanished with both villains pulled into its depths.

Peace returned, though only in pieces.

Izuku stood near the crater, fists trembling - not with power, but frustration. He hadn’t been fast enough to stop them.

“I couldn’t do anything,” he said, voice low.

All Might knelt slowly, weakened but still upright, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“You did more than enough,” he said gently. “You bought me seconds… seconds I would not have survived without.”

From behind a fallen column, Kirishima started toward the two, concern etched across his face. But Cementoss appeared in his path, rising from the ground in a wave of polished stone.

“Don’t,” he said calmly, placing a hand on Eijirou’s shoulder. “Not now. Go help the others regroup near the exit. Let me handle this.”

Eijirou nodded, a trace of disappointment in his eyes, and turned to carry out the task.

Once they were alone, All Might leaned against the fractured wall, his chest rising unevenly. His features were drawn, his skin pale, and the illusion of invincibility had faded. Cementoss knelt beside him briefly, checking the state of his wounds.

“We should get you to the infirmary immediately,” Cementoss said. “You’re not in shape for any more heroics.”

All Might gave a small nod. “And thank you… for shielding my form.”

Cementoss stood and left without another word, his steps echoing as he rejoined the other Pro Heroes.

Izuku lingered.

He stared at his father, eyes wide with realization. For years, the man he admired had been larger than life, a beacon of power and confidence, only ever seen in brief snapshots - always at his peak, never vulnerable. And yet, this was the same man. Broken but noble.

“I only ever saw you like that,” Izuku whispered. “In your Hero Form. Back then… it was so rare, but always awe-inspiring. I didn’t understand why you disappeared between patrols.”

All Might exhaled slowly.

“It’s because of my Quirk,” he admitted, voice solemn. “And the Quirk you inherited. It’s not like others. I’ll explain everything. But not here… not now. When we’re in a quiet place. Somewhere safe.”

Izuku nodded, his heart thudding with questions. But for now, those answers could wait.

He helped his father to his feet, and together, they walked through the wreckage.

The air outside the U.S.J. complex was heavy with aftermath - smoke still curling in thin wisps from fractured earth, the scent of scorched concrete lingering beneath the sharp tang of ozone. Class 1-A stood gathered on the gravel perimeter, exhausted but intact. Naomasa Tsukauchi, the stern yet affable investigator, stood before them in his long coat, clipboard tucked beneath one arm and phone vibrating with updates every few seconds. The students clung to the sound of his voice like an anchor.

“No one sustained any major injuries,” he said, scanning the group, "Minor bruises, scrapes. A few adrenaline dumps you’ll feel tomorrow - but nothing severe.”

The group exchanged quiet sighs of relief, shifting in place as the adrenaline began to ebb. The first waves of chatter broke out between huddled pairs and trios - Kirishima speaking animatedly with Sero about villain formations, Ochako recounting her close call with Tenya during the earlier match, and Kaminari mumbling something incoherent that sounded suspiciously like “I don’t even remember frying anyone.”

Asui stepped forward, her tone calm but serious.

“What about Thirteen and Aizawa-Sensei? Are they going to be okay?”

Naomasa’s gaze softened slightly as he pocketed his device.

“Critically injured. But alive. Recovery Girl is working on stabilizing Aizawa now. Thirteen’s suit was compromised, but she’ll recover. Neither are in life-threatening condition.”

That reassurance fell like a balm across the group. Even Bakugou, leaning slightly away from the crowd with arms crossed, shifted his stance minutely in relief.

Just then, Tsukauchi’s phone pinged again. He checked the notification with a flick of his thumb.

“Nomu's been apprehended by the Hero containment team,” he said, almost distractedly. “He’s en route to the holding station outside city limits. I’ll need to follow up.”

With that, he turned and headed briskly toward the nurse’s office, disappearing through the sliding reinforced doors.

Inside the sterile recovery room, Izuku sat quietly near the edge of a cot where All Might was being treated. Recovery Girl hovered beside him, pressing a glowing palm to his side and frowning occasionally at the extent of the strain. Izuku didn’t speak. He watched. He waited.

Naomasa entered with practiced ease, nodding once toward Izuku before stepping up to All Might’s side.

“Figures you’d end up here,” he said. “Not that I doubted you’d win - but your definition of ‘victory’ always leaves medical staff groaning.”

All Might gave a tired chuckle and gestured toward Izuku.

“Izuku, this is Naomasa Tsukauchi - my closest friend in the Police Force. He knows everything. Has from the beginning.”

Naomasa gave a small salute toward Izuku, who returned it awkwardly before leaning in, hesitation lining his brows.

“Father,” Izuku asked softly. “Your Quirk… My Quirk - it’s not really called Super-Power, is it?”

All Might’s eyes met his son’s directly, and he nodded slowly. There was no dodging it now.

“No,” he said. “The real name is One for All. It’s a Quirk that’s passed down - generation to generation. Its strength is built on accumulation. When you were born… you were already chosen. You were always going to be my successor.”

Izuku stared, words knotting behind his teeth as memories folded into this new truth. All the observations over the years - the inconsistent appearances, the dodged visits, the fragmented glimpses of a man never quite whole - all suddenly took shape.

“But,” All Might continued, “once you manifested One for All… I began running on embers. Flickers of my former flame. Each year, it burns shorter. I’m slower now. Less durable.”

He winced slightly, nodding toward Recovery Girl to pause before reaching for his shirt. With a slow gesture, he lifted the fabric away from his side, revealing a puckered scar that stretched from the left of his ribcage to his abdomen. Tissue damage radiated outward like old burns.

“This,” he said, voice quieter, “was from five years ago. A wound I’ve never fully healed from. It limits how long I can hold that form - that image of the Symbol of Peace.”

Izuku swallowed. The mask had cracked. The weight of everything - the expectations, the silence, the pain - it was all laid bare.

Yet even now, All Might’s shoulders didn’t slump. His spine remained straight. Not because he still bore the strength of a giant - but because he refused to let go of what it meant.

“I’ll explain the full history of the Quirk soon,” he said, gently lowering his shirt.

Izuku nodded, and for once, he didn’t feel like a boy asking questions.

He felt like a successor finally ready to hear the truth.

Chapter Text

The news played on loop, every channel cycling between dramatic headlines and shaky footage from the aftermath at the U.S.J. Reporters stood stiffly outside the gated entrance of U.A., gesturing toward the shut campus while listing off every confirmed detail. Seventy-two arrested, they repeated, Symbol of Peace narrowly survives. League leader unaccounted for.

Inside the apartment, the blinds were drawn. The Trust Trio’s shared living space was unusually quiet - no tactical debriefs, no Commission memos, no training schedules charting the next six weeks. The day after the attack had brought stillness, and Izuku Midoriya hadn’t decided yet whether it felt like peace or unease.

He sat curled into the far corner of their sectional sofa, one knee drawn up, his fingers resting loosely around his mug of cooling tea. Across from him, Shouto Todoroki read through a digital article, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. Momo Yaoyorozu was perched on the arm of the couch, typing softly into her tablet, cross-referencing villain profiles against news reports. They weren’t talking, but they weren’t apart. Their silence was communal.

Izuku’s thoughts, however, were anything but quiet.

One for All.

The name lingered in his head like static, pulling memories into new configurations. The image of Toshinori - his father - injured but upright, telling him everything in the nurse's office, was still fresh. And now, every moment of Izuku’s childhood training played back with new significance.

He remembered the first time he shattered his hand trying to launch a punch. Commission trainers hadn’t flinched - just modified his regimen, introduced support gloves, monitored bone density. He remembered the finger flicks that came afterward, the barely-contained flickers of shockwaves channeled through digits instead of fists. He remembered Full Cowl, how power bled into every fiber of his frame and finally - finally - didn’t break him. He remembered developing Shoot Style, how he learned to carry that power through legs, leveraging balance and momentum rather than brute force. And through all of it, he remembered feeling like his control over the power was… odd. Specific. Measurable.

No other Quirk he’d ever encountered came with percentages.

He flexed his wrist slightly, watching the faint green tendrils of energy coil briefly along his skin. It was still quiet, still contained, but different now. Knowing what it was called made everything feel foreign.

All Might had told him what little he could - about the nature of inheritance, the legacy carried by choice. He’d explained that previous holders weren’t connected by blood. They had all received One for All by decision, by purpose. Yet for Izuku, it was automatic. Born into it. Chosen before he understood the weight.

He hadn’t told anyone.

His father was clear. The history behind One for All wasn’t public. Its secrets weren’t documented in Commission records, which meant Momo and Shouto wouldn’t know - not unless he told them. And that thought unsettled him more than anything else.

He couldn’t remember a single moment in the past decade where they’d kept secrets from each other. Momo had cataloged every behavioral shift he’d ever shown during Commission field simulations. Shouto had memorized every pattern of energy distribution across his limbs during output calibration. They knew him. Not just as a teammate - but as a brother, a best friend.

Now, he held something they didn’t. Something large.

Izuku shifted slightly, stealing a glance at Shouto, who tilted his head just enough to look back, no words exchanged. Momo’s fingers paused mid-scroll, her eyes flicking up toward him.

He opened his mouth - then stopped.

This wasn’t the moment. Not yet. But it was close.

And somewhere beneath the quiet rhythm of the apartment, One for All pulsed faintly in his chest, a whisper of legacy waiting to be spoken aloud.

The sun filtered weakly through the high windows of Class 1-A as murmurs filled the room. Students crowded around desks in clusters, each group swapping screenshots of news articles and clips from last night’s broadcasts. The attack on the U.S.J. had thrust U.A. into global spotlight, and each student had been dissected by media outlets with varying degrees of admiration and concern. Kyouka held her phone out to Mina, a short clip showing her dodging debris with Denki trailing close behind, while Ojiro leaned against the windowsill, listening to Sero recount his brief interview with a news network.

“I still think they used the worst angle possible,” Sero grumbled, gesturing at his chin exaggeratedly. “It looks like I’ve got three of them.”

Behind them, Iida adjusted his glasses and launched into a monologue about responsible media representation and how interviews should be scheduled through formal channels. No one interrupted him - though Yaoyorozu, ever tactful, politely suggested that perhaps their appearance on national news warranted some celebration.

Midoriya sat at his usual desk, notebook closed for once, eyes scanning the room in a quiet loop. He couldn’t decide whether the mood was tense or excited. There was a strange duality in the air - relief at having survived, and anxiety at what surviving meant.

When the door slid open with its trademark clatter, all conversation ceased. Every head turned as Aizawa stepped inside, his gait steady despite the layers of bandages winding around his forehead, neck, and arms. His capture weapon was missing, replaced by a reinforced sling on his left shoulder, but his expression remained unreadable.

A moment of stunned silence hung in the air before Bakugou scoffed under his breath.

“You look like you got wrapped by a villain with mummy powers,” he muttered, earning a snort from Kirishima.

Aizawa didn’t address the comment, nor the reactions. He stepped to the front of the room, opened his laptop, and flicked the screen toward the projector with one clean motion.

“I’m fine,” he said plainly, and the room quieted once more. “Don’t waste mental energy on my injuries. We have something more important to talk about.”

There was a pause, as if the students braced for another security briefing, perhaps a change in school structure or new Commission mandates. But instead, a familiar emblem flashed onto the screen - the official crest of the U.A. Sports Festival.

“The Festival?” Uraraka blinked. “Isn’t it way too soon for that?”

Several heads nodded in agreement, unease rippling through the rows of desks. Even Tooru’s voice, usually airy and bright, held hesitation.

“It feels... off. After everything.”

Aizawa turned toward the class fully, his visible eye narrowing as he scanned their faces. “It’s precisely because of everything that it cannot be canceled. The Sports Festival isn’t just tradition. It’s a global showcase. Every major Hero Agency tracks this event, studies it, recruits from it. Your performances here will shape your futures - your internships, your career paths, your reputations.”

Mineta squirmed slightly in his seat, one hand raised halfway. “But won't we be a target again?”

“We’re always a target,” Aizawa replied without flinching. “But we don’t shrink back when enemies knock. We train harder. We stand taller.”

His voice didn’t carry aggression, but a weight of unwavering conviction. The kind that reminded them why he’d been willing to break bones to protect his students just days before.

Midoriya absorbed the words with a quiet intensity. His thoughts reeled - not just with the pressure of competition, but with the secret stirring quietly in his core. One for All felt heavier now, more deliberate. The Festival would be his first public test since learning its name, since accepting its legacy.

He glanced briefly at Todoroki, who sat straight-backed and unmoved, his demeanor ice-sharp. Yaoyorozu met his gaze from a row over, her expression already calculating the strategic angles of her performance.

Whatever worries lingered, they would not halt the storm approaching. U.A. would march forward, battle scars and all. And the world would be watching.

Lunchtime arrived with a renewed energy in Class 1-A, a welcome shift from the solemn days that followed the U.S.J. attack. The morning had carried its own weight - news coverage, awkward stares from passing students in other departments, whispers about hero rankings and the danger of villain interference - but now, as trays clattered and cafeteria chatter swelled, the students decided, collectively and unspoken, to turn the page.

At the center of the recovery was Ochako Uraraka. She stood confidently on one of the benches near the Class 1-A lunch cluster, one foot planted like she was ready to leap.

“I’m gonna do my best in the Sports Festival!” she yelled, fists clenched in front of her face, her usual bubbly smile swapped out for pure determination.

Her declaration was met with laughter and raised hands - Kirishima offered a fist pump, Mina waved her chopsticks in support, and Denki let out an exaggerated whistle. The whole mood lifted like a weightless moment mid-fall.

After hopping down from the bench, Ochako approached the Trust Trio with a bashful smile.

“Hey,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Mind if I walk with you guys for a bit?”

Shouto and Momo paused mid-step, exchanging a brief look - neither unkind, but hesitant. Their dynamic was airtight, the Trust Trio a unit forged in Commission routines, shared quarters, and unspoken understanding. They rarely let anyone inside that circle. But Izuku gave a small nod, his expression soft.

“Sure.”

They left the classroom behind, feet echoing against tiled halls toward a quieter corridor framed by vending machines and tall windows. For a moment, they walked in silence, the rhythm steady and oddly peaceful.

Izuku broke it first.

“I’ve never really asked,” he said, glancing at Ochako beside him. “Why did you join the hero course?”

She stiffened slightly, her breath catching. Her voice didn’t rise with pride or excitement - it softened with honesty.

“Money,” she said, voice almost too quiet for a hallway that wide. “I want to be a hero for the income.”

Izuku blinked. “Oh.”

She hurried to clarify, waving her hands in small circles.

“Wait-wait, it's not what you're thinking! My family runs a construction business. It’s small, and lately things have been tough. Fewer projects, older equipment. I thought if I could become a pro, I’d be able to support them. It’s just… practical.”

Momo tilted her head thoughtfully, eyebrows slightly raised.

“That actually makes perfect sense,” she said. “With a license, your Zero Gravity could reduce hauling costs and labor strain. Your family wouldn’t need cranes or lifts. They could sell at least half their equipment.”

Ochako smiled, clearly having done the math a hundred times already.

“Exactly. I could work small jobs for them too - make sure they stay competitive.”

But then her expression shifted, the smile growing smaller, fonder.

“Except… my dad told me I didn’t have to do that. Said I should chase what makes me happy.”

Shouto, whose face remained unreadable through most conversations, gave a small nod.

“That’s more practical than what drives most heroes,” he said. “Honest, too.”

The group kept walking, the mood quieter now but anchored in something warm - shared purpose, and the realization that heroism had more faces than capes and spotlights.

Then, from the far corner of the hallway, a familiar voice boomed.

“Young Midoriya!”

They turned as All Might emerged, one hand lifted in greeting, his towering frame and heroic stance still intact despite the obvious fatigue around his eyes.

“Come with me,” he said, smiling. “There’s something we should talk about. Over lunch.”

Momo straightened her back instinctively, Shouto shifted toward Izuku, already bracing to follow. But Izuku held up a hand gently, his gaze steady.

“It’s… father-son stuff,” he said, voice quiet but firm.

The two paused, but didn’t protest. Ochako gave a nod and gestured toward the mess hall.

“Come on. Let’s eat before Satou finishes all the bread.”

They turned and walked off without him, the trio momentarily split. Izuku watched them go, the echo of their steps fading behind the sound of All Might’s boots.

It wasn’t often they weren’t all together.

But this - this needed to be private.

The lounge, a modestly furnished space tucked into the east wing of U.A., offered rare tranquility compared to the usual bustle of hero course corridors. Afternoon sunlight filtered through tall windows, catching the steam rising from delicate porcelain teacups laid out on a low table. The clinking of ceramic was the only sound for a moment as Izuku and All Might sat opposite one another, the tension between them soft but noticeable - like words waiting to be spoken.

All Might was already in his gaunt frame, the familiar towering form reduced to lean bones and sunken eyes. As he lifted his cup with a trembling hand, he managed a smile, one full of warmth but edged with fatigue.

“My hero form,” he said, setting the tea down, “I can barely maintain it for fifty minutes now.”

Izuku nodded solemnly. He had noticed his father’s growing fragility in the quieter moments - how his transformation snapped into place with less vigor than it used to, how his recovery after battle stretched longer than before.

“I figured as much,” Izuku said, eyes cast downward. Then he smiled faintly and leaned back. “Also… you don’t have to call me ‘Young Midoriya’ anymore. I told Class 1-A. They know. You can just say Izuku.”

There was a pause, and then All Might chuckled softly. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? Saying your name out loud like it’s not a secret.”

“It does,” Izuku admitted, “but it’s right. It’s the truth.”

All Might nodded again, then his tone shifted, becoming more focused.

“Izuku… tell me about your progress. With One for All. Especially after all those years of Commission supervision - since the Quirk manifested when you were four.”

Izuku’s eyes lit with a quiet pride as he placed his tea down and leaned forward slightly. His voice was steady, deliberate.

“I’ve figured out ways to use it that won’t break me. Not like before, when just throwing a punch shattered my bones. The first breakthrough was Full Cowl. I circulate One for All through my entire body rather than concentrating it in one area. It’s about 18% power right now - I let the energy flow continuously, which makes my movements faster, more coordinated. I don’t have to activate the power every time I need to move or hit. It’s just… there.”

All Might leaned in, his expression keen with approval.

“That’s smart,” he murmured. “Efficient.”

Izuku continued, tapping his fingers against his knee thoughtfully.

“But Full Cowl’s not perfect. If I go over 18% - even just a little - it hurts. It feels like my bones are about to snap under the pressure. Like my body’s screaming to stop.”

His voice dipped slightly, then rose again with renewed energy.

“Shoot Style came after that. Around twelve, I realized copying your punch-based moves wasn’t working. I was hurting myself, constantly. My arms couldn’t take it. So I started looking at alternatives - with help from my friends. And we came up with something better.”

Izuku smiled at the memory, fondness flickering in his gaze.

“Shoot Style is leg-based. I channel One for All’s effects into my lower body - torso and legs. Human legs are naturally stronger than arms, more stable. I can output more power, and I’m balanced. At 13%, I can move and strike without overloading myself.”

All Might's brows lifted, clearly impressed.

“You figured that out at twelve? That’s extraordinary.”

“And now,” Izuku added, “I’ve managed to flick my fingers using One for All at about 20%. It’s minimal, but it doesn’t break them. Not anymore.”

The room settled into silence again, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. All Might looked at his son for a long moment before setting his tea aside, his hands folding together.

“You’ve come far,” he said quietly. “But you need to go farther. Faster.”

Izuku met his gaze, understanding the weight behind those words.

“You’re not just another student anymore, Izuku. You’re the heir to my power. The next Symbol of Peace.”

The words hung in the air like a verdict.

“The Sports Festival will be your debut,” All Might said, voice firm but gentle. “The world needs to see it. The future has to begin now.”

The hallway buzzed with the soft hum of vending machines and distant conversation as Izuku made his way toward the mess hall. His pace was measured, eyes fixed on the tiled floor in front of him while his thoughts churned in quiet spirals. The conversation with All Might clung to him like a second layer of skin - fifty minutes left of hero form, the weight of inheritance, the urgency behind a public debut. It wasn’t the pressure that unnerved him so much as the unfamiliar intimacy of their exchange. All Might had rarely reached for him in any real way growing up. There had been glimpses - a passing smile during Commission tests, the echo of a paternal title - but nothing that settled in as real.

Now, he seemed to be trying. And that effort, even tentative, mattered to Izuku.

If his father was reaching out, then maybe it was time for him to reach higher. Aim for the top. Never settle. And lean on those who’d always stood beside him.

When he arrived, the usual buzz of lunch filled the room, trays clattering, students maneuvering for seats with practiced chaos. The Trust Trio sat in their usual place near the window, though today, the seating arrangement had shifted slightly. Momo and Shouto occupied their side of the table, plates balanced neatly, their posture relaxed in the way only familiarity allowed. Uraraka sat beside them, animated and bright, speaking quickly with both hands gesturing between bites of rice balls.

Izuku blinked, surprised to see her included - but pleasantly so.

He took his seat beside her without comment, placing his tray down and offering a faint smile. Across from him, Momo looked up and gestured lightly with her chopsticks.

“What did All Might need you for?”

Izuku hesitated, fingertips grazing the edge of his tea cup. The truth pressed at the back of his throat, complex and heavy, but instead he pulled forward a simpler sentence. One that wouldn’t crack the dynamic they’d built.

“He just wanted to catch up. Said he hasn’t seen me since I was four.”

Momo nodded, accepting the answer with ease. Shouto gave a small grunt of acknowledgment and returned to his meal. Neither pressed further - Izuku had never lied to them before, and there was no reason to suspect he would now.

Conversation shifted again, with Ochako recounting a bizarre moment earlier in the day involving Denki, static discharge, and a half-exploded vending machine. She spoke fast, her laugh contagious, and for once, the Trust Trio didn’t drift inward. They let her stay. Let her talk. And Izuku found that surprisingly comforting.

Later, as the final bell rang and the students gathered their materials, Class 1-A moved toward the exit in their usual semi-organized chaos. But as they reached the door, something was clearly off.

The hall beyond was packed.

Students from other courses filled the corridor like a blockade - arms crossed, gazes sharp, posture confrontational. It wasn’t random. It was strategic.

Katsuki clicked his tongue and stepped forward, glaring.

“They’re here to scout the competition,” he said flatly. “Extras, every one of them.”

He didn’t slow. Instead, he shoved forward, forcing open a gap between two onlookers with his usual mix of defiance and arrogance.

A boy stepped into his path.

Sharp features, indigo purple hair, and an expression that hovered between boredom and menace. His uniform marked him as part of the General Studies course, though his posture spoke of ambition far louder than any title.

“This year,” the boy said calmly, “we’re allowed to transfer into Hero Course if we do well.”

He met Katsuki’s glare head-on. “So I’m declaring war on your class. If I perform better, I’m taking your place.”

The hall shifted with murmurs. Tension spiked. Katsuki smirked.

“Good luck with that.”

Before the moment could splinter further, another figure pushed through the crowd - broad-shouldered, metal-toned, radiating irritation.

“You’re the ones who fought villains?” he barked. “I came to see warriors. Not a bunch of bratty celebrities.”

His voice echoed. The students of Class 1-A flinched.

Kirishima scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to respond. Mina whispered something about reputation, and Iida muttered rapidly about decorum.

“What did you do?” Jirou asked Katsuki, half-accusatory.

“I don’t care if they hate us,” Katsuki replied, not turning. “All that matters is that I beat every one of them.”

Izuku watched him, brow furrowed slightly.

The ambition in Katsuki’s stance wasn’t performative. It was honest. Brutal, but real.

And as Izuku turned to glance at Ochako beside him - whose conviction had come not from ego but necessity - he felt something settle within his chest.

The Festival wouldn’t just be a showcase. It would be a battlefield of identities, motives, dreams.

And he had every intention of standing tall in it.

Chapter Text

The morning sun was sharp against the pavement as the Trust Trio stepped out of their shared apartment, the chill of early spring tucked neatly behind rays of light. Their path to U.A. wasn’t long, but it held a quiet gravity today - one rooted in the knowledge that everything that came after this walk would be public, competitive, and possibly violent. None of them spoke for the first few blocks; not in silence born of tension, but rather in reflection - mutual understanding that didn’t need words.

It was Shouto who eventually broke the quiet, his tone even and without hesitation.

“We’ll probably have to fight each other.”

Izuku nodded, flexing his fingers slightly. “And if we do... we don’t hold back.”

Momo turned toward them with a steady gaze, her ponytail swaying as she shifted pace to keep stride.

“Of course not. That would be insulting. We fight like we mean it.”

They didn’t say anything more on the matter. That was all it took. One pact between friends forged over years of combat simulations, shared sleep schedules, and nightly strategy breakdowns. Even their rivalry, as inevitable as it was now, would be sincere - never cruel.

When they arrived at the stadium, the magnitude of the event became impossible to ignore. Towering walls lined with banners, flashing lights, the hum of media drones circling above. Inside Class 1-A’s waiting room, the atmosphere had tightened. Students changed swiftly into P.E. uniforms, all designed for fairness: no costumes, no specialized gear. Everyone would meet the starting line bare-boned and evenly equipped.

Mineta complained faintly about his lack of elbow padding. Sero kept stretching his arms like they were engine cables. And Bakugou, unusually quiet, paced the far wall with precise steps, wrapped so tightly in his own thoughts that even Kirishima didn’t dare distract him.

Tenya entered with perfect posture and a sense of ceremonial timing.

“They’re calling us. We’re next to enter the arena.”

One by one, the class formed a line, exiting into the open where the roar of the crowd hit them like a wave. The Freshman Stage was packed - three sections of students from various U.A. courses gathered across the field. Murmurs spread as Class 1-A emerged, already carrying the reputation of “the ones who fought villains.”

Media crews turned lenses toward them, focusing not just on their expressions, but on every subtle movement - the weight of their steps, the tension in their shoulders. Izuku felt it instantly. Every eye was searching for proof that they deserved the prestige.

Midnight stood center-stage in her hero costume, whip at her belt, smile like a spark set to light. She wasted no time.

“For the opening pledge,” she called out, “we ask the student who scored highest in the Entrance Exam to represent the freshmen. Katsuki Bakugou!”

Katsuki strode forward, hands jammed into his pockets, shoulders squared like he was carved from defiance. The mic hissed briefly as he grabbed it.

“I’m not here to play nice,” he said, voice cold and clear. “I’ll win this. Doesn’t matter who gets in my way. Every participant here is just another stepping-stone to my victory.”

The boos came fast, rising from the general studies section like a tide. A few students from Support muttered insults. Class 1-B responded with pointed glares. But Katsuki didn’t flinch.

Izuku watched him carefully. He saw the subtle signs - tight jaw, fists clenched hard enough to tremble. Katsuki wasn’t just posturing. He was panicking beneath the ambition, weaponizing his declaration to protect himself from doubt. And in doing so, he’d made Class 1-A a target.

Midnight clapped once, silencing the crowd with theatrical enthusiasm.

“Well! That was bold. Now, let’s kick off the Festival with something physical. For the preliminaries - an obstacle race. Four kilometers of mayhem winding around the outer stadium!”

Gasps filtered through the student sections. Four kilometers meant chaos. Speed. Endurance. Wit.

“Don’t trip!” she called out. “Because the terrain certainly won’t spare you!”

The screens lit up with map diagrams of simulated hazards: collapsed buildings, narrow passages, icy stretches, minefields. The crowd roared louder.

And Class 1-A stood on the edge of what would become the first chapter in their real debut. Not just as students - but as contenders.

As soon as Midnight’s voice vanished into the roar of the crowd, the signal echoed across the stadium and the Obstacle Race officially began. A blare of horns kicked the mob of first-year students into action, each of them sprinting toward the only exit available - a narrow corridor that was clearly designed to force chaos. Bodies packed tightly together, elbows crashing, knees jolting as the surge of students tried to fit through the slim gateway all at once. Shouts and frustrated grunts mingled with competitive cries, and what had started as a race instantly devolved into a struggle for dominance within a bottleneck.

Shouto, always analytical beneath his calm demeanor, registered the congestion for what it was: a chance to seize the lead. Without a word, he reached out with his right foot, planting it firmly on the ground, and exhaled cool breath as his ice surged forth. In an instant, the packed pathway became a solid tunnel of frozen friction - slick and unforgiving. Students nearest the blast slipped and crashed against each other, flailing to regain balance. Shouto himself, unfazed, slid across his own frozen terrain with practiced grace, gliding ahead of the crowd before they could even react.

Despite the sudden frost, several students proved nimble enough to avoid becoming stuck. Bakugou darted sideways with practiced aggression, his palms already sparking. Momo had anticipated elemental interference and had shifted her weight just enough to bypass the ice’s reach. Izuku had registered Shouto’s movements almost simultaneously and used reactive momentum to leap across the frozen zone. Aoyama’s Quirk allowed him to fly above the edge of the ice, and Eijirou charged forward with hardened legs, crunching frozen patches beneath him. As the group formed a cluster behind Shouto, he glanced back briefly, eyebrow raised at how many had kept pace. His ice wasn’t enough to thin the competition this time.

From behind the pack, Mineta shouted and lunged, latching onto his sticky spheres to launch himself forward toward Shouto. But before he could even begin his attack, a massive shadow loomed above. A villain bot - tall and unforgiving - swung its arm through the air and caught Mineta mid-jump, launching him aside like a ragdoll and sending him spiraling into a safety wall. Gasps rang from the crowd; the second obstacle had arrived.

A surge of mechanical noise and stomping feet announced the arrival of dozens of villain bots, marching into the fray. Among them were towering Zero-Point robots, familiar to many participants from their Entrance Exam but no less terrifying. Panic rippled through the gathered students as the metallic enemies blocked nearly every visible route forward. But Shouto didn’t flinch. His eyes narrowed at the nearest robot - one far larger than the rest - and he raised his hand.

“These should be harder,” he muttered.

A sheet of ice erupted from his palm, engulfing the giant bot. Frost cracked across the robot’s joints and crevices, slowing its functions before fully solidifying its entire frame. Shouto didn’t stop there. He calculated the robot’s shift in weight, the momentary balance it lost to the uneven ice, and raced forward just as the massive hunk of frozen metal collapsed sideways. He slipped underneath it, his steps light, avoiding the crushing debris with seconds to spare. The robot crashed down, blocking off the passage for the majority of the crowd.

Beneath the wreckage, Eijirou and a silver-haired student - Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu from Class 1-B - had been caught. Both hardened their bodies with defensive Quirks, metal skin clashing against metal rubble. With simultaneous bursts of strength, the two burst free of the shattered pieces, each brushing off dust and ice. Eijirou blinked in surprise, eyes flicking to the other boy.

“Your Quirk... it’s like mine,” he said slowly.

“Almost exactly like yours,” Tetsutetsu replied, smirking. “Let’s see which steel head runs faster.”

Up in the sky, Katsuki was in motion, launching himself with explosive bursts from his palms. He zipped over the remaining villain bots, soaring above danger with a snarl of concentration. Not far behind, Sero used his tape to swing between fallen robots like a high-speed urban acrobat, while Tokoyami fought forward with Dark Shadow, the creature absorbing minor impacts and brushing away debris.

The Pro-Hero Snipe watched through his targeting visor from the VIP observation deck.

“Class 1-A’s leading most of this,” he noted aloud.

“They’ve stopped hesitating,” Eraserhead replied, arms crossed and voice devoid of surprise. “The U.S.J. attack forced them to grow. They act faster now.”

Back on the field, the rest of Class 1-A was holding their own. Despite fear and chaos, students took formation or fought their way forward. Izuku leaped through debris, narrowly evading a villain bot’s swipe and continuing onward with strategic movements that revealed his trained instincts. Momo, ever composed, created a long-barreled cannon from her torso with remarkable speed and precision. She aimed once and fired multiple rounds into the remaining Zero-Point bots, dismantling their limbs and rendering them immobile.

The battlefield cleared in waves as stronger students powered through. Between Quirks and grit, Class 1-A proved themselves formidable in both tactics and improvisation. The crowd was already starting to shift in mood - boos forgotten, replaced by gasps of admiration and growing support. The race wasn’t over yet, but the message was becoming clear: Class 1-A wouldn’t go down easily.

After the chaos of the villain bot gauntlet, the terrain shifted again. Where before the obstacle had been brute force and mobility, now came something requiring balance, finesse, and daring. “The Fall,” as labeled by the announcers, stretched like a scar across the earth - an enormous canyon carved between the stadium’s foundations and filled with vertical drops, swirling winds, and tightropes suspended high above empty space. With no platforms, no bridges, and no footholds beyond the lines of taut rope hanging from metal posts, the route forced students to either walk the wire or fall behind.

The moment the leading students arrived, hesitation spread like ripples across the group. But while others paused, one voice - confident, almost theatrical - rang out, cutting through the wind and murmurs.

“This is where I shine!”

Mei Hatsume, a member of the support course, had timed her entrance precisely. Her boots clanked against the ground with mechanical additions protruding from each heel. Her gloves buzzed with kinetic charge, and multiple hovering drones circled around her shoulders. As heads turned, she pulled from her backpack a compact projector that sprang open to display a series of promotional visuals detailing her gear.

“I call these my Zoom-Flex Stabilizers!” she announced, pointing down at her ankles. “Combined with my Gyro-Equilibrium goggles and Pulse-Dampening gloves, I can safely navigate high-risk terrain with full agility - and that’s not all!”

With a flourish of her wrist, she activated her devices. The drones locked onto her upper back, forming a stabilizing jet-like array, and she ran forward with shocking ease. Her boots kept steady contact with the wire, self-adjusting to every minute sway. With gleeful laughter and a wink at the cameras, Mei zipped across the ropes, leaving behind multiple Hero Course students - including Ashido and Uraraka, who both struggled to keep their footing under the increasing gusts.

Shouto arrived next, analyzing the situation with precise logic. Unlike Mei, he relied on natural ability. Pressing one foot forward, he froze the tightrope ahead of him slightly to increase traction, and with composed breath, he advanced step by measured step. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation as he crossed quickly, unaffected by the instability beneath him. By the time Izuku arrived, Shouto was already halfway across.

Izuku didn’t wait either. His legs tensed, arms extended to balance his weight. He moved with sharp concentration, using full-body coordination to absorb the rope’s shifting tension. With each step, he adapted, pivoting the way he had studied movement for years. The crowd, familiar with his nervousness from previous events, murmured in admiration at how collected he seemed now - no explosions, no panic, just power in motion.

Behind him, Bakugou closed in fast using his Quirk to propel himself forward in bursts. Sparks flared with every push, and his body snapped forward like a missile skipping stones. The tension between him and Izuku intensified as he began to close the gap with alarming speed.

Momo followed not far behind, having quickly generated a pair of weighted gloves designed to counterbalance tightrope sway. Unlike most others, she paused briefly to analyze the rope’s exact tension frequency before stepping out. Her methodical nature showed. Every foot placement was deliberate, every breath measured. Though not flashy, her movement across the rope was graceful and technically sound.

Spectators leaned forward from the stands, captivated by the wave of skilled students cutting through The Fall. A young fan in the crowd pointed toward the screen showing Shouto and Izuku, her voice full of awe.

“Look at Todoroki! He’s just gliding! And Midoriya’s right behind him!”

“They’re insane,” someone else replied. “I mean, they’re the Recommendation kids, right? Todoroki is Endeavor’s son. Midoriya’s supposed to be All Might’s successor. It’s like they were born for this.”

Another spectator, older and more analytical, added, “Don’t forget Yaoyorozu. That girl’s crushing the technicals. She wasn’t just admitted on Recommendation - she was endorsed by the Safety Commission itself, not unlike the other two. These three... they’re something else.”

And with that commentary echoing across the stands, The Fall turned from obstacle to revelation. This wasn't just a test of skill - it was a showcase for those groomed to lead the next generation of heroes. And though the race pressed on, the hierarchy of potential had already begun to solidify itself in the minds of viewers.

The last stretch of the obstacle race - an expanse deceptively serene in its barren appearance - unfolded with malicious precision as the Mine Field came into view. From above, the terrain looked uniform, but any experienced tactician could identify the subtle inconsistencies: uneven ridges, newly shifted soil, trace marks from pressure-sensitive sensors embedded just beneath the surface. It was a brutal final challenge that turned speed into a liability.

The frontrunners - Shouto, Izuku, and Katsuki - staggered briefly upon arrival, each scanning the landscape for cues. Only Momo remained composed. She hadn’t simply kept pace with the trio - she had studied each obstacle as if it were an exam in motion. With a few well-placed glances, she spotted patterns across the dirt. Her eyes narrowed slightly, breath steady, and she advanced with decisive elegance. She didn’t run. She stepped - precise, each movement calculated with the ease of someone mapping a minefield in real time.

Behind her, Shouto found himself forced into caution. His ice wasn’t useful here - not without risking a chain reaction if pressure plates shifted in response to sudden temperature drops. He exhaled slowly and began to tread carefully, testing each patch with the edges of his boots before moving forward. His pace slowed. And it was all Katsuki needed.

Having fired himself into the air just beyond the ropes, Bakugou hovered mid-flight, palms flaring. The instant he spotted Shouto below, he twisted his body and launched downward, aiming not to pass but to strike. His explosion hit the ground nearby, churning up loose soil in an aggressive burst, and he spun midair to release a second blast toward Todoroki.

Shouto barely sidestepped in time.

“What the hell, Bakugou?” he growled, voice low as he rebalanced on a narrow path between mines.

Katsuki snarled but didn’t answer, preparing another volley when Izuku burst through the nearby ravine, hair flaring with green lightning, boots cracking faint arcs against the dirt as he activated just enough Full Cowl to land with force. His knee came up in a fluid motion - a high arc - and connected squarely with Katsuki’s side, launching him backward in a flash of displaced air and scorched momentum.

“Knock it off!” Izuku hissed, not with rage but instinct - the same reflex he’d honed for years in defense of the few people he trusted most.

Katsuki tumbled midair and righted himself with practiced grace, skidding across a barren stretch until his boots dragged a line just short of another mine. He cursed under his breath, but didn’t attack again. The interference had slowed them all.

Izuku turned back, eyes scanning the ground. Shouto nodded toward Momo’s path - still visible through slight indentations and minimal disruption. They followed it together, each mimicking her stride with surgical precision. Even without her technical insight, years of Commission simulations made them sharp enough to adapt fast.

They crossed the final barrier with barely a breath to spare.

Momo surged ahead, reaching the finish line with a final burst of speed - her hair trailing behind her as the crowd roared to life. Izuku’s shoes landed just behind her, legs sparking faintly as he decelerated, his heart still pounding. Shouto crossed moments later, the chill at his heels barely thawing from restraint. Katsuki, furious but undeterred, launched from the far side in a last burst and landed fourth - his hands still smoking, lips pressed into a grim line.

The scoreboard flared in sequence - Yaoyorozu: First Place. Midoriya: Second. Todoroki: Third. Bakugou: Fourth.

Then came the rest.

One by one, the qualifiers began to fill the ranks. Cheers from the crowd swelled. The top forty students would advance. Their names, scores, and rankings lit the massive screen in triumphant detail.

And standing near the podium, breath still catching in their chests, the Trust Trio exchanged glances - not with rivalry, but with quiet pride.

The Festival had begun.

And this… was only Round One.

Chapter Text

The shift from the race’s frenetic pace to the tactical depth of the Cavalry Battle reshaped the entire tone of the U.A. Sports Festival. Once the scoreboard settled and Momo's name flashed at the top of the standings - ten million points emblazoned beside it in bold lettering - the crowd gasped, students murmured, and the pressure became tangible.

Midnight’s voice rang out again, charisma sharp as ever as she laid down the rules with flair.

“Form teams of two to four! Each of you retains your obstacle race score as your individual point value. Combine those points, wear your band somewhere visible, and try not to be thrown off your teammate's back! But remember - while you can still compete if you lose your band or topple, only the four teams with the highest scores after fifteen minutes will advance!”

She paused dramatically, whip snapped to her hip, and delivered the final rule with impish glee. “And try not to intentionally make your teammates fall - unless you want a penalty!”

Katsuki Bakugou let out an audible groan, rolling his eyes hard enough to earn a light smattering of chuckles from nearby students. The thought of restraining himself in the middle of a game built on headband theft clearly grated at him.

Meanwhile, students scattered like chess pieces across the preparation zone, their minds spinning fast as they scouted partners. The race rankings had stratified the competition. Everyone wanted someone from the top - but no one wanted to stand beside ten million points.

Momo stood with practiced poise, her P.E. uniform crisp, head held high despite the thunderous attention directed toward her. She didn’t blink, didn’t fidget - yet even she couldn’t deny the isolation forming around her. Students passed glances her way, calculating strategies, but no one approached. She had become the summit. And taking her down would give any team an insurmountable lead.

Beside her, Shouto crossed his arms, gaze flicking across the arena. “You’re the target,” he said plainly.

“Obviously,” Momo replied. “It’s the risk of being at the top.”

Izuku scanned the other students, his thoughts racing. Most were grouping by homeroom allegiance - students who had trained together, paired in combat drills or lunch tables. But their trio had no need to deliberate. They’d fought together since childhood, learned quirks and tactics alongside sleepless nights in Commission dormitories. Their bond was automatic.

“We’ll need one more,” Izuku noted. “With support potential. If we get rushed, we need agility and versatility.”

Before Shouto could respond, a familiar voice cut through the crowd with calm brightness.

“I’ll join,” said Ochako, stepping forward with a gentle smile. “It’s a good time to team up with friends, right?”

Momo blinked once in surprise, then smiled softly. “Glad to have you.”

Shouto gave a nod, already pivoting toward planning. “Everyone will target us. But our Quirks synergize well. Momo and Izuku should handle coordination and defense - full frontal and aerial threats. Uraraka provides floatation, and I can lock down movement if needed.”

Izuku was already scribbling diagrams in his notebook, eyes wide, mouth muttering calculations. “I can layer Full Cowl into evasive bursts. Shouto should be rider - we’ll build range zones around him. Momo generates mobility gear mid-run. Ochako controls weight - lets us maneuver the formation without compromising structure.”

The four of them paused, soaking in the moment.

They weren’t just teammates. They were specialists, tacticians, peers who had trained for events ten times harder than this. And if everyone was coming for them - they would make sure it wasn’t easy.

From the stands, All Might leaned forward, his expression unreadable but contemplative. Watching his son orchestrate plans with the same energy he’d once carried into battle, seeing Yaoyorozu’s natural finesse and Todoroki’s calm resolve, even witnessing the supportive force that Uraraka offered so readily - he saw not just potential.

He saw the next generation, already rising.

The Cavalry Battle would begin soon.

And the target, ten million points strong, had no intention of falling.

The festival grounds quaked with mounting anticipation as the final seconds ticked away on the fifteen-minute team formation period. A sea of students had coalesced into twelve battle-ready squads, each uniquely built on strategy, synergy, and sheer determination. Above them, Midnight’s voice cut through the static of adrenaline with vibrant authority, officially signaling the start of the second event. The Cavalry Battle was now in full swing.

Katsuki Bakugou stood atop his carefully selected team, posture taut with calculated fury. Beneath him, Kirishima served as the sturdy base, his Hardening Quirk already activated to provide unshakable support. Flanking them were Mina Ashido and Hanta Sero, each primed to deploy their respective acid and tape Quirks to disrupt, entangle, and corner enemy units. Bakugou had no interest in playing defensively or hanging back. His sights were locked on a single glowing target - ten million points - and the simmering fire behind his narrowed eyes burned with more than ambition. It was personal.

Katsuki’s gaze pierced across the battlefield and landed on Team Todoroki. He sneered. “Tch... Smart move, bastards.”

He knew instantly what they had done. Momo, the walking jackpot, was not the rider. She wasn’t displaying the headband. That responsibility had been shifted to Shouto, who now sat atop the formation with a blank expression and a sharp, icy presence. By relegating Momo to a support role, they had diluted her visibility and stripped away the obviousness of her position, adding layers to their defense and making it harder for enemies to pinpoint where to strike. Katsuki ground his teeth, irked by how tactically sound it was. And yet, he knew how erratic students could become in the throes of competition. Many wouldn't think clearly enough to identify the rider correctly - they’d simply storm toward Momo on impulse, believing their victory lay in her defeat.

And that would play right into Shouto’s hands.

Across the field, teams surged. Most made a beeline for Team Todoroki with reckless determination, fueled by the intoxicating promise of ten million points. The area around them erupted in movement, voices shouting commands, Quirks activating in bursts of power, and air thick with tension. Juuzou Honenuki of Team Tetsutetsu took the first major swing. From a distance, he slammed a palm into the ground, triggering his Softening Quirk. The terrain beneath Team Todoroki melted into a muck-like texture, dragging their formation downward. Shouto’s legs sank, Kirishima’s voice echoed from the opposite direction, warning his own team to steer clear.

Yet just as the trap began to set, Uraraka’s eyes flashed with clarity. Her hand reached out midair and brushed the base of their rider’s harness. Gravity gave way. The team lifted off, escaping the softened soil with seconds to spare. Their formation bobbed unnaturally midair, weightless, suspended like puppets on invisible strings. It was risky - vulnerable to air-based attacks - but necessary.

From below, Jirou launched her Earphone Jack wires upward, aiming directly for Izuku and Momo. The cords sliced through the air, vibrating with sonic energy, capable of knocking them out of the sky. It was a high-risk, high-reward move - perfectly timed to strike before Uraraka touched them back down.

But Momo was ready.

Her palm glowed, and with one smooth flick of her wrist, she sent a small throwing knife spinning toward the incoming wires. The blade skimmed with one of Kyouka’s jacks mid-flight as she quickly retracted them. The wires snapped back, disarmed, and Team Todoroki descended safely to the ground.

There was no time for relief. Shouto immediately activated his right side, laying down a perimeter of ice that expanded outward like a glacier cracking from the earth. Opposing teams were forced to pivot, adjust, scramble to avoid being frozen mid-charge. One team slid entirely out of bounds, eliminated from advancement. Momo drew up another gadget for deployment, Izuku relayed updates with rapid-fire observations, and Uraraka maintained floatation control to counter any future destabilization.

Elsewhere, Katsuki watched the exchange, eyes flashing.

“This is gonna be fun,” he muttered darkly.

The battle had only just begun.

The chaos unfolding across the Sports Festival grounds was rapidly escalating, each team becoming a force of calculated mayhem or impulsive desperation. Among them, Team Jirou was in hot pursuit of the ten-million-point headband, determined to make a comeback. But before their plan could materialize, Kyouka's sharp eyes noticed something off - their own headband was missing. Her stomach dropped as she scanned the area. Across the field, Neito Monoma held it smugly, standing atop his team like a triumphant prankster.

“Well,” Neito called out with a wry smile, twirling the band around his fingers, “that was almost too easy. You really ought to keep better track of your valuables.”

Kyouka clenched her fists, Satou grunted in frustration, and Kouda looked like he’d swallowed a stone. Tooru, invisible as always, hissed under her breath.

Meanwhile, another skirmish began brewing. Team Mineta burst toward Team Todoroki with unexpected precision. At first glance, Shouto assessed their formation and saw Mezou seemingly operating alone. His mistake cost him a fraction of a second. Hidden beneath Shouji's tentacles were Tsuyu and Minoru, their smaller frames expertly obscured and shielded from view.

They struck in tandem. Tsuyu’s elongated tongue lashed out with near whip-like velocity, aiming to knock Shouto’s balance. Minoru tossed a handful of his sticky spheres directly at their formation. One of them latched to Ochako’s boot, then spread upon contact, rooting their lower stance to the ground. Izuku shouted a warning mid-maneuver, but they were trapped.

The moment froze until another team careened into the fray: Team Tetsutetsu, led by the steel-skinned powerhouse himself. The threat level spiked. Without hesitation, Momo reached into her creation arsenal. She whipped out a thin metallic cylinder and twisted the cap. The resulting flash bang erupted with a piercing shriek and dazzling light, momentarily disorienting the attackers and dissolving Mineta’s sphere binding with an intense vibration of heat and pressure. The maneuver worked - but cost her. She flinched as the edge of the flash caught her exposed forearm, leaving a minor burn.

They ascended again, carried by Ochako’s float Quirk, narrowly escaping as the air grew increasingly unstable with Quirk activity. From behind, Katsuki Bakugou roared forward like a missile. His explosions propelled him through the sky, a blur of orange and fury. He raised his palms and unleashed a volley, aiming straight for their midair formation.

The incoming blast seared dangerously close, but Shouto was ready. His left side ignited - flames burst out in a wall of heat, separating them from Bakugou with a volatile barrier. Katsuki snarled midair, forced to abort the charge. He began falling from his boosted position, only for Sero to catch him with a spiraling length of tape and yank him back up, keeping their team legally airborne. Midnight called out from her platform, voice layered with amusement and authority.

“Bakugou remains airborne via teammate support! The maneuver is legal - carry on!”

The crowd exploded with applause. Spectators roared with admiration for Class 1-A’s bold and chaotic stunts. Yet Present Mic’s commentary cut through the excitement with unexpected revelation.

“Would ya believe it, folks? With all the talent pouring from Class 1-A, only Team Todoroki currently holds a spot in the top four! That’s right, these top placements include a stunning surprise from Team Monoma, who just swiped a headband from Bakugou!”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. He whipped around to spot Neito Monoma grinning ear to ear, waving the stolen headband like a banner of victory. His team regrouped quickly, positioning defensively around their rider.

Neito leaned forward, voice carrying across the field despite the ongoing noise.

“Tell me, Bakugou - how does it feel? You pushed everything into that preliminary race, used your Quirk like a wrecking ball, and still, we outmaneuvered you. We threw the Obstacle Race deliberately. While you all raced like fools, we studied. Observed. Prepared.”

Katsuki’s expression twisted in fury, his hands crackling with stored energy.

“You think this is over?” he growled to his team, eyes narrowed to slits. “Change of plan. Screw the ten million points. We're about to show Class 1-B what real combat looks like.”

Kirishima grinned despite the tension. “Don't make up regret this, bro.”

Back on Team Todoroki’s end, Momo surveyed the shifting tides of strategy and aggression with quiet astuteness. She’d noticed the lack of engagement from Class 1-B toward their team. That, in itself, was telling. Their tactics - primed and restrained - hinted that they had no immediate designs to clash with the ten-million-point holders. They were accumulating, lurking, avoiding big moves until the perfect opportunity.

“We're not the current priority,” she said softly. “Class 1-B isn’t coming for us. They’ve chosen another route entirely.”

Izuku nodded in agreement. “They’re playing the long game.”

Momo exhaled, controlling the pace of her heartbeat, and turned to the others.

“For now, let’s rest. Stay alert, but conserve. We have a moment of calm. Let's use it.”

And so, amid the storm of explosions and strategies, Team Todoroki remained poised at the eye - watching, waiting, preparing for whatever strike would come next.

The sun began to hang heavier over the stadium as the Cavalry Battle barreled toward its climax, heat rippling across metal and stone. The arena, now a battlefield of broken terrain and frozen pillars, bore witness to alliances tested, egos shattered, and Quirks deployed with relentless intensity.

Team Mineta, despite their clever initial tactic - hiding beneath Mezou’s layered tentacles - had lost their headband somewhere in the scramble. Their formation, once subtle and elusive, had become reckless in desperation. Shouji abandoned their defensive tactics, charging head-on toward Team Todoroki. But this was no longer the vulnerable setup from the early minutes. Shouto, now seasoned in the chaos, responded without hesitation. Ice erupted from beneath his boots, spreading in jagged waves that blocked Shoji’s path instantly, encasing his legs and preventing any offensive momentum.

Then, with a smooth extension of his arm, Shouto released a deeper wave of ice that crawled across the battlefield like a cold tide. It caught three other teams mid-sprint, freezing them up to their shoulders in place. Struggling cries echoed across the stadium as team members flailed against the ice’s grip. The crowd roared with astonishment. Todoroki wasn’t simply defending anymore - he was dominating.

Meanwhile, across the cracked and scorched terrain, Neito Monoma toyed with one of U.A.’s most unpredictable forces.

Katsuki Bakugou.

The Class 1-A hothead lunged with a blast, aiming to shear through Team Monoma’s outer formation. Neito evaded the strike fluidly, launching a counterattack with a mirrored explosion that pushed Katsuki off trajectory. The detonation sent a ripple through the air, startling nearby teams and earning a wave of gasps from the crowd.

Katsuki stared, slack-jawed for only a second, before his scowl returned tenfold. Monoma didn’t stop. He activated Kirishima’s Hardening, his skin gleaming like bronze. Bakugou's second attack collided with the defense, cracking against it like fists on a reinforced wall.

Realization lit up in Katsuki’s eyes.

“He copies Quirks…”

Before he could adapt, Team Bakugou was caught - immobilized by Bondo's sticky fluid. Cemedine spread like glue underfoot, anchoring them midstep. Monoma seized the moment and retreated, waving his stolen headbands like trophies. His laughter carried on the breeze.

“Still planning to win, Bakugou?” he called mockingly. “Because this certainly doesn’t look like winning.”

Bakugou’s hands trembled - not from fear, but from rage so incandescent it nearly burned the air. Kirishima spoke urgently from below, encouraging focus, but Bakugou wasn’t done. He didn’t settle. Ever.

And then he soared.

An explosive burst sent him rocketing forward, bypassing terrain, catching Team Monoma mid-drift. Kosei’s Solid Air sprang up in defense - a shimmering wall - but Katsuki punched through it, arm twisting and body spiraling in perfect combat sync. He ripped two headbands free before Monoma’s team scattered again.

More teams tried to attack Monoma while he was vulnerable, but Monoma responded swiftly, now wielding Solid Air with efficiency. He repelled one team with a compressed burst, blocked another with a curved shield. With only one headband left, Kosei turned, breathless, and muttered the confirmation.

“We’re still in fourth.”

Monoma nodded quickly. “Then we settle.”

But Katsuki had already calculated the distance.

He used Mina’s acid trails for cover, Sero’s tape for aerial redirect, and Kirishima’s balance to steady himself. Kosei tried again to summon a wall - but the charge came too fast, the combustion too powerful. Katsuki cut through the final barrier, seized the last headband in a gust of smoke and flame, and stood triumphant atop his bruised, grinning team.

From the stands, All Might leaned into the railing, gaze steady.

“He understands something no one taught him,” he said quietly. “That those who reach for the top must never accept being beneath it. The difference between striving and settling - it matters.”

Aizawa, arms folded, gave a subtle nod. “Class 1-B had strategy, but not the will to match Bakugou’s tenacity. That miscalculation cost them everything.”

And still - Katsuki wasn’t satisfied.

With his team now ahead of Monoma’s and well within qualifying ranks, he pivoted toward Todoroki’s formation, eyes locked onto the ten-million-point band. Kirishima groaned in half-exasperation.

“You got enough points!”

Bakugou growled back. “It’s not about points. It’s about winning right.”

They surged forward once more, smoke billowing behind them, heat radiating in visible waves.

But just as the two teams prepared to clash - Midnight’s voice boomed across the arena.

“Time’s up!”

The buzzer blared.

Frozen mid-charge, Bakugou cursed, fists clenched and smoke rising from his palms.

The final rankings lit up across the display.

Team Todoroki — First Place

Team Bakugou — Second Place

Team Shinsou — Third Place

Team Tetsutetsu — Fourth Place

Katsuki screamed into the wind, voice echoing with frustration, not failure. And in the quiet that followed, murmurs filled the stadium. Somehow, amidst all the spectacle and showdowns, Team Shinsou had maneuvered their way up - displacing Monoma, cutting into the top tier with a silent but impactful presence.

The Cavalry Battle was over. But the real conflict?

That was just getting started.

Chapter Text

The stairwell between the upper tier viewing decks offered a quiet break in the roar of the crowd. Concrete stretched beneath crisp afternoon light, the walls cast in long shadows by the edge of the stadium roof. It was here, between levels of noise and celebration, that two titans of the hero world stood - divided by legacy, ambition, and resentment.

Endeavor moved with purpose, shoulders squared, gaze locked forward as if daring the corridor to confront him. All Might  - still in his buff form, blue eyes sharp and posture bright - followed behind. The Symbol of Peace didn’t speak until Endeavor reached the second landing and slowed just enough for a moment to slip between them.

“Your son performed remarkably,” All Might said, voice steady but warm. “Impressive control. Brilliant tactics. If you have time, I’d appreciate your advice… training the next generation of heroes is no easy task.”

Endeavor didn’t pause. He kept walking.

“Don’t flatter me,” he replied, tone clipped. “He’ll surpass you regardless.”

All Might blinked, then followed again.

“There’s no rivalry between him and Izuku. I’ve seen them - friends, equals. It’s admirable.”

At this, Endeavor stopped.

“That boy - your son - was paired with mine by the Commission. If I’d known what they intended, I’d never have allowed it. I didn’t groom Shouto to spar with second-rate companions. He’s my masterpiece. Meant to rise beyond you. Not to share his strength.”

The air stiffened between them. A whistle from the stadium echoed faintly overhead. All Might said nothing more, and Endeavor continued his ascent - back straight, pride unrelenting.

The lunch hour waned, and with it came new energy. Present Mic’s voice exploded across the arena, announcing a series of recreational side games open to all qualifiers. The crowd buzzed with excitement, eager to see the students in less structured challenges, lighter contests between heroes-in-training.

Eraserhead observed from his usual shadowed perch, scanning the field with practiced detachment. His gaze halted briefly when a parade of cheerleaders stepped into the spotlight - half of them hired by U.A., half suspiciously familiar.

Several girls from Class 1-A appeared in glittering skirts and pompoms, among them Mina, Tooru, Tsuyu, Ochako, and Kyouka - all visibly uncomfortable. Denki and Mineta stood nearby, faces innocent, eyes darting.

Momo remained in her regular uniform, arms crossed, deadpan expression fully engaged.

“I tried to tell them it was obviously a trap,” she said aloud to Eraserhead. “They didn’t listen.”

The girls glared at the two perpetrators. Mineta whistled inconspicuously and edged toward the crowd. Denki was already backing away.

Before the recreational events kicked off, Midnight sauntered onto the field and raised her whip to gain silence. With flair, she unfurled the bracket board, summoning the finalists to draw lots and determine match-ups for the one-on-one competition.

Mina leaned into Eijirou and Hanta as they approached, voice buzzing with curiosity.

“Is it always a fight at the end?”

“It changes every year,” Hanta answered. “Obstacle courses, quiz rounds, talent exhibitions. But there’s always a final. And it’s always a one-on-one battle.”

Eijirou grinned. “Best part of the Festival, if you ask me.”

But before the lots were drawn, a quiet ripple moved through Class 1-A. Mashirao Ojiro stepped forward, drawing confused glances.

“I withdraw,” he said. “I was manipulated. Shinsou used me, and I didn’t fight for that spot. I can’t keep going, not in good conscience.”

His words hit like a drop of ink in clear water - unexpected and honest.

From Class 1-B, Nirengeki Shouda followed suit.

“I wasn’t good enough,” he said calmly. “Others fought harder. They deserve it more.”

Midnight paused, then gave an affirming nod.

“In that case,” she said, twirling her pen, “we’ll fill their places from fifth position - Team Kendou.”

Itsuka Kendou stepped forward. Her posture was proud but sincere.

“We’ll pass,” she said, glancing at her former teammates. “Team Tetsutetsu fought harder than us. Give them the spots.”

Cheers rose from Class 1-B. Midnight updated the bracket, revealing the match-ups:

• Izuku Midoriya vs. Hitoshi Shinsou

• Shouto Todoroki vs. Hanta Sero

• Ibara Shiozaki vs. Denki Kaminari

• Tenya Iida vs. Mei Hatsume

• Mina Ashido vs. Yuuga Aoyama

• Fumikage Tokoyami vs. Momo Yaoyorozu

• Eijirou Kirishima vs. Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

• Katsuki Bakugou vs. Ochako Uraraka

Katsuki squinted at the board.

“Who the hell is ‘Ura–roka’?”

Ochako frowned from across the field. “It’s Uraraka!”

Mei Hatsume, now bouncing with enthusiasm, leaned toward Tenya.

“I’ve got a pitch for you,” she whispered. “Let’s make history together. With style.”

Tenya blinked, unsure whether to be flattered or frightened.

As the side games began - grappling contests, target practice, and Quirk displays - most finalists strategically declined participation. They found shade, quiet corners, or the far side of the field to stretch, meditate, and prepare.

The tension had shifted again.

Now it was personal. Now, it was one-on-one.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

Cementoss lowered his hands as the final slabs of reinforced concrete locked into place with surgical precision. The fighting arena now loomed center-stage beneath the vaulted canopy of the stadium, its gleaming surfaces and carved boundaries radiating the anticipation pulsing through every spectator's veins. The crowd swelled with energy, the stands brimming with classmates, Pro Heroes, and officials alike. Even the wind seemed to hush, as if aware the true battles were finally beginning.

Izuku stepped into the ring slowly, his boots crunching softly against the ground, emerald eyes scanning the space with nervous resolve. Across from him stood Shinsou - lean, quiet, a figure shrouded in mystery and overlooked potential. His posture was calm, but his gaze brimmed with intensity. He was not merely a student hoping to prove his worth; he was a challenge to the very system that had dismissed him.

“Nice friends you’ve got,” Shinsou said suddenly, his voice cutting through the mounting silence like wire. “Must be nice. Must be easy, having people support you. Having a Quirk built for being a hero.”

The words landed precisely where they needed to. Izuku, flinching internally at the accusation, opened his mouth.

“That's not-”

In an instant, his body froze. His limbs locked in place, posture rigid and unresponsive. The crowd gasped, with some even rising from their seats in alarm. Present Mic, speaking through the speaker system, attempted to keep the audience grounded.

“He’s been brainwashed!” he called. “Shinsou's Quirk - it triggers when you respond to him verbally!”

Eraserhead narrowed his eyes from the sidelines, his voice more analytical than concerned. “This is why the entrance exam is flawed. His Quirk is powerful - but it’s not suited to destruction-based scoring. It's tactical. Psychological.”

Within the ring, Izuku stood motionless like a marionette with cut strings. Shinsou, lips curled into a grim line, walked a few steps forward and issued the order.

“Turn around. Walk out of bounds.”

Izuku's feet responded before his consciousness could protest. One step. Then another. The line marking the ring’s edge was still a few meters away, but closing in far too fast. Panic bloomed in All Might’s chest, and he shouted from the viewing platform.

“Izuku! Stop!”

But Izuku heard none of it. His thoughts were drowning in static, his body trudging forward with agonizing obedience. Fog enveloped his mind, each moment heavier than the last. He was screaming inside, clawing at the walls of his own consciousness, but nothing registered on the outside.

Then, like a lone candle in a deep cave, he remembered Mashirao’s words before the match. “He got me in the Cavalry Battle. I couldn’t fight it until someone made contact.” Mashirao had freed himself only through accidental interference, and Izuku now had no such luxury. Alone in the ring, surrounded by silence, the realization pressed down like lead.

Despair clawed at Izuku’s chest. He had come so far - learned so much - and now, it seemed all would end with a simple trick. The edge loomed close. The audience collectively held its breath.

And then, everything changed.

Within the murk of his thoughts, a light flared - a vision not of this world. Eight silhouettes appeared, shrouded in ethereal glow. Izuku could feel their presence as though standing among ghosts bound by legacy. The torch of One For All shimmered faintly, then surged. Pain lanced through his hand as power ignited, burning down his arm like fire through dry grass.

With sheer instinct, Izuku twitched his fingers, gathering just enough force to flick them violently. A pulse of energy exploded outward at 23% power, enough to distort the air around him. The strain tore through his tendons, nearly fracturing his fingers, but the pain shattered the fog. The hold broke. His muscles lurched back to life.

Shinsou stumbled backward, face pale with disbelief. He scrambled to engage again.

“Talk to me,” he shouted. “Say anything!”

But Izuku stayed silent, breath heaving, mind now clear. He flexed his aching hand and stared down his opponent. Questions buzzed in his skull about the visions, the power surge, the truth behind One For All - but they would wait. The match demanded resolution.

Hitoshi’s frustration bled into his voice.

“People like you... you're born with everything handed to you. Quirks designed for victory. I have to twist mine just to be seen as a threat.”

Izuku listened but gave no reply. His silence was strategic now - a weapon instead of a weakness. He charged forward, precise and fluid, ducking past Shinsou’s attempts to bait him. The fight lasted only moments longer. With a skillful grip and redirect, Izuku used his momentum to throw Shinsou toward the ring’s boundary.

The moment Shinsou’s feet slid past the edge, Midnight raised her hand.

“Winner: Izuku Midoriya!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd. Relief poured through All Might’s expression. Hitoshi lay just outside the line, staring upward - not just defeated, but confronted by the undeniable truth that his Quirk could only take him so far if his path remained obstructed.

The hallway leading to the ring was carved in silence, lined with shadows that stretched across the concrete in long strips, fractured by stadium light. Shouto Todoroki walked with composed steps, arms at his sides and his P.E. uniform clean but tight against rising tension. With each footfall, the crowd’s distant cheer dimmed beneath the thrum of his own heartbeat. He was moments away from his match, but something else loomed.

At the far end of the corridor, Endeavor waited - broad-shouldered, flame-patterned, and immovable, like a wall dressed in fury. His presence alone warped the air around him, a furnace dressed in skin and expectation. Shouto didn’t stop walking.

“You’re acting disgracefully,” his father growled the moment they met eyes. “You’re being led off-course by weak sentiment. I saw you cooperating with Midoriya. He’s All Might’s son. Don’t forget that.”

Shouto paused halfway past, not turning but not retreating either.

“You’re wrong,” he replied, voice low but solid. “Izuku is the only person - besides Momo - who brings me peace. If that annoys you, I’ll make sure we get even closer.”

Endeavor’s features twisted, heat simmering in his breath. “You’re blinded by softness. You’ll see things my way when the world demands results, not friendship.”

Shouto turned to him then, the light catching in his left eye like a fuse behind glass. “If I ever see things your way, I’ll know I’ve failed.”

Neither spoke again. Endeavor watched his son walk past in silence, the tension trailing behind him like smoke.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Izuku returned from his match feeling uneven - a victory secured, but the vision and surge of One For All still pulsed beneath his skin like a secret barely held back. Mashirao nodded respectfully as he passed, his expression quiet but approving, and Izuku took a seat between Momo and Tenya, sinking slowly into the noise of his peers.

The arena lights dimmed and then blazed, signaling the start of the next battle. Shouto emerged from the far tunnel with poised detachment, stepping into the ring with the controlled gait of someone used to bearing weight that wasn’t his. His opponent, Hanta Sero, bounced lightly on his feet, arms limber and tape already coiled at the ready. The crowd responded with interest - Sero was already a crowd favorite, agile and unpredictable.

Midnight raised her hand and dropped it. The match began.

Sero struck instantly. He launched twin coils of tape, wrapping them Shouto with a spiraling momentum. His angle was clever, carrying just enough force to potentially push Shouto off balance toward the edge. Shouto swayed slightly as if caught unprepared - but that notion vanished the moment ice exploded upward from beneath his opponent.

The blast wasn’t controlled.

A glacial prison surged around Sero, catching him mid-swing and encasing him in jagged shards from shoulder to boot. The wall spiked high, curling into the air like a frozen monument, glittering unnaturally under stadium light. Gasps rippled through the audience. Eraserhead narrowed his eyes. Even Present Mic stumbled over his words.

Midnight blinked once, then raised her arm. “Sero is immobilized. Victory to Todoroki!”

Shouto didn’t celebrate.

He stepped forward, one boot crunching into his own ice, and raised his left hand - fire swirling faintly around his knuckles. He melted the casing down, carefully undoing what his rage had built. The steam hissed as Sero dropped to one knee, dazed but unharmed.

“Sorry,” Shouto said softly. “I didn’t mean to go that far. I wasn’t angry at you.”

From the stands, Izuku leaned forward, watching every movement.

The ice had been merciless. The flame, tender.

He glanced at Momo beside him and found her eyes already locked on Shouto, expression concerned but calm - like she recognized the exact storm he was hiding behind control.

Shouto didn’t look up. He turned from the ring and walked back toward the tunnel, the heat from his left side still visible in the air, as if trying to thaw something far colder than ice.

Chapter Text

Once the final shards of Todoroki’s ice were cleared from the arena and the fractured ground had been refitted to accommodate the next battle, the stadium’s atmosphere shifted again. The third match of the first round was announced with an electric pulse of anticipation: Denki Kaminari from Class 1-A versus Ibara Shiozaki from Class 1-B. The crowd buzzed as Present Mic revved up his voice, introducing the competitors with his usual flare.

“And stepping into the ring now - on the Class 1-B side - her vines are divine and her grace nearly lethal... Ibara Shiozaki! A true assassin of the battlefield!”

The words echoed with flair, but not everyone was amused. Ibara stepped quietly into the arena, her vine-like hair swaying with each motion. Her expression was serene, but disapproving.

“I must object to that characterization,” she said, voice calm yet resolute. “I carry no desire to kill. My path is one of compassion, and I walk it with humility. I do not strike to destroy - I strike to restore righteousness.”

Present Mic coughed awkwardly, his enthusiasm dimming. “R-right - what I meant was, uh, she's got killer instincts! Metaphorically speaking!”

On the opposite end, Denki Kaminari sauntered forward with far less solemnity. His posture was relaxed, a cocky grin splitting his face the moment Ibara came into view. He blinked once, and then leaned over toward Midnight’s platform microphone.

“She’s... cute,” he said with a dazed smile. “If she loses, I’ll console her with dinner. Maybe a movie. No hard feelings, right?”

Ibara didn’t dignify the flirtation with a reply.

Midnight rolled her eyes. “Competitors - ready your Quirks.”

Denki shifted back into position, snapping his fingers as sparks crackled around his body. With a sudden upward grin, he activated his Indiscriminate Shock. Bolts of golden electricity surged outward from his core, arching toward every direction, threatening to jolt anyone within range.

But Ibara didn’t flinch.

She extended her arms gently, her vine Quirk responding instantly. From her scalp and sleeves, thick tendrils sprouted in elegant spirals, forming a dome-like structure around her. The electricity sparked against the outer layer and fizzled to nothing. Then, with practiced calm, the vines slithered forward and wrapped around Denki's legs, his torso, his arms. Before he could react, he was cocooned in living foliage.

His face twitched into a goofy smile, his eyes dimming to low-watt confusion as the short-circuit side effect of his own Quirk set in. Ibara tightened the hold just enough for immobilization, then lowered her head respectfully toward Midnight.

“I pray this lesson serves him well.”

Midnight raised her arm. “Winner: Ibara Shiozaki!”

Cheers erupted, scattered with admiration for Ibara’s grace under pressure. On the sidelines, Monoma leaned toward his classmates, voice thick with smugness.

“That’s another loss for Class 1-A. You’d think they’d learn to respect strategy over flash.”

Kendou smacked the back of his head with a firm but polite chop.

“Enough, Monoma. We're here to support each other. Apologies, Class 1-A.”

The camera panned across the Pro Hero section. Mt. Lady leaned toward Kamui Woods, smile wide as she commented over the noise.

“She’d make the perfect sidekick for you. Look at that vine control - it’s practically poetic!”

Kamui Woods adjusted his collar, not looking up. “You still haven’t logged last week’s patrol data. Back to work.”

With the echoes of cheering from the previous match still lingering, the stadium lights dimmed just briefly to signal the next event. The fourth match was set to commence, with Tenya Iida stepping into the ring, the soles of his boots echoing with measured precision across the floor. However, something about his appearance caused a stir. Instead of his usual sleek hero uniform, Tenya was equipped with unfamiliar gear - mechanical enhancements strapped over his arms and legs, each part polished to reflect the overhead floodlights. Midnight, sharp-eyed and unwavering, raised her hand to halt the proceedings.

"Tenya Iida. You are wearing unauthorized support equipment," she stated, her voice resonating with authority.

Tenya responded with a stiff, formal bow and launched into an explanation. "Apologies, Miss Midnight! I was offered these items by Mei Hatsume from the Support Course to ensure a fair match. They do not enhance my Quirk directly - they are merely supplementary tools. It was her wish that they be displayed under proper battle conditions."

Midnight tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she considered his words. Mei, who stood nearby bouncing on her heels with boundless enthusiasm, waved energetically toward the crowd. Tenya’s sincerity and devotion to fairness struck a chord in Midnight’s theatrical spirit. A subtle blush colored her cheeks.

"Fine," she declared, drawing her whip dramatically through the air. "Your integrity has impressed me, young Iida. I will allow it."

The audience murmured with intrigue as the match began. But from the moment the buzzer rang, it became clear that Mei Hatsume had an entirely different agenda. She dashed around the arena with a gleam in her eye, her voice amplified not by desperation but by entrepreneurial excitement.

"Behold! This boot stabilizer supports top-speed movement without sacrificing joint flexibility!" she cried, pointing to one device as Tenya followed her movements, trying to initiate actual combat.

"And don’t overlook this gyro-balancer - it recalibrates mid-air orientation within 0.2 seconds! Perfect for flight-capable heroes!"

Tenya tried to engage, attempting swift bursts of speed, but Mei evaded each approach while launching into detailed explanations about each support item she’d built. The ten-minute match felt less like a battle and more like an open-air tech convention. The crowd laughed, half-impressed and half-bemused, while Tenya’s frustration grew increasingly visible.

Eventually, Mei skidded to a halt outside the ring's boundary. She turned back with a bright smile and bowed theatrically.

"Oops - I’ve technically lost! But thank you, Tenya! This was the best test run ever."

Tenya froze, visibly stunned. His arms dropped at his sides, the enhanced gear humming softly as if to mock the lack of action. His expression darkened - not from anger, but bitter disappointment. Mei had turned their match into a commercial, exploiting his noble intentions for product exposure.

The crowd shifted uneasily. Midnight, although amused, didn’t comment. Mei waved again, cheeks flushed with triumph rather than shame, before skipping back to the Support Course stands.

Meanwhile, preparations for the fifth contest surged forward, charging the air once again with expectation. This time, it was Mina Ashido versus Yuuga Aoyama. As the two contenders stepped forward, their classmates rallied around the edges. Asui raised her hand modestly from the sidelines, cheering gently for Mina. Mineta, on the other hand, leaned forward with far less grace, his expression entirely inappropriate.

“C’mon, Aoyama! Knock her clothes off!” he shouted, earning multiple glares in return.

Midoriya, observing intently, spoke with more tactical insight. "This could be tricky for Ashido. Aoyama’s Navel Laser is long-range, and she's more of a close-quarters fighter. He has the advantage unless she finds a way to close the distance."

But Mina was already smiling to herself, fluid and confident. She remembered Yuuga’s limitations well; after all, they had once fought together during their early training. She wasn’t simply facing a flashy opponent - she knew the consequences that came with overuse of his Quirk.

The buzzer sounded, and Yuuga began his performance with characteristic flair. With a sweeping pose, he fired a glittering beam of light from his belt, the energy lashing across the arena in bright pulses. Mina darted low, acid slicking beneath her feet, allowing her to slide gracefully under each blast with practiced rhythm.

“Très magnifique!” Yuuga exclaimed mid-battle. “But you cannot outrun elegance!”

Despite his drama, his stamina began to wane. After launching a particularly powerful blast that carved a narrow trench through the stadium tiles, Yuuga stumbled. His face twisted with discomfort as the side effect hit: a sharp stomach ache that dropped him to one knee.

Mina saw her chance. She twisted, flinging a concentrated glob of acid at Yuuga’s belt. The material melted almost instantly, sparking panic in his eyes. Without hesitation, Mina rushed forward and delivered an uppercut straight into his chin. The force lifted Yuuga off his feet and sent him collapsing backward, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Midnight stepped into the ring again, raising her arm with dramatic flair.

“Winner: Mina Ashido!”

Cheers broke out across the stadium. Mina beamed, giving Tsuyu a peace sign while stepping off the stage. Izuku nodded to himself, impressed. And Minoru, despite his earlier comments, shrank quietly into his seat, too stunned - or perhaps too disappointed - to speak.

The tournament marched forward, one match closer to revealing its champion. And with each round, quirks, wits, and personalities clashed in ways no one could predict.

The moment the battlefield reset for the sixth contest, a thoughtful hush fell over the crowd. Two competitors entered from opposite tunnels - Fumikage Tokoyami, shrouded in stillness, with Dark Shadow barely visible coiling around his form, and Momo Yaoyorozu, face composed, fingers already pressed together as if mapping a plan mid-step.

She did not rush. Her mind moved in patterns of possibility, as always - calculating the timing of Dark Shadow’s aggression, considering the breadth of Fumikage’s reach, and accounting for the reaction time she’d need to shift into her first defense. But the match began before she could refine the last piece. Midnight’s hand dropped, the buzzer sounded, and Dark Shadow launched forward with a sharp screech and a series of chaotic, clawing arcs.

Without hesitation, Momo pivoted sideways and summoned her first tool. Smoke bombs materialized with fluid efficiency, dropping from her palms to the ground and exploding into thick columns of smoke that blanketed the field. Within seconds, both Fumikage’s line of sight and Dark Shadow’s coordination were compromised. The crowd lost visual contact entirely, but the commentary buzzed on, trying to track flashes of motion through the haze.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

Fumikage turned abruptly at the whisper of feet on concrete - but too late.

From behind, Momo struck. A steel bō staff, created mid-movement, cracked across the back of his head with force calibrated to stun, not injure. Before Dark Shadow could recover its orientation through the murk, she raised her free hand, and a round metal disk formed against her skin - small, smooth, and fitted with a blinding LED core.

The moment the disk activated, light burst from its center in a focused beam, slicing through the haze with surgical precision. It landed squarely on Dark Shadow’s form, and the effect was immediate. The creature recoiled, shrinking drastically, its shape folding in on itself in response to the harsh illumination. Its defensive strength diminished, its range collapsed.

Fumikage staggered backward, but Momo didn’t let up. She placed her foot against his chest - not with cruelty, but with confidence - and kept the beam fixed on Dark Shadow, ensuring its subdued state could not rebound. A full second passed with no retaliation.

Midnight stepped forward, raising her arm decisively.

“Tokoyami is immobilized and Dark Shadow suppressed! Victory goes to Momo Yaoyorozu!”

Applause rang out across the stadium. Some clapped in amazement, others in awe at her precise choreography of tools and timing. Momo lowered her foot and dimmed the disk, her breath calm, her composure never wavering.

Fumikage, now standing freely, dusted himself off slowly. His eyes dimmed slightly - not from embarrassment, but disappointment. He had hoped to showcase more of Dark Shadow’s adaptability. The match had ended so quickly he’d barely grasped the reins before they were pulled away.

Momo noticed.

“You fought well,” she said gently, stepping forward to offer him a hand. “Your Quirk is incredible - it’s just not made for environments that limit visibility. Don’t take this as a loss of ability. Sometimes strategy outweighs circumstance.”

He nodded once, accepting the hand with quiet respect.

From the stands, Izuku Midoriya leaned forward, lips curled into a soft smile. He had anticipated this outcome from the start, his notes on Momo’s adaptability pages deep. “She always knows what to do,” he said aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

Mashirao, beside him, tilted his head.

“Still feel kinda bad for Tokoyami, though. Dude’s got a monster living in his shadow and didn’t even get to show half of it.”

Izuku didn’t disagree. But heroes, he thought, weren’t defined by flash. They were defined by grace under pressure. And Momo had just proven, once again, why her composure was second to none.

The seventh match had already begun by the time Tenya Iida wandered into the waiting room. His footsteps echoed with a purposeful rhythm, but the stern focus in his expression softened slightly when he spotted Ochako Uraraka seated near the far wall. She was leaning forward, elbows on knees, fingers intertwined tightly as she watched the monitor in front of her. The screen showed flashes of Eijirou Kirishima and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu locked in brutal, repetitive clashes, their hardened bodies colliding again and again without pause.

Tenya offered a polite nod before approaching more fully, and Ochako glanced up at him, her composure a blend of nerves and quiet determination. Moments later, Izuku arrived as well, jogging into the room with a bead of sweat on his forehead, having clearly rushed in from the observation deck. He gave them both a small smile and then turned to the monitor.

“This match is taking longer than expected,” Izuku said, adjusting his notes. “Their Quirks are practically identical - it’s like watching two wrecking balls repeatedly slam into each other.”

The others nodded in agreement, the rhythmic pounding from the arena feeling almost monotonous after the eighth or ninth identical exchange. Neither Kirishima nor Tetsutetsu was backing down, their unyielding defenses and raw power meeting with relentless fervor. But even as the blows mounted, neither seemed to gain ground over the other. Eventually, fatigue began to show - arms swinging just a fraction slower, reaction time slightly dulled.

While the trio in the waiting room kept watching, conversation turned toward the next match. The tension shifted slightly as Ochako’s name appeared on the bracket, paired against Katsuki Bakugou. Izuku glanced at her, hesitant, and then leaned forward with earnestness.

“Uraraka, I’ve been thinking,” he started, pointing at his notebook, “Kacchan’s going to come at you with everything - his explosive strength, speed, unpredictability. You could use your Zero Gravity in tandem with debris, maybe disorient him midair and-”

Ochako cut him off gently, but firmly.

“No, Midoriya,” she said, voice even but resolute. “Thank you, but I need to do this myself.”

There was silence for a moment. Izuku blinked in surprise, and even Tenya tilted his head slightly in confusion.

“I relied on you,” she continued, lowering her gaze slightly. “You and Todoroki and Yaoyorozu… during the Cavalry Battle, I kept thinking I wasn’t strong enough without someone to help me. It was like I kept reaching for someone else's strength instead of finding my own.”

She looked up again, eyes shining - not with tears, but with focused resolve.

“I want to stand on equal ground with Bakugou. I don’t want to win because of someone else's strategy. I want to win because I earned it.”

Izuku seemed taken aback by her courage, but his expression softened soon after. He understood. More than anyone, he knew how much it mattered to define one's own path, especially in the face of overwhelming odds.

Back in the arena, the battle between Eijirou and Tetsutetsu reached its inevitable climax. With one final clash - a thundering, simultaneous punch - both warriors flew backward across the arena, landing hard. Neither rose. The crowd held its breath as Midnight quickly approached the two unmoving figures. With a dramatic flourish, she raised her voice.

“A double knockout! The match is a draw. The winner will be decided via an arm wrestling match following the next round.”

Medical teams entered the field, quickly securing both boys onto stretchers. Though unconscious, they wore expressions of pride and satisfaction - as if their hard-earned stalemate proved something deeper than victory.

Then, the crowd's focus shifted once more. The tension reset and climbed again as the announcer called out the final fight of the first bracket.

“And now, our last contenders for this round: Katsuki Bakugou versus Ochako Uraraka!”

The two stepped into the arena from opposite sides - Bakugou with his usual aura of explosive impatience and Ochako with a look of serenity layered over steel. The sun above glinted off the pavement, casting a golden haze that lingered just long enough to make everything feel more cinematic. This was no longer about Quirks alone. It was about proving something deeply personal.

And neither of them planned to back down.

Chapter Text

The first round’s final match hung heavy in the air, wrapped in anticipation and uncertainty as Ochako Uraraka and Katsuki Bakugou faced one another across the polished stone ring. The difference in their stances was striking - Katsuki stood with his trademark slouch, muscles coiled, hands twitching with pre-ignition heat. Across from him, Ochako straightened her spine, took a steadying breath, and slid one foot backward in preparation. She was smaller, slighter, and visibly less aggressive - but there was iron behind her posture now, sharpened since the Cavalry Battle.

Katsuki’s voice sliced the tension like a blade.

“You should give up.”

His tone wasn’t mocking, just brutally honest. No hint of arrogance, just tactical certainty.

“I’m not holding back.”

Ochako didn’t flinch. She didn’t smile either. Her gaze was firm as she dipped her head once, the barest nod of acknowledgment. The buzzer sounded with a sharp blast, and the match began.

Katsuki moved first. A straight-line lunge with explosive momentum, his arm cocked and ready to detonate. Ochako had anticipated this - he always led with the right hook - but her body couldn’t move fast enough. His fist connected in a burst of heat and sound, sending her skidding backwards across the stone floor. Dust curled around her as she rolled to her knees.

“Told ya' you should’ve dropped out,” Katsuki growled, already charging again.

But the next explosion hit something soft - not her. Her P.E. jacket burst outward from the cloud in midair, and Katsuki reacted instantly. He blasted it to shreds, heat searing the fabric as it vaporized in front of him.

Ochako emerged from behind the smoke, having used the jacket to mask her approach. She reached for his torso with fingers ready to float him into weightlessness - but Katsuki’s reflexes were inhuman. He twisted sharply, brought his hand up, and released a blast inches from her ribs. The impact hurled her back again.

Yet again she rose.

What followed was a sequence of relentless attacks, each more fervent than the last. Ochako launched forward again and again, pushing past her pain threshold with unyielding resolve. Her feet barely touched the ground between strikes, each movement aimed to destabilize Katsuki’s footing. She feinted low, reached high, spun behind, attacked from angles no one expected.

Katsuki responded with equal fervor, detonating the space around them to carve out breathing room, his eyes sharpened, his expression unreadable.

The crowd began to murmur. The pace was brutal. Ochako was not backing down - but she wasn't gaining ground either. Her feint had failed to turn the tide, and now it seemed she was simply throwing herself into the flame. One spectator muttered that her technique was collapsing into desperation.

Monoma, arms folded higher up in the observation tier, raised an eyebrow.

“No,” he said plainly. “Look closer.”

Down below, more voices joined the protest against Katsuki’s apparent ruthlessness. A few students stood, shouting objections that he was taking the match too far. One man loudly booed, calling him a brute.

Eraserhead’s voice rang out flatly across the pro section, silencing the ripple of dissent.

“She’s strong. And he knows it.”

Heads turned.

“Bakugou isn't being cruel,” he continued. “He’s fighting her like he fights anyone - because he respects her strength. He has no intention of patronizing her. He’s doing everything he can to keep her out of his blind spots. If he didn’t go all out, that would be insulting.”

The crowd quieted in contemplation. On the field, Ochako stumbled to her feet once more, face scraped and knuckles bloodied. Katsuki stood yards away, breathing heavily, arms glowing faintly from repeated ignition.

Their gazes locked again. Not enemies - just two contenders locked in a match neither was willing to cheapen.

And even with bruises blooming across her limbs, Ochako still had fight left in her.

The smoke that had billowed thick over the stadium slowly dispersed, unveiling the battered yet unbowed figure of Uraraka. Though her limbs trembled and her breaths came ragged, she remained upright, refusing to yield in spite of the punishing flurry of explosions Bakugou had unleashed. Her endurance startled even Katsuki, who eyed her warily, the static crackle of his Quirk still audible around his palms. With narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, he muttered in disbelief, "She’s not… dead yet?" It wasn't cruelty - it was a grudging acknowledgment of her tenacity.

Ochako looked at him then, her expression stripped of fear, humble yet resolute. “Thanks for keeping your focus on me,” she said gently, her voice low but firm. Her statement landed with subtle weight. She wasn’t bluffing, and she hadn’t broken - she had stayed the course so thoroughly that Katsuki had missed the brewing threat above his head.

His eyes rose. The air had shifted.

Suspended in the sky above the stadium was a jagged mass of debris - chunks of broken stone, torn metal panels, dust and fragments from the cratered ring below. His explosions had rendered the battlefield into ruin, and Uraraka had turned that destruction into strategy. Monoma, observing from the stands, leaned forward with a smirk of admiration and explained to his classmates, “She stayed low to the ground when she moved. Each blast tore up the floor, and she collected the debris as she advanced. While she kept his attention through relentless close-quarters combat, she was quietly setting the stage for a Meteor Shower.”

The words had barely settled before Ochako pressed her fingertips together and released her Quirk. Gravity surged back into the floating mass, and the debris began to plummet with violent momentum toward Katsuki. It was a tactical masterstroke. As the stadium held its collective breath, Uraraka didn't wait for impact. She charged forward one final time, determined to break through the weakened shell of her formidable opponent.

But Katsuki responded as only Katsuki could.

Letting out a guttural yell, he detonated a massive explosion so powerful that it fractured the incoming barrage mid-air, sending debris ricocheting away from his body in all directions. The resulting shockwave rocked the battlefield and caught Ochako mid-stride, throwing her backwards. Her eyes widened - not just from the impact, but from the realization that even her trump card hadn’t breached his defenses.

She hit the ground hard.

There was a pause, not of silence, but of emotional suspension. The crowd watched as she pushed herself onto trembling hands, her body barely able to support its own weight. Her fingers clawed at the stone floor, dragging her forward inch by inch. Her vision blurred, but her mind remained locked on the promise she had made to her family - to become a hero who could lift their burdens and give them a better life.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t give speeches.

She crawled.

It was that silent, excruciating crawl toward the opponent who had pushed her to her limit that struck the hearts of everyone watching. But her body had reached its threshold. Her arm fell limp, and with that final motion, consciousness slipped from her grasp.

Midnight stepped in and called the match. Katsuki Bakugou was declared the winner.

Ochako’s form was lifted carefully and carried off to Recovery Girl’s office, her teammates watching with quiet reverence. She had not won, but her fight had been a testament - a revelation of strength and resolve that hadn’t relied on flashy tricks or brute force.

Katsuki didn’t linger in the ring. He stepped down, fists clenched at his sides, walking briskly toward the stands. But before he got far, he crossed paths with Izuku. His scowl deepened immediately.

“You gave her that strategy, didn’t you?” he snapped.

Izuku didn’t flinch.

“That was all her,” he replied without hesitation. “I didn’t help at all.”

He stepped forward, eyes unwavering.

“If that fight was tougher than you expected, it’s because of her. Not because of me.”

The truth in Izuku’s words clawed at Katsuki’s pride. He didn’t respond, at least not with words. With a grumbled expletive under his breath, he turned and stomped toward the viewing platform.

His arrival was met with a chorus of teasing voices.

“Yo Bakugou! Way to go, beating up a fragile little girl!” Denki chirped with exaggerated shock, sparking mild laughter from their corner.

Katsuki’s gaze snapped toward him, eyes burning - but his reply was colder than usual.

“She’s not frail,” he growled.

That shut the laughter down. And in that moment, even those who feared Katsuki Bakugou’s explosive temper had to admit—his respect for Ochako wasn’t just earned. It had been detonated into existence by the will of someone who dared to stand in the blast zone and keep walking forward.

T he waiting room held a quiet tension, filled more with personal reflection than competition. Midoriya stepped in slowly, mentally tracing strategies and variables for his upcoming match with Shouto. What he didn’t expect was the soft hum of a voice - gentle, familiar - and the sight of Uraraka, seated near the back corner, legs curled beneath her and her phone resting on the bench beside her. She turned as he entered, smiling brightly despite the bruising on her cheek and the faint scrapes on her arms.

Izuku froze. “You’re not in Recovery Girl’s?”

“Nope,” Ochako replied, voice light. “Apparently I bounced back faster than expected. A few scratches, some sore ribs, but I’m fine.”

He blinked at her, genuinely surprised. After all that, after all the hits and crashes, she sounded... normal. Confident, even.

“But you lost,” he said softly, not as a rebuke but in quiet awe of her composure.

Ochako nodded, stretching her fingers absently. “Yeah. I did. Got launched like a comet. Still hurts a little.” She laughed, a bit self-deprecatingly. “But honestly? I think I’m more annoyed that I didn’t crack his smug expression.”

Izuku stared at her for a long moment before stepping closer. “Are you really okay?”

She looked up, her expression clear. “I’m fine, Izuku. And even if I wasn’t... I think I needed that match.”

His gaze softened. They exchanged a brief moment of understanding, and then Ochako gave him a small grin and wished him luck. “Go get him.”

Meanwhile, in the arena, the arm-wrestling contest between Eijirou Kirishima and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu took center stage. Both young men sat poised with elbows braced, arms locked in position and cheeks flushed with exertion. Their Quirks - Hardening and Steel - clashed not just in name but in will, two unyielding forces refusing to falter.

The crowd leaned in. The struggle lasted for over a minute, the veins bulging across their forearms like battle lines etched in skin. And then, with a grunt of focused determination, Eijirou pressed forward. Tetsutetsu’s wrist bent first - just barely - then fully, until Midnight slapped the table and declared Kirishima the victor.

Eijirou immediately stood and offered his hand to Tetsutetsu. “You were awesome, man.”

Tetsutetsu scoffed with good humor. “You hit like a wrecking ball, bro.”

Their handshake was firm, their smiles genuine. Midnight swayed dramatically, cheeks flushed. “Sportsmanship. So chivalrous.”

With the last spot on the roster filled, the second round was finalized. Izuku nodded politely to Ochako, gathered his composure, and exited the waiting room. Ochako received a call the moment he left - her father’s voice gentle and proud on the other end.

Izuku’s thoughts drifted as he walked through the corridor toward the stage. He turned over his conversation with Ochako, her strength, her resilience. It had felt strange for her to be the one offering him comfort, but maybe that was part of the growth they were all experiencing. He hadn’t needed to reassure her - she’d already done that for herself.

And then the hallway darkened, just a little, like the air had thickened from heat.

Endeavor stepped into view, blocking part of the path. His flame-patterned coat flared lightly behind him, his eyes burning with intensity. Izuku stopped.

“You’re All Might’s son,” Endeavor stated flatly. “I’ve seen how you and Shouto have grown close. I don’t approve.”

Izuku didn’t answer. He shifted his weight and stepped forward. Endeavor moved again, cutting him off.

“Shouto is destined to surpass All Might. I want you to fight him. Hard. Push him until he breaks through. Prepare him to rise above.”

Izuku’s breath hitched - not from intimidation, but irritation. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his eyes and met Endeavor’s glare.

“I’m not All Might,” he said evenly. “And Shouto’s not you.”

The Flame Hero’s face twitched - not with rage, but something colder. Izuku walked past him.

The distance between them wasn’t just a matter of space. It was legacy. And Izuku had already chosen which legacy he intended to build.

Chapter Text

The stadium pulsed with anticipation as the crowd erupted in waves of excitement. The second round of the U.A. Sports Festival had arrived, and front and center stood two of its most formidable contenders: Izuku Midoriya and Shouto Todoroki. Their names carried weight - not just among classmates, but far beyond the school walls. Rumors of their prowess, of Commission-born discipline, of bloodlines and legacy, made this match more than personal. It was myth, coming to life.

The atmosphere rippled as they stepped into the ring from opposite ends, boots steady on cracked stone. Izuku rolled his shoulders, small green sparks flickering over his skin as Full Cowl simmered just beneath the surface. Shouto stood with calm precision, eyes steeled, arms relaxed - but the chill that crept from his right side told everyone watching that the ice was already coming.

Izuku glanced toward Shouto briefly, the hint of a smile tugging at his lip. “Feels weird,” he said, his voice just loud enough to carry across the field. “We usually fight side by side.”

Shouto nodded, his posture unwavering. “We grew up fighting the same enemies. Never each other.”

Izuku’s smile faded, replaced by determined resolve. “So let’s make it count.”

Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “No holding back.”

Midnight’s signal cracked through the air, and the match began.

Shouto led instantly. His right foot grounded, and an enormous cascade of ice surged forward, branching outward like jagged spears aimed to corner and overwhelm. The attack was crisp, practiced, and immediate - he didn’t hesitate, didn’t test the waters.

Izuku braced.

He raised his left hand, focused the current running through him, and flicked his index finger outward.

“Delaware Smash!”

The shockwave erupted with concentrated force, a sonic boom that shattered the leading edge of Shouto’s ice and sent dust and shards flying. But Shouto, anticipating the recoil, created a pillar of ice behind him. It caught his body, holding him in place, absorbing the impact before it could knock him out of bounds.

Up in the viewing stands, All Might leaned into his seat, gaze locked on the moment. “That was the only retaliation he had,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Any slower, and he would’ve been trapped.”

But Shouto didn’t pause. The steam from the smashed ice had barely settled when his left hand flared to life. Fire roared from his palm - bright, fast, and sweeping across the field in a wide arc. Izuku’s eyes widened as the blast approached, and Full Cowl activated instantly. His veins surged with emerald energy as he darted forward and to the side, blurring through flame and wind. He leapt in low, boots scraping against the stone, and circled around Shouto’s blind spot, his muscles already bracing for impact.

They met mid-motion.

Shouto pivoted, one arm launching a horizontal flame burst while ice trailed along the ground. Izuku jumped off the ice, blasted upward by a burst of One For All in his legs, and spun midair, aiming a kick toward Shouto’s shoulder. The force grazed him, driving him back half a step.

Cheers burst from the stadium. Not just admiration - but awe.

“I think they’re already stronger than most Pro Heroes,” someone murmured from the crowd, their voice lost in the chorus of gasps and roaring approval.

The duel didn’t slow.

Ice towered again. Izuku shattered it with quick jabs. Shouto layered flame across the walls to limit movement. Izuku ducked, redirected, slid past and unleashed a focused strike with his knuckles, each blow sparking against the residue of elemental power.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t second-guess.

In this moment, they weren’t friends. Not rivals. Just two warriors raised side by side, tested against each other now for the first time - and each determined to find out exactly what the other could survive.

The battle continued with relentless ferocity as Midoriya and Todoroki engaged in a rhythm that pulsed like a war drum - strike, counter, reposition, repeat. Every time Izuku managed to close the gap between them, driving his momentum inward with bursts of One For All-enhanced speed and precision, Shouto responded with razor-thin timing. Walls of ice would erupt just inches from impact, redirecting Izuku’s path and forcing him back into open space. When Izuku surged again, this time from above, Shouto met him with a flare of heat so fierce that it sent Izuku spiraling sideways to avoid being scorched. Neither gave ground, but neither truly gained any either. They were locked in a tactical loop, each pushing the other to their absolute edge, making the match a visual symphony of power and strategy.

From the Class 1-A stands, the noise of the arena didn’t drown out the unmistakable voice of Eijirou, who had just returned from his own victorious bout against Tetsutetsu. His gait was confident, a mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline still firing through his limbs, and his red hair swayed as he leaned over the railing with a smirk plastered across his face.

“Seriously?” he shouted over the roar of the crowd. “Can you three not go five minutes without blowing half the stadium apart? Some of us are trying to fight like normal people here!”

The sarcasm landed with expected bite, but it earned a chuckle from a few of his classmates, including a half-smirk from Bakugou, who had his arms casually crossed and his eyes locked on the match below. His response wasn’t immediate - there was a rare moment of contemplation flickering across his features, almost as if the chaos on the field had unearthed something deeper within.

“Tch. Quirks aren’t endless,” Katsuki said, his voice low but firm. “They burn out, just like muscles. Use too much of it, and you’re useless in seconds. That’s why you train it to last. That’s why you shape everything around it - gear, strategy, the whole damn mindset.”

His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Shouto launching simultaneous ice and fire from opposite sides of his body, then watching Izuku flip through the air with Full Cowl lightning streaking behind him like shooting stars.

“That’s why I made my costume the way I did,” he added, almost speaking to himself. “So I could break past those limits. Go further than anyone else. No excuses.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow, intrigued but content to let Bakugo’s rare moment of introspection sit on its own. The heat of the match was distracting enough.

Closer to the edge of the seating platform, Yaoyorozu sat beside Jirou, eyes wide, breath shallow, and hands clutched so tightly against the railing that her knuckles had turned pale. Her entire posture screamed tension, and even the most casual observer could tell that she was not watching this fight with the thrill others felt - it was agony.

These weren’t just classmates below, locked in elemental war. These were the people she’d grown up beside. Izuku and Shouto weren’t just teammates - they were constants in her life, two pillars of reliability and understanding in a world that often felt uncertain. The three of them had trained, fought, and grown together within the shadow of the Commission’s strict expectations. They knew each other’s tempo, each other's silent signals. Seeing that synchronicity shattered into combat was a rupture in her emotional stability.

Kyouka nudged her gently, frowning at the tension radiating off Momo like a second Quirk.

“Hey. They’re not gonna kill each other,” she said, voice casual but touched with genuine reassurance. “The teachers are on alert. This is a match, not a war. Chill out before your anxiety becomes contagious.”

Momo didn’t answer right away, still staring wide-eyed as Shouto deflected another of Izuku’s midair strikes with an arcing sweep of flame. But her fingers loosened slightly on the railing, and her lips parted just a little - as if breathing had finally resumed.

Kyouka watched her for a moment longer, head tilted, then leaned back with a half-smile.

“Honestly? This is the most emotion I’ve seen from you since the school year started. You always play it cool, but I guess these two finally cracked that shell a little.”

Momo’s throat tightened, and the words she wanted to say tangled somewhere in the space between pride and fear. The battle continued below, each clash carving deeper into her carefully built composure. And though she knew they would likely both stand at the end, something else gnawed at her: the knowledge that wounds between close friends didn’t always need to be physical to leave lasting scars.

The battlefield had quieted, not in retreat but in exhaustion. Both Izuku and Shouto stood breathless, separated once more by the length of the ring, their chests heaving, their shoes scraping faintly against the cracked stone beneath them. Each boy held the posture of defiance, not in opposition to one another but to their own pain - an unwillingness to surrender until everything had been spent.

Izuku wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, electricity snaking faintly across his limbs, flickering like warning signs on a power grid nearing overload. He looked across the distance to Shouto, eyes flashing with determination hardened by years of shared training, unspoken words, and long nights in Commission-run dormitories. They were more than classmates. They were family, by fate if not blood.

“You can use both sides faster than that,” Izuku muttered through clenched teeth. “We promised... we wouldn’t hold anything back.”

Shouto’s eyes narrowed, ice crusted along his right arm from his last attack. A long breath escaped him, condensing into mist before his lips. Then, a rare laugh - soft, sad, honest.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough from heat and cold alike. “Guess I didn’t want to hurt someone who’s practically my brother.”

The distance between them suddenly felt weightless.

Izuku responded not with words but motion. Full Cowl surged to life beneath his skin, pushing well past its usual 18% into dangerous territory. His body screamed in protest as arcs of green lightning burst from his feet, spine, and shoulders - at 22%, One For All raged against his muscles like fire against twine. But he didn’t waver. He leaned into the pain, weaponized it. Because this moment wasn’t about survival - it was about belief.

Across the field, Shouto steadied himself. Frost bled rapidly across his body, encasing his limbs, cooling the air until it thinned from chill. Then, without hesitation, he ignited his left side. Flames licked upward across his torso and shoulder, melting the ice on contact, turning it to steam in wild plumes of vapor that curled heavenward like specters. For the first time in full view, Shouto wielded both halves of his Quirk in tandem - not as separate forces but as one.

Izuku saw the duality - the symmetry - and smiled. No matter what followed, Shouto had broken past his own wall.

Then they moved.

Izuku vaulted upward in a spiraling arc, the world dropping away beneath him as green sparks fanned out in a halo. At the peak of his jump, he twisted his body and swung down in a wide roundhouse, his foot trailing crackling energy. A fully formed St. Louis Smash, the kind that could dent armored plating.

Below, Shouto shifted into position. The temperature surrounding him plunged and then soared - the ice sucked every ounce of heat from the space, and the fire roared in response, expanding rapidly into a blinding flash of orange-white fury. His Flashfreeze Heatwave exploded outward, a meteor of elemental force crafted from control and instinct fused into one.

In the viewing stands, Endeavor lurched forward, his voice booming with joy and pride. “Yes! Use it - use both sides!” He charged toward the railing like a man overcome, claiming aloud that Shouto was proving his worth, fulfilling his purpose, ascending as the son he was crafted to be. But Shouto didn’t hear him. Didn’t look. The distance between them had never been greater.

Momo rose to her feet, unable to sit through the moment. Her heart jackhammered in her chest as steam obscured the center of the battlefield. Jirou reached up, tugging gently at her sleeve.

“You seriously need to breathe,” Jirou whispered. “They’re trained, they’re monitored - Cementoss and Midnight aren’t gonna let them get too far.”

But Momo barely registered the words. These weren’t just fighters. These were her boys. Her comrades. Her constants.

Cementoss and Midnight, suddenly alarmed, made the call to intervene. Cementoss erupted a wall between the two, dense and fortified, a final line meant to stop the impending collision.

But nothing could stop what came next.

Izuku’s wind pressure hit first, ripping through the center like a drill of compressed force. Shouto’s heatwave followed, tearing through the block’s edges in fiery waves that curled around the stone like plasma. When they met, air itself ruptured.

The explosion swallowed the stadium.

Walls cracked. Midnight’s stand flipped sideways and collapsed. A cyclone of sound and pressure sent debris raining into the audience, forcing pro heroes to shield nearby civilians. Wind surged upward into spirals that carried shouts into silence. The arena floor didn’t just dent - it crumbled.

When the smoke finally cleared, a hush fell. At the epicenter of destruction, Izuku lay crumpled just outside the ring boundary, his fingers twitching faintly, his eyes open but glazed. Steam hissed from scorch marks along his uniform. He had not blacked out. But he could not rise.

Cementoss exhaled slowly, helmet splintered from the backlash. “They’re monsters,” he muttered with something approaching reverence.

Present Mic, wide-eyed and gripping his microphone with both hands, finally found words. “What even was that?”

Aizawa folded his arms. “A temperature shift that violent? Ice that compresses the air followed by fire that detonates it? It was inevitable.”

Midnight stepped onto the field, brushing rubble from her uniform. She raised her voice as cameras refocused.

“Shouto Todoroki is the winner!”

No one clapped immediately. They were still trying to understand what they had witnessed.

Because this wasn’t just a match.

It was proof that heroes weren’t only born.

Sometimes they were forged.

The stadium buzzed with residual adrenaline as fans spilled out into the observation corridors, their voices tumbling over one another in breathless awe. Conversations sparked with admiration for the duel between Izuku Midoriya and Shouto Todoroki. Some praised Izuku’s dogged resilience. Others marveled at Shouto’s dual-element control. But none escaped Bakugou’s increasingly sour expression as he passed by.

He walked stiffly, shoulders squared, jaw clenched. Whispers of “Todoroki’s fire was amazing,” and “Midoriya’s Full Cowl was insane,” scratched at his composure like sandpaper. Every remark turned into white noise - static interference in his simmering thoughts. The weight of expectation was already heavy, but watching the spotlight drift onto others had kindled something sharper.

Shouto emerged from the arena with steam still trailing faintly from his gloves. He was silent, reserved, his gaze cast downward until it landed on the unmistakable silhouette waiting in the corridor. Endeavor stood with arms folded, eyes gleaming, pride thick in his breath before he even opened his mouth.

“That was a display,” he said, voice low but commanding. “Both sides - used in near-perfect succession. I knew you had it in you. After graduation, I want you to join my agency. My sidekick.”

Shouto didn’t stop walking.

“I’m still not interested,” he replied simply, not cold - but carved from something firmer than detachment. “You’re still my father, and I still don’t like you.”

Endeavor’s face twitched, but Shouto continued without waiting for reaction.

“I’m going to stay close with Izuku. No matter how many times you scoff at it. He’s important to me. And nothing you say changes that.”

He slowed, just slightly.

“During that match... I didn’t think about you.”

Endeavor blinked, brow drawing in.

“I thought about my mother. About Momo. Izuku. Back when I first used fire - ten years old, Commission training quarters. I didn’t accept it because of you. I accepted it despite you. Because of them. Because they helped me believe it wasn’t yours.”

His footfalls echoed farther now, more distant with each step away.

“And I’ve decided,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone listening, “I may not need you at all.”

Endeavor remained still as Shouto’s form disappeared around the corner.

Seconds passed.

Then Momo rounded the bend, half-running, her boots tapping loudly against the floor before skidding to a halt beside Shouto. Without hesitation, she launched into a tight hug, arms looping around his torso as the remnants of ice still coating his uniform crunched faintly beneath her grip.

She pulled back, frowned, then shoved him - firm but not enough to hurt.

“That was reckless! What were you thinking? I’m giving Izuku the same lecture once Recovery Girl’s done patching him up. You two are lunatics!”

Her words were biting, but her voice trembled just slightly, betraying the worry stitched beneath every syllable. Shouto didn’t argue. He simply looked at her.

Then Momo softened. Her fingers reached out gently, closed around his hand without ceremony.

“You didn’t let him get to you,” she said. “I know what he said before the match. You didn’t let it steer you off course. That Quirk - both halves - it’s yours, Todoroki. Not his. Yours. I’m proud of you.”

Shouto’s grip on her hand tightened fractionally, and his lips curved in something rare and quiet - a smile born not of victory, but of being understood.

They turned together then, steps falling into rhythm, making their way toward Recovery Girl’s room. Somewhere behind those sterile clinic doors, Izuku waited - bruised, battered, but no doubt still awake, still fighting, still ready to smile at his friend even when breath escaped him like ash.

And Shouto, at last, felt like he was walking forward unchained.

The hallway outside Recovery Girl’s office was quiet, save for the occasional hum of hospital equipment and the hushed voices of concerned classmates. Shouto and Momo walked in tandem, their footsteps falling into an even rhythm that spoke to the comfortable silence between them. As they reached the doorway, they spotted Iida standing rigidly with hands clasped behind his back, Ochako crouched beside a seated Izuku, Asui perched calmly on a bench, and Mineta leaning far too close to the frosted window as if trying to catch a glimpse of the nurse inside.

Izuku looked exhausted but far from broken. Bandages curled around his forearms, and his uniform had been swapped for a standard recovery robe. A few patches of skin were reddened - burns from Shouto’s fire no doubt - but he smiled all the same when he saw his friends arrive.

“Hey,” he croaked hoarsely, grinning from ear to ear despite the strain in his shoulders.

Momo wasted no time. She strode across the room, reached out with practiced ease, and flicked Izuku sharply on the forehead.

“Honestly, you’re just as reckless as Todoroki,” she said sternly, voice a near echo of the lecture she'd delivered minutes prior. “Charging headfirst into something without an ounce of self-preservation. You both drive me insane.”

But before Izuku could scramble for a defense, Momo’s expression softened and she reached up, gently patting his head. Her voice dropped to something more tender.

“But you were brilliant. I’m proud of you, Midoriya. That fight... it reminded everyone why you’re here.”

Izuku blinked rapidly, a flush crawling across his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck. The warmth of her praise seemed to cut through the sting of his injuries far better than any salve Recovery Girl could provide.

After Izuku was cleared and given strict instructions to rest his muscles for at least two weeks, the group departed together in lively spirits. The tension that had coiled around them during the match had begun to dissipate, replaced by shared laughter and easy conversation as they returned to the main stadium.

The second bracket’s matches resumed swiftly, with Tenya stepping confidently into the arena. His opponent, Ibara Shiozaki, stood quietly across from him, the calm serenity of her expression masking the vicious potential of her vine-based Quirk. As the signal rang, Ibara's vines lashed out like vipers, writhing toward Tenya with alarming speed.

Yet in a blur of motion, Tenya activated his Recipro Burst, a dazzling surge that lit up the air with kinetic force. His engine roared and he moved faster than the eye could track, avoiding the vines entirely and slamming shoulder-first into Ibara before she could recover. Her feet left the ground for a heartbeat before she was propelled backward, skidding past the boundary line and coming to a halt with a shocked expression. The match was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

Next came Momo’s battle against Mina Ashido. The latter bounced into the ring with gleaming energy, her pink skin glistening under the stadium lights, acid sloshing subtly beneath her fingertips. Momo remained still, calculating. The instant the signal rang, Mina surged forward with agility and enthusiasm, attempting to corner her opponent into using wide-range support items that might falter under acidic corrosion.

But Momo had anticipated this. Within seconds, she maneuvered low and fast, constructing reinforced arm braces mid-motion to stabilize her grappling technique. She slipped beneath Mina’s extended arm, twisted her balance, and brought her down with swift, practiced precision. Her hold was expertly placed - limiting Mina’s limbs just enough to prevent the use of her Quirk without causing harm. The match concluded with a subtle nod from Momo as she released her grip, and Mina blinked up at her in surprise.

On the sidelines, Tsuyu tilted her head and regarded Momo with quiet awe.

“She’s really something. You’d never guess her Quirk wasn’t made for combat,” Tsuyu said, voice low and thoughtful.

Minoru gawked, unusually speechless. “She's got crazy control. Speed, strength, stamina - and she doesn’t even need anything flashy!”

Shouto crossed his arms and leaned forward slightly, watching Momo step off the arena platform with her usual composure.

“Momo isn’t just physically capable,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “She’s a strategist. She processes weaknesses and possibilities in seconds. I’ve seen her draw up six different countermeasures with nothing but a glance at someone’s Quirk report.”

Izuku nodded enthusiastically, expression lighting up with admiration. “She’s got backup plans for her backup plans - and fallback strategies for those. Honestly, Yaoyorozu might be able to outthink every single person in this arena,” he added with a grin, “including me.”

Tenya adjusted his glasses, nodding solemnly. “Her intellect is matched only by her discipline. To execute tactics so seamlessly under pressure... she’s an extraordinary student.”

As the next match began to gear up, the group fell into quiet, their attention collectively trained on the unfolding spectacle. But beneath their silent focus was a growing recognition - not just of individual talent, but of a shared momentum. The tournament wasn’t merely a display of power anymore. It had become a testament to collaboration, growth, and the bonds forged through fire, acid, speed, and stubborn determination.

The ring hummed with tension as Katsuki and Eijirou took their places for the final match of the second bracket. The air was dense with anticipation - not just from the crowd, but from the competitors themselves. Eijirou rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and immediately coated himself in a layer of hardened flesh, gleaming like forged steel beneath the stadium lights. Katsuki stood in a loose stance, hands already flaring with faint blasts of heat, his scowl fixed and unreadable.

The buzzer sounded, and Eijirou lunged first. His initial punch grazed Katsuki’s cheek - not a direct hit, but enough to split the skin and draw a small trickle of blood. Katsuki reeled back half a step, surprised not by the pain but by the precision of the hit. He retaliated instantly with an explosive burst aimed at Eijirou’s flank, the crackling sound ripping through the arena.

The impact threw Eijirou off balance, but his hardening held. He twisted midair and landed with a sharp skid, completely unharmed. Izuku leaned forward in the stands, eyes wide, blinking in disbelief.

“Kacchan... he’s on the defensive?” Izuku murmured to himself. It was rare - practically unheard of - for Katsuki Bakugou to be pushed into evasive maneuvers. Yet here he was, forced to duck, dodge, and weave around Eijirou’s barrage of blows. The red-haired brawler was pressing the offensive relentlessly, each fist landing with thudding power, his hardened frame like a living battering ram.

Katsuki grimaced, detonating small blasts to redirect Eijirou’s path, but still couldn’t land a clean hit. Sweat slipped down his temple as he circled, recalculating. Then, as Eijirou stepped in for another strike, Katsuki planted his foot, twisted sharply, and released a focused blast that connected squarely with his opponent’s exposed ribs. The sound of impact reverberated.

Eijirou stumbled, coughing once. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed as realization snapped into place.

“His hardening weakens,” he muttered aloud, “bit by bit... every blow chips away at it. He’s straining to keep it full-body.”

With renewed focus, Katsuki surged forward, abandoning restraint. His palms lit with furious energy, and explosions flew in calculated succession - one after another - battering Eijirou’s defense until fractures began to show. The hardened shell on his forearms began to crack, the layer around his chest dulled in shine, and his movements started to lag. Still, Eijirou pushed back, teeth clenched, fire in his eyes.

But Katsuki was faster.

Another detonation struck Eijirou’s shoulder, spinning him halfway. Then three more, coordinated in rapid bursts - one against the leg, another at the ribs, and the final blow launched directly into his core. The force lifted him from the ground in a violent arc, and when he landed, his body lay limp. His skin reverted to its normal texture, hardening lost.

The crowd gasped. Midnight raised her hand, confirming the outcome.

“Eijirou Kirishima is unconscious. Victory goes to Katsuki Bakugou!”

Tetsutetsu, watching from the sidelines, clenched his jaw. His arms folded across his chest, frustration simmering behind his narrowed eyes. He had cheered Eijirou relentlessly throughout the battle - two men with similar Quirks, similar grit - but only one had made it through. Katsuki didn’t acknowledge the spectators. He turned toward the exit in silence, already formulating how to dismantle his next opponent.

With the match concluded, the scoreboard illuminated the final rankings of the semifinals. Four names now blazed brightly on the bracket’s left edge:

Shouto Todoroki

Tenya Iida

Momo Yaoyorozu

Katsuki Bakugou

And for the crowd - who had cheered through firestorms, wind shockwaves, and tactical brilliance - it was clear: the last stretch of the Sports Festival would be no less explosive than everything that came before.

Chapter Text

The semi-finals of the U.A. Sports Festival commenced under a renewed sky tinged with anticipation, sunlight slanting across the stadium in long bars of gold and shadow. The crowd buzzed with speculation, debate, and reverence - two of Class 1-A’s sharpest tacticians and most physically dominant contenders had now stepped into the ring. Shouto Todoroki, precise as frostbite and volatile as wildfire, stood in quiet resolve. Across from him, Tenya Iida bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, posture taut, gaze focused, his mechanical engines purring behind taut calf muscles.

As Midnight's voice sliced through the air, calling the match to start, Shouto wasted no time.

A sudden burst of ice exploded forward from his right hand and foot, sprawling into twin rows that boxed Tenya in between tall jagged walls that froze the arena's surface and locked the space into a corridor of cold. The blue-white hue of Todoroki’s creation shimmered with intensity, creating a trap that Tenya had no intention of submitting to.

Rather than retreat or panic, Tenya adjusted his stance, gathered his strength, and with an explosive burst from his exhaust ports, launched himself into a vertical leap - a standing long jump executed with flawless athleticism. He twisted in mid-air and triggered his Recipro Burst at full power, his body now a streak of blue propulsion cutting across the open space above the ice corridor.

Shouto pivoted quickly, evading Tenya's incoming roundhouse kick by a slim margin - but his timing wasn’t perfect. Before he could recalibrate, Tenya curved his momentum with expert control and struck again, landing a powerful follow-up blow directly to Shouto’s ribs. The impact echoed through the stadium, and Shouto staggered backward with genuine surprise flickering across his usually unreadable expression.

Without a pause, Tenya continued his assault. He darted forward with Recipro Burst still active, grabbed Shouto by his uniform’s shoulder seam, and began dragging him toward the edge of the ring with incredible velocity. The plan was clear: force him out of bounds before Shouto could regain composure.

But then his pace slowed - not by choice.

Tenya stumbled, eyes narrowing. The exhaust ports on his legs hissed instead of roaring. He glanced down, panic trickling across his features as he realized his mufflers had frosted over, thick crystals of ice now encasing the vital components of his Quirk’s propulsion system.

“What... when did you-?” he asked, breath sharp, confusion palpable.

Shouto - standing firm again, having rebalanced his posture - spoke calmly, not with arrogance but with quiet explanation.

“After your second kick,” he said. “Just enough contact. I froze them with precision. You’ve gotten so used to my wide-range attacks that you forgot I could be precise too.”

The words carried not scorn, but honesty.

Tenya attempted to move again but his legs locked up further as frost crept across his lower body. The freezing extended in delicate, tactical branches from the engines outward, encasing him from the knees down and quickly winding up to his chest. Cementoss and Midnight watched with careful concern, but no intervention was necessary - Shouto wasn’t causing injury, only immobilization.

With Tenya fully trapped, his body hardened by ice and his propulsion completely disabled, Shouto stood within the ring's center, his breath misting faintly in front of him. He stepped back once, lowered his hands, and glanced toward Midnight without further motion.

“I couldn’t dodge your Recipro Burst,” he added, a quiet nod of respect echoing in the statement. "It was too fast."

Midnight raised her whip.

“Tenya Iida has been immobilized. Victory goes to Shouto Todoroki!”

The crowd burst into appreciation - not just applause, but a storm of admiration for the surgical execution of Todoroki’s tactics, and for Iida’s fierce display of speed, reflex, and resolve. Though the match was over, it had been anything but one-sided.

The arena’s atmosphere shifted sharply as Momo Yaoyorozu and Katsuki Bakugou stepped onto the fractured battlefield. The crowd, already humming with excitement after the semifinals’ earlier spectacle, quieted with the kind of anticipation reserved for matchups that felt less like sport and more like chess played with fire. This wasn’t simply an exchange of blows - it was a clash between raw aggression and cerebral control.

From the observation deck, Fumikage Tokoyami narrowed his eyes at the pacing of the bout. “She’s more restrained than before,” he murmured, watching Momo circle Bakugou from a wider range than she’d used in previous matches. Mina, seated beside him, nodded. “Totally. Against me, she was sharp and direct. Now it’s like she’s hanging back, watching every twitch.”

Izuku leaned forward, elbows braced against the rail. “She has to,” he said, voice low, focused. “Bakugou’s Quirk is explosively fast - literally - and he’s got the reflexes to match. Momo’s Quirk is more versatile than his, but only if she’s allowed space and time. The format of the Sports Festival favors instantaneous burst damage. She’s working uphill.”

He glanced at Mina and Fumikage meaningfully. “This isn’t a field op. It’s an enclosed spectacle built around flash and impact. The fact that she’s even here, in the semifinals, without a destructive or high-speed Quirk? That’s massive. In a real combat scenario - she’d take Bakugou apart.”

Shouto, arms folded beside Izuku, nodded in affirmation. “Her mind is the advantage. I’d bet she has a dozen tactical frameworks running concurrently. She’s waiting for stimulus. Trigger points. Bakugou doesn’t deal in range; he thrives in pressure zones. She’s countering that with calculated unpredictability.”

The match itself exploded into motion the instant the buzzer sounded.

Bakugou surged forward, his trademark initiation - a blazing right hook laced with explosive power - aimed directly at Momo’s midsection. But instead of dodging, Momo stepped into the strike, absorbed the momentum, and twisted. Her hands locked onto his wrist and bicep, and with a swift shoulder drop, she threw him over her back, sending him skidding along the stone like a launched firework. The arena gasped.

Bakugou snarled, recovering instantly, flipping to his feet with heat trailing his palms. Momo didn’t chase. She retreated to a wider arc, hands already forming the base structure of a flashbang grenade - a non-lethal disorienting weapon she’d timed to detonate not as cover but as distraction. Bakugou noticed it instantly and responded with a blast that dissolved the projectile midair.

Momo didn’t hesitate. She used the flash from the explosion as a faux cover, ducking into Bakugou’s space with a low pivot and landed two strikes across his ribs before disengaging. He retaliated, palm flaring, but she was already out of range again.

The pattern began to set in.

Step back. Lure him in. Force a frontal charge. Counter his predictable right-hand dominance. Hit. Withdraw.

She wasn’t winning in damage - but she was controlling tempo.

Still, this wasn’t sustainable.

The strain began to show after the fifth exchange. The constant maneuvering, maintaining distance, manufacturing gear on the fly - it taxed her stamina and slowed her reaction time. Bakugou didn’t miss that detail. His blasts narrowed in precision, each one less about brute force and more about steering Momo toward specific zones of the battlefield where escape routes dwindled.

The tension became palpable. This wasn’t a fight defined by brute dominance - it was a slow collapse of one margin over another, a war between intellect and instinct. And even as Momo remained collected, every second brought Bakugou closer to his preferred range.

And somewhere above the stadium, the breeze kicked up a little harder, like even the air was bracing for the shift.

The crowd pulsed with a tension far more sobering than previous matches, laced with unease rather than thrill. Yaoyorozu’s poise, though unwavering, betrayed faint signs of strain - subtle shifts in her breathing pattern, the shallow sheen of sweat above her brow, and the increasingly tighter intervals between object creation. Midnight noticed it instantly, glancing toward Cementoss at her side.

“She’s Commission-trained...” Midnight murmured, “But she’s pushing herself too close to the edge.”

Cementoss nodded grimly, eyes narrowed beneath his helmet. “Her Quirk metabolizes fat at a cellular level. The more she creates, the faster her reserves burn. It’s controlled, sure, but in extended combat it can induce anemia or cause a blackout - especially under the pressure Bakugou’s applying.”

On the field, Momo continued to shift tactically around Bakugou’s short-range blast zone, trying to keep pace with his unpredictable ricochets and directional bursts. Her strategy remained clean: evade the flame trails, deliver precision hits, and rely on sudden distractions. But the costs were beginning to show. She created a small trapping device to intercept Katsuki’s mid-charge, and while the creation slowed his advance, her movement lagged a fraction too long before the next dodge.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. His stance shifted - less aggressive, more calculating. He seemed, for once, genuinely annoyed.

“Damn it,” he muttered aloud, crackling sparks curling over his knuckles. “I thought you’d go down ten minutes ago.”

Momo’s grip tightened around the reinforced baton in her hand. Her expression remained composed, but her footfalls were dragging fractionally more with every step.

Katsuki grinned, manic but excited.

“You made me use this early,” he said. “Was gonna save it for the finals. But I guess it'll still drop jaws as the warm-up act. So congrats - this’ll kill you clean.”

At that, Momo’s entire posture stiffened. She didn’t flinch, but her eyes flicked briefly across Katsuki’s form - calculating, tracing trajectories, already theorizing what he might mean. She knew his file. She knew how extensive the Commission’s analyses had been. And she knew one technique sat atop that list in bold red ink: Howitzer Impact.

Katsuki launched upward in a tight spiral, hands ignited with two simultaneous explosions. While airborne, he twisted into a full rotation, building velocity in concentric circles, faster and faster. Like a cyclone of volatile energy, heat warped the air around his spinning form until the entire stadium looked as if it were wrapped in a glass distortion. At peak rotation, he aimed downward.

Shouto’s eyes widened. He bolted upright in the spectator box, fingers digging into the railing. “He's doing it,” he muttered.

Izuku was already on his feet. “If Momo’s even a half-second off…”

Shouto nodded tensely. “She’s out. Even if she dodges the core blast - the shockwave alone will launch her out of bounds.”

Neither boy liked what they were watching. Shouto’s teeth clenched at the overwhelming pressure of the move and the grotesque imbalance of this matchup. Katsuki’s arrogance, his theatricality, and his obsession with dominating his opponent - it was all too familiar. The way he smirked down at the girl below reminded Shouto of Endeavor.

Then the Howitzer fired.

Katsuki’s explosive tornado tore downward with devastating force, a swirling inferno of compressed pressure and detonating heat. The crowd gasped as the impact struck with thunderous velocity, sending dust and smoke rolling across the ring like a storm surge.

Everyone held their breath.

When the clouds finally dissipated, Momo’s body was revealed - tossed to the edge of the ring, her limbs limp, her form sprawled beyond the boundary. Her uniform bore scorch marks, but nothing severe. Somehow, her timing had been perfect enough to dodge the epicenter. But Shouto had been right - the force from the surrounding blasts and the blast wind had done the rest. A series of peripheral detonations had pushed her back before her frame could reset, launching her across the line.

She didn’t stir.

Midnight rushed forward, crouched beside her, checked her vitals, and then stood. “She’s unconscious, but stable,” she said into the mic. “Momo Yaoyorozu is out of bounds and unable to continue. The winner - Katsuki Bakugou!”

The stadium reacted in a confused mixture of awe and discomfort. Murmurs swept through the stands. Kaminari, wide-eyed, dropped his soda can.

“Okay, what was that?” he asked, voice somewhere between horror and respect.

Hanta shook his head slowly. “That was way overkill.”

Back near the Class 1-B section, Kendou nudged Monoma’s shoulder, smirking. “You really knew how to make enemies today, didn’t you?”

Monoma huffed. “Don’t flatter him. He was lucky. That matchup favored his Quirk - pure brute force against a support-type. If she had been given range or even tactical terrain… it would’ve been different.”

But it wasn’t.

Katsuki stood in the center of the ruined arena, breathing hard, fists smoking. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t smile anymore. He simply stepped off the platform.

The final match was set.

And after the carnage of this semifinal, no one knew what kind of battle that final clash might bring.

Recovery Girl’s office held the quiet gravity of battle aftermath - sterile, steady, and humming faintly with the energy of medical tools and soft voices. The fluorescent lighting made the bandages appear even whiter than they were, wrapped snugly around Momo’s forearms and collarbone. Her face was calm in unconscious rest, but the way her chest rose and fell in soft, shallow rhythms betrayed the immense toll her body had endured. Her uniform was scorched but intact; bruises peeked out from under linen gauze, faded purples streaking across her ribs and shoulders.

Recovery Girl moved with seasoned expertise, muttering quietly to herself as she checked vitals and swapped out compresses. The woman sighed once - gently, but knowingly - as she adjusted the cooling patch above Momo’s temple. “She’s stable,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone listening. “Used up nearly every ounce of stamina in her system. I can patch burns and fractures, but stamina depletion’s another story. She’ll need time.”

Standing at her side, Todoroki kept his fists clenched at his sides, arms stiff as iron. His breathing was slower than usual, drawn long and through the nose, as if each intake was an effort not to fall into visible worry. Izuku had arrived alongside him, his own injuries not yet fully healed, but his concern for Momo eclipsed personal ache.

Shouto’s eyes hadn’t left her face since the moment they entered. His jaw was clenched just a little tighter than necessary, the muscles ticked along his cheek as he watched the unconscious figure of one of the few people who had truly understood him.

Izuku leaned against the far wall, arms folded and brows furrowed. “You’ll be up next soon,” he said, his voice low, careful not to break the quiet.

Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes lingered on Momo’s hand - resting palm-up beside her, fingers slack, the knuckle scraped raw from the final clash she’d faced.

“Cementoss will be done fixing the stage any minute,” Izuku added. “If you’re late, they might penalize you.”

Still, no movement.

“She’d want you to be there,” Izuku said finally. “She wouldn’t want this to be what held you back.”

The words settled with slow gravity, wrapping around Shouto’s thoughts. His fists tightened once more, then slowly relaxed. He turned toward Izuku, his eyes clearer now, though lined with frustration.

“Stay,” he said. “Make sure she’s okay when she wakes.”

Izuku nodded, without hesitation. “Of course. I’ll be here.”

There was silence between them - a pact formed not from sentimentality but from mutual trust, born in years of shared learning and unspoken understanding.

Shouto stepped toward the door, casting one last look at Momo over his shoulder. He didn’t speak, but something in his gaze carried the weight of words unspoken - gratitude, regret, maybe even a quiet apology for leaving before she woke.

Then he exited the room, his footsteps loud against the tiled hallway, teeth gritted behind closed lips.

The air inside the stadium shifted dramatically as the crowd roared in anticipation. The temperature fluctuated violently - the chill of Todoroki’s ice clashing against the lingering heat radiating off his half-scorched battlefield. Cementoss had rebuilt the arena just in time for what was clearly shaping up to be the most intense showdown of the U.A. Sports Festival, and no one in the audience could sit still as Shouto and Bakugou faced off.

Without wasting time, Shouto launched his opening move: a massive eruption of ice that surged forward like a frozen tidal wave. Unlike the blast he used on Hanta earlier in the tournament, this one was tightly controlled, focused along a narrower line - less reckless, more strategic. The jagged crystals tore through the field with precision, and the air grew thin and brittle under its sheer force. Katsuki’s response was immediate and instinctual, triggering precise explosions beneath his feet to propel himself forward, through the incoming ice like a living missile. Steam hissed around him as his blasts shattered the frost ahead, forming a tunnel just wide enough for his body to thread through without being caught.

Katsuki rocketed forward, landing hard just meters away from Shouto. His smirk was confident, feral, and as unrelenting as ever. “Powerful,” he shouted over the din, as embers curled from his palms. “But your aim sucks. Try harder, Icy-Hot.”

Shouto remained silent, the glint in his eye unreadable. He shifted his stance subtly, right leg back, shoulders squared. As Katsuki lunged toward him, aiming a rotating blast toward Shouto’s chest, the dual wielder twisted low and to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. In one sweeping motion, Shouto launched his counter: a flaming uppercut driven by the technique he'd been refining in secret - Jet Kindling.

A hiss crackled through the air as his left fist glowed white-hot for a split second, striking Katsuki squarely in the abdomen. The explosion of fire was visceral, bursting outward from the impact point like a shockwave. Katsuki’s body twisted midair, spiraling toward the edge of the platform, flames licking his uniform and singeing his boots. He crashed hard but skidded just shy of the boundary line, his teeth gritted as he coughed violently. A smear of blood stained his chin, but rather than anger, a grin stretched across his face.

“Hell yeah,” Katsuki muttered, wiping his mouth. “About damn time you stopped holding back.”

But Shouto didn’t acknowledge the comment. He stood tall, his expression locked in something almost colder than his ice - a silence that wasn’t empty, but seething. Katsuki noticed it instantly, eyes narrowing with amusement as he pushed off his knees and started pacing toward him.

“What?” Katsuki grunted, voice raised just enough to cut through the crackling tension. “Pissed I beat the crap outta your girlfriend?” The way he said it was laced with mockery - provocation not just for battle but for blood.

Shouto's body tensed, but he gave no reply. Instead, he raised his left hand and with a guttural release of heat, ignited the Wall of Flames. A pillar of fire surged upward, expanding outward in a sweeping arc that engulfed the central arena in a dome of heat. Smoke rose instantly, obscuring his position and masking the intensity of his power.

Before Katsuki could make his move - whether to launch over the flames or blast through them - Shouto emerged, his silhouette barely visible through the heat haze. From his fingertips, thin beams of pure flame erupted, sharp and swift, slicing in multiple directions. It was his next-level move - Hell Spider - designed not to incinerate, but to target, slice, and incapacitate. The lines of fire zipped toward Katsuki with precision, forcing him to jerk backward, arms crossed in defense as sparks exploded off each impact.

In the stands, gasps and cheers filled the space like a storm of sound. Ochako leaned over the edge of the railing, wide-eyed and breath caught. “Todoroki's being way more aggressive than before.”

Sero raised an eyebrow, shifting nervously as he clutched the front of his jacket. “He’s pissed,” he muttered, half to himself. “Kinda like how he was when he fought me. He wiped me in, like... one move.”

Denki slouched against the back of his seat, squinting toward the arena. “If he keeps that up,” he said, half in disbelief, “Bakugou’s toast. It’ll be over in like... minutes. Maybe seconds.”

Below them, the duel intensified. The flames hadn’t stopped - not completely. Shouto’s control was relentless, weaving between offense and mobility like he had finally reconciled both halves of himself into something sharper, something unshakable. Katsuki gritted his teeth, digging deep into his arsenal of explosions, but the difference in energy - and focus - was beginning to show.

This wasn’t just a fight for a title anymore. Not for Shouto.

This was personal.

In the muted hum of the nurse’s office, Izuku sat tensely beside the still-unconscious Momo. The soft beeping of monitoring equipment and the distant cheers echoing from the arena felt like clashing soundtracks to two very different battles. His eyes were glued to the small TV mounted near the ceiling, where the final match unfolded with dazzling brutality.

Momo’s breathing was steady now, but her body remained limp, recovering from a fight that had pushed her to her absolute limit. Recovery Girl had done what she could - cool compresses, stabilized vitals, bandages with gentle antiseptic. Izuku glanced at her every few seconds, half-hoping she'd stir. But right now, his attention was tugged back to the screen by a burst of white flame.

Shouto was being aggressive, far more than usual. Izuku noticed the telltale flare of the Hell Spider - the scorching jets of flame slicing through the air in pinpoints. It wasn’t reckless in aim, but it was risky. Shouto had told him once, quietly, that condensing his flames that tightly scorched his fingertips even through temperature resistance. The control required was surgical. And while rage could sharpen purpose, it often dulled precision. Izuku shifted anxiously, watching Shouto push himself harder than ever, driven not by ego, but something more personal.

Back in the arena, the final duel had reached its fever pitch.

Bakugou, scuffed and bloodied, refused to fall. His uniform hung in charred tatters, but despite a bruised rib and a singed shoulder, he still launched himself forward with a manic gleam in his eyes. Shouto stood center stage, breathing rhythmic but intense, sweat rolling from his brow where ice once coated his skin. The two had exchanged multiple devastating hits, each one scraping against the other’s defenses like grinding metal.

But Katsuki was outmatched.

Furious and refusing to admit defeat, he launched into the signature spiral of his Howitzer Impact, flames and explosions swirling into a tornado of propulsion. His body spun rapidly as he ascended, aiming to obliterate Shouto with the same move that had downed Momo.

Shouto’s answer came just as explosively.

He ignited his own fire beneath his left boot, lifting himself with a jet of heat that shattered fragments of the arena floor. Midair, he accelerated toward the center of Katsuki’s spiraling motion. Then, with precision born from sheer will, Shouto reached through the rotating fire and grabbed Katsuki’s wrist.

The momentum collided.

Shouto flipped, bracing with his shoulder and redirected the spin, hurling Katsuki downward. The blond flailed to correct himself, using two small burst detonations to slow his fall - but they were uneven, desperate. He crashed into the center ring hard, coughing from impact, barely holding himself off the stone floor.

Before he could fully rise, Shouto dropped - his left boot pressing between Katsuki’s shoulder blades, anchoring him in place.

Growling with frustration, Katsuki triggered a small explosion from his palm to catapult himself upward and knock Shouto off-balance. But the moment he ignited, Shouto responded instantly. Fire roared from his heel, burning hot and direct into Katsuki’s back, forcing him down again.

The arena fell silent.

The flame subsided. Katsuki’s body remained pinned. Even his hands - so often defiant - trembled faintly, unable to lift.

Midnight stepped forward, voice steady despite the magnitude of the moment.

“Katsuki Bakugou is immobilized! Victory goes to Shouto Todoroki!”

The crowd erupted in an explosion of applause, gasps, and disbelief. Shouto didn’t lift his arms. Didn’t roar or grin or revel. He simply stepped off, fists curled, breath even, eyes locked somewhere distant, like the win hadn’t satisfied something inside him that still gnawed.

Up in the observation decks, Denki blinked rapidly.

“That move... was brutal.”

As Shouto Todoroki stood beneath a sky breaking with applause, scarred but composed, there was no mistaking the truth:

The U.A. First-Year Champion had been crowned.

Chapter Text

The sun had mellowed into a soft orange glow by the time the awards ceremony commenced, casting a golden hue across the shattered remains of the stadium. The repair crews had worked tirelessly to restore the stage's surface just enough for formality, though the scorch marks and fractured concrete served as visceral reminders of the power that had echoed through its walls.

Students, staff, and spectators filled the stands once more, subdued from the earlier chaos yet buzzing with pride and reflection. On the podium erected just off-center from the battlefield, three figures stood beneath fluttering school banners: Shouto Todoroki in first place, Momo Yaoyorozu sharing third with Tenya Iida - though his absence was noted by a respectfully empty space beside her - and Katsuki Bakugou, who was bound at the arms with reinforced restraint bands provided by Hound Dog and cemented into place, scowling like a volcano simmering below its crust.

The murmurs of the crowd quieted as Midnight stepped to the mic, theatrical and sparkling despite the faint bruises along her cheek from the earlier blast radius. With a flourish, she welcomed All Might to the stage, but misjudged her timing and cut into his signature line.

"I AM-" All Might began before Midnight’s overly dramatic fanfare blared. She gasped, apologized profusely, and slinked back with exaggerated embarrassment. All Might offered a tight smile, but the corner of his eye twitched subtly.

Nevertheless, he pressed forward, arms outstretched in full charismatic form.

“Today we witnessed passion, resolve, and growth. You all fought like true Heroes!”

He turned first to Momo, who stood poised yet visibly tired, her fingers still wrapped lightly in gauze. All Might placed the bronze medal around her neck and leaned down with a quiet smile.

“You impressed me greatly. Field combat would’ve suited you better than this tournament - but you didn’t let the limitations stop you. Your adaptability is outstanding. Keep pushing forward. You’re on a great path, Young Yaoyorozu - don’t ever stray from it.”

Momo bowed her head respectfully, the weight of the moment settling into the tired curve of her smile.

All Might then turned to Katsuki, whose expression had only darkened with the swelling applause. The silver medal dangled in All Might’s hand.

“Young Bakugou, your strength is unquestionable. Your drive... unstoppable. Channel it with purpose and control, and there is nothing you can’t overcome.”

Katsuki grunted, looking away. “I don’t want it. Second is just first place for losers.”

All Might sighed once, then without ceremony, forced the medal between Katsuki’s clenched teeth and let the ribbon hang unceremoniously from his mouth. The crowd stifled laughter, while Katsuki sputtered curses behind bared teeth.

Finally, All Might turned to Shouto, whose gold medal gleamed under the fading light. The boy stood still, not proudly, but contemplative. All Might placed the medal gently around his neck, then rested a hand against Shouto’s shoulder with quiet sincerity.

“You’ve begun the journey to mastering both sides of yourself. It’s not just power - it’s control. Keep training. Someday, you’ll wield both simultaneously with purpose and grace.”

Shouto nodded once, not speaking, but his grip on the medal tightened subtly.

With that, All Might stepped forward to close the ceremony, voice rising over the hushed crowd.

“To all the students who fought, to those who supported, and to those who grew - we thank you. This is only the beginning. You are the future.”

Applause followed, scattered and heartfelt.

Later that evening, Class 1-A gathered near their seating section where Aizawa stood waiting, wrapped loosely in his capture weapon and his expression as unreadable as ever. His voice cut through the afterglow with clarity.

“You’re all excused for the next two school days. Use it to recuperate - mentally and physically. When you return, we’ll begin reviewing draft offers. Don’t be late.”

No one argued. Even Bakugou, still grumbling about second place, fell into quiet acceptance.

The sun slipped lower behind the skyline, and for the students of U.A., a hard-fought chapter closed - not with finality, but with the quiet promise of what would come next.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The morning light filtered gently through the high glass windows of the hospital ward, casting a soft sheen over the sterile floors and quiet hallways. Shouto’s footsteps echoed faintly as he approached the familiar door tucked away near the end of the corridor - a modest room filled with pale sunflowers and watercolor paintings, comforting remnants of care that dulled the edge of its clinical nature. Rei Todoroki was already waiting by the window, dressed in a light lavender sweater, her hands resting delicately in her lap. The moment her son stepped through the threshold, she rose with practiced ease and opened her arms.

He received her hug with quiet warmth, the embrace lasting just long enough to feel the tension of days past begin to melt away. They sat on the soft couch by the wall, angled perfectly to catch both the morning rays and the occasional gust of wind through the cracked window. Shouto began recounting everything - his voice steady, each word wrapped in the nuances of memory and reflection. He told her about the matches, the bruises and burns that still lined his body, the crowd's cheers, the unnerving silence between rounds, and the internal battles just as draining as the physical ones.

Rei listened intently, nodding in all the right places, her expression one of quiet pride mingled with gentle concern. She smiled when he spoke of winning gold but seemed most moved when he spoke not of victory, but of progress - his tentative steps toward further accepting both halves of his power, and the complexity that came with it. They talked for nearly an hour, the conversation weaving between the present and the past, stitched together by the threads of understanding they’d slowly rebuilt over the years.

Eventually, Shouto stood, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

“I’ll see you next week, okay?”

Rei nodded and squeezed his hand with surprising strength. “You always do.”

The walk home was quiet, urban sounds muffled behind Shouto’s steady thoughts. When he returned to the modest apartment he shared with Momo and Izuku, the scent of old paper and metal filled the living space. Momo sat curled on the corner of the couch with a thick book opened across her knees, her reading glasses low on her nose and her brow furrowed in concentration. Izuku, off to the side near the balcony door, was mid-set with his dumbbells, sweat dotting his forehead and a playlist murmuring faintly from his phone speaker. It was a scene so ordinary, so familiar, it grounded Shouto in a way that not even victory could.

He didn’t say much as he stepped into the kitchen and prepared his meal with methodical precision, boiling soba noodles, chilling them in icy water, then artfully arranging them beside a small dish of tsuyu sauce. The steam from the broth curled around his face like soft mist as he carried his bowl to the couch and settled next to Momo, their shoulders touching naturally. He leaned into her with quiet contentment, and she adjusted slightly to accommodate him without taking her eyes off the page.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, she glanced at him and spoke with gentle curiosity.

“How was your visit with your mom?”

Shouto chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed, his gaze drifting to the balcony where the sunlight stretched across the floor in long, golden bands.

“She was doing well. We talked about everything - the matches, the crowd, the medal... I think she was proud.”

Momo smiled, setting her book aside for the moment and giving him her full attention.

“She should be. You were incredible out there.”

He didn’t reply right away, simply dipping his noodles again and savoring the flavor before speaking softly.

“She said... I looked more balanced. Like I wasn’t forcing one side down anymore.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and honest, and Momo reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. Neither spoke for a while, and they didn’t need to. The quiet companionship of the apartment, the gentle rhythm of ordinary life, felt like a reward of its own - a reminder that healing came not only through triumph but through quiet moments of understanding, shared over a bowl of noodles and an open heart.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The morning buzz in Musutafu was livelier than usual, a crisp spring breeze sweeping through the sidewalks as students filtered toward U.A. High. Pedestrians paused at intersections and leaned out of storefronts, murmuring excitedly when three familiar figures passed by. Shouto walked a pace behind his roommates, hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze cool despite the pointing fingers and scattered whispers. Izuku grinned smally, half-waving at those who recognized him, while Momo offered quiet nods of acknowledgement, poised even under the attention. The Sports Festival had clearly left its mark - and not just on the battlefield.

Inside Classroom 1-A, the noise had a different tone. Students chatted animatedly about sudden social media spikes, fan accounts already forming, and distant relatives who had caught broadcasts of their matches. Minoru bragged to anyone listening that he’d trended for nearly four hours before someone posted a meme of him getting stuck in his own trap. Denki pulled up his phone with a groan, pointing to the lower numbers on his analytics.

Conversations stumbled to a halt the moment Aizawa entered through the sliding door - unbandaged, alert, and looking more like his signature Eraser Hero persona than he had in days. His capture weapon flowed behind him like shadowed silk, and his stare was the usual unblinking baritone of exhaustion and expectation.

"You all look too awake," he muttered as he walked to the podium, tapping at the screen behind him. "Homeroom today is Hero Informatics."

Whispers broke out instantly, Hanta and Kaminari hissing in sync, "Wait- does that mean a test?"

Aizawa sighed and turned toward them. "No test. At least not today."

He clicked to the next slide.

"You’ll be selecting your code names."

Silence cracked into elation. Students jumped up from their seats, several of them nearly toppling desks. Tsuyu blinked in surprise and leaned toward Ochako, murmuring, "I didn’t think we’d be doing this so soon."

Mineta threw his arms wide. "My destiny begins now!"

Aizawa raised one hand and the room fell still again. "This isn’t just creative license. The names you choose now will be the first impression Pro-Heroes have when considering you for draft placements. They’re not permanent - offers can be retracted before graduation - but they are your brand. Choose wisely."

He tapped the screen again, revealing a breakdown of draft offers compiled since the Sports Festival. Gasps rippled through the room.

"These are the initial results." Four students - Todoroki, Midoriya, Yaoyorozu, and Bakugou - led the class with thousands of offers each.

Denki slumped onto his desk with exaggerated pain. "Thousands?! I only got three digits! What happened to lightning being cool?"

Jirou raised her eyebrow. "Look at Yaoyorozu. More offers than Bakugou, even though she lost to him. And Izuku’s offer count is above hers, and he didn’t even make it as far."

Shouto kept his eyes on the floor, unmoved by the fanfare. "It’s probably because of my father," he said flatly. "Heroes know the name Todoroki. It’s not merit - they expect me to become him."

Izuku echoed the sentiment, his fingers laced together. "I think it’s the All Might connection for me. People assume potential."

Sero leaned back in his seat and muttered, "Pros are probably nervous about Bakugou after the medal ceremony. Guy looked ready to explode - literally."

Katsuki scoffed, eyes narrowing. "If that scared them, then they’re weak. They don’t deserve me anyway."

Uraraka turned, smiling softly. "Tenya and I got a few offers too," she said, clutching her notebook. "Not many - but it feels good to know someone out there saw something they liked."

Aizawa stepped away from the podium and paced toward the center aisle.

"Whether you received ten offers or none," he said, voice sharp but calm, "it doesn’t change what happens next. You’ll each intern with a Pro-Hero for a week. Observation, practice, fieldwork. You’ll submit reports afterwards, and I’ll grade you accordingly."

The class straightened with a collective inhale, excitement returning beneath a layer of nervous anticipation.

The hero world had noticed them.

And now it was time for them to step into it.

The room buzzed with anticipation as Aizawa stood before the class, arms crossed and gaze firm beneath his unkempt hair. Though the students had already glimpsed the gravity of choosing hero identities, he drove the point home once more, his voice low yet commanding.

“These names aren’t just labels,” he said. “They’re statements. Your core, wrapped in two or three words. Heroes are remembered by them - feared or revered because of them.”

Before anyone could react, the door slid open with dramatic flair, and in swept Midnight, her extravagant presence immediately pulling every eye toward her. Her heels clicked against the tile as she strutted in, offering the class a wicked grin that hinted at equal parts enthusiasm and authority.

“I’ll be the final judge of your names,” she declared, waving a hand dramatically. “Some of you might have genius in you, and some of you… well, we’ll just see.”

She distributed clean white canvases to each desk, letting them absorb the moment as they held markers above blank slates. With each stroke, the students began forging their future.

The hesitation was palpable - only Aoyama rose with theatrical confidence, glitter practically radiating off his curls. He turned his canvas with flourish. “‘I Cannot Stop Twinkling’!” he announced, voice sparkling with pride.

The room collectively tilted their heads, uncertain whether to laugh or applaud.

Midnight tapped her chin and mused, “Hm. A bit much. Let’s shorten that to ‘Can’t Stop Twinkling'.” She gave a wink, approving the name with a giggle.

Next was Mina Ashido, bouncing to the front with uncontained excitement. “I’m going with ‘Alien Queen’!” she shouted.

The mood shifted.

Midnight tilted her head. “I can’t let you take on the identity of a sci-fi villain.” Mina wilted a little, muttering, “Back to the drawing board…”

The shift made the room tense - until Tsuyu Asui stood calmly and offered her name with composed honesty: “'Rainy Season Hero: Froppy'.”

Her classmates burst into cheers and laughter - not at her, but in delight at how uniquely her name fit her personality. It was endearing, and even Midnight smiled with genuine approval.

Kirishima stepped forward next, fists clenched with enthusiasm as he unveiled his deep admiration. “'Sturdy Hero: Red Riot'!” he declared.

A moment of silence passed, followed by nods from his peers, a few inspired whispers of, “He’s really aiming for Crimson Riot’s legacy.”

Denki Kaminari, on the other hand, stared blankly at his canvas. Kyouka leaned over with a smirk and said, “How about… Jamming Whey?”

Denki’s eyes lit up before realizing she was teasing. “Wait. Did you just call me Swiss Cheese?”

Kyouka shrugged and marched to the front, showing her name with quiet confidence. “Hearing Hero: Earphone Jack.”

One by one, the others followed.

Shouji chose 'Tentacle Hero: Tentacole', his quiet demeanor fitting the name’s subtle cleverness. Sero beamed as he held up 'Tape Hero: Cellophane', embracing both humor and utility. Ojiro stayed true to his roots with 'Martial Arts Hero: Tailman', while Satou leaned into sweetness - literally - with 'Sweets Hero: Sugarman'.

Ashido rebranded herself with cheerful resilience, returning to Midnight with a brighter idea. “I’m Pinky,” she said simply. Midnight approved with a flourish.

Kaminari finally settled on 'Stun Gun Hero: Chargebolt', pleased with its punchy feel. Hagakure, ever the invisible force, wrote 'Stealth Hero: Invisible Girl'. Momo approached with her elegant demeanor and presented 'Everything Hero: Creati', merging intellect with aspiration.

Shouto stepped forward without flourish, holding up his canvas. 'Frozen-Fire Hero: Flux'. A hush fell over the class, respectful and curious.

Tokoyami stepped next. “'Jet Black Hero: Tsukuyomi'.” His voice was grave, the name as poetic and mysterious as his shadowy Quirk.

Mineta shouted, “'Fresh Picked Hero: Grape Juice'!” with far more confidence than the name warranted. Kouda, silent as always, held up his canvas with 'Petting Hero: Anima' - it was simple, heartfelt, and undeniably him.

Then came Bakugou.

He marched forward, eyes blazing, gripping his canvas like it owed him something. “'King Explosion Murder',” he stated flatly.

A collective gasp. Midnight raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

“You are not branding yourself with murder, Bakugou,” she replied sharply.

“Fine,” he snapped. “'Lord Explosion Murder'.”

Midnight sighed. “You’ll go by ‘Bakugou’ until you can be reasonable.”

Lastly, Uraraka stepped forward, balancing excitement and nervousness. “'Zero Gravity Hero: Uravity',” she announced. The room lit up with approval, her clever combination of ‘Uraraka’ and gravity striking just the right chord.

The only ones left were Tenya and Izuku.

Tenya’s eyes lingered on his canvas, memories tugging at his heart. His brother, Tensei, lying in that hospital bed, voice unwavering despite the harsh truth of his paralysis. “You have what it takes. Take the name, Tenya. Be Ingenium.”

But despite the honor, Tenya stood tall and wrote 'Tenya Iida'. Midnight offered no protest, seeing the weight behind the decision.

Izuku approached last, marker shaking slightly. “Echo,” he whispered.

The name was approved with a nod, its simplicity masking the depth it carried - reverberation, legacy, hope.

Aizawa returned to the front, eyes scanning the list of chosen identities.

“Names aside, it’s time to focus on internships,” he said. “If you received offers, you’ll choose from your list. If not, there are about forty agencies available for placement.”

Midnight offered a more hopeful tone. “Pick an agency that mirrors your goals. Your ideals. You’re not just students - you’re aspiring heroes.”

With that, Aizawa dismissed them, leaving the room filled with quiet reflection and eager possibility. The canvas names now hung above their heads - not just titles, but stepping stones toward the path they were all racing down, together.

The cafeteria was as lively as ever - chatter echoing off metal trays and sun spilling through high windows. Over by a quieter corner table, the Trust Trio sat in their familiar configuration. Izuku, elbows on the table and brow lightly furrowed, flipped through his stack of offer forms, organized with deliberate care and annotated by his own notes. Momo had hers spread neatly in front of her, each page arranged in a grid of priorities and pros-and-cons columns. Shouto leaned back in his seat with less enthusiasm. His list was shorter - not because fewer agencies had approached him, but because he’d discarded most of them in his mind already.

As he skimmed through one folder, Shouto’s fingers paused midway down the page. His expression didn’t shift at first, but Momo noticed the stillness in his shoulders. Then he rolled his eyes, the motion almost theatrical for someone so naturally composed.

“Got one from my father’s agency,” he muttered.

Izuku glanced over, sympathetic. Momo reached across and tapped the folder lightly, lips curled in a half-smile. “You can pretend that one slipped behind the radiator and caught fire.”

Shouto didn’t reply, but the faint lift of his brow hinted at amusement.

Across the room, Mina bounded over to her usual crowd of classmates, energetic even with a tray overloaded with curry bread and melon soda.

“Okay, okay, who’s chosen their agency already?” she called out, plopping down between Mashirao and Tsuyu.

Minoru raised his hand proudly, beaming.

“I went with Mt. Lady’s agency,” he declared. “Big city presence. Even bigger-”

Tsuyu cut him off, deadpan.

“You picked her because you’re perverted.”

“No!” he protested weakly. “I mean- well…”

Mashirao leaned forward, concern ghosting across his features. “Kinda weird you didn’t get any offers, though,” he said to Mina. “You made it to the second round.”

Mina shrugged, grabbing a piece of bread. “Guess I’m not marketable yet,” she said, mouth half full. “I mean, pink acid’s not exactly graceful, right?”

Ochako, seated nearby, leaned in with a grin. “I picked Gunhead’s agency.”

Mina’s eyes lit up. “Battle Hero; Gunhead?”

Ochako nodded eagerly. “He’s mostly combat-based, yeah - but I want to learn new techniques. I focused so much on rescue that I figured a new perspective would help me balance both. Plus, he’s got cool grappling moves.”

Minoru looked skeptical. “Isn’t that guy always fighting underground villains? Won’t you get wrecked?”

“I’ll be fine,” Ochako said with a playful wink. “It’s good pressure.”

She turned to Izuku. “What about you?”

Izuku shifted slightly, then held up his form. “Wing Hero; Hawks.”

Momo looked up immediately. “Me too.”

Shouto blinked, then nodded quietly. “Same.”

Ochako’s brow furrowed. “All three of you? That’s... a little coordinated.”

Izuku managed a tight smile, hiding the deeper truth. He knew the Commission’s fingerprints well enough. Placing him, Momo, and Shouto under the mentorship of a Commission-trained pro - someone like Hawks, who’d been molded by their system since childhood - was far too precise to be coincidence. But saying that aloud wouldn’t help anything.

Before he could change the topic, Tokoyami leaned closer to their table from a nearby seat, voice low and calm.

“I received an offer from Hawks as well. I accepted.”

Izuku blinked. That made four.

Momo’s fingers paused over her form, her eyes meeting Shouto’s. He looked back, equal parts contemplative and resigned. Izuku stared down at his paper again, the agency name highlighted in quiet yellow.

The Commission wasn’t just watching. They were organizing.

And now - they were all walking into the same shadow. Together.

Chapter Text

The next morning brought with it a sharp clarity to the air, crisp and alive with new momentum. The Trust Trio walked with steady purpose toward Hawks’ agency building, its modern steel-and-glass facade reflecting the early light like mirrored wings. Fumikage Tokoyami trailed beside them, silent but alert, his sharp gaze flicking between the unfamiliar architecture and the confident expressions of his companions.

Inside the reception hall, the agency pulsed with quiet efficiency - sidekicks in navy jackets moved swiftly through reports and communication streams, large monitors hummed with patrol feeds, and a distinctly casual energy drifted through the room despite its high-level operations. Near the back, standing with arms folded across his chest and wings tucked tight against his back, was Hawks himself. He turned with fluid ease as they approached, his trademark smirk already forming.

“Hey-o,” he said with a drawn-out grin, voice effortlessly casual. “It’s been a while, huh? Izuku, Shouto, Momo - you three still finding ways to get yourselves into trouble?”

Izuku smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not intentionally.”

Momo bowed politely. “We’re honored to be here, Hawks.”

Shouto nodded in quiet acknowledgment.

Fumikage tilted his head slightly, curiosity coloring his otherwise composed tone. “You seem familiar with them. Do you know each other?”

Izuku glanced at Shouto and Momo before replying, his voice dipped with caution. “Sort of. We… grew up together in a way. It’s complicated.”

Hawks let out a soft chuckle and moved forward to ruffle Izuku’s hair with one hand, a flicker of fondness passing through his playful demeanor. “That’s one way to put it. Commission kids are always a tangled story.”

He straightened again and stretched his wings once, posture shifting into a more professional stance. “Anyway, full transparency - I’m swamped. Big intel run today. I won’t be training you directly.”

He handed Momo a folded document from the inside of his jacket. “Pick a city to patrol. Think of it as controlled free-roaming. You’re smart, well-trained, and I trust you can handle yourselves - even if it’s daylight patrol. Might be quiet, but villains don’t always wait until curfew.”

Momo opened the paper slowly, scanning over a list of potential cities: Musutafu, Kamino, Hosu, Naboo, Hachioji, and a handful of smaller boroughs.

Before she could speak, Izuku leaned forward, tapping the entry for Hosu with his index finger.

“Hosu City. Maybe we’ll run into Iida. He’s working under Normal Hero; Manual there.”

Shouto examined the choice, then nodded once. “It’s a reasonable distance. And Iida could use some backup.”

Fumikage agreed immediately. “Very well. Hosu has been volatile in recent months. A patrol presence wouldn’t be wasted.”

Momo cast one last glance down the list before folding the paper again. “Hosu it is.”

Hawks stepped back, half-turned toward the main hall. “Perfect. I’ll send two of my best sidekicks with you - Eagle Eye and Shift. Good instincts. They’ll stay out of your way unless things escalate.”

He motioned, and moments later two professionals arrived - one tall and lean with optics designed for long-range scanning, the other shorter with the ability to phase through solid surfaces for mobility and recon. Both greeted the students with respectful nods, no unnecessary theatrics.

As preparations finalized, Izuku adjusted his gloves, Shouto tested the flame response in his left palm, Momo stretched, and Fumikage steadied Dark Shadow quietly beside him. They were ready.

Outside, the agency doors parted with a hiss as the group stepped into the breeze, flanked by Hawks’ sidekicks. The city lay ahead, waiting. What began as an internship was already shifting - less about lessons, more about presence, impact, and the lives they'd begun to shape with every step forward.

The day’s patrol had been largely uneventful, a quiet rhythm of observation and civic presence. The Trust Trio and Fumikage moved through Hosu City with practiced ease, flanked by Hawks’ sidekicks who kept a watchful but unobtrusive distance. The only incident of note was a clumsy attempted robbery at a convenience store, which Shouto shut down with a single, precise ice wall that immobilized the culprit without injury. The store clerk thanked them profusely, and the group continued on, the sun dipping low behind the skyline.

But as night fell, the tone of the city shifted.

The group was making their way back toward Manual’s office when the distant sound of explosions and shouting broke the calm. Turning a corner, they came upon a chaotic scene - Pro Heroes locked in combat with grotesque, hulking figures. Nomus. Their twisted forms moved with unnatural speed and strength, and the air was thick with smoke and panic. The sidekicks immediately sprang into action, shouting orders and rushing to assist the heroes already engaged.

“Stay back!” Eagle Eye barked, wings flaring as he took flight. “This isn’t your fight!”

Shift phased through a nearby wall, already scanning for civilians to evacuate. The students hesitated only briefly before obeying, retreating from the battle zone with urgency.

As they ran, Izuku’s thoughts raced. He’d seen the morning news - Tensei Iida, the Pro Hero Ingenium, had been critically injured by the infamous Hero Killer: Stain. The footage had been brief, but the implications were clear. And now, Manual was fighting without Tenya by his side.

“He’s not with Manual,” Izuku said aloud, breath catching. “Iida must’ve gone after Stain.”

Momo’s eyes widened, her mind already connecting threads. “If that’s true, then he’s alone. And if the League of Villains is involved with the Nomus, then Stain might be part of something bigger.”

Fumikage nodded grimly. “Stain’s attacks have all been in low-traffic areas. He isolates his targets.”

They made a quick decision to split up, each taking a different alleyway near Manual’s office. The streets were dimly lit, shadows stretching long across cracked pavement. Izuku sprinted down a narrow corridor, heart pounding, scanning every corner.

Then he saw them.

Tenya lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, his body rigid and unmoving. Native, another Pro Hero, was slumped nearby, barely conscious. And standing over them, blade glinting in the moonlight, was Stain. His posture was calm, almost reverent, as he raised his weapon for the final strike.

Izuku didn’t hesitate.

One For All surged through his limbs, electricity crackling as he launched forward with a burst of speed. His foot connected with Stain’s side in a powerful smash kick, sending the villain skidding backward. Tenya gasped, eyes wide with shock.

“Midoriya-” he started, voice strained.

“We need to move,” Izuku said quickly, crouching beside him. “We need to get to an open area. Heroes can help us there.”

“I can’t,” Tenya whispered. “He cut me. I can’t move.”

Izuku’s eyes darted to the wound, then to Native’s similar state. A theory formed instantly.

His Quirk… it activates when he cuts you. That’s how he paralyzes his targets.

Stain rose slowly, eyes gleaming with cold purpose.

“You’re interfering,” he said. “I’m here to cleanse the false heroes. That boy is one of them. If you stand in my way, the weaker power will be culled.”

Izuku stepped in front of his fallen friends, fists clenched, body trembling with adrenaline.

“I won’t let you touch them.”

He knew this wasn’t like the U.S.J. attack. Stain wasn’t chaotic - he was deliberate, ideological, and terrifyingly efficient. Izuku couldn’t win this alone. He activated the private communication channel on his wristband, sending out his location to Shouto and Momo with a brief message: Found Stain. Iida injured. Need backup.

Tenya’s voice cracked behind him. “Don’t… don’t get involved. This is my fight. It’s personal.”

Izuku didn’t turn around.

“It’s personal for all of us now.”

And with that, he braced himself - alone, for the moment, but unwavering. The Hero Killer stepped forward, blade gleaming, and Izuku prepared to face him head-on.

The alley erupted into motion as Izuku activated Full Cowl, green lightning crackling across his limbs. His body surged forward with explosive speed, closing the distance between him and Stain in an instant. The Hero Killer’s longer reach, once a tactical advantage, was rendered moot as Izuku ducked low and slid beneath his legs, narrowly avoiding the slash of a knife from Stain’s free hand. The villain pivoted with uncanny agility, swinging his katana in a wide arc behind him, but Izuku anticipated the move and leapt upward, flipping over Stain’s head with practiced precision.

Mid-air, Izuku focused his energy into a controlled burst and delivered a 5% Detroit Smash directly to Stain’s skull. The impact reverberated through the alley, a shockwave of force that cracked the pavement beneath them. But Stain barely flinched. His body absorbed the blow with disturbing resilience, and his expression remained eerily calm. Before Izuku could retreat, Stain’s tongue flicked out, licking the edge of his blade. Izuku’s limbs locked up instantly, his body falling limp as realization dawned.

He grazed me, Izuku thought, panic rising. That’s how his Quirk works. He needs blood.

Stain’s eyes narrowed with a strange intensity, not of hatred, but of judgment. He looked down at Izuku, paralyzed and vulnerable, and spoke with quiet conviction.

“You’re different. You fight for others. You have conviction. You’re not like that boy or the coward beside him. You’re worth sparing.”

Izuku’s heart pounded in his chest, helpless to move as Stain turned his attention back to Tenya and Native. The Hero Killer raised his blade once more, prepared to finish what he started.

But before the strike could land, a flaming throwing knife whistled through the air and embedded itself in the wall beside Stain’s head. He recoiled, eyes darting toward the source.

Shouto and Momo emerged from the shadows, their expressions fierce and unwavering. Shouto wasted no time, unleashing a wave of ice that surged across the alley, forcing Stain to retreat and giving him just enough space to secure Izuku, Tenya, and Native behind a protective barrier. Momo followed up with a barrage of throwing knives, each crafted with precision and aimed to keep Stain at bay.

“You’re not killing anyone tonight,” Shouto said coldly, his breath visible in the frigid air.

Izuku, still unable to move, managed to speak through clenched teeth. “Don’t let him taste your blood. That’s how he activates his Quirk.”

Shouto and Momo exchanged a glance, nodding in silent agreement. They adjusted their strategy, keeping their distance and using ranged attacks to pressure Stain. But the villain was relentless. He hurled a knife with deadly accuracy, and though they narrowly dodged, Shouto’s cheek was sliced open, a thin line of blood trailing down his face. Momo’s hair was grazed, strands falling to the ground.

Stain lunged at Shouto, who responded with a towering pillar of ice. But the Hero Killer had anticipated the move. As he charged, he tossed his katana into the air, drawing Shouto’s attention upward. The distraction nearly cost him - Stain reached for the blood on Shouto’s cheek, his tongue poised to activate his Quirk.

Before he could, Momo launched a precise attack, striking Stain’s arm and forcing him back. Shouto recovered quickly, retaliating with a barrage of ice waves that forced Stain to grab his falling katana and defend himself. The villain’s movements were fluid, almost graceful, and he parried each attack with practiced ease.

“You’re strong,” Stain admitted, eyes flicking between the two students. “And you work well together. That’s rare.”

Tenya, still immobilized, cried out from behind the ice barrier. “Stop! This is my fight! I’ve inherited Ingenium’s name. I’m the one who should stop him!”

Momo turned her head, voice firm but gentle. “Ingenium never had vengeance in his eyes. You do.”

Shouto, undeterred, summoned a massive wall of ice to block Stain’s advance. But the Hero Killer slashed through it with brutal efficiency, his blade carving a path through the frozen barricade. He smirked as he emerged from the mist.

“Foolish,” he said. “You blocked your own view. I’m faster than you.”

He hurled two throwing knives at Shouto’s left side, aiming for vital points. Momo reacted instantly, deflecting them with a shield she had created moments earlier. But Stain was already airborne, leaping above them with his katana raised, ready to strike.

Just as the blade descended, Izuku - his paralysis finally fading - lunged forward and tackled Stain mid-air, driving him into the ground with a burst of strength. The two tumbled across the alley, and Izuku rolled to his feet, panting heavily.

Momo’s eyes widened. “His Quirk must have a time limit.”

But Native, still conscious despite his injuries, shook his head weakly. “No… the green-haired boy was the last one he cut. That can’t be it.”

Izuku’s mind raced, analyzing every detail. “Then… maybe it’s blood type. The effect must vary depending on the person’s blood.”

Stain, now crouched and watching them with renewed interest, nodded slowly.

“You’re clever. Yes. My Quirk’s effectiveness depends on blood type. Type O recovers fastest. Type B… the slowest.”

The revelation hung in the air like a storm cloud, and the battle was far from over. But now, armed with knowledge and united in purpose, the young heroes stood together - ready to face the Hero Killer not just with strength, but with strategy.

The alley was a battlefield now - its cracked pavement littered with shattered ice, scorched walls, and the glint of steel. Izuku stood at the center, bloodied but resolute, his breath ragged as he faced down the Hero Killer once more. He had already shed too much blood, and he knew that made him the most vulnerable. But it also made him the best distraction.

“I’ll keep him busy,” Izuku said, voice strained but unwavering. “You two support me. Protect Tenya and Native.”

Shouto and Momo hesitated only briefly, their eyes meeting his. They knew the risk. They’d trained with him for years under the Commission’s watchful eye, and they understood the rhythm of his movements, the timing of his bursts. They nodded in unison, falling into formation like muscle memory.

Shouto’s thoughts flickered to Tenya, still struggling to rise behind the ice barrier. Ever since the news of Ingenium’s attack, Shouto had worried. He recognized the look in Tenya’s eyes - the same look he’d once seen in his own reflection years ago. Resentment. Grief. A need to prove something through pain. He knew how that could cloud judgment, how it could twist purpose into obsession.

Stain, sensing the shift in strategy, intensified his assault. His movements became sharper, more brutal. He closed the distance between himself and Izuku with terrifying speed, slashing through the air and cutting open Izuku’s leg. Blood splattered across the ground. Stain licked the blade, and Izuku collapsed, paralyzed once more.

Shouto and Momo moved instantly. Shouto summoned a wall of ice to shield Izuku, while Momo launched a throwing knife to intercept Stain’s advance. Tenya, still pinned by his own fear and guilt, cried out again.

“Stop! Please! This is my fight!”

Shouto turned, his voice cutting through the chaos.

“Then stand up. Look at who you want to become.”

Stain roared and slashed through the ice wall, lunging at Shouto with his katana raised. Shouto responded with a burst of fire, the flames curling around the alley like a living serpent. Momo timed her attack perfectly, her knife slicing through the air and striking Stain’s shoulder just as the fire reached him. The combined force knocked the villain back a step.

Tenya’s eyes widened. The coordination. The resolve. The clarity. He saw it in all three of them - Izuku, Momo, Shouto. They weren’t just fighting. They were protecting. They were embodying what it meant to be heroes.

Stain’s words echoed in his mind: "You’re not a true hero."

And Tenya realized he was right. Not yet. But he could be.

He clenched his fists and activated Recipro Burst, his engines roaring to life. Just as Stain raised his katana to strike Shouto, Tenya’s kick shattered the blade mid-swing, sending shards of steel scattering.

“I’m sorry,” Tenya said, voice trembling. “I dragged you all into this.”

Stain snarled. “You’ll never reform. You’re broken.”

Momo stepped forward, her voice firm. “Don’t listen to him.”

Tenya nodded slowly. “He’s right. I’m not a true hero. But if I give up now, Ingenium dies with me.”

Stain lunged again, but Shouto met him with a wall of fire, forcing him back. Native, still conscious but weak, called out from behind the barrier.

“Run! You’ve done enough!”

Shouto shook his head. “He won’t give us an opening.”

Momo’s eyes narrowed. She was analyzing every movement, every angle. “His Quirk isn’t built for group combat. But he’s adapting. He’s becoming more tenacious.”

Stain hurled another knife at Shouto, but Momo intercepted it with her own, the blades clashing mid-air. Tenya turned to Shouto.

“Freeze my radiators.”

Shouto didn’t question it. He raised his hand and encased Tenya’s engines in a thin layer of ice. The moment the frost settled, Tenya’s engines roared louder than ever.

“Recipro Extend!” he shouted, launching forward with unprecedented speed.

Izuku, his mobility returning, surged beside him. The two scaled the alleyway walls, using their Quirks to propel themselves upward. They struck Stain simultaneously - Izuku with a smash to the chest, Tenya with a kick to the ribs. The Hero Killer reeled back, stunned by the force and coordination.

He tried to slash Tenya, but the boy evaded, spinning and kicking him higher into the air. Shouto and Momo were ready. Another knife, another burst of flame - this time perfectly synchronized. The attack struck Stain mid-air, sending him crashing into the wall.

Shouto froze a path down the alley, allowing Izuku and Tenya to slide safely to the ground. As they landed, Shouto extended the ice to wrap around Stain’s limbs, locking him in place.

The alley fell silent.

Stain struggled, but the restraint held. His breathing was heavy, his body bruised and bloodied. The four students stood over him, battered but victorious.

They had done it.

Together.

The aftermath of the battle settled like dust in the alleyway, thick with tension and exhaustion. Momo, her breathing steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, knelt beside the unconscious Hero Killer. She summoned a length of durable rope from her skin, the fibers forming with precision and strength. With practiced hands, she bound Stain’s limbs tightly, ensuring he wouldn’t be able to move even if he regained consciousness. Her expression was calm, but her eyes betrayed the weight of everything they had just endured.

Native, though injured himself, moved toward Izuku, who was barely able to stand. Blood still seeped from the wound on his leg, and his face was pale from the strain of the fight. With a grunt, Native lifted him carefully, supporting his weight as they made their way out of the alley and into the open street. The sound of approaching sirens echoed in the distance, and within moments, several Pro Heroes arrived on the scene. They quickly assessed the situation, calling for ambulances to treat the wounded and notifying the police to take the Hero Killer into custody.

Tenya stood apart from the others for a moment, his gaze fixed on the cracked pavement where the battle had taken place. The guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, and though his body ached, it was the emotional toll that made him tremble. He turned to his friends, his voice quiet but sincere.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I dragged you into this. I let my anger take control.”

Shouto and Momo didn’t respond immediately. They understood. They had seen the conflict in his eyes, the pain that had driven him to act. Izuku, still leaning against Native, managed a weak smile.

“We chose to fight with you,” he said. “Because we believe in you.”

Before Tenya could reply, a sudden gust of wind swept through the street, followed by a monstrous screech. The last Nomu, a grotesque fusion of muscle and wings, descended from the sky with terrifying speed. Its claws extended, and in an instant, it snatched Izuku from Native’s arms, lifting him high into the air.

Gasps erupted from the crowd, and the Pro Heroes scrambled to respond, but the Nomu was already ascending. Panic surged through Tenya, Shouto, and Momo as they watched their friend being carried away.

Then, impossibly, Stain moved.

His body, broken and bloodied, surged with a final burst of strength. His eyes locked onto the Nomu, and with a flick of his tongue, he activated his Quirk. The creature froze mid-flight, its wings stiffening as paralysis took hold. Stain leapt upward, grabbing Izuku with one arm and driving a blade into the Nomu’s exposed brain with the other. The monster let out a strangled cry before collapsing, its grip on Izuku loosening as it plummeted to the ground.

Stain landed hard, his knees buckling beneath him. Blood poured from his wounds, but he remained upright, his chest heaving. He looked around at the gathered heroes, his gaze sharp and filled with fury.

“This society is rotten,” he growled. “Fake heroes. Criminals masquerading as saviors. They must be purged. Only those who embody true selflessness deserve to be called heroes. All Might... is the only one worthy of that title!”

The words hung in the air like poison. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the seasoned Pros hesitated, unsure of how to respond to the man who had just saved a student’s life but spoke with such venom.

Then Endeavor arrived.

His presence was unmistakable - towering, flame-wreathed, and commanding. He stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. But Stain’s reaction was immediate and visceral. Rage twisted his features, and he tore the bandages from his face, revealing the full extent of his scars. His aura exploded outward, a wave of malice and conviction that struck everyone like a physical blow.

The street fell silent.

Even Endeavor, the Number Two Hero, took a step back. The Trust Trio felt their bodies lock up, their instincts screaming at them to flee. It wasn’t just fear. It was something deeper. Something primal. Stain stood tall, his body trembling but his spirit unyielding.

“Come,” he snarled. “Face me. Prove you’re worthy.”

But his body betrayed him.

The damage was too great. His lungs, perforated and bleeding, gave out. He staggered, his breath hitching, and then collapsed to the ground. The aura dissipated, leaving only silence and the sound of distant sirens.

Though unconscious, Stain had been the last one standing. Not because of strength, but because of conviction. And in that moment, every hero present understood the complexity of the man they had just fought. He was a villain. A murderer. But he was also something more - a mirror held up to a society that had lost its way.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the wide windows of Hosu General Hospital, casting a soft glow across the sterile white walls and the quiet hum of medical equipment. In one of the recovery rooms, four beds were arranged in a loose semicircle, each occupied by a student still bearing the marks of the previous night’s battle. Izuku sat upright, his leg bandaged and elevated, while Shouto reclined with a gauze strip across his cheek. Momo rested with her shoulder slightly bandaged, and Tenya lay quietly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his engines still faintly iced to reduce inflammation.

The silence was comfortable, reflective. Izuku broke it first, his voice low but thoughtful.

“He let us live,” he said. “Stain. He had the chance to kill us all, but he didn’t.”

Shouto nodded, his expression unreadable. “He judged us. Decided we were worth sparing.”

Momo glanced at Tenya, her eyes soft. “You were brave, Iida. You stood up when it mattered.”

Tenya turned his head slowly, his voice quiet but firm. “I wasn’t brave. I was reckless. I let my emotions control me. I endangered all of you.”

Before anyone could respond, the door opened and Manual stepped in, followed by Hawks, his wings tucked neatly behind him. Their presence brought a shift in atmosphere - less somber, more official. Behind them came a short, stout man with a canine face and a crisp uniform. His posture was rigid, his eyes sharp with authority.

“This is Chief Kenji Tsuragamae,” Manual announced. “Head of the Hosu Police Force.”

Kenji stepped forward, his voice gruff and direct. “You four are recovering well, I hope. But we need to discuss the incident.”

The students straightened, sensing the shift in tone.

“Stain is being treated for serious injuries,” Kenji continued. “However, you must understand that what you did was illegal. You are uncertified individuals who used your Quirks for combat without permission from a superior. That is a violation of the law.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. “But if we hadn’t acted, Native and Iida would’ve been killed!”

He began to rise, wincing from the pain in his leg, his voice rising with frustration. “We didn’t have a choice!”

Hawks raised a hand, his tone calm but firm. “Let him finish, Midoriya.”

Momo placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, gently guiding him back down. Shouto leaned forward slightly, his presence grounding the tension in the room.

Kenji’s expression didn’t change, but his tone softened.

“That was my opinion as a member of the Police Force,” he said. “Had this been officially reported, you would have faced punishment. However, there were not enough witnesses to corroborate the full scope of the incident. Therefore, it will remain undisclosed.”

The room fell silent.

“No recognition will be given for your actions,” Kenji added. “No commendations. No public acknowledgment.”

Izuku blinked, then sighed. “You should’ve led with that.”

Despite the lack of reward, the four students nodded in understanding. They had fought not for glory, but because it was right. Recognition was secondary.

Kenji stepped back, his gaze sweeping across the room. “You have a promising future ahead of you. What you did was dangerous, but it was also heroic. Thank you.”

The words lingered, heavier than any medal. And as the officers left the room, the Trust Trio and Tenya sat quietly, not in disappointment - but in quiet pride. They had faced death, stood together, and protected one another. That was enough.

The morning air was crisp, the streets of Hosu still quiet in the early hours as Todoroki and Yaoyorozu stepped out of the hospital’s front entrance. Both wore their civilian clothes, their injuries bandaged but no longer debilitating. Izuku remained inside, his leg still healing, and Tenya had departed earlier to be with his family for the release of medical results. The two walked with quiet purpose, their expressions unreadable to passersby.

Waiting for them just beyond the hospital gates was Hawks, his wings folded neatly behind him, and Fumikage Tokoyami, who stood with his usual composed posture. Fumikage bowed slightly as they approached.

“I apologize,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I wasn’t able to find you during the incident. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I hope you weren’t hurt too badly.”

Momo offered a gentle smile, her tone calm. “It’s fine, Tokoyami. We’re alright now. Just a few scrapes.”

Shouto nodded in agreement, his gaze steady. Neither of them mentioned Stain. The incident had been buried, and they knew better than to speak of it openly. Fumikage, like the rest of the public, remained unaware of the truth.

Hawks clapped his hands once, drawing their attention. “Alright, Tsukuyomi. Eagle Eye and Shift are waiting for you. Go ahead and join them for today’s patrol.”

Fumikage nodded, bowed again, and walked off toward the agency’s side entrance, where the two sidekicks were already prepping gear. Once he was out of earshot, Hawks gestured for Shouto and Momo to follow him. They did so without hesitation, falling into step beside him as he led them through the quieter back streets of Hosu, away from the bustle of the main roads.

They walked in silence for several minutes until Hawks turned down a narrow alley that opened into a small, secluded courtyard. The space was empty, save for a few benches and a rusted fountain. Hawks stopped, turned to face them, and his expression shifted - less casual, more serious.

“Alright,” he said. “Time to talk business.”

Shouto and Momo stood still, waiting.

“The Commission’s ready to activate you,” Hawks continued. “You’ve been trained for this since you were six. You know what it means.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim folder, handing it to Momo. She opened it without a word, revealing a profile of a Pro Hero - mid-thirties, male, rising in influence but not yet a household name. The dossier included surveillance photos, behavioral reports, and a list of suspected offenses. Nothing proven. Nothing public.

“This guy’s dirty,” Hawks said. “Not flashy. Not loud. But dangerous. The kind of rot that spreads quietly. The Commission wants him gone.”

Momo closed the folder and handed it to Shouto, who skimmed it with the same quiet efficiency.

“Izuku will join you for any future missions once he’s healed,” Hawks explained. “But for now, it’s just the two of you.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“No one else can know. Not your classmates. Not your teachers. This is Commission-only intel. You’re the only ones authorized to act on it.”

Shouto and Momo nodded in perfect sync, their expressions unchanged. There was no surprise. No hesitation. They had been conditioned for this - trained to follow orders, to execute missions without question. This was the culmination of everything the Commission had prepared them for.

Hawks watched them for a moment, then continued.

“You’re younger than we usually deploy. But Madam President believes in you. She signed off personally. You’re officially operatives now. Assassins. You’ll be eliminating corrupt heroes and villains under the public’s nose. Quietly. Efficiently. For peace.”

The word hung in the air like a blade.

Peace.

Shouto handed the folder back to Hawks, his voice calm.

“When do we start?”

Hawks smiled faintly. “Tonight.”

Momo nodded once. “Understood.”

They turned and walked back toward the agency, their footsteps silent, their minds already shifting into mission mode. Whatever remnants of childhood they had once clung to were long gone. They were the Trust Trio - trained, conditioned, and now deployed.

And the world would never know.

The night was thick with tension, the air heavy and damp as clouds rolled silently across the moonlit sky. Hosu’s back alleys were a maze of shadows and flickering streetlamps, the perfect hunting ground for the Commission’s newest operatives. The target - a Pro Hero whose name would never make headlines - was running with desperation in his breath, his boots slapping against the pavement as he darted through the narrow corridors of the city’s underbelly. His Quirk, a flame-based propulsion system, allowed him to narrowly evade the bursts of ice and fire trailing behind him.

Shouto pursued with relentless precision, his eyes locked on the flickering silhouette ahead. He didn’t speak. He didn’t call out. This wasn’t a chase for justice. It was an execution. The man turned sharply into an alley, his body twisting mid-air to avoid a stream of fire that scorched the wall beside him. He landed hard, stumbled, and pushed forward, halfway to the alley’s exit.

Then he stopped.

Momo dropped from the rooftop above, her descent silent and controlled. She landed in a crouch, her arms already extended, two throwing knives glinting in the dim light. The Pro Hero barely had time to register her presence before the blades flew - one striking deep into his shoulder, the other embedding itself in his throat. He gasped, staggered, and collapsed to the ground, choking on blood and disbelief.

Shouto arrived a second later, his pace slowing as he approached the body. He glanced at Momo, who stood calmly, her expression unreadable.

“Nice timing,” he said.

Momo nodded once, her voice low. “The Commission always says no evidence.”

Shouto didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, raising his left hand. Flames erupted from his palm, hot and focused. The body ignited instantly, the fire consuming flesh, fabric, and bone with surgical intensity. The alley filled with the scent of burning, but neither of them flinched. They watched in silence as the flames did their work, reducing the man to ash.

When the fire died down, the wind picked up, scattering the remains into the night - into gutters, across rooftops, into the unseen corners of the city. No trace would be left. No questions would be asked.

Shouto lowered his hand, the heat fading from his skin. Momo stepped beside him, her gaze still fixed on the empty space where the body had been.

“Target eliminated,” she said.

They turned and walked away, their footsteps quiet, their expressions unchanged. The mission was complete. The file would be closed. And tomorrow, the world would continue turning, unaware of the shadows that moved beneath its surface.

They were the Commission’s blade -silent, precise, and invisible.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The week drew to a close with the familiar hum of U.A. High School’s corridors welcoming back the students of Class 1-A. Their internships had ended, and the classroom buzzed with the energy of reunion - laughter, teasing, and the exchange of stories that blurred the line between pride and disbelief. The students had changed, some subtly, others more noticeably, and the air carried the weight of experiences that couldn’t be fully captured in words.

Eijirou and Sero were among the loudest, their voices rising above the chatter as they pointed and laughed at Bakugou, whose hair had been trimmed and styled differently during his internship. The explosive blond scowled, arms crossed, clearly irritated but not enough to lash out - at least not yet.

“Did your mentor give you a makeover or did you lose a bet?” Hanta joked, nudging Eijirou with a grin.

“Shut up before I kill you,” Katsuki growled through gritted teeth.

Across the room, Mina leaned against a desk, her eyes bright as she spoke to Asui and Jirou. She was animated, her admiration clear as she recounted what she’d heard about their encounter with actual villains during the week.

“You two are seriously amazing,” Mina said, her voice full of awe. “I mean, real villains? That’s next-level stuff.”

Tsuyu blinked and tilted her head. “It was dangerous, but we did what we had to.”

Kyouka shrugged, her usual cool demeanor intact. “It wasn’t glamorous. Just scary and messy.”

The girls turned to Uraraka, who was practicing a fighting stance near her desk, her movements sharp and focused. When asked about her internship, she straightened and smiled proudly.

“It was super fruitful,” she said, striking a pose. “I learned a lot about combat and how to use my Quirk more efficiently.”

Kaminari leaned over from his seat, eyebrows raised. “You’ve changed a lot this week, Uraraka. You’re like… intense now.”

Mineta snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget that. I learned something way more important - women are evil. Mt. Lady nearly killed me with her training regimen.”

Denki laughed, but then his expression shifted as he glanced toward the quieter corner of the room. “Honestly, the ones who went through the most were Midoriya, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, and Iida.”

The rest of the class seemed to agree, and soon a small crowd had gathered around the four students. Izuku looked puzzled, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the right words. Momo remained composed, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Iida adjusted his glasses, his posture rigid. Shouto, however, was the first to speak.

“Endeavor saved us from the Hero Killer,” he said simply, his voice steady and devoid of emotion.

There was a pause. The class nodded, accepting the explanation, though a few exchanged uncertain glances. Ojiro broke the silence, his voice tinged with unease.

“I keep thinking… what if Stain had attacked the U.S.J. instead of the Nomu? That would’ve been a massacre.”

Denki, ever the contrarian, tilted his head. “I mean, the Hero Killer is kind of cool, right? His whole vibe, the way he talks…”

Tenya’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, his voice sharp. “Kaminari, that is not appropriate. Stain is a murderer. He’s dangerous and twisted.”

Denki raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Tenya hesitated, then sighed. “I suppose… I can understand why someone might think he’s ‘cool'. His ideals are strong. But he kills for his own ends, not for justice. That’s not heroism.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of Tenya’s words settling over them. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, Tenya straightened and raised his voice.

“Class 1-A! Let us return to our seats and prepare for the next lesson!”

Groans echoed across the room, but the students complied, shuffling back to their desks. Momo followed up with a gentle request.

“If everyone could please stay in their desk area, that would be appreciated.”

Her tone was polite but firm, and the class nodded, settling down with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Shouto sat in silence, his gaze drifting toward the window. Tenya’s words echoed in his mind - Stain kills for his own ends. The phrase lingered, unsettling. Shouto’s thoughts drifted back to four nights ago, to the alleyway, to the Pro Hero whose name had been erased in flame and ash. He remembered the order, delivered directly from the Madam President of the Hero Public Safety Commission. Unlike her predecessor, she rarely authorized assassinations. The fact that she had made the call herself was significant.

He hadn’t questioned it. It was an order. A mission. A necessity.

But now, with Tenya’s voice still ringing in his ears, the comparison crept in - Stain’s ideology versus the Commission’s directives. Both involved judgment. Both involved death. Shouto clenched his jaw and shook his head, forcing the thought away. It wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be.

He told himself that again and again.

It wasn’t the same.

Chapter Text

The sun had dipped low behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the U.A. campus as Izuku made his way to the private training room where All Might had asked to meet him. His leg was still sore, but he walked with purpose, his mind heavy with questions that had been building since the encounter with Stain. The Hero Killer had tasted his blood, and though Izuku had survived, the lingering fear of what that meant gnawed at him. He needed answers - not just about his Quirk, but about the legacy he had inherited.

All Might stood waiting, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading light. He looked more solemn than usual, his usual booming presence tempered by the gravity of the conversation they were about to have. Izuku approached, his expression serious.

“I have questions,” he said. “About One For All. About what it really is.”

All Might nodded, gesturing for Izuku to sit. “I thought you might.”

They settled into the quiet space, the hum of distant machinery the only sound for a moment. Then All Might began.

“First, you need to understand something important,” he said. “Stain got your blood, yes. But One For All can’t be stolen. It can only be passed on willingly. Even if someone has your DNA, unless you choose to give them the Quirk, it remains yours.”

Izuku exhaled, relief washing over him. “So it’s safe. For now.”

All Might nodded. “Yes. But One For All is… unique. It’s not just a powerful Quirk. It’s a legacy. And to understand it, you need to know where it came from.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a tone reserved for truths too heavy for the public.

“Long ago, when Quirks first began to appear, society was thrown into chaos. There were no laws, no heroes - just fear and confusion. In that chaos, a man rose to power. He could steal Quirks from others and use them as his own. He used that ability to dominate Japan, to bend people to his will.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “That sounds like a myth. Something out of a storybook.”

All Might shook his head. “It’s real. His name was All For One. And he didn’t just steal Quirks - he could give them to others. But he didn’t do it out of kindness. Many of the people he ‘gifted’ ended up catatonic, unable to handle the power. Like the Nomu.”

Izuku’s breath caught. “So he created monsters.”

“Yes,” All Might said. “And among those he ruled over was his younger brother. A gentle soul. Thought to be Quirkless. All For One gave him a Quirk that could stockpile power, thinking it would placate him. But the brother already had a hidden ability - the power to pass on his Quirk to another.”

Izuku’s eyes lit with realization. “So when those two Quirks combined…”

“They became One For All,” All Might finished. “A Quirk born from evil, but cultivated by generations of heroes. Passed down, refined, strengthened.”

Izuku sat back, absorbing the weight of it. “Justice born in the bowels of evil,” he murmured.

All Might smiled faintly. “Exactly.”

“But why are you telling me this now?” Izuku asked. “Why bring up a villain from so long ago?”

All Might’s expression darkened. “Because I believe he’s still alive. I think he stole a Quirk that grants immortality. My predecessor couldn’t defeat him. Neither could the ones before her. But I did. Or so I thought.”

Izuku’s heart pounded. “You think he’s back?”

“I think he’s the one behind the League of Villains,” All Might said. “And if I’m right, you’ll face him one day. You’re the next bearer of One For All. The final hope.”

Izuku clenched his fists, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. “Then I’ll do my best. I’ll be ready.”

All Might placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring.

“I know you will, my boy. I believe in you.”

And in that quiet room, beneath the weight of history and the shadow of a coming storm, the torch of legacy burned brighter than ever.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Class 1-A’s homeroom, casting a golden hue across the desks as the students settled into their seats. The atmosphere was unusually tense, a quiet buzz of anticipation hanging in the air. Aizawa stood at the front of the room, his ever-present sleeping bag tucked away for once, his expression unreadable but his posture alert. When he finally spoke, his voice was as dry and direct as ever.

“Listen up,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Summer break is approaching, and we’ve arranged a training camp at a forest lodge. You’ll be spending time away from the city, focusing on strengthening your Quirks and teamwork.”

A ripple of excitement passed through the class, but it was quickly tempered by Aizawa’s next words.

“However,” he continued, “if you fail the end-of-term test, you won’t be going. You’ll be stuck here in remedial classes while your classmates train in the forest.”

The room fell silent. Even the most confident students straightened in their seats, the weight of the warning settling in. Aizawa didn’t sugarcoat things, and the threat of missing out on crucial training was enough to make even the most laid-back students nervous.

“You’ve got one week,” he said. “Prepare your minds and your bodies. The exam will be split into written and practical sections. Don’t assume you’ll coast through just because you’ve done well in combat.”

With that, he dismissed them to begin their day, leaving the class buzzing with concern and determination. As they filed out into the hallway, conversations erupted about the upcoming exams.

“I can’t believe it’s already time for finals,” Ochako murmured, clutching her notebook. “I feel like we just took midterms.”

“Time flies when you’re dodging villains,” Jirou replied dryly, flipping through her notes.

The midterm rankings had been posted earlier that morning, and they were the talk of the class.

1. Momo Yaoyorozu

2. Tenya Iida

3. Katsuki Bakugou

4. Izuku Midoriya

5. Shouto Todoroki

6. Tsuyu Asui

7. Kyouka Jirou

8. Mashirao Ojiro

9. Minoru Mineta

10. Mezou Shouji

11. Kouji Kouda

12. Rikidou Satou

13. Ochako Uraraka

14. Fumikage Tokoyami

15. Eijirou Kirishima

16. Tooru Hagakure

17. Hanta Sero

18. Yuuga Aoyama

19. Mina Ashido

20. Denki Kaminari

Momo had claimed the top spot, her flawless academic record once again proving her prowess. Iida followed closely behind, his meticulous study habits paying off. Bakugou, despite his explosive personality, had landed third, with Midoriya and Shouto rounding out the top five. The rest of the class fell into place, with Kaminari and Ashido trailing at the bottom.

Denki slumped against his desk, groaning. “I haven’t studied at all. Not since the USJ incident, and then the Sports Festival, and then the Internships…”

Mina nodded in agreement, her usual energy dimmed. “Same here. It’s been nonstop chaos. I don’t even remember what subject we’re supposed to be tested on.”

Tokoyami, seated nearby, offered a quiet affirmation. “The semester has been… turbulent. We’ve had little time to focus on academics.”

Satou, ever the voice of reason, added, “And the finals will be harder than the midterms. We can’t afford to slack off.”

Mineta leaned back with a smug grin. “Please. The written part’s easy. It’s the practical that’ll mess you up. I’ve got good grades, so I’m not worried.”

Denki groaned again, burying his face in his arms. “I’m doomed…”

But then his eyes lit up as he glanced across the room at Momo. “Wait! Yaoyorozu! You’re the top student! You’ve gotta help us study!”

Momo blinked, surprised by the sudden attention. “I usually study with Todoroki and Midoriya at our apartment. I wasn’t planning on-”

“Please!” Mina begged, clasping her hands together. “We’ll fail without you!”

Sero joined in, dramatically falling to his knees. “You’re our only hope!”

Momo sighed, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden desperation. “Fine. I’ll help. But only for the written test. You’ll have to handle the practical on your own.”

Jirou and Ojiro, overhearing the exchange, quickly asked to join the study group. Momo hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Alright. But we’ll need to be organized. I’ll prepare a schedule.”

Across the room, Eijirou nudged Katsuki. “You’re not joining the study group?”

Bakugou scoffed. “Hell no. I don’t need help.”

Eijirou chuckled. “You’ve got different standards, huh?”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “You’re damn right. And if you’re gonna be pathetic about it, I’ll beat the lessons into your skull myself.”

Eijirou blinked. “Wait, you'll tutor me?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Bakugou growled.

Meanwhile, Aoyama sighed dramatically. “It’s too late to cram. We’re doomed.”

Shouji, ever the quiet observer, replied calmly, “You should be cramming more than anyone.”

As the day wore on, the class began to shift into preparation mode. Study groups formed, notes were exchanged, and even the most reluctant students found themselves pulled into the whirlwind of academic survival. The looming threat of remedial school - and missing out on the forest lodge training - was enough to unite Class 1-A in a rare moment of collective focus. And though the week ahead promised stress and sleepless nights, there was a sense of camaraderie in the air, a shared determination to rise to the challenge together.

The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual midday energy, trays clattering and conversations overlapping in a chaotic symphony of student life. At one of the quieter tables near the window, the Trust Trio sat together, their lunch mostly untouched as they leaned in, discussing the upcoming Practical Exam. Izuku poked at his rice absentmindedly, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I wonder what the practical will actually be,” he said. “Aizawa-Sensei didn’t give us any details.”

Shouto nodded, sipping his miso soup. “It won’t be a simple sparring match. Not after everything we’ve been through this semester.”

Momo tapped her chopsticks against her tray, her expression thoughtful. “It could be a simulation. Maybe a rescue scenario or a villain takedown. Something to test our judgment.”

Before any of them could speculate further, a familiar voice cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Hero Killer’s entourage.”

Neito Monoma appeared beside their table, his usual smirk plastered across his face. He leaned in and bumped his head against Izuku’s, feigning clumsiness.

“Oh, sorry,” he said with mock sincerity. “Didn’t see you there, Midoriya. Must be hard keeping your head up with all that attention from the authorities.”

Izuku blinked, startled, but didn’t respond. Shouto’s eyes narrowed, and Momo’s hand clenched into a fist. She began to rise, her expression darkening, but Shouto gently placed a hand on her arm, silently urging restraint.

Monoma continued, undeterred. “Class 1-A always finds a way to be at the center of chaos. Hero Killer, USJ, you’re like magnets for disaster.”

Before he could say more, a blur of motion interrupted him. Itsuka Kendou appeared behind him, her enlarged hand swinging with practiced ease. She knocked Monoma out cold with a single chop to the neck, catching him before he could collapse entirely.

“Sorry about him,” she said, dragging him back by the collar. “He’s been extra insufferable lately.”

Momo relaxed, nodding in appreciation. “Thank you, Kendou.”

Kendou smiled. “No problem. Oh, and I heard from an upperclassman - apparently the practical exam involves fighting robotic villains.”

Monoma stirred slightly, groaning, but Kendou knocked him out again with a second chop. “He thinks helping our class rivals is treason. I think you’re not as detestable as he claims.”

With that, she hauled him away, leaving the Trust Trio in stunned silence.

Back in homeroom, the news spread quickly. Mina and Denki were practically bouncing in their seats, thrilled by the idea of fighting robots.

“Yes!” Denki shouted. “I can go all out without worrying about hurting anyone!”

Mina grinned. “This is perfect! I can melt metal way easier than dodging punches!”

Shouji, ever the voice of quiet logic, offered a different perspective. “It’s probably because some of us have difficulty controlling our Quirks against living opponents. Robots are safer.”

Bakugou, seated nearby, scoffed loudly. “That’s a weak excuse.”

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a robot or a person. If you can’t control your Quirk, you’re useless in a fight.”

His eyes locked onto Izuku, Shouto, and Momo.

“You three think you’re the top of the class? Fine. I’ll beat all of you in the finals. Just watch.”

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Aizawa, who had just entered and overheard the tail end of Bakugou’s outburst, paused at the doorway. His eyes followed the boy’s retreating figure, his expression unreadable.

“Is he improving,” Aizawa murmured to himself, “or getting worse?”

The class fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of the upcoming exams pressing down on them. The forest lodge loomed ahead, but only for those who could prove themselves. And for Class 1-A, the final test was no longer just about grades - it was about growth, control, and the quiet war each of them was fighting within.

The final week before exams arrived like a storm cloud - looming, inevitable, and charged with nervous energy. Class 1-A had scattered into study groups, each student scrambling to prepare for the written portion of the end-of-term test. Among the most desperate were Kaminari, Ashido, Ojiro, Jirou, and Sero, who had all managed to convince Yaoyorozu to host a tutoring session at her apartment.

When the group arrived at the address Momo had given them, they were stunned. The building was sleek and modern, nestled in one of the quieter districts near U.A., and the apartment itself - once Shouto opened the door and greeted them with a quiet nod - was nothing short of luxurious. High ceilings, polished floors, minimalist furniture, and a soft ambient lighting gave the space an almost serene quality. A large window overlooked the city skyline, and the scent of fresh tea lingered in the air.

“Whoa,” Hanta muttered as they stepped inside. “I was expecting something cramped. This place is huge.”

Denki whistled. “You guys live like royalty.”

Shouto didn’t respond, simply gesturing for them to enter. Inside, Momo was already seated at a long table, a full study setup arranged with meticulous care - textbooks stacked by subject, color-coded notes, and a whiteboard with formulas and key concepts. Izuku sat nearby, scribbling in a notebook, his focus absolute.

The guests settled in, pulling out their own materials and trying to match the energy of the room. But it didn’t take long for them to notice something… off.

Whenever Momo, Shouto, and Izuku interacted with each other, it was seamless. They passed notes without speaking, finished each other’s thoughts, and corrected one another’s mistakes with quiet efficiency. Their coordination was uncanny, almost mechanical in its precision. It was like watching gears in a well-oiled machine - each movement calculated, each response immediate.

But when one of the others tried to engage with them, the dynamic shifted dramatically.

“So, uh, Yaoyorozu,” Mina asked, leaning forward. “Can you explain this part about chemical bonding again?”

Momo blinked, her posture stiffening slightly. “Yes. It’s… well, it’s the interaction between atoms. They- um…”

She glanced at Izuku, who looked up and offered a quiet prompt. “Electron sharing.”

“Yes,” Momo said quickly. “Electron sharing. Or transfer. Depending on the type.”

Mina nodded slowly, but the exchange felt stilted, like Momo was reciting from a script rather than teaching.

Denki tried next. “Hey, Todoroki, what’s the best way to remember the formulas for calculating force?”

Shouto paused, his eyes flicking to Izuku before answering. “You should memorize the base equations. F equals ma. The rest builds from that.”

“Okay, but like… how do you remember it?” Denki pressed.

Shouto stared at him for a moment, then said flatly, “You just do.”

Denki groaned, slumping in his seat. “This is painful.”

Kyouka leaned toward Izuku. “Can you help me with this history question? I don’t get what they mean by ‘heroic reform era'.”

Izuku blinked, then began explaining in a rapid, overly detailed monologue that quickly lost her. He spoke as if she already understood the context, referencing obscure dates and figures without pause.

“Okay, okay,” Jirou interrupted. “Slow down. I’m not a walking encyclopedia.”

Izuku flushed slightly, muttering an apology.

Ojiro leaned back, watching the trio with a puzzled expression. “It’s weird. They’re so in sync with each other, but when it comes to the rest of us…”

“They’re like aliens,” Hanta whispered. “Super smart aliens.”

The group exchanged glances, a mix of amusement and frustration settling in. It wasn’t that the Trust Trio were unwilling to help - they were just… different. Conditioned, perhaps, to operate within their own rhythm, their own language. Years of Commission training had forged a bond between them that was nearly impenetrable to outsiders.

Still, the session continued. Momo did her best to adjust, slowing her explanations and offering more examples. Izuku tried to simplify his language, and Shouto, though still terse, began writing out formulas for Denki to copy. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the apartment, the group found themselves not just studying - but learning how to bridge the gap between brilliance and understanding. Between isolation and connection. Between the Trust Trio and the rest of Class 1-A.

Chapter Text

The final stretch of the semester arrived with a relentless pace. For three consecutive days, Class 1-A endured the written portion of their end-of-term exams, each test more grueling than the last. The atmosphere in the classroom was tense, filled with the quiet rustle of papers, the scratch of pens, and the occasional groan of mental exhaustion. Even the most confident students found themselves second-guessing answers, and by the end of the third day, the collective mood was one of drained anticipation.

The morning of the practical exam dawned with a different kind of energy - nervous excitement mixed with dread. As the students gathered in the training facility, Jirou glanced around and noticed something unusual.

“There are a lot of teachers here,” she murmured, nudging Ojiro. “More than usual.”

Aizawa stood at the front, arms crossed, his scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His gaze swept over the class, unreadable as always.

“You’ve probably heard rumors,” he said. “And some of you think you know what today’s test will be.”

Mina and Denki perked up immediately, grinning.

“Robots!” they exclaimed in unison. “We’re gonna fight robots again, right?”

Aizawa didn’t respond. Instead, his scarf twitched - and from within its folds, Principal Nezu leapt out with a gleeful expression.

“Not quite!” Nezu chirped, landing on the podium with practiced grace. “There will be no robots today!”

The class collectively gasped, confusion rippling through the ranks.

Nezu’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Due to the recent surge in villain activity, U.A. has decided to increase the realism of our training methods. From now on, battle simulations will mirror real-life combat scenarios. And Class 1-A will be the first to experience this new format.”

He paused for dramatic effect, then continued.

“Today’s practical exam will consist of two-person teams facing off against one of U.A.’s teachers in combat.”

The room erupted in shock. Students exchanged wide-eyed glances, whispers rising like a tide.

“The goal,” Nezu explained, “is to either handcuff your assigned teacher or escape the facility within thirty minutes. This will test your ability to assess threats, strategize, and understand that sometimes, retreating to seek help is the wisest course of action.”

Aizawa stepped forward, his voice calm. “Some of you already know this lesson well. Midoriya, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, and Iida - you refused to run when facing Stain. That was brave, but not always wise.”

Shouto and Momo exchanged a glance, the memory of that night still vivid. Tenya lowered his head slightly, then raised it again with resolve.

“I’ll learn from that mistake,” he said firmly.

All Might stepped forward next, his presence immediately commanding attention. “To ease your concerns, all teachers will be wearing ultra-compressed weights. These were developed by Mei Hatsume and will serve as handicaps to level the playing field.”

Katsuki scoffed, arms crossed. “They’re underestimating us. Giving us a chance to fight back? We’ll take it.”

Nezu began listing the pairings and their assigned teachers:

• Shouto Todoroki and Hanta Sero versus Midnight

• Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugou versus All Might

• Denki Kaminari and Mina Ashido versus Principal Nezu

• Yuuga Aoyama and Ochako Uraraka versus Thirteen

• Momo Yaoyorozu and Kyouka Jirou versus Aizawa

• Fumikage Tokoyami and Tsuyu Asui versus Ectoplasm

• Kouji Kouda and Minoru Mineta versus Present Mic

• Mezou Shouji and Tooru Hagakure versus Snipe

• Rikidou Satou and Eijirou Kirishima versus Cementoss

• Tenya Iida and Mashirao Ojiro versus Power Loader

The room buzzed with reactions - some students groaned, others whispered strategies. But three students remained unusually quiet.

Izuku, Shouto, and Momo each processed the pairings with a distinct sense of clarity. None of them had been paired together.

It was deliberate.

They knew it immediately. The teachers had observed their uncanny synchronicity, their ability to operate as a flawless unit. But they had also seen their struggle to communicate outside of that trio. By separating them, the faculty was forcing them to adapt - to learn how to function with others, to break the mold of their insular dynamic.

Momo glanced at Izuku, then at Shouto. Neither spoke, but the understanding passed between them like a silent current.

This wasn’t just a test of strength.

It was a test of growth.

And the teachers were ready to exploit every weakness they had.

The training facility had been transformed into a sprawling maze of concrete corridors and reinforced structures, each section tailored to the teacher-student matchups. As the explanation concluded, the students were ushered into the observation room, where a series of monitors displayed live feeds from each battle zone. The tension was palpable, a mix of adrenaline and uncertainty hanging in the air.

The first match to begin was between Eijirou and Satou, assigned to face Cementoss. Their arena resembled a construction site - open at first glance, but riddled with blind corners, elevated platforms, and thick concrete slabs. The moment the buzzer sounded, Cementoss emerged from the far end of the field, his expression calm and unreadable. Without hesitation, he activated his Quirk, manipulating the cement beneath his feet to erect towering walls that cut off the students’ path.

In the observation room, Midoriya and Ochako stood near one of the monitors, watching intently. Izuku’s eyes darted across the screen, analyzing every movement, every shift in terrain.

“They’re charging straight in,” he muttered. “That’s not going to work.”

Ochako glanced at him. “Why not? They’re both power types. Isn’t brute force their best option?”

Izuku shook his head, his voice low but certain. “Cementoss doesn’t have a time limit. His Quirk is continuous. He can reshape the battlefield endlessly. If they keep trying to break through, he’ll just keep rebuilding.”

On the screen, Eijirou hardened his body and slammed into one of the walls, cracking it but not breaking through. Satou followed up with a powered punch, but Cementoss responded instantly, raising another barrier behind the first. The students were funneled into a narrow corridor, their movements restricted, their visibility limited.

Izuku’s eyes narrowed. “This exam isn’t just about fighting. It’s about adaptation. The teachers were chosen to exploit each pair’s weaknesses.”

Ochako nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “So Satou and Kirishima - both close-range fighters - were put against someone who controls the terrain.”

“Exactly,” Izuku said. “They’re being forced to think beyond their Quirks. To strategize.”

But on the field, that shift never came.

Eijirou and Satou continued their assault, trying to brute-force their way through the maze. Cementoss remained calm, his movements minimal but effective. He created false paths, dead ends, and traps - walls that collapsed inward, forcing the students to retreat. Their stamina began to wane, their attacks growing slower, less coordinated.

In the final moments, Cementoss sealed off the exit entirely, surrounding the students with a dome of reinforced cement. With no way out and no means to subdue their opponent, the buzzer sounded, signaling their defeat.

The observation room fell silent.

Izuku exhaled, his expression thoughtful. “They didn’t compensate. Didn’t adapt.”

Ochako looked around at the other students, many of whom were now whispering nervously. “This is going to be harder than we thought.”

The screen faded to black, and the next match began to load.

But the lesson had already been delivered.

This wasn’t just a test of power.

It was a test of growth. Of awareness. Of knowing when to fight - and when to think.

The second match of the practical exam commenced with a palpable shift in tone. The arena designated for Tokoyami and Asui was a dimly lit, multi-tiered structure resembling an abandoned office complex. Its narrow hallways and stairwells created a claustrophobic atmosphere, ideal for ambushes and tactical misdirection. As the students entered, their opponent, Ectoplasm, stood at the far end of the room, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Without preamble, he activated his Quirk, and in an instant, dozens of clones erupted from his body, surrounding the students in a tight formation.

“I won’t hold back,” Ectoplasm declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. “None of us will. Our goal is to crush you.”

The clones lunged forward, and the battle began.

Fumikage and Tsuyu reacted with practiced coordination. Dark Shadow surged from Fumikage’s body, lifting Tsuyu into the air with a swift upward motion. She extended her tongue, wrapping it around Fumikage’s waist and flinging him upward in return. Their combined maneuver launched them to the upper levels of the structure, away from the immediate threat of the clones. It was a move born of trust and synergy, each relying on the other’s unique abilities to gain a tactical advantage.

Back in the monitoring room, the students watched the match unfold on the screen. Ochako leaned forward, squinting at the flurry of movement.

“I don’t get it,” she said. “How does Ectoplasm’s Quirk exploit their weaknesses?”

Izuku didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “It’s a bad matchup for Tokoyami,” he said quietly. “His strength lies in the speed and reach of Dark Shadow. But in close quarters, especially against multiple opponents, he’s vulnerable. Ectoplasm’s clones force him into that exact situation.”

As the battle progressed, the clones pursued the students relentlessly. Fumikage struggled to fend off the attacks, his Dark Shadow lashing out in all directions but unable to keep pace with the sheer number of enemies. Tsuyu, agile and composed, used her mobility to support him, leaping between walls and ceilings, distracting clones and clearing paths. Her presence allowed them to ascend further into the building, eventually reaching the top floor.

Izuku continued his analysis, his voice steady. “Tsuyu doesn’t have any glaring weaknesses. She’s versatile, fast, and incredibly supportive, the perfect partner for Tokoyami in this kind of fight.”

At the top of the structure, the duo found themselves face-to-face with Ectoplasm’s real body, standing guard at the escape gate. He nodded in acknowledgment of their progress.

“You’ve done well to get this far,” he said. “But how will you handle this?”

Without waiting for a response, Ectoplasm activated his ultimate technique - Giant Bite Detention. A massive clone erupted from his body, dwarfing the students and crashing through the walls with terrifying force. The clone lunged, its jaws wide, and in a single motion, it immobilized both students, pinning them against the concrete.

Fumikage struggled, summoning Dark Shadow to break free, but the clone’s grip was too strong. Ectoplasm’s real body stood nearby, watching with clinical precision. Dark Shadow lashed out, but its attacks were repelled with ease. The clone’s physical prowess was too much; brute strength alone wouldn’t win this fight.

Then Tsuyu spoke, her voice calm despite the pressure. “I swallowed the handcuffs before the match. Just in case.”

She suggested Fumikage look away before she coughed them up, spitting the metal cuffs to Dark Shadow.

“You're strong,” she said. “You can do this.”

With renewed determination, Dark Shadow surged forward, the handcuffs clutched tightly in its grasp. It darted around the clone, feinting and weaving, looking for an opening. Ectoplasm countered with swift, precise strikes, but Dark Shadow’s movements were unpredictable. In the final exchange, Ectoplasm managed to land a decisive blow, dispersing Dark Shadow with a burst of force - but not before the cuffs snapped shut around his leg.

The buzzer sounded.

Ectoplasm looked down at the cuffs, then back at the students. A faint smile crossed his face.

“Well done,” he said. “You passed.”

The screen in the observation room faded to black, and murmurs of admiration rippled through the students. Izuku nodded to himself, impressed by the duo’s ingenuity.

They hadn’t overpowered their opponent.

They had outsmarted him.

The third match of the practical exam unfolded in a terrain far different from the previous battles. The arena was a rugged dirt field, uneven and freshly churned, with scattered construction debris and exposed pipes hinting at subterranean instability. Iida and Ojiro stood at the starting point, their expressions focused and alert. Across the field, Power Loader crouched low, his hands already buried in the soil. Without warning, he activated his Quirk, disappearing underground in a flurry of dust and displaced earth.

Moments later, the ground began to tremble. Sinkholes opened rapidly across the field, swallowing chunks of terrain and creating a chaotic, shifting battlefield. Power Loader’s strategy was clear - disrupt the students’ footing, isolate them, and prevent any coordinated escape. Tenya and Ojiro exchanged a glance, quickly realizing that brute force wouldn’t be enough. They needed speed and precision.

“Get on my back,” Tenya said, crouching slightly.

Ojiro didn’t hesitate. He leapt onto Tenya’s back, wrapping his arms around his partner’s shoulders and securing his tail for balance. Tenya activated Recipro Burst, his engines roaring to life as he launched forward with blinding speed. The ground collapsed behind them, but Tenya’s velocity kept them ahead of the destruction. Dirt and debris flew in all directions as they raced toward the exit, a blur of motion against the unstable terrain.

But Power Loader wasn’t finished.

He burst from the ground directly in front of them, blocking their path with a wall of earth and metal. The sudden appearance forced Tenya to react instantly. He jumped, narrowly avoiding a newly forming pit beneath his feet, and twisted mid-air.

“Wrap your tail around my leg!” he shouted.

Ojiro obeyed, coiling his tail tightly around Tenya’s leg. Tenya activated Recipro Extend, spinning his body with explosive force. The momentum built rapidly, and with a final burst of energy, Tenya flung Ojiro across the field like a slingshot. Ojiro soared through the air, his trajectory clean and direct, aimed straight at the escape gate.

Power Loader lunged to intercept, but Ojiro twisted mid-flight, using his tail to strike the teacher and repel him just enough to clear the path. He landed hard but rolled through the impact, crossing the threshold of the gate. The buzzer sounded, signaling their victory.

Power Loader dusted himself off and nodded in approval. “Well done. You passed.”

Back in the monitoring room, the students watched the match replay on the screens. The atmosphere was tense, especially for those whose turn was approaching. Among them, Jirou stood near Yaoyorozu, her posture slightly hesitant. She glanced at the screen, then turned to Momo.

“Hey,” she said, her voice quiet. “Do you… have a plan? Our match is next.”

Momo didn’t look at her. She stared straight ahead, her expression unreadable. “I’ll distract Aizawa,” she said simply. “You make a break for the exit.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Jirou standing alone.

Kyouka frowned, watching Momo’s retreating figure. She took a few steps after her, then stopped. “Is that really all you’ve got?” she asked, more to herself than to Momo.

But Momo didn’t slow down or turn around. Her stride was purposeful, her posture upright. There was no hesitation in her movements, no sign of doubt. She wasn’t second-guessing her plan - she simply hadn’t elaborated. It wasn’t that she lacked confidence. It was that she struggled to communicate with anyone outside of Izuku or Shouto, the only two people she’d spent years learning to sync with. To the rest of the class, her silence often came off as cold or dismissive, but it was just how she operated.

Kyouka exhaled sharply, her frustration simmering. It wasn’t Momo’s plan that bothered her - it was her role in it. Being told to run felt reductive, like she was just a pawn in someone else’s strategy. She knew she could do more. Her Quirk wasn’t flashy, but it was versatile. She could scout, disrupt, even fight if needed. She didn’t want to be sidelined.

“I’m not just backup,” she muttered, clenching her fists.

But as she watched Momo disappear down the hallway toward the staging area, she realized pushing the issue wouldn’t help. Momo wasn’t dismissing her - she just didn’t know how to include her. Not yet.

Kyouka turned back to the monitor, her jaw set.

If Momo wouldn’t give her a bigger role, she’d carve one out herself.

Chapter Text

The fourth match began beneath a sky streaked with fading light, casting long shadows between the concrete towers of the training zone’s urban simulation. Momo and Kyouka sprinted through the maze of streets, their footsteps echoing off the walls of empty storefronts and faux apartment buildings. The city-like terrain was designed to mimic real-world conditions - tight alleyways, blind corners, and elevated walkways that could either serve as escape routes or traps. Somewhere in this manufactured sprawl, Aizawa was hunting them, silent and calculating.

Momo led the way, her eyes scanning the rooftops and intersections with practiced precision. She didn’t speak until they reached a narrow corridor between two buildings, where the ambient noise dropped just enough to allow for a moment of strategy. She turned to Kyouka, her expression calm but focused.

“Use your Quirk,” she said. “If you can hear him approaching, we’ll know when he’s close. If you stop hearing anything, that’s also a sign - he’s suppressing your Quirk.”

Kyouka scoffed, her tone edged with skepticism. “So I’m just your radar now?”

Momo didn’t respond to the jab, instead pulling a small device from her utility belt and pressing it into the wall - a motion sensor, likely. Kyouka rolled her eyes but plugged her jacks into the ground anyway, letting the vibrations and ambient sounds flood her senses. She could hear the hum of distant generators, the soft rustle of wind through artificial leaves, and the faint creak of metal - nothing definitive yet, but she kept listening.

They moved deeper into the alley, the walls closing in around them like a funnel. Kyouka unplugged one jack and spoke up, her voice low but firm.

“This isn’t working for me, Yaoyorozu. I can do more than just run and listen. I can fight. I’ve trained for this. You know that.”

Momo paused mid-step, turning slightly but not fully facing her. Her brow furrowed, not in anger but in confusion. “If we both try to fight Aizawa, we’ll likely both be captured. We’ve fought together before, yes, but we’re not in sync. Not like I am with Izuku or Shouto.”

Kyouka’s eyes narrowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You can’t just be a team player with them and treat the rest of us like backup. That’s not strategy - it’s favoritism. You don’t communicate with anyone else, and then you act surprised when things fall apart.”

Momo opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, Kyouka’s Earphone Jack twitched unnaturally, then went limp. Her eyes widened in alarm, and Momo spun around just in time to intercept a cloth binding aimed at her legs. She summoned a metal staff from her arm and deflected the attack, the clang of impact ringing through the alley.

“Run!” Momo shouted, her voice sharp with urgency.

Kyouka hesitated for a split second, then turned and bolted down the alley, her boots pounding against the pavement. Momo stayed behind, facing Aizawa as he emerged from the shadows, his capture weapon coiled and ready. She summoned a shield and lunged forward, trying to press the advantage before he could fully disable her Quirk. But Aizawa was faster, more experienced, and utterly ruthless in his efficiency. Within seconds, he had her bound, her arms pinned to her sides with his cloth, and her Quirk nullified by his gaze.

“I can escape this instantly,” Momo said through gritted teeth, struggling against the restraints.

Aizawa didn’t respond. Instead, he hoisted her up and secured her to a light pole, then scattered caltrops beneath her feet - an added layer of deterrence should she manage to free herself. He stepped back, his expression unreadable beneath his goggles.

“You burdened yourself too heavily,” he said, his voice calm but pointed. “You tried to carry the plan alone, without trusting your teammate to do more than run. That’s not leadership. That’s isolation.”

Momo’s eyes flicked toward the alley where Kyouka had disappeared, her breath catching.

“You’re capable, Yaoyorozu. But if you only know how to work with Midoriya and Todoroki, then your lack of communication with others will cost you. It already has.”

He turned and walked away, leaving her suspended above the caltrops, her mind racing - not with escape tactics, but with the weight of his words.

Kyouka sprinted through the simulated cityscape, her breath sharp and her heart pounding in her ears. The escape gate loomed ahead, a beacon of safety and success, but her thoughts were tangled in frustration. She scolded herself as she ran, her boots striking pavement with rhythmic urgency.

I should’ve stayed and fought, she thought bitterly. Should’ve proved my point to Yaoyorozu, not just run like she told me to.

But survival instincts had kicked in, and now she was alone, with Aizawa undoubtedly closing in. She turned a corner sharply, only to feel the air shift behind her - a subtle disturbance, the telltale sign of an incoming attack. Her Quirk hadn’t been canceled. She could still hear everything.

She twisted mid-step, her jacks already plugged into the reinforced speakers built into her boots. With a surge of focus, she channeled her heartbeat through the amplifiers, unleashing a concentrated blast of sound. The sonic wave struck the alley behind her, disorienting Aizawa just as he emerged from the shadows. He staggered, his capture weapon faltering for a moment, giving Kyouka the window she needed to escape.

She didn’t head for the gate.

Instead, she turned back.

Yaoyorozu's probably captured, she reasoned. If Aizawa came after me, he must’ve already dealt with her.

Navigating the alleys with practiced agility, Kyouka retraced her steps until she found the light pole where Momo hung suspended, caltrops scattered beneath her feet like a cruel moat. Aizawa was already closing in again, his movements swift and silent. Kyouka didn’t waste time. She began freeing Momo, carefully avoiding the caltrops as she lowered the bindings.

Momo looked down, her expression tense but grateful. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For earlier. I wasn’t trying to dismiss you. I’m just… not used to working with anyone outside of Izuku and Shouto.”

Kyouka paused, her fingers still working the restraints. “You three grew up together, right?”

Momo nodded. “We trained together under the Commission. We became a unit. I never had to explain myself to them - they just understood. I didn’t realize how much I relied on that.”

Kyouka gave a small smile. “Well, I’m not them. But I’m not useless either.”

Momo’s eyes softened. “I know that now.”

Once freed, Momo dropped down carefully, landing between the caltrops with practiced grace. Aizawa was still approaching, but slower now - cautious, calculating. Momo turned to Kyouka, her voice low and urgent.

“He’s not at full strength,” she said. “After the U.S.J. incident, his Quirk has a recharge interval. He can’t reactivate Erasure immediately after deactivating it. That gives us a window.”

Kyouka’s eyes lit up. “So we use that gap.”

“Exactly,” Momo said. “I’ll create smoke bombs to impair his vision. While he’s searching through the smoke, I’ll also make decoy mannequins. If he goes for one, you sneak up behind him and use your jacks to hit him with a vibration shock. While he’s stunned, I’ll move in and cuff him.”

Kyouka nodded, her confidence returning. “I like this plan a lot more than the last one.”

Momo smiled faintly. “Thanks."

They moved quickly, Momo already beginning to generate the materials for the smoke bombs and mannequins. The air grew thick with anticipation, the sound of Aizawa’s footsteps echoing closer. But this time, they weren’t just reacting.

They were ready.

The lavender fog rolled across the simulated city block like a creeping tide, thick and opaque, obscuring every alleyway and rooftop in a haze of swirling smoke. Momo’s smoke bombs had detonated precisely as planned, filling the area with a dense mist that distorted visibility and muffled sound. Aizawa arrived moments later, his movements cautious and deliberate, his eyes scanning the fog for any sign of his students.

Kyouka crouched low behind a dumpster, her jacks plugged into the pavement, listening intently. The vibrations told her everything - Aizawa’s footsteps were light but purposeful, his breathing steady, his capture weapon coiled and ready. She tapped twice against her boot, the signal they’d agreed upon. Momo, hidden behind a stack of crates, responded immediately.

With a quiet hiss, she activated her Quirk and produced a series of decoy mannequins, each shaped roughly like her and Kyouka, dressed in mock versions of their hero costumes. She sent them out into the fog, letting them move just enough to catch Aizawa’s attention. One of the mannequins darted past a broken window, and Aizawa reacted instantly, launching his capture scarf toward it.

That was the moment.

Kyouka surged forward, her jacks already primed. She plugged them into the speakers in her boots and unleashed a concentrated burst of vibration directly at Aizawa’s back. The sound reverberated through the alley, disorienting him and throwing off his balance. He staggered, his Quirk momentarily inactive, his senses overwhelmed.

Momo didn’t hesitate. She sprinted from her hiding spot, cuffs in hand, and lunged toward him. With a swift motion, she snapped the restraints around his wrists, locking them in place before he could recover.

As the fog began to dissipate, revealing the scene in full, Kyouka stood beside Momo, breathing heavily but triumphant. Aizawa, still recovering from the sonic blast, gave a faint nod of approval.

“Well done,” he said, voice low. “You passed.”

Kyouka glanced at Momo, her brow furrowed. “That went… really smoothly.”

Momo tilted her head. “Are you saying you doubted my strategy?”

Kyouka flushed slightly, waving her hands. “No! I mean- just surprised, that’s all.”

Momo smiled faintly, her tone teasing. “Good.”

Later on, in another sector of the training facility, the fifth match was reaching its climax. Ochako Uraraka and Yuuga Aoyama were clinging to a metal railing, their bodies straining against the pull of Thirteen’s Black Hole Quirk. The swirling vortex threatened to consume everything around them, and the escape gate was just meters away - so close, yet utterly unreachable.

Thirteen advanced slowly, her Quirk intensifying. Ochako’s grip tightened, her mind racing for a solution. Yuuga, beside her, activated his naval laser, aiming it toward the Pro Hero. But the beam was instantly absorbed into the void, vanishing without a trace.

“Uraraka,” Yuuga said, voice strained. “Are you trying to think what Midoriya would do?”

Ochako blinked, startled. “Wh-What?”

Yuuga tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you like him?”

The question hit her like a punch to the gut, echoing in her mind multiple times. Her grip faltered, and with a yelp, she lost hold of the railing. Her body was pulled toward the vortex, spinning uncontrollably. Thirteen gasped and immediately deactivated her Quirk, unwilling to risk harming a student.

That was the opening.

Ochako twisted mid-air, her training with Gunhead kicking in. She landed hard, rolled, and launched herself at Thirteen, using a grappling maneuver to pin the Pro Hero to the ground. Yuuga scrambled forward and leapt atop them, snapping the cuffs around Thirteen’s wrists.

The buzzer sounded.

They had passed.

Back in the monitoring room, Izuku watched the feed with wide eyes. “She used close-range combat. Smart. Thirteen’s Quirk is long-range - she couldn’t counter that.”

Tsuyu, seated nearby, tilted her head. “Maybe. Or maybe Aoyama said something that made her drop her guard.”

Izuku blinked, confused. “What did he say?”

Tsuyu shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”

Just then, Tenya and Momo entered the room, their expressions proud but composed. Izuku turned to them with a smile.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You both passed.”

Tenya nodded, adjusting his glasses. “It was a challenge. But we learned a lot.”

Momo offered a quiet smile. “More than I expected.”

The room buzzed with quiet celebration, but beneath it all, the lessons of the day lingered - about trust, communication, and the strength found in working together.

The sixth match commenced under the overcast skies of Field Gamma, a sprawling industrial zone filled with steel towers, rusted scaffolding, and half-demolished buildings. Kaminari and Ashido stood at the edge of the field, surveying the terrain with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. Their opponent, Principal Nezu, was nowhere in sight - at least not initially. The two students huddled together, whispering hurried strategies.

“He’s small,” Denki said, eyes scanning the horizon. “And probably not that strong physically. If we hit him with a big enough jolt, we can end this fast.”

Mina nodded, her acid already bubbling at her fingertips. “Yeah, we just need to find him first. He’s gotta be hiding somewhere.”

But Nezu wasn’t hiding. He was perched comfortably inside the control cabin of a towering crane, high above the field and well out of reach. From his elevated vantage point, he peered down at the students with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. His Quirk - High Specs - granted him intelligence far beyond that of a normal human, and he was about to demonstrate just how dangerous intellect could be in combat.

With a flick of a lever, Nezu activated the crane and swung its massive arm toward a nearby building. The structure groaned, then collapsed in a cloud of dust and debris. But the destruction didn’t stop there. The falling rubble struck a support beam on an adjacent building, which in turn toppled a water tower, sending a cascade of metal and concrete across the field. It was a domino effect, meticulously calculated and flawlessly executed.

Denki and Mina scrambled to avoid the falling debris, their initial confidence evaporating. Every time they tried to move toward the escape gate, another building would collapse in their path. Nezu’s strategy wasn’t just about destruction - it was about control. He had mapped out every possible route they could take and systematically eliminated them, leaving only one narrow path untouched.

But even that path was a trap.

Denki fired off bursts of electricity, hoping to disable the crane or at least disrupt Nezu’s control. But the principal had anticipated that too. The crane was insulated, and Nezu had positioned himself behind reinforced glass, immune to Denki’s attacks. Mina tried to melt through some of the debris with her acid, but the sheer volume of wreckage made it impossible to clear a path in time.

As the clock ticked down, the realization hit them both - they had never stood a chance. Nezu hadn’t just outmaneuvered them physically; he had outthought them at every turn. When the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the match, Denki and Mina stood amidst the ruins, panting and defeated.

In the monitoring room, the atmosphere shifted as the outcome of the match became clear. Ochako entered just as the feed cut to black, her eyes scanning the screen for Mina’s figure. When she didn’t see her friend celebrating, her shoulders slumped.

“She didn’t make it?” Ochako asked, her voice tinged with disappointment.

Izuku nodded solemnly. “Nezu’s strategy was airtight. They couldn’t keep up.”

Tsuyu, seated nearby, turned toward Ochako with a curious expression. “So… what did Aoyama say to you during your match?”

Ochako’s face turned a deep shade of red. She waved her hands quickly, her voice flustered. “Oh! Uh- it wasn’t anything important. Just… stuff.”

Tsuyu blinked. “Stuff?”

“I mean, he was just being weird,” Ochako said, laughing nervously. “You know how he is.”

Izuku raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Tenya, ever the tactful one, changed the subject by asking about the next match, but the question lingered in the room like a quiet echo. Ochako’s reaction had said more than her words ever could.

As the students continued to watch the remaining matches unfold, the lessons of the day became increasingly clear. Strength wasn’t just about power or speed - it was about adaptability, intelligence, and the ability to think under pressure. And for some, it was also about confronting emotions they hadn’t yet learned how to name.

Chapter Text

The seventh match began in the dense, wooded expanse of the forest training zone, a place where visibility was limited and sound carried far. Mineta and Kouda stood at the edge of the trees, their eyes scanning the underbrush for any sign of their opponent. The air was still for only a moment before it erupted with a deafening blast.

Present Mic’s voice tore through the forest like a sonic hurricane, his Quirk amplifying his words into seismic waves that shook the leaves and rattled the bones of anyone within range. The ground vibrated beneath the students’ feet, and birds scattered from the treetops in panicked flocks. Mineta clutched his ears, grimacing.

“We need to get to the escape gate!” he shouted, barely audible over the roar.

Kouda nodded, but the moment they tried to move, another blast of sound knocked them back, forcing them to retreat behind a fallen log. Present Mic’s voice echoed through the trees, relentless and overwhelming. Mineta turned to Kouda, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Can’t you use your Quirk? Get some birds to attack him or something!”

Kouda shook his head, gesturing with his hands. He couldn’t speak over the noise, but his meaning was clear: it wouldn’t work. The birds were too scattered, too frightened, and the sound waves were disrupting their flight patterns.

Another sonic blast tore through the forest, splintering branches and sending a shockwave through the canopy. Mineta ducked low, his sticky balls clinging to the bark around him, trying to find a way forward. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something - an ant, crawling steadily across the ground, completely unaffected by the sound.

“Wait,” Mineta said, eyes wide. “Can you control that?”

Kouda’s face went pale. He shook his head again, more violently this time, backing away in fear. Mineta stared at him, incredulous.

“You’re scared of bugs?!”

Kouda nodded, his body trembling.

The sound waves kept coming, each one more punishing than the last. They couldn’t get close to Present Mic, and they couldn’t outrun the blasts. Mineta turned to Kouda again, urgency in his voice.

“Listen to me! There’s no other way! You’re the only one who can do this! You’ve got the Quirk, man! You’ve got the power! You just have to use it!”

Kouda hesitated, his eyes darting between Mineta and the forest floor. Then, slowly, he knelt down and placed his hand on the earth. His lips moved, barely audible, as he whispered to the insects beneath the soil. Ants, beetles, centipedes - creatures that lived in silence, immune to the chaos above.

Mineta watched in awe. “You can talk?!”

From beneath the forest floor, a swarm began to rise. Not in the air, but through the roots and tunnels, moving silently and swiftly toward Present Mic’s position. The hero continued his barrage, unaware of the ambush forming beneath him. Then, without warning, the insects erupted from the ground, crawling up his legs, swarming his equipment, and disrupting his footing.

Present Mic stumbled, his voice faltering as he tried to shake off the swarm. The sound waves weakened, and the forest grew quiet. Mineta and Kouda seized the opportunity, sprinting toward the escape gate with everything they had. They crossed the threshold just as the buzzer sounded.

In the monitoring room, the students stared at the screen in stunned silence. The image of Present Mic flailing against a tide of insects was both surreal and oddly satisfying.

“That was… harsh,” Jirou muttered, wincing.

Tsuyu nodded. “I didn’t expect that.”

Izuku, arms crossed, frowned slightly. “A U.A. teacher defeated by bugs. That’s… not impressive.”

Tenya adjusted his glasses. “It was resourceful. Kouda overcame a personal fear. That’s commendable.”

The room buzzed with mixed reactions, but one thing was clear - every match was revealing something new. About the students. About the teachers. And about the unpredictable nature of hero work.

The eighth match unfolded in a long, dimly lit corridor lined with towering concrete pillars, each spaced just far enough apart to offer fleeting cover. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with anticipation as Shouji and Hagakure crept through the shadows, their eyes scanning for any sign of their opponent. The corridor’s echoing silence was broken by the sudden clatter of a metal canister skidding across the floor.

A sharp hiss followed, and within seconds, the corridor was engulfed in thick, choking smoke. Visibility dropped to near zero, and the students instinctively ducked behind one of the pillars, coughing and trying to stay low. Snipe’s voice rang out through the haze, calm and confident, his southern drawl laced with authority.

“You kids better move fast. I don’t miss.”

A split second later, the pillar they were hiding behind exploded into chunks of concrete, shattered by a well-placed bullet. Shouji reacted instantly, grabbing Tooru and pulling her back behind another column. His multiple arms flexed, ready to shield her from further attacks, but the smoke made it impossible to see where the next shot would come from.

Tooru tugged at his arm, her voice barely audible over the chaos. “I’ve got an idea. Trust me.”

Before Shouji could respond, she slipped away into the smoke. He turned, confused, and then froze as he caught a glimpse of her discarded clothes lying on the ground. Realization dawned quickly. Tooru, completely invisible thanks to her Quirk, had removed the last thing that could give away her position. She was now a ghost in the fog, undetectable even to the sharp eyes of a professional marksman.

Understanding her plan, Shouji knew what he had to do. He stepped out from behind the pillar, deliberately making noise, his massive frame an easy target in the smoke. He sprinted across the corridor, drawing Snipe’s attention with exaggerated movements and loud footsteps. Bullets whizzed past him, one grazing his shoulder, another striking the wall just inches from his head. He grunted in pain but kept moving, weaving between the pillars, making himself the obvious threat.

Snipe, focused on the visible opponent, didn’t notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him. Tooru crept silently through the smoke, her bare feet making no sound on the concrete floor. She moved with precision, her breathing steady, her hands clutching the capture tape tightly. As Shouji stumbled and fell, feigning defeat, Snipe stepped forward to secure the capture.

That was the moment Tooru struck.

She lunged forward, wrapping the tape around Snipe’s wrist and snapping the handcuffs into place with practiced ease. The hero spun around, startled, but it was too late. The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the match.

In the observation room, the students erupted in surprised chatter. Kaminari leaned forward, eyes wide.

“No way! She got him?”

Yaoyorozu nodded, impressed. “She used her Quirk perfectly. That was brilliant.”

Izuku scribbled notes furiously, muttering to himself. “She used the smoke as cover, removed her clothes to eliminate visibility, and timed the capture perfectly. That’s advanced stealth strategy.”

Aizawa, watching silently from the back, gave a small nod of approval.

The ninth match began in a haze of violet mist, the air thick with Midnight’s sleep-inducing aroma that clung to every surface of the training zone. The arena was a stylized ballroom, complete with marble floors, ornate columns, and velvet curtains that swayed gently in the artificial breeze. The setting was elegant, but the atmosphere was anything but. Midnight’s Quirk had already saturated the space, and the two male students - Sero and Todoroki - were at an immediate disadvantage.

Both boys covered their mouths with cloth filters, hastily prepared to reduce the effects of the aroma. Even so, they could feel the sluggishness creeping into their limbs, the subtle pull of drowsiness that threatened to dull their reflexes. Midnight, poised at the far end of the room, stood with her whip coiled in one hand, her expression playful but focused. She knew her Quirk worked more effectively on males, and she was prepared to exploit that fact to its fullest.

Shouto turned to Hanta, his voice low and measured. “Walk out and draw her attention. I’ll freeze her when she moves.”

Hanta blinked, surprised. “Shouldn’t we come up with a plan where I do more than just get whipped?”

But Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, he raised his left hand and summoned a burst of flame, directing it toward a specific section of the ballroom. The heat burned away the mist in a narrow corridor, creating a temporary safe zone free of Midnight’s aroma. Hanta caught the hint and nodded, sprinting through the cleared path with urgency.

Midnight’s eyes narrowed as she spotted movement. She cracked her whip, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot, and lunged toward Hanta with graceful precision. Her movements were fluid, her confidence evident - until the temperature dropped.

Shouto activated his right side, sending a wave of ice across the floor. It surged forward, encasing Midnight’s legs and lower torso in a thick layer of frost before she could react. Her whip froze mid-swing, and her body locked in place, immobilized by the sudden cold.

Without missing a beat, Shouto tossed the handcuffs to Hanta. “You wanted to contribute. Finish it.”

Hanta caught them mid-run, skidded to a halt, and snapped the cuffs around Midnight’s wrists with a grin. The buzzer sounded, signaling their victory.

In the monitoring room, the students watched the screen fade to black. Ochako turned to Izuku, her brow furrowed with concern.

“You should get ready,” she said. “Your match with Bakugou against All Might is next.”

Izuku didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, even after it went dark. “I wanted to see Shouto finish his match. I’ve already seen Momo pass. I needed to see him do it too.”

Ochako tilted her head. “Why?”

Izuku stood, adjusting his gloves. “Because we grew up together. We trained together. We fight differently now, but I still want to know they’re okay.”

He turned and jogged out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he made his way to the staging area. His match was next. And it would be the most difficult one yet.

Chapter Text

The final match of the practical exam began in silence.

Izuku Midoriya arrived at the edge of the replica city, the artificial skyline looming overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The air was still, heavy with anticipation. Across the street, Katsuki Bakugou stood waiting, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. They didn’t speak. There was no need. The tension between them was palpable, not born of rivalry or resentment, but of sheer difference in approach. The opponent they were about to face was not just a teacher. He was All Might - the Symbol of Peace, the strongest hero alive, and Izuku’s father.

The silence stretched until Izuku finally broke it, his voice calm but firm.

“We should escape,” he said. “There’s no point in fighting him. We’ll lose before the battle even begins.”

Katsuki didn’t move. “I’m not running.”

Izuku stepped closer, his tone sharpening. “You don’t understand. If we try to fight, we’ll be crushed.”

Katsuki turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Then stay out of my way.”

Izuku frowned. “Kacchan, listen-”

The blow came fast. Katsuki’s fist struck Izuku’s jaw, sending him stumbling back a step. The impact wasn’t just physical - it was a declaration. Izuku’s eyes flared with green lightning as he activated Full Cowl, his body surging with energy. He tackled Katsuki in retaliation, driving him into the pavement with a burst of speed and force.

But before their clash could escalate, the ground beneath them trembled.

From the far end of the city, a deafening roar echoed through the streets. A Texas Smash tore through the air, the wind pressure alone ripping apart the asphalt and sending debris flying. The shockwave reached them in seconds, forcing both boys to brace themselves against the sheer force of the blast.

All Might stood at the escape gate, his cape billowing, his presence overwhelming. He didn’t wait for them to recover. He leapt into action, crossing the distance in a blur of motion.

Izuku turned to flee, instincts kicking in, but Katsuki remained rooted, his stance firm. He raised his hands and activated his Stun Grenade technique, forming a sphere of concentrated light between his palms. The sphere imploded with a blinding flash, disorienting everything in its radius.

All Might staggered for a moment, his vision obscured, and Katsuki lunged forward, aiming a barrage of explosions at close range. The blasts lit up the street, but they lacked the power to do more than irritate. All Might reached through the smoke and grabbed Katsuki’s face with one massive hand, lifting him off the ground.

Katsuki didn’t struggle. Instead, he focused his explosions directly into All Might’s grip, trying to force a release through sheer persistence. But All Might was unmoved. With a grunt, he slammed Katsuki into the pavement, the impact cracking the concrete beneath them.

Before the dust settled, All Might vanished from sight, reappearing behind Izuku in a flash.

Izuku spun, launching a smash kick aimed at All Might’s chest, but Katsuki, already recovering, moved to attack at the same time. All Might shifted his weight, and the two students collided mid-strike. Izuku’s kick connected - not with All Might, but with Katsuki’s ribs, sending the blond skidding across the street.

Izuku landed, breath heavy, eyes wide. Katsuki pushed himself up, coughing once, but didn’t speak. The silence returned, heavier now, filled with the echo of their failed coordination.

All Might stood tall, watching them both.

This wasn’t just a test of strength.

It was a test of unity. And so far, they were failing.

Katsuki groaned as he pushed himself off the shattered pavement, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His body ached, his ribs throbbed, and the taste of bile lingered on his tongue. But his eyes burned with defiance. He staggered forward, step by step, toward the towering figure of All Might, who stood unmoved amidst the wreckage of their clash. Izuku, still catching his breath, reached out instinctively.

“Kacchan, stop,” he said, voice low but urgent. “You’re hurt. We need to rethink this.”

Katsuki didn’t even glance back. His steps were slow, deliberate, but his voice rang out with unwavering conviction.

“I’ll win,” he said. “Because that’s what it means to be a hero.”

Izuku clenched his fists, frustration mounting. “You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t about pride. We’re supposed to work together.”

Katsuki scoffed, his tone sharp. “You don’t get to talk about teamwork. Not after you left.”

Before Izuku could respond, a blur of motion cut through the air. All Might, silent until now, moved with terrifying speed. He tore a section of metal fencing from the debris and slammed it down, pinning Izuku to the ground with brutal precision. The steel groaned under the pressure, locking Izuku’s limbs in place.

“Kacchan!” Izuku shouted, struggling against the weight.

But Katsuki was already too late.

All Might’s fist connected with his chest in a thunderous blow, sending him hurtling through the air. He crashed into a wall with a sickening crunch, his body folding in on itself before collapsing to the ground. He vomited violently, the force of the punch having ruptured something deep inside. Dust and smoke swirled around him as he lay there, gasping, his pride shattered more than his bones.

Izuku’s eyes widened, and for a moment, the chaos faded into memory.

He saw them - two small boys, no older than four, sitting cross-legged in front of a flickering screen. The video played grainy footage of All Might taking down four villains at once, his smile unwavering, his strength unmatched. Katsuki had been mesmerized, eyes wide with awe, fists clenched in excitement. He kept shouting, “He always wins! No matter what!” Izuku had watched him, quietly admiring that fire, that unrelenting belief in victory. Even then, he’d looked up to Katsuki - not just for his strength, but for his spirit.

But that was before everything changed.

Before the Commission took Izuku away, before he was trained in isolation, molded into something strategic and cold. Before he returned to find Katsuki no longer smiling, no longer waiting.

All Might approached the fallen blond, his expression unreadable. He crouched beside him, voice low and steady.

“You’ve been fighting recklessly,” he said. “Not because you want to win - but because you’re angry. At him.”

Katsuki didn’t respond, but his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I remember your rant during the battle trial,” All Might continued. “You were furious. Not just at Izuku’s strength - but at his absence. You were close once. Then he was gone. No explanation. No apology. And now he’s back, acting like nothing happened.”

Katsuki’s lip curled, his voice hoarse. “He doesn’t get it. He never even tried.”

All Might nodded slowly. “You’re hurt. And you’re letting that pain blind you. But you have potential, Young Bakugou. You can be great. You just have to let go of the anger.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “I’d rather lose than work with him.”

The words hung in the air like poison.

All Might’s expression hardened. He stood, towering over Katsuki, and raised his arm to finish the match. But before the blow could land, Izuku broke free from the twisted metal, Full Cowl surging through his veins. He dashed forward and struck Katsuki with a powerful punch, sending him skidding away from All Might’s reach.

“Don’t you ever say that!” Izuku shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “Don’t you dare say you’d rather lose!”

He grabbed Katsuki by the collar, dragging him to his feet, and without waiting for a response, retreated into a narrow alleyway between two crumbling buildings. The shadows swallowed them as All Might watched from the street, his cape fluttering in the wind.

The battle paused, but the storm between them had only just begun.

The alleyway was narrow and dim, littered with broken bricks and the remnants of shattered glass. Izuku set Katsuki down gently, his grip loosening as the tension between them hovered like a storm cloud. Katsuki brushed himself off, his movements sharp and irritated, but Izuku didn’t back away. He stood firm, his voice quiet but resolute.

“Why are you so mad at me?” Izuku asked. “I don’t get it. We were close, yeah, but-”

Katsuki’s eyes flared, and he stepped forward, fists clenched. “How can you not get it?” he snapped. “You were one of my first friends. We were always together. Then one day, you just didn’t show up. No warning. No goodbye. You were gone.”

Izuku’s expression faltered. He looked down, guilt creeping into his features. “I didn’t exactly have a choice,” he said. “When my Quirk manifested and it turned out to be the same as my dad’s… the Commission took me. They said I needed to be trained properly. I didn’t even know what that meant at the time.”

He hesitated, then continued. “They let me visit my mom sometimes. But mostly, I was training. With Shouto and Momo. That was my life.”

The alley fell into silence. The distant sounds of battle echoed through the city, but neither of them moved. Izuku looked up again, his voice softer now.

“I never meant to hurt you. I don't know how to explain it. I just… I want to make up for it. Even if we’re not the same as before. Even if we’re not close. Can we try to be friends again?”

Katsuki scoffed, his expression unreadable. “I’ll think about it.”

Then, after a pause, he added, “Let’s win this.”

Izuku nodded, and the tension between them shifted - still present, but tempered by something new. A shared goal.

When All Might passed the alleyway, Katsuki didn’t hesitate. He burst out with a roar, launching a barrage of explosions to draw the hero’s attention. All Might turned, surprised by the sudden assault, and Katsuki grinned.

“Now!” he shouted.

Izuku leapt from the shadows, one of Katsuki’s Grenade Bracers strapped to his arm. He aimed and fired, unleashing a massive explosion that engulfed All Might in smoke and flame. The two boys didn’t wait to see the result - they turned and sprinted toward the escape gate, their Quirks propelling them forward at top speed.

All Might emerged from the smoke, unharmed but impressed. He watched them run, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They’re learning, he thought. Fixing this tandem will take time. But this is a start.

Katsuki glanced back, his voice sharp. “I know that blast didn’t faze you. I’ll hit you harder next time!”

All Might’s eyes narrowed. In a blur, he caught up to them, his speed overwhelming. “Next time?” he echoed.

He shattered both Grenade Bracers with a single strike, then kneed Katsuki into a nearby building. The impact sent shockwaves through the structure, and Katsuki crumpled to the ground. All Might grabbed Izuku mid-run, lifting him off the ground with ease.

Katsuki recovered quickly, launching himself forward, but All Might used Izuku’s body as a weapon, slamming him into Katsuki and pinning them both down. The pressure was immense, the strength behind it undeniable.

Katsuki gritted his teeth, blood dripping from his mouth. “He’s… unstoppable,” he muttered.

But then something shifted.

Katsuki’s eyes burned with renewed fire. He activated his explosions at maximum output, the blasts tearing through the air and forcing All Might to recoil. The pain was immediate - his arms screamed in protest, his skin blistering - but he didn’t stop. He grabbed Izuku and hurled him toward the escape gate with everything he had.

All Might responded with a New Hampshire Smash, the force of it nearly breaking Izuku’s back. He crashed into the pavement, gasping, but he kept moving, crawling toward the gate.

Katsuki flew at All Might again, his voice raw. “I was stupid,” he admitted. “Thinking I could fight you without risking anything.”

He unleashed a flurry of super explosions, each one more violent than the last. His body broke down with every blast, but he pressed on, refusing to yield. Izuku, barely able to stand, kept inching toward the gate, knowing that All Might would have to stop him.

And he did.

All Might turned, preparing to intercept, but Katsuki capitalized on the moment. He lunged, only to be caught and slammed down once more. But this time, he bit down on All Might’s hand, refusing to let go.

“I won’t lose,” he growled. “Even if I have to destroy myself. I'll do that before ever accepting defeat...”

Izuku saw the opening. He surged forward, Full Cowl flaring, and delivered a powerful smash kick to All Might’s side. The impact staggered the hero just enough for Izuku to grab Katsuki and drag him toward the gate.

Together, bruised and bloodied, they crossed the threshold.

The buzzer sounded.

They had passed.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled Recovery Girl’s office, mingling with the soft hum of medical equipment and the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of bandages and the gentle clink of tools being set aside. Izuku lay unconscious on one of the padded beds, his body wrapped in gauze and cooling packs, his breathing shallow but steady. Beside him, Katsuki sat upright, arms crossed, his expression sour despite the fresh bandages across his chest and arms. He winced occasionally, but refused to show any sign of weakness.

Across the room, Shouto sat in a chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. Momo sat beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, though her gaze was anything but calm. She stared at All Might, who stood near the doorway with his arms behind his back, his usual confident demeanor tempered by a rare hint of guilt.

“You hit them too hard,” Momo said, her voice sharp and unwavering. “This was a school exam, not a battlefield.”

All Might opened his mouth to respond, but Recovery Girl cut in, bustling over with a tray of ointments and salves.

“She’s right,” the elderly nurse said, her tone clipped. “I told you before the exam started - no broken bones, no internal bleeding. And what do I get? A boy with a nearly fractured spine and another with ruptured muscle tissue from overusing his Quirk.”

All Might bowed his head slightly. “I apologize. I misjudged their resilience.”

Recovery Girl huffed, setting the tray down with a bit more force than necessary. “You misjudged your own strength. Again.”

Katsuki scoffed from his bed. “We’re fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Recovery Girl snapped. “You’re lucky you didn’t tear your arms apart. And Midoriya - he’ll be out for hours.”

Momo glanced at Izuku, her expression softening. “He pushed himself too hard. They both did.”

Shouto nodded. “But they passed.”

All Might stepped forward, his voice quieter now. “They did. And they showed me something important. That even broken trust can be mended. That even fractured partnerships can find rhythm.”

Recovery Girl rolled her eyes. “Spare me the poetic reflection. Just promise me you’ll hold back next time.”

All Might smiled faintly. “I’ll do my best.”

Momo didn’t respond. She simply reached out and adjusted the blanket over Izuku’s chest, her movements gentle. Katsuki watched her, then looked away, his jaw tight.

The room settled into silence once more, the tension slowly ebbing as Recovery Girl resumed her work. Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the campus. The final exams were over, but the lessons they had imparted - about strength, about pain, and about the fragile bonds between people - were only just beginning to take root.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Class 1-A’s homeroom, casting a warm glow across the desks as the students filed in, their expressions a mix of anticipation and dread. The final exams were over, but the results had yet to be revealed, and the tension in the room was palpable. Conversations were hushed, glances exchanged nervously, and even the more confident students sat with a quiet edge to their posture.

Aizawa entered the room with his usual disheveled appearance, his capture scarf trailing behind him and a stack of papers in hand. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He walked to the front, dropped the papers on the desk, and activated the screen behind him. One by one, the names and results appeared.

Yuuga Aoyama: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Mina Ashido: Written - Passed | Practicals - Failed

Tsuyu Asui: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Tenya Iida: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Ochako Uraraka: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Mashirao Ojiro: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Denki Kaminari: Written - Passed | Practicals - Failed

Eijirou Kirishima: Written - Passed | Practicals - Failed

Kouji Kouda: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Rikidou Satou: Written - Passed | Practicals - Failed

Mezou Shouji: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Kyouka Jirou: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Hanta Sero: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Fumikage Tokoyami: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Shouto Todoroki: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Tooru Hagakure: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Katsuki Bakugou: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Izuku Midoriya: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

Minoru Mineta: Written - Passed | Practicals - Failed

Momo Yaoyorozu: Written - Passed | Practicals - Passed

A wave of reactions rippled through the room. Those who had passed both sections sighed in relief, while those who had failed the practicals - Mina, Denki, Kirishima, Satou, and Mineta - looked devastated. Mina slumped in her seat, groaning. Denki buried his face in his arms. Kirishima stared at the screen, his jaw clenched.

“So we’re not going to the Training Camp?” Satou asked, his voice low.

Aizawa, still standing at the front, raised a hand to silence the murmurs. “Everyone is going.”

The room fell silent.

“What?” Mineta blinked. “Even us?”

Aizawa nodded. “Yes. The teachers left a window open in each match. A chance for you to win. That was intentional. We needed to see how you’d respond under pressure. But regardless of the results, all of you must go to the Training Camp. You need to get stronger.”

He paused, then added, “It was a rational deception.”

The reaction was immediate. Groans, protests, and exasperated sighs filled the room. Mina threw her hands up. “You tricked us?”

Denki leaned back in his chair. “I thought I was doomed!”

Kirishima laughed bitterly. “I nearly cried last night.”

Aizawa didn’t flinch. “You’ll thank us later.”

After class, the mood shifted. The students gathered around the Training Camp brochure, flipping through pages filled with images of forest lodges, obstacle courses, and Quirk training zones. The trip would last a full week, and the brochure listed recommended supplies - clothing, gear, snacks, and personal items.

“We need to go shopping,” Tooru said, holding up the brochure. “Like, now.”

“I’m down,” Jirou replied. “I need new boots.”

“Let’s all go to the mall together!” Tooru suggested, her voice bright and enthusiastic.

The idea was met with immediate agreement. Tsuyu, Ochako, Kirishima, Denki, Mina, and several others nodded eagerly, already discussing what they needed to buy. Plans were made quickly, and the group began organizing transportation.

But not everyone joined in.

Katsuki stood off to the side, arms crossed, uninterested in the chatter. Shouto sat quietly at his desk, flipping through the brochure with a detached expression. Momo glanced at him, then at Izuku, who was reviewing his notes with a focused look.

The Trust Trio didn’t speak, but their silence was mutual understanding. They had their own preparations to make - ones that didn’t involve shopping sprees or group outings. Their training was different. Their goals were heavier.

As the rest of the class filed out, laughing and chatting, the trio remained behind, their thoughts already drifting toward the forest, the challenges ahead, and the quiet war they were still fighting within themselves.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the campus as the Trust Trio walked side by side along the quiet stone paths that wound between the dormitories and training fields. The air was warm, tinged with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of students still lingering in the gym or study halls. Their pace was slow, unhurried, and reflective, the kind of walk that didn’t need a destination. It was a rare moment of peace between the chaos of exams and the looming intensity of the Training Camp.

Momo was the first to break the silence. Her voice was soft, thoughtful, but edged with a hint of vulnerability. “Do you think we… favoritize each other?”

Shouto turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Where’s that coming from?”

Momo hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she walked. “During our match against Aizawa, Jirou said something. She claimed that we work so flawlessly together, but when it comes to anyone else, we don’t really include them. Like we’re in our own little bubble.”

Izuku slowed his steps, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the words. Shouto didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed ahead, but the silence between them was contemplative rather than dismissive. They all knew there was truth in what Momo had said. Their synergy was undeniable - strategic, instinctive, and deeply rooted in shared experience. But that same closeness had created a barrier, one that others could feel even if the trio hadn’t meant to build it.

“I suppose she’s right,” Izuku finally said, his voice quiet. “It’s what the Commission wanted, isn’t it? For us to learn how to build genuine connections. Not just with each other.”

Shouto exhaled slowly, his hands tucked into his pockets. “I like our circle. Just the three of us. It’s calm. Predictable. Anyone else would throw things off.”

Momo nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I feel the same. But maybe… maybe we should try. Just a little. One person each. Someone from Class A.”

Izuku looked at her, then at Shouto, and gave a small nod. “That sounds fair.”

Shouto frowned slightly, clearly reluctant. “Who am I supposed to approach?”

Izuku smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting with a hint of encouragement. “Sero. You were paired with him for the practicals. He seems chill. Easygoing.”

Shouto considered it for a moment, then gave a slow, reluctant nod. “I guess that’s manageable.”

Momo glanced up at the sky, her voice tinged with a quiet resolve. “I’ll try with Jirou. I haven’t treated her the best in the past. I want to make up for that.”

Shouto nodded again, more firmly this time, and Izuku’s expression softened. “I’ll try with Kacchan. We were close once. Before the Commission stepped in. Maybe it’s time to see if there’s still something there.”

The trio continued walking, the silence between them now filled with a quiet sense of purpose. The campus around them was still, the golden light of sunset painting everything in warm hues. They didn’t speak again for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, but the decision had been made. The bubble they had built around themselves had served its purpose, but now it was time to stretch beyond it. Not to abandon what they had, but to expand it - carefully, intentionally, and with the same quiet strength that had always defined them.

Chapter Text

The final bell of the semester rang out across U.A. High School, signaling the end of the first term and the beginning of something far more intense. In Class 1-A’s homeroom, Aizawa stood at the front of the room, arms crossed and expression as unreadable as ever. The students sat with a mix of excitement and apprehension, their minds already drifting toward the forest Training Camp they’d been promised.

“Your limits will be tested,” Aizawa said flatly. “Don’t treat this like a vacation. You’ll be pushed harder than ever before.”

The warning was met with a chorus of cheers and chatter. Ochako turned to Izuku, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“I’m so excited for Camp!” she said, bouncing slightly on her feet. Then, as if remembering something unpleasant, her expression shifted. “Camping, camping, camping,” she chanted nervously, backing away from Izuku with a flustered smile.

Izuku blinked, confused by the sudden change in tone. He watched her retreat with a puzzled expression, but something about her enthusiasm - her genuine joy - made him feel strangely warm inside. He didn’t question it. He just smiled.

The moment was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the failures of Class 1-A,” Neito Monoma sneered, striding into the room with his usual theatrical flair. “I hope the remedial students packed extra tissues.”

Before anyone could respond, Kendou appeared behind him and delivered a swift chop to the back of his neck, knocking him out cold. She sighed and turned to Class 1-A.

“Sorry about him. Again.”

She motioned for Class 1-B to board their bus, and the students filed out in orderly fashion. Yaoyorozu, ever composed, stood and addressed her class.

“Let’s board our bus, everyone. Please stay organized.”

The students followed her lead, and soon Class 1-A was en route to the forest Training Camp, the bus filled with laughter, chatter, and the occasional burst of Quirk-powered antics. Aizawa sat near the front, trying in vain to remind them to stay focused.

“Don’t forget why you’re going,” he muttered. “This isn’t a field trip.”

But his voice was drowned out by the noise.

Toward the middle of the bus, Momo sat beside Kyouka, determined to honor her promise to build a bond with someone outside the Trust Trio. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“So… do you enjoy music?” Momo asked, her tone formal and slightly stiff.

Jirou snorted. “You sound like you’re interviewing me.”

Momo flushed. “I’m not... sorry. I’m not used to this.”

Jirou smirked. “Yeah, I can tell. You’re way too polished. Relax a little.”

Momo nodded, trying to loosen her posture. “Could you… coach me? On how to socialize better?”

Jirou raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “Sure. First lesson - don’t sound like a robot.”

A few seats away, Todoroki sat near Hanta, though not directly beside him. He would’ve preferred to sit with Momo or Izuku, but Momo was engaged with Jirou, and Izuku had taken a seat next to Katsuki. Shouto stared out the window, arms crossed, feeling slightly out of place.

Sero glanced over, sensing the discomfort. “So… uh, you like the cold, right?”

Shouto turned, blinking. “Yes.”

Sero nodded. “Cool. I mean, literally.”

The silence lingered for a moment, but then Shouto offered a small nod. “You were effective during our match. I appreciated your timing.”

Sero smiled. “Thanks, man. You’re intense, but not bad to work with.”

The conversation remained stiff for a while, but gradually, it began to flow more naturally. Shouto found himself listening more, responding with less hesitation. It wasn’t seamless, but it was progress.

At the front of the bus, Izuku sat beside Katsuki, the two of them surprisingly quiet at first. Eventually, Izuku turned to him.

“How were your middle school years?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Loud. Competitive. I won a lot.”

Izuku smiled. “Sounds about right.”

Katsuki glanced at him. “What about you? What was it like with the Commission?”

Izuku’s expression shifted, more reflective now. “Strict. Isolated. I trained with Shouto and Momo almost every day. We didn’t really have downtime. It was all about control, precision, discipline.”

Katsuki leaned back, arms crossed. “Sounds suffocating.”

Izuku nodded. “It was. But we got close. We had to.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the bus filling the space between them. Then Katsuki spoke again.

“You’re different now. Not as soft.”

Izuku looked at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “So are you.”

The bus continued down the winding road toward the forest, the sun dipping lower in the sky. Inside, the students laughed, bonded, and prepared - some knowingly, others unknowingly - for the trials that awaited them. And for the Trust Trio, the journey had already begun.

The morning air was crisp and cool as Class 1-A stepped off the bus onto the rocky plateau of a mountain top. The sun had barely climbed past the horizon, casting golden light across the jagged terrain and illuminating the dense forest that stretched far below. The students stretched and yawned, still groggy from the early departure, but their attention quickly snapped to the four brightly dressed figures awaiting them. Standing proudly in matching themed costumes were the Wild, Wild Pussycats - Mandalay, Pixie-Bob, Ragdoll, and Tiger - each radiating a unique energy that contrasted sharply with the sleepy students.

Mandalay stepped forward, her voice cheerful but commanding as she gestured toward the edge of the cliff. “Welcome to your summer Training Camp! Your lodge is down there, at the base of the mountain. If you want lunch, you’ll need to get there by noon.”

The students peered over the edge, eyes widening at the sheer drop and the thick forest below. A collective groan rippled through the group, and several of them turned back toward the bus, hoping to avoid the grueling trek. But before anyone could climb aboard, Pixie-Bob clapped her hands together with a mischievous grin and slammed her palms to the ground. Her Quirk activated instantly, sending a tremor through the earth as massive hands of soil erupted beneath the students, scooping them up and hurling them over the edge.

Screams and shouts filled the air as Class 1-A tumbled down the mountainside, landing in the heart of what the Pussycats called the Beast’s Forest. The terrain was wild and uneven, thick with trees and vines, and the moment they hit the ground, the earth began to shift again. Pixie-Bob’s Quirk summoned towering beasts made of dirt and stone, their forms resembling monstrous animals with glowing eyes and jagged limbs. The students, still disoriented, mistook them for real creatures and scattered in panic.

One of the beasts lunged toward Mineta, who shrieked and stumbled backward. Izuku reacted instinctively, leaping between Mineta and the creature, his arms raised and One For All crackling through his limbs. He delivered a powerful blow that shattered the beast’s head, sending chunks of earth flying. Mandalay, watching from above with Aizawa, raised an eyebrow.

“You’re really pushing them hard,” she said.

Aizawa didn’t look away from the forest. “They need it. We’re cramming a second semester’s worth of training into this camp. They’ll be receiving permits to use their Quirks, Provisional Hero Licenses, and most importantly, they’ll learn how to survive.”

Back in the forest, Izuku regrouped with Shouto and Momo, the three of them quickly falling into a rhythm. Shouto froze the legs of one beast while Momo created a set of explosive charges to finish it off. Izuku darted between them, coordinating their movements and delivering finishing blows. More monsters emerged from the ground, but Class 1-A began to rally. Tenya led a charge through the trees, coordinating with Fumikage and Tsuyu to flank the creatures. Bakugou blasted through the underbrush with explosive fury, carving a path forward while Kirishima shielded the others from debris.

Despite the chaos, the students began to work together, combining their Quirks in creative ways to dismantle the monsters. Jirou used her sound waves to locate incoming threats, while Denki electrified the ground to disable them. Yaoyorozu created tools and weapons on the fly, distributing them to her classmates with precision. Even Mineta managed to contribute, using his sticky balls to trap a beast long enough for Sato to crush it.

Hours passed as the forest tested their endurance, coordination, and resolve. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the battlefield. By the time Class 1-A stumbled into the clearing where the lodge stood, the sky had turned a deep orange. They were bruised, exhausted, and covered in dirt, but they had made it.

The Wild, Wild Pussycats greeted them with applause and cheers. Pixie-Bob bounced excitedly, her eyes sparkling as she singled out a few students.

“You five were amazing!” she said, pointing to Izuku, Shouto, Momo, Tenya, and Katsuki. “Such strong teamwork and spirit!”

Izuku smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, while Momo bowed politely. Shouto gave a quiet nod, and Tenya adjusted his glasses with pride. Katsuki simply scoffed, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Izuku’s attention shifted to a small figure standing beside Mandalay - a young boy with a cap pulled low over his eyes and a scowl etched into his face.

“Who’s that?” Izuku asked.

Mandalay placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is Kouta. He’s my nephew.”

Tenya stepped forward, ever the gentleman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kouta. I’m Tenya Iid-”

Before he could finish, Kouta delivered a swift punch to Tenya’s groin, causing the older boy to double over with a pained gasp. The class froze in stunned silence.

Katsuki burst out laughing. “I like this kid. Brat's got spunk.”

Shouto glanced at Kouta, then at Katsuki. “He's like a mini version of you.”

Katsuki’s laughter stopped abruptly. “What the hell does that mean?”

Before the exchange could escalate, Aizawa appeared, his scarf trailing behind him.

“Enough. Get your things off the bus. Dinner will be served afterward.”

The students groaned but obeyed, dragging themselves back toward the vehicle to retrieve their luggage. As they moved, the forest behind them seemed to settle, the monsters gone and the air quiet once more. The lodge stood as a beacon of rest, and though the day had been brutal, the students knew they had earned their place there. The real training was only just beginning.

The dining hall of the forest lodge buzzed with energy as Class 1-A gathered for their first meal after the grueling trek through the Beast’s Forest. The long wooden tables were lined with steaming trays of food - roasted meats, grilled vegetables, rice, miso soup, and an array of sauces and sides that filled the air with savory aromas. The students, still sore and dirt-streaked, wasted no time diving in.

Eijirou and Kaminari were among the most enthusiastic. Eijirou piled his plate high with everything he could reach, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“This is amazing!” he said through a mouthful of grilled chicken. “I didn’t think I’d be this hungry, but man, I could eat the whole table!”

Denki nodded vigorously, slurping noodles and reaching for a second helping of rice. “It’s just as good as Lunch Rush’s food back at U.A.! Maybe even better!”

Pixie-Bob, seated nearby with the other Wild, Wild Pussycats, chuckled at their enthusiasm. “Enjoy it while you can,” she said with a wink. “This is the only time you’ll be well fed during training. After tonight, it’s all protein bars and rationed meals. You’ll need to earn your calories.”

The students groaned collectively, but their mouths were too full to protest properly. Even Katsuki, usually too proud to show enjoyment, was quietly devouring his meal with focused intensity. Izuku sat with Momo and Shouto, eating slowly and watching his classmates with a quiet smile. The exhaustion of the day was still heavy in their limbs, but the warmth of good food and camaraderie softened the edges.

After dinner, the students were led to the hot springs nestled behind the lodge, a natural pool surrounded by smooth stones and shaded by tall trees. The boys and girls were separated by a tall wooden wall, and steam rose from the water in thick clouds, promising relief for aching muscles.

The boys settled in quickly, sighing as the heat seeped into their bones. Tenya adjusted his glasses, which had fogged up almost instantly, and leaned back with a contented sigh. Mezou and Kouji sat quietly, enjoying the silence, while Denki and Eijirou splashed each other playfully.

But the peace didn’t last.

Mineta, eyes gleaming with mischief, began inching toward the wall that separated the boys from the girls. He muttered to himself, calculating angles and footholds, clearly preparing to scale the barrier.

“Just a peek,” he whispered. “For research.”

Before he could reach the wall, a sudden chill swept through the springs. Shouto, standing waist-deep in the water, raised his right hand and activated his Quirk. A wave of ice surged across the surface, freezing the entire pool solid in an instant. The steam vanished, replaced by a shimmering sheet of frost that crackled beneath their feet.

Mineta yelped and slipped, landing hard on the ice. Izuku stood nearby, his eyes narrowed and glowing faintly with green energy.

“Try it again,” Izuku said, voice low. “See what happens.”

Mineta scrambled back, shivering and nodding rapidly. “I-I wasn’t going to! I swear!”

Tenya, teeth chattering, raised a hand politely. “Todoroki, if you wouldn’t mind… could you thaw the springs? I believe we’re all freezing.”

Shouto blinked, his expression softening. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Sometimes I lose control when my emotions spike.”

He raised his left hand, and a gentle wave of heat spread across the ice, melting it slowly until the springs returned to their natural warmth. The steam rose again, and the boys settled back into the water, grateful for the reprieve.

Izuku glanced at Shouto, then nodded. “Thanks.”

Shouto gave a quiet nod in return, his gaze drifting toward the stars overhead.

The night settled in around them, peaceful and quiet. The forest rustled gently, and the hot springs bubbled softly. For Class 1-A, the day had been long and punishing, but as they soaked in the warmth and shared quiet moments, the bonds between them began to deepen - one conversation, one shared experience at a time.

The morning air was crisp and carried the scent of pine and dew as the sun began to rise over the forested mountains. The students of Class 1-A stood in a loose semicircle around their homeroom teacher, Shouta Aizawa, who looked as unbothered and sleep-deprived as ever. His capture weapon hung loosely around his shoulders, and his gaze swept across the group with quiet intensity.

“Now that you’ve had your warm-up,” he began, voice low and even, “your real training starts today.”

The students straightened, some rubbing sleep from their eyes, others already bracing themselves for whatever was to come. Aizawa held up a familiar object - a regulation softball - and tossed it to Katsuki Bakugo, who caught it with a flick of his wrist.

“Bakugo,” Aizawa said, “throw it.”

Katsuki didn’t hesitate. He marched to the designated spot, raised his arm, and with a roar of explosive propulsion, hurled the ball into the sky. A small device beeped as it tracked the distance, and the number flashed on the screen: four meters farther than his throw during the Quirk Apprehension Test at the beginning of the semester.

The reaction was immediate. Murmurs rippled through the group, some surprised, others confused. Katsuki scowled, clearly dissatisfied.

Aizawa turned to face the class. “This is what I wanted to show you. Despite all your progress - your stamina, your mental resilience - your Quirks haven’t evolved much. That’s what this camp is for. You’re going to push yourselves past your limits. You’ll train until your Quirks grow stronger. Until they become something more.”

With that, the students were divided and sent to their respective training zones, each tailored to their unique abilities and needs. The forest became a hive of activity, echoing with shouts, blasts, and the sounds of exertion.

Aoyama stood in a clearing, his torso angled upward as he fired his Navel Laser repeatedly into the sky. Sweat poured down his face, and his stomach visibly trembled with strain, but he kept going. The goal was to build endurance, to extend the range of his blasts, and to learn how to fire even when his body protested.

Nearby, Mina crouched in a shallow pit lined with reinforced stone. Acid dripped from her fingertips as she coated her arms and legs, testing her skin’s resistance to her own corrosive Quirk. Her training was brutal, but necessary - she needed to withstand her own power if she hoped to use it more aggressively in combat.

Asui scaled a cliff face with practiced agility, her limbs taut and precise. Her tongue, stretched impossibly long, remained anchored to the top of the cliff, forcing her body to work against the tension. Every muscle was engaged, even the ones most people never thought to train.

Tenya sprinted through a winding forest trail, his engines roaring with each stride. Sweat soaked his uniform, and his breathing was sharp and rhythmic. The goal was simple: run farther, faster, and longer. His legs had to become engines of endurance.

Uraraka stood on a platform surrounded by padded walls. She activated her Zero Gravity, lifting herself slowly into the air. Her face twisted with concentration as she fought the nausea that always followed. She floated, then dropped, then floated again, each cycle pushing her tolerance and increasing her weight limit.

Mashirao faced off against Kirishima, who stood in his hardened form like a living statue. Ojiro’s tail whipped through the air, striking Kirishima again and again. Each impact tested both of them - Ojiro’s strength and Kirishima’s durability rising with every blow.

Denki sat beside a high-capacity battery, his fingers crackling with electricity. He ran currents through the device, gradually increasing the voltage. His goal was control - handling larger amounts of electricity without short-circuiting his brain.

Kouda stood in a quiet glade, his voice echoing through the trees. He practiced vocal projection, calling to birds and squirrels from greater and greater distances. His Quirk, Anivoice, needed reach, and he was determined to expand it.

Rikidou lifted massive weights while consuming sugary snacks at regular intervals. His Quirk fed off sugar, and the more he consumed, the stronger he became. But strength without control was useless, and his regimen focused on balancing both.

Shouji sat cross-legged, his arms morphing and duplicating in rapid succession. Eyes, ears, and limbs sprouted and retracted as he practiced speed and precision. He needed to produce multiple body parts quickly and maintain control over them all.

Kyouka stood before a stone cliff, her headphone jacks piercing into the rock. She listened intently, filtering through layers of sound. Her goal was to increase the sensitivity and range of her auditory perception, honing her Quirk into a tool of surveillance and combat.

Sero fired tape from his elbows in rapid succession, aiming at moving targets and distant trees. The tape’s strength and speed were improving, and he practiced maneuvering mid-air using his own tape as a grappling line.

Fumikage trained in a dark cave, his silhouette barely visible. Dark Shadow loomed behind him, larger and more aggressive than usual. Tokoyami’s voice was calm, commanding, as he worked to maintain control even when his Quirk was at its most powerful.

Todoroki stood in a wide clearing, alternating between ice and fire. His movements were deliberate, his expression focused. He was trying to use both sides of his Quirk simultaneously - a feat that required immense concentration and emotional balance.

Tooru darted through the forest, her footsteps silent. She practiced remaining undetected, even from Mezou’s enhanced senses. Her invisibility was her greatest asset, but stealth required more than just being unseen.

Bakugou submerged his hands into boiling water, gritting his teeth against the pain. His sweat glands expanded under the heat, and once ready, he launched a series of chain explosions into the sky, each one larger than the last. His goal was scale - devastating power with precision.

Minoru sat on a padded mat, pulling the sticky balls from his head one by one. His scalp bled slightly, but he kept going. The balls’ adhesiveness was increasing, and he was learning to endure the pain and reduce the risk of injury.

Midoriya vaulted across a training field, Full Cowl crackling around him. He launched himself toward Tiger, who dodged with feline grace. Izuku’s movements were fast, but not fast enough. He adjusted, attacked again, and again, each time refining his Shoot Style and increasing his power output.

Momo sat beside a table stacked with food, eating methodically. Her body processed the nutrients quickly, and she summoned objects with increasing speed. Small items appeared instantly, and she was working toward larger creations with minimal delay.

The forest echoed with effort and determination. Each student pushed themselves to the brink, driven by the desire to grow stronger - not just for themselves, but for the battles they knew were coming. The training camp had begun, and Class 1-A was ready to rise.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the forest in hues of amber and violet, the students of Class 1-A gathered around the lodge’s outdoor cooking area. The air was filled with the scent of spices, vegetables, and simmering broth as the students worked together to prepare their evening meal. Just as Pixie-Bob had warned the day before, the Wild, Wild Pussycats weren’t cooking for them tonight. Instead, they had laid out crates of ingredients - onions, carrots, potatoes, meat, and curry blocks - and left the rest to the students.

Iida took charge immediately, rallying his classmates with his usual fervor.

“Let’s organize into teams!” he declared, chopping vegetables with mechanical precision. “Efficiency is key! We’ll have dinner ready in no time!”

The students laughed and followed his lead, forming small groups to handle different tasks. Kirishima and Denki peeled potatoes while Ochako and Tsuyu stirred the pots. Momo created utensils and ladles for those who needed them, and even Katsuki begrudgingly helped by searing meat with his explosions - though he insisted it was only because he didn’t want to eat undercooked food.

As the curry began to bubble and the aroma thickened, the students settled into a rhythm. Laughter echoed through the trees, and the exhaustion of the day’s training was momentarily forgotten. Plates were filled, and the students sat in circles, enjoying the fruits of their labor.

But Izuku noticed something odd.

Kouta wasn’t there.

He scanned the area, eyes narrowing slightly. The boy had been quiet all day, but Izuku hadn’t seen him since training ended. Concerned, he filled a plate with curry, wrapped it carefully, and slipped away from the group, heading toward the cliffside where he’d seen Kouta disappear earlier.

The path was narrow and steep, winding through thick brush and jagged rocks. Eventually, Izuku reached a small cave tucked into the cliff face, partially hidden by overgrown vines. Inside, Kouta sat with his knees pulled to his chest, staring out at the horizon with a scowl etched into his face.

Izuku approached slowly, holding out the plate.

“I brought you dinner,” he said gently. “You didn’t come down, so…”

Kouta didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on the distance.

“Leave,” he said flatly. “I don’t want it.”

Izuku hesitated, then sat down a few feet away, placing the plate between them. “You don’t have to eat it. I just thought you might be hungry.”

Kouta turned to him, eyes flashing with irritation. “It’s stupid. All of it. Training your Quirk just so you can show off.”

Izuku blinked, surprised by the venom in his voice. “Is that why you don’t like us? Because we’re training to be heroes?”

Kouta’s fists clenched. “You don’t get it. You think being a hero is cool. You think it’s noble. But it’s just crazy people fighting other crazy people. Heroes, villains - they’re all the same. They just kill each other and leave the rest of us behind.”

Izuku’s breath caught. He hadn’t expected this. Kouta’s anger wasn’t just about heroes - it was about the entire system. The glorification of Quirks. The endless cycle of violence. The collateral damage.

“I didn’t realize…” Izuku began, but Kouta cut him off.

“You didn’t realize because you don’t care. You’re just like the rest of them. You want to be strong. You want to be admired. You don’t care what it costs.”

Izuku looked down at the plate of curry, steam still rising from it. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to defend himself, to explain that he did care, that he wanted to save people. But he could see that Kouta wasn’t ready to hear it.

So he stood.

“I’ll leave it here,” he said quietly. “Just in case you change your mind.”

Kouta didn’t respond. Izuku turned and walked away, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his shoulders. He realized then that not everyone saw heroes as symbols of hope. For some, they were reminders of loss, of chaos, of a world that didn’t make sense.

And for Kouta, that pain ran deep.

Chapter Text

Day three of the training camp began with a sluggish start for a select few. The remedial group - Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido, Satou, and Mineta - dragged themselves out of bed, eyes bleary and limbs heavy from the late-night study session Aizawa had imposed on them. Their punishment for failing the final exams wasn’t just academic; it was physical, mental, and unrelenting. Aizawa stood before them with his usual deadpan expression, arms crossed and scarf trailing behind him.

“You’re behind,” he said bluntly. “So you’ll work twice as hard. Stay awake. Stay focused. Or you’ll fall even further.”

The five groaned but nodded, too tired to argue. Aizawa’s gaze shifted to Ochako and Aoyama, both of whom had barely scraped by in the finals. His tone didn’t soften.

“You two aren’t exempt. You passed, but just barely. That means you’re on thin ice. Push yourselves.”

Ochako nodded quickly, her usual cheer dimmed by the weight of responsibility. Aoyama, ever dramatic, placed a hand on his chest and declared, “I shall sparkle with effort!”

Training resumed with intensity, each student diving into their personalized regimens. The forest echoed with the sounds of exertion - grunts, blasts, and the rhythmic thud of bodies pushing past their limits. By the time the sun began to dip behind the trees, the students were sore, sweaty, and starving.

That evening, the Pussycats once again laid out crates of ingredients, leaving the students to cook for themselves. The process was smoother this time, with teams forming quickly and meals coming together with practiced ease. Laughter returned to the camp as curry simmered and rice steamed, the students bonding over shared exhaustion and the satisfaction of self-sufficiency.

As dinner wound down, Pixie-Bob clapped her hands and announced the evening’s activity.

“Tonight, we’ll be hosting a test of courage! Both classes will participate. Class 1-A will walk through the forest in pairs, and Class 1-B will try to scare them using their Quirks!”

Excitement rippled through the students, though some groaned at the idea of more walking. Aizawa, meanwhile, gathered the remedial group and led them to a classroom near the lodge, where they would continue their lessons while the others played.

As night fell, the forest transformed into a maze of shadows and flickering lanterns. Class 1-A formed seven pairs, leaving Izuku to walk alone. He didn’t mind. The solitude gave him space to think, to reflect on the training and the strange tension he’d felt since arriving. He moved quietly through the trees, alert but calm.

Elsewhere, Tsuyu and Ochako walked together, their lantern casting soft light on the path ahead. Tsuyu clung to Ochako’s arm, her usual composure replaced by wide-eyed apprehension.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered. “Too many places to hide.”

Ochako giggled nervously. “It’s just a game. We’ll be fine.”

Further down the trail, Kendou, Yui, and Juuzou crouched behind a thicket, whispering about their recent successes.

“We got Todoroki and Bakugou,” Kendou said, grinning. “They just froze. Didn’t even react.”

Juuzou chuckled. “Yaoyorozu flinched, but Aoyama screamed like a soprano. I think I saw glitter fly out of him.”

Yui nodded silently, her expression amused.

Then Juuzou sniffed the air, his smile fading. “Do you smell that?”

Kendou frowned. “Burning?”

Before they could react, a thick cloud of gas rolled through the trees, heavy and fast. Juuzou inhaled instinctively and collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground. Kendou’s eyes widened. She grabbed Yui with her enlarged hand, covering both their mouths as she pulled them away from the spreading cloud.

“It’s poisonous,” she thought, panic rising. “And it’s moving fast.”

Elsewhere in the forest, Izuku paused mid-step. The wind shifted, carrying a strange scent - acrid, unnatural. His eyes widened as he recognized the signs of danger. Then his thoughts snapped to Kouta.

“He’s alone,” Izuku whispered. “He’s still in the cave.”

Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted through the trees, heart pounding. The test of courage was over. Something real had begun.

Inside the classroom nestled near the lodge, the air was thick with fatigue and frustration. Eijirou, Satou, Mina, Mineta, and Denki sat slouched at their desks, their bodies still aching from the day’s training. Aizawa stood at the front, clipboard in hand, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. The remedial group had barely slept, and now they were expected to endure another round of lessons while their classmates enjoyed the evening’s activities.

Monoma sat nearby, arms crossed and smirking with theatrical disdain. His voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Imagine failing your finals,” he drawled. “How embarrassing. The 'superior' Class A, five failures, while Class B only has one!”

Denki groaned and dropped his head onto the desk. “You failed to, so what are you even boasting about?”

Before Aizawa could respond, a sudden pulse of energy rippled through the room. Every student froze as Mandalay’s voice echoed inside their minds, clear and calm despite the urgency.

“Everyone, listen carefully. Two villains have attacked the forest perimeter. We suspect more are coming. Stay alert and prepare to defend yourselves.”

The room erupted in startled murmurs. Mina clutched the edge of her desk, eyes wide. Eijirou sat up straighter, his instincts already kicking in. Denki’s hands sparked faintly with electricity, and Satou clenched his fists.

“Whoa,” Mineta whispered. “That was in my head.”

Aizawa raised a hand, silencing them instantly. “Quiet. Mandalay’s Quirk is Telepathy. She can broadcast thoughts to multiple people at once. Focus.”

He turned to Vlad King, who had just entered the room, his expression grim. “Protect the students. Don’t let anyone leave.”

Vlad nodded, stepping forward as Aizawa strode toward the exit. His pace was quick, purposeful, and filled with dread. He knew what a coordinated villain attack could mean - especially here, in the middle of the forest, with so many students scattered and vulnerable.

As he exited the building, the scent of smoke and chemicals hit him immediately. The sky above the treetops was tinged with a sickly haze, and the gas was spreading fast. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the area for movement.

A blur of motion darted from the shadows.

Aizawa reacted instantly, dodging to the side as a blade slashed through the air where his neck had been. The attacker landed lightly, her figure slender and erratic, eyes wide with manic glee.

“Hiya!” Himiko Toga chirped, twirling her knife. “You’re fast. I like that.”

Aizawa didn’t respond. His scarf whipped forward, aiming to bind her, but she danced back with unnatural agility, her smile never fading.

Elsewhere, deep in the Beast’s Forest, Kendou stumbled through the underbrush, the gas was thick here, curling around the trees like a living thing. Juuzou was unconscious, slumped against a tree where she’d left him, and her lungs burned with every breath.

Tetsutetsu emerged from the fog, his metal skin gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He held out a gas mask, one of several Momo had created moments earlier.

“Put this on,” he said, voice firm. “We need to move.”

Kendou took the mask and secured it over her face. “We need to retreat. This isn’t a game anymore.”

Tetsutetsu shook his head, eyes blazing. “Class 1-A has gotten stronger because they’ve faced real villains. We haven’t. This is our chance to catch up.”

Kendou stared at him, torn between reason and resolve. The gas swirled around them, and distant sounds of battle echoed through the trees. She knew he was right - and she knew the risk.

“Then we fight smart,” she said. “No heroics. We stay together.”

Tetsutetsu nodded, and the two of them turned toward the heart of the forest, ready to face whatever came next. The night had shifted. The test of courage was over. The real test had begun.

The forest was quiet, save for the distant rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional crackle of gas drifting through the underbrush. Kouta sat frozen at the mouth of his cliffside cave, his small body trembling as Mandalay’s telepathic message echoed in his mind. “Villains have attacked. Stay alert. Protect yourselves.” But Kouta couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. His eyes were locked on the towering figure that had emerged from the shadows, a man whose presence alone seemed to drain the air from the world around him.

The villain wore a mask at first, a grotesque thing that concealed his identity. But as he stepped closer, he reached up and removed it with deliberate ease, revealing a face that Kouta knew all too well. The jagged grin, the wild eyes, the scarred skin - it was him. The man who had murdered both of Kouta’s parents. The man who had shattered his world.

Muscular.

Kouta’s breath hitched. His legs refused to respond. The memories surged forward, unbidden and merciless. The screams. The blood. The silence that followed. Muscular’s grin widened as he raised his arm, muscles bulging unnaturally beneath his skin, veins pulsing with raw power.

“Time to finish the job,” he said, voice low and gleeful.

Just as his fist came down, a blur of green lightning tore through the clearing. Midoriya slammed into Muscular with full force, knocking him back and scooping Kouta into his arms. The impact sent them tumbling, and Izuku’s phone flew from his pocket, shattering against a rock.

He landed hard, shielding Kouta with his body, then quickly stood and placed the boy behind him.

“You’re safe now,” Izuku said, voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through him. “I promise. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Muscular cracked his neck and stepped forward, unfazed. He lunged, and Izuku barely had time to react before he was struck square in the chest, the force of the blow sending him crashing into a stone wall. Dust and debris exploded outward, and Izuku groaned as he pushed himself up, ribs aching.

Muscular tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Where’s the kid named Bakugou?”

Izuku blinked, confused. “Kacchan?”

The question lingered in his mind. Why would the League of Villains want Kacchan? What did they see in him? His moment of hesitation cost him - Muscular charged again, slamming a fist into Izuku’s side and sending him skidding across the ground.

Pain flared through his body, but Izuku gritted his teeth and activated Full Cowling, pushing it from 10% to 20%. Green lightning crackled around him as he launched himself into the air, twisting mid-flight and swinging his leg around in a wide arc.

“St. Louis Smash!” he shouted, aiming the roundhouse kick directly at Muscular’s face.

The impact landed, but Muscular didn’t budge. He raised his arm and blocked the attack with ease, the force dispersing harmlessly against his grotesquely swollen muscles.

“Nice try,” Muscular said, laughing. “But your Quirk’s just a power boost. Mine’s real strength. My muscle fibers grow so fast, my skin can’t even hold them in. You think you can match that with borrowed power?”

Izuku landed, panting, eyes locked on the villain. Muscular’s body pulsed with unnatural bulk, his frame expanding with every breath. The ground beneath him cracked from the pressure, and his grin never faded.

Kouta watched from behind a boulder, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. Izuku stood between him and the monster, battered but unyielding.

The fight was far from over. And Izuku knew that if he didn’t find a way to win, Kouta wouldn’t survive the night.

Izuku’s body moved like a streak of green lightning, weaving through the forest terrain with precision and urgency. Full Cowling surged through his limbs, allowing him to narrowly evade Muscular’s relentless barrage of punches. Each blow from the villain shattered trees and tore through the earth, but Izuku’s agility kept him one step ahead, his focus split between dodging and shielding Kouta from the chaos. The boy clung to the edge of a boulder, eyes wide with terror, watching the battle unfold with a mixture of awe and dread.

Despite Izuku’s speed, the truth was undeniable - he was outmatched in raw power. Muscular’s Quirk gave him an overwhelming advantage in brute strength, and Izuku knew that pushing One For All beyond 23% risked serious injury. His body wasn’t ready to handle more, but the situation demanded more than caution. Muscular, grinning with bloodlust, taunted him between attacks.

“Live up to your words, kid,” he sneered, cracking his knuckles as he advanced. “Or they don’t mean a damn thing.”

Izuku’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, a small voice rang out from behind him. Kouta, trembling but defiant, hurled a rock at Muscular. It bounced harmlessly off the villain’s shoulder, but the gesture was enough to draw his attention.

“Did you torment my parents before you killed them?” Kouta shouted, voice cracking with emotion.

Muscular turned, his grin widening as he tilted his head. “Fate’s a funny thing, huh? The son of the heroes who wrecked my eye, standing right in front of me. Guess it’s only fair I finish what they started.”

Kouta’s fists clenched at his sides, tears brimming in his eyes. “It’s people like you that make the world so twisted. You’re the reason everything’s broken.”

Muscular shrugged, his tone disturbingly casual. “They got themselves killed. That’s the truth. Everyone did their best, and that’s what happened. The only real tragedy is when people make promises and don’t follow through.”

Izuku’s heart pounded as he listened. The weight of Muscular’s words, twisted and cruel, hung in the air. But it was Kouta’s courage - his refusal to stay silent - that reignited Izuku’s resolve. Without hesitation, he launched himself forward, channeling every ounce of strength into his next move.

He closed the distance in a blink and drove his arm deep into Muscular’s grotesque mass of muscle fibers. The villain flinched, surprised by the maneuver, but quickly regained his composure.

“What now, hero?” Muscular growled, unimpressed. “You think that weak Quirk of yours can hurt me?”

Izuku’s eyes burned with determination. He could feel the strain in his bones, the warning signs of pushing beyond his limit. But this wasn’t about winning. It wasn’t about power. It was about the promise he made - to protect, to stand tall, to be the kind of hero who never backs down.

“It’s not about whether I can win,” Izuku said, voice steady despite the pain. “All Might… even when he wasn’t there, even when I was taken in by the Commission… if my father taught me one thing. It's that a hero’s duty is to risk everything to turn promises into reality.”

Izuku summoned One For All to 55%. The energy surged through him like a tidal wave, overwhelming and violent. His muscles screamed in protest, his bones strained under the pressure, but he didn’t falter. He twisted his body and unleashed a devastating punch, the force of the smash reverberating through the forest like a thunderclap.

The impact sent Muscular flying, his body crashing into the cliffside with a deafening explosion of rock and dust. Izuku collapsed to one knee, his arm fractured and limp at his side, pain radiating through every nerve.

Kouta rushed to his side, eyes wide with horror. “You… you saved me,” he whispered, voice trembling.

Izuku’s chest heaved as he turned to Kouta, the boy still trembling from the chaos that had unfolded around him. Dust and debris swirled in the air, and the forest echoed with distant cries and the crackling of fire. Izuku’s fractured arm hung uselessly at his side, but his eyes remained sharp, unwavering. He reached out and placed a hand on Kouta’s shoulder, his voice low but firm.

“We need to get back to camp,” he said. “I’ll protect you. Just stay close.”

But before they could move, a low rumble shook the ground beneath them. Muscular’s body twitched, then surged with renewed energy. His Quirk had absorbed and dampened the impact of Izuku’s earlier smash, and now, with a sickening grin, he rose to his feet once more. The artificial eye he wore clicked into place as he turned toward Izuku, his muscles bulging grotesquely beneath his skin.

“Not bad,” Muscular said, cracking his neck. “You’ve got strength, I’ll give you that. But your attack was too predictable.”

Izuku’s heart sank. He had given almost everything he had in that last blow, and it hadn’t been enough. Desperate to buy time, he tried to shift the conversation.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “What does the League of Villains want with Ka- Bakugou? What’s their goal?”

Muscular scoffed, his expression darkening with disdain. “I don’t care about their motives. I joined them because they let me do what I want. I get to use my Quirk however I please. That’s all that matters.”

He flexed his arms, and the muscle fibers expanded violently, tearing through his skin and reforming into a grotesque armor of raw power. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he prepared to charge.

“I’m not holding back anymore.”

Izuku barely had time to react before Muscular lunged. He grabbed Kouta and leapt away, dodging the first few strikes with the last reserves of his stamina. Trees splintered and exploded around them, and the air was thick with dust and tension. But Muscular was relentless. One final blow sent them both crashing to the ground, and Izuku winced as pain shot through his body.

He struggled to his feet, clutching Kouta tightly. His mind raced. He was exhausted from the day’s training, his body already pushed beyond its limits. If he tried to run, Muscular would catch them. They would die. There was only one option left.

“I’ll hold him off,” Izuku said, voice trembling but resolute. “You run. Get back to camp. Tell Mandalay what happened.”

Kouta’s eyes widened in horror. “No! You’ll die!”

Izuku didn’t respond. He turned to face Muscular, who was now fully enveloped in his grotesque muscle armor. The villain charged, and Izuku met him head-on, unleashing a 75% Detroit Smash in the form of a rising uppercut. The blast of air pressure shook the forest, sending shockwaves through the trees. Muscular staggered, momentarily held back by the sheer force of the attack.

Izuku stood firm, his body trembling from the strain. “Everything will be fine!” he shouted. “I won’t let him get past me!”

But Muscular was unimpressed. He grinned as he pushed forward, his strength overwhelming Izuku’s defenses. The young hero’s legs buckled, and he felt the crushing weight of Muscular’s Quirk bearing down on him. His vision blurred, and despair crept into his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears mixing with sweat and blood. Shouto, Momo… Mom… I can't...

Just as Muscular’s grip tightened, a sudden splash of water struck his face. He recoiled, blinking in surprise. Kouta stood nearby, his hands trembling, his Quirk activated. He glared at Muscular with all the courage he could muster.

“Let him go!” Kouta screamed.

Muscular turned, momentarily distracted by the boy’s defiance. That split-second was all Izuku needed. He surged forward, pushing One For All to 65%, his body igniting with green lightning. He launched into a California Smash, diving into a somersault and striking Muscular with a powerful uppercut that sent the villain reeling. Without pause, Izuku followed with a New Hampshire Smash, the shockwave propelling him backward into Muscular’s chest with bone-shattering force. Finally, he grabbed the villain and spun rapidly, unleashing an Oklahoma Smash that generated a whirlwind, sending Muscular flying through the air and crashing into the cliffside with a thunderous impact.

The forest fell silent.

Izuku collapsed to one knee, panting, his body broken but his spirit unyielding. Kouta stared at him, tears streaming down his face. Mandalay’s words echoed in his mind, clear and unwavering.

“You’ll meet someone who saves a life through sacrifice. Someone who becomes a true hero.”

And in that moment, Kouta knew. Izuku Midoriya was that person. The one who had risked everything - not for glory, not for recognition - but simply to keep a promise. To protect. To be a hero.

Chapter Text

Aizawa moved like a shadow through the forest clearing, his eyes locked on the erratic figure of Toga. Her movements were unpredictable, wild, and laced with a manic glee that made her all the more dangerous. But Aizawa’s gaze was unwavering. The moment he saw an opening he seized it.

With a swift flick of his capture scarf, he wrapped the fabric around her limbs and yanked her to the ground. She shrieked, thrashing violently, but Aizawa was merciless. He twisted her arms just enough to sprain them, forcing her into submission. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but her eyes still gleamed with amusement.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Aizawa said coldly.

Before he could press further, the sound of footsteps broke through the trees. Iida, Kouda, Ojiro, and Sero arrived at the facility, their expressions tense and confused. Their sudden appearance distracted Aizawa for a split second - just long enough.

Toga grinned and twisted her body unnaturally. Her form shimmered, liquefied, and slipped through the scarf like water. Aizawa reacted instantly, but his capture weapon passed harmlessly through her melting silhouette. She reformed just beyond his reach, her voice sing-song and mocking.

“Careful, Eraserhead,” she cooed. “You’ve got so many precious students. Would be a shame if something happened to them.”

Then she melted completely, leaving only the echo of her laughter behind.

Moments later, Izuku stumbled into the clearing, his body bruised and battered, his breath shallow and uneven. Aizawa turned sharply, eyes widening as he took in the extent of the boy’s injuries.

“You’re running on adrenaline,” he said, stepping forward. “You shouldn’t even be standing.”

Izuku didn’t argue. He gently passed Kouta into Aizawa’s arms, his voice strained but urgent. “I need to get to Mandalay. There’s something she needs to know.”

Aizawa hesitated, then nodded. “Go. But tell her this from me - permission granted. The students are allowed to fight back.”

Izuku nodded and took off, his legs barely holding him upright. He reached Mandalay just in time, intercepting Spinner’s sword with a powerful kick that knocked the villain off balance. Mandalay gasped, startled, but quickly regained her composure.

Izuku turned to her, panting. “They’re targeting the students. Bakugou is one of their main targets. Aizawa says we’re allowed to defend ourselves.”

Mandalay’s eyes narrowed. She activated her Quirk immediately, broadcasting the message telepathically to every student in the forest. “You have permission to fight. Protect yourselves. Bakugou is a target.”

Back at the facility, Aizawa watched Kouta with a quiet intensity. The boy clung to his side, tears streaming down his face.

“I didn’t thank him,” Kouta whispered. “He fought so hard, and I didn’t say anything.”

Aizawa crouched beside him, his voice low and steady. “You’ll see him again. And when you do, make sure he knows how much it meant.”

In the forest, Mandalay turned to Izuku. “You need to return to base camp. You’re too injured.”

Izuku shook his head. “I can still fight. I have to.”

Before she could protest, he was gone, rushing deeper into the forest. Magne emerged from the shadows, her eyes narrowing as she spotted him.

“Muscular must’ve leaked our plan,” she growled. “Time to clean up the mess.”

She raised her weapon, but Spinner stepped in front of her, blocking the attack.

“Stain said he was worthy,” Spinner snapped. “We don’t kill people like him.”

Magne snarled. “You’re letting sentiment get in the way.”

Their argument escalated, voices rising, but Mandalay and Tiger didn’t waste the opportunity. They struck with precision - Tiger tackling Spinner to the ground, Mandalay disarming Magne with a swift blow to the wrist.

The forest erupted into chaos, but Izuku kept moving, his resolve burning brighter than the pain in his limbs. The battle was far from over, but the tide had begun to shift.

Deep within the forest, Katsuki was already in motion.

He had heard the message, of course. It rang in his head like an alarm bell, but instead of fear, it ignited a spark of fury. He didn’t need anyone’s permission to fight. He didn’t need anyone to tell him he was a target. He already knew. And he didn’t care. His pride wouldn’t allow him to sit back and wait for help. So when Moonfish emerged from the shadows, grotesque and twitching, Katsuki didn’t hesitate.

“I can take care of myself,” he snarled, launching forward with explosive speed.

Moonfish’s Quirk activated instantly. His elongated, blade-like teeth shot out in a flurry of jagged strikes, slicing through the air with lethal precision. Katsuki barely had time to react, his body twisting mid-air to avoid the worst of the attack. But even his reflexes weren’t enough to dodge them all.

Just as one of the blades was about to pierce his side, a wall of ice erupted between them.

Todoroki stepped into the fray, his expression calm but stern. The ice absorbed the impact, shattering under the force of Moonfish’s assault, but it gave Katsuki the moment he needed to recover.

“Don’t be reckless,” Shouto said, his voice low and firm. “They’re after you. You need to think.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. He didn’t like being told what to do - especially not by Todoroki. And the fact that Mandalay’s message had changed the dynamic of the battle only made it worse. He could feel Izuku’s influence behind it, and that irritated him more than anything.

“I don’t care what anyone has to say,” he snapped. “I’m ending this.”

He surged forward again, explosions propelling him toward Moonfish. But the villain was prepared. His blades whipped around him like a storm, keeping Katsuki at bay. Every time Bakugou tried to close the distance, Moonfish’s teeth lashed out, forcing him to retreat or risk serious injury.

Shouto didn’t waste time arguing. He raised his hand and sent another wave of ice toward Moonfish, trying to trap him against the trees. The villain responded by leaping from branch to branch, his movements erratic and unnerving. His Quirk allowed him to maneuver through the forest like a predator, always just out of reach.

Shouto kept his eyes on him, calculating his next move. He glanced at Katsuki, who was already preparing another blast.

“Be careful with your explosions,” Shouto warned. “If you start a blaze, it’ll spread fast. We’re surrounded by dry brush.”

Katsuki didn’t respond, but his scowl deepened. He hated being restrained, hated being told to hold back. But even he knew the risk. A wildfire would endanger everyone, including the students they were trying to protect.

As Shouto continued to manipulate the terrain, freezing branches and creating barriers, he began to piece together the villains’ strategy. They weren’t just attacking randomly. They were herding them, pushing them toward specific locations. Cornering their targets.

“They’re trying to isolate us,” he murmured, more to himself than to Bakugou. “Divide and conquer.”

Moonfish hissed from the treetops, his blades twitching with anticipation. The battle was far from over, and the forest had become a labyrinth of danger. But Shouto was determined to keep Bakugou alive - even if it meant clashing with his stubborn pride every step of the way.

The forest had grown eerily silent in the section where the poison gas lingered thick and unmoving, a dense cloud that clung to the trees and curled around the underbrush like a living thing. Tetsutetsu and Kendou sprinted through the haze, their masks filtering the toxic air as best they could. Visibility was poor, and the atmosphere felt heavy, oppressive. But Kendou’s sharp mind was already working through the anomaly.

“This gas isn’t spreading,” she said, her voice muffled through her mask. “It’s concentrated in one area. That means someone’s controlling it. There’s a villain at the center.”

Tetsutetsu didn’t hesitate. His instincts kicked in, and he surged forward toward the densest part of the fog, determined to confront whoever was responsible. Kendou followed close behind, her eyes scanning the surroundings for movement. The deeper they went, the thicker the gas became, until it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

At the heart of the toxic storm, Tetsutetsu finally found their enemy.

Mustard stood in the center of the swirling gas, his body cloaked in a specialized suit and his face hidden behind a helmet designed to filter the poison. The villain didn’t waste time with introductions. He raised a pistol and fired, the bullet striking Tetsutetsu’s mask and shattering it instantly. The shards scattered, and the acrid air rushed into his lungs.

Mustard tilted his head slightly, recognizing his opponent. “You’re from the Sports Festival,” he said with a sneer. “Tetsutetsu, right? Charging in like a meathead. Typical U.A. student. You should be smarter than that.”

Tetsutetsu gritted his teeth, coughing as the gas began to take its toll. He lunged forward, fists raised, but Mustard sidestepped with ease, keeping his gun trained on him. Kendou tried to capitalize on the distraction, attacking from behind with a swift strike, but Mustard twisted away at the last second.

“I can sense movement in the gas,” he said coolly. “You’re not going to sneak up on me.”

He fired again, bullets ricocheting off Tetsutetsu’s hardened skin. The villain’s voice grew more agitated as he continued to shoot, his words laced with bitterness.

“Everyone’s obsessed with U.A.,” he muttered. “Even when your powers aren’t that impressive. Just because you wear that uniform, people act like you’re special.”

Tetsutetsu staggered under the barrage, his Quirk absorbing the damage but beginning to falter. His lungs burned, and his vision blurred. The poison was seeping into his system, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. His body, though durable, had limits - and he was nearing them.

Kendou saw the moment his strength began to waver and didn’t hesitate. She rushed forward, her hands enlarging with her Quirk as she delivered a crushing blow to Mustard’s side. The villain grunted and stumbled, retreating deeper into the gas cloud to regroup. But Kendou wasn’t finished.

She planted her feet and began swiping her massive hands back and forth, creating gusts of wind strong enough to push the gas away. The air began to clear, the toxic fog thinning with each pass. Tetsutetsu, gasping for breath, saw his chance.

With a roar of determination, he charged through the dissipating gas and delivered a devastating punch to Mustard’s helmet. The impact shattered the mask, sending the villain sprawling to the ground, unconscious. The poison gas vanished completely, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves and labored breathing.

Tetsutetsu stood over the fallen villain, his chest heaving, his body trembling from exhaustion. But his voice was firm, resolute.

“That’s one down,” he said. “And every last one of these villains is going to pay for ruining our Camp.”

Kendou stepped beside him, her expression proud but cautious. The battle had been brutal, but they had won. And the forest, for now, was a little safer.

Izuku tore through the forest, his breath ragged and his body screaming with every step. His broken arm throbbed violently, and the bruises and cuts scattered across his frame pulsed with pain, but he pressed forward, driven by a singular purpose: find Kacchan before the villains did. The trees blurred past him, shadows dancing ominously in the dim light. The forest canopy had thickened, casting the area in near-total darkness. That was when it struck.

A monstrous force lunged from the shadows, its form massive and chaotic. Dark tendrils whipped through the air, and Izuku barely managed to dodge the first strike. The second came faster, and he was thrown backward, crashing into the underbrush. Before the creature could follow up, a blur of movement intercepted it - Shouji. His arms extended protectively, shielding Izuku from another blow.

“What are you doing running around like this?” Shouji snapped, his voice sharp with concern. “You’re injured - badly. You shouldn’t even be on your feet.”

Izuku coughed, trying to catch his breath as he looked up at the monstrous figure looming before them. It was Dark Shadow, but not the controlled, tactical entity he’d seen Fumikage wield before. This version was feral, its form bloated and wild, eyes glowing with rage. Tokoyami stood behind it, trembling, his face pale and stricken with guilt.

“Run,” Fumikage warned, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have to run. I can’t stop it.”

Izuku’s mind raced. He remembered the nature of Fumikage’s Quirk - how it grew stronger in darkness, but also harder to control. This wasn’t just a power surge. This was a complete loss of control. He turned to Shouji, demanding answers.

“How did it get like this?”

Shouji’s expression darkened. “Moonfish ambushed us. He cut off one of my Dupli-Arms. It’s not permanent - I can regenerate them - but Tokoyami saw it happen. He was overwhelmed. Anger, grief… it all fed into Dark Shadow. Now it’s attacking anything that moves.”

The creature roared, lashing out at a nearby tree, splintering it with ease. The path to Katsuki was blocked, and the longer they waited, the more dangerous Dark Shadow became. Shouji looked at Izuku, his tone grim.

“We need to lead it back to camp. Someone there can create light and weaken it. But we can’t do both. You need to choose - save Bakugou or save Tokoyami.”

Izuku’s eyes narrowed. He refused to accept that choice. “No. We’re doing both.”

He quickly formulated a plan, explaining it as he moved. Shouji nodded, impressed by the resolve and clarity in Izuku’s voice despite his injuries. Using his Dupli-Arms, Shouji created multiple mouths that mimicked sounds - footsteps, breathing, even cries for help. The bait worked. Dark Shadow turned toward the noise, chasing the illusions through the forest.

They ran, weaving through the trees, guiding the berserk Quirk toward Katsuki’s location. The forest grew darker, the air heavier, but they didn’t stop. Eventually, they burst into a clearing where Katsuki and Shouto were locked in combat with Moonfish. The villain’s blades slashed through the air, forcing the boys to keep their distance to avoid collateral damage.

Shouji didn’t waste time. “Use your Quirks - now! Light! We need light!”

Moonfish turned, sensing the new threat, and lunged at Dark Shadow. But the creature was faster. It caught him mid-air, slamming him into the ground with a thunderous crash. Moonfish screamed, his blades flailing, but Dark Shadow was relentless. It shattered his teeth with a single blow and hurled him through the forest like a ragdoll.

Shouto quickly set down Kosei, who had been unconscious on his back, and prepared to unleash his fire. But Katsuki raised a hand.

“Wait. Let it finish him.”

Dark Shadow roared again, its fury peaking as it launched Moonfish into the distance. The moment the villain was out of sight, Katsuki and Shouto acted in unison. Blinding light erupted from their Quirks - fire and explosions illuminating the clearing. Dark Shadow shrieked, its form shrinking, retreating into Fumikage’s body until it was once again under control.

Fumikage collapsed to his knees, exhausted and ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I let it take over. I could’ve hurt you all.”

Izuku stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t. We’re okay. But we need to move. Katsuki’s still a target.”

Katsuki scoffed, his voice laced with irritation. “I don’t need protection.”

But no one responded. The group had already begun walking back toward camp, their pace steady and unified. Katsuki lingered for a moment, glaring at their backs, then sighed and followed, his footsteps heavy with reluctant acceptance. The forest was still dangerous, but together, they were stronger - and they weren’t leaving anyone behind.

The forest was thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of blood and damp earth. Ochako stumbled backward, clutching her side where Toga’s blade had sliced through her uniform. The wound wasn’t deep, but it stung sharply, and the sight of the villain’s twisted grin made it worse. Toga’s eyes gleamed with manic delight, her knife dancing in her hand as she lunged again, determined to collect more blood for whatever twisted purpose she had in mind.

Asui reacted instantly, her tongue whipping out to wrap around Ochako’s waist. With a powerful flick, she flung her friend away from the immediate danger, shouting through the chaos.

“Run back to camp, Ochako! You’re hurt!”

But Toga was faster than expected. She pivoted mid-strike and slashed Tsuyu’s tongue with her blade, forcing a cry of pain from the frog-like girl. Before Tsuyu could recover, Toga grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against a tree, pinning her there with disturbing intimacy. Her voice was soft, almost playful.

“We’re friends now, Tsu,” she whispered. “You can call me Himiko.”

Tsuyu struggled, her limbs flailing, but Toga held her fast. The villain’s obsession was suffocating, her twisted version of affection manifesting in violence. Ochako, despite her injury, couldn’t leave Tsuyu behind. She turned and charged back into the fray, her eyes blazing with determination.

Toga turned just in time to meet her, stabbing forward with her knife. But Ochako had trained for this. She ducked low, sidestepped the blade, and used the martial arts techniques she’d learned from Gunhead. Her movements were precise and fluid, and within seconds, she had Toga pinned to the ground, her arm twisted behind her back.

But Toga didn’t panic. Instead, she inhaled deeply, her expression softening as she looked up at Ochako.

“You smell like someone in love,” she murmured. “Who is it? You’re trying to be just like him, aren’t you?”

The words hit Ochako like a slap. Her grip faltered, her mind momentarily clouded by the truth she hadn’t fully admitted to herself. That hesitation was all Toga needed. With a swift motion, she stabbed a needle into Ochako’s arm and began to draw blood, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Before she could take more, a rustling in the trees signaled the arrival of reinforcements. Midoriya burst into the clearing, followed closely by Shouji, Shouto, and the others. The sight of the group - battle-worn but united - made Toga hiss in frustration. She was outnumbered, and she knew it.

With a mocking bow, she retreated into the shadows, her voice trailing behind her.

“See you soon, Ochako. I’ll be thinking of you.”

Izuku rushed to Ochako’s side, helping her to her feet as Shouji checked on Tsuyu. The girls were shaken but alive, and Izuku wasted no time.

“We need to regroup. Kacchan's still a target. Come with us - we’ll protect him together.”

But as they turned to move, a chilling realization struck them. Katsuki and Fumikage were gone.

A voice rang out from above, theatrical and smug. Mr. Compress stood on a branch, twirling a small marble between his fingers.

“Looking for these two?” he said. “I’ve taken them. They’re far more suited to be villains than heroes, don’t you think?”

Shouto didn’t wait for a response. He launched a wave of ice toward the villain, aiming to trap him before he could escape. But Mr. Compress was agile, leaping through the trees with practiced ease. He vanished into the canopy, his laughter echoing through the forest.

As he fled, he activated his communicator, speaking to his allies with calm confidence.

“I have Bakugou in custody. Rendezvous at the escape point. It’s time to leave.”

The group below stood in stunned silence, the weight of the situation settling over them. The battle wasn’t over - not yet. But the stakes had just risen, and the forest had become a race against time.

Chapter Text

The forest trembled beneath the thunderous roar of the Chainsaw Nomu, its jagged limbs tearing through branches and undergrowth as it pursued its prey with relentless speed. Yaoyorozu and Yousetsu sprinted through the dense foliage, their breaths ragged and their hearts pounding in sync with the mechanical growl behind them. The Nomu was unlike anything they had faced before - its grotesque body fused with industrial weaponry, its chainsaw arms revving with murderous intent.

Momo’s eyes darted across the terrain, calculating every angle, every escape route. Her mind raced faster than her feet, analyzing the Nomu’s movements and the layout of the forest. Without warning, she veered sharply to the right and leapt onto a low-hanging branch, her momentum carrying her upward as she scaled the tree with fluid precision. Her agility was startling, and within seconds, she had vanished into the canopy.

Awase skidded to a halt, confused by her sudden disappearance. “Yaoyorozu?” he called out, but there was no time for answers. The Nomu was upon him.

Its chainsaw arm swung downward, carving through the earth where Awase had stood moments before. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike, but the beast adjusted quickly, its sensors locking onto him again. Awase braced himself, preparing to use his Quirk to weld nearby metal debris into a makeshift shield, but the Nomu’s speed was overwhelming.

Then, from above, a blur descended.

Momo dropped from the treetops like a hawk, her body poised and focused. As she fell, her Quirk activated - her skin shimmered, and a katana began to form from her palm, the blade extending with elegant precision. She gripped it tightly, angling herself for the strike. The Nomu’s exposed brain, pulsating and vulnerable, was her target.

Without a sound, she drove the blade downward, piercing the Nomu’s skull with surgical accuracy. The chainsaws sputtered, their roar faltering as the creature convulsed violently. Its limbs flailed, tearing into the ground and nearby trees, but its strength was already fading. Momo landed gracefully on its back, her expression calm and composed as the beast collapsed beneath her.

Awase stared in stunned silence, his mouth slightly agape. The entire encounter had lasted mere seconds, but the precision and confidence with which Momo had executed the attack left him speechless.

She stepped off the Nomu’s lifeless body, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Thanks for being a good distraction,” she said coolly, not even glancing at the gash on his arm or the bruises forming along his side. Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost detached, as if the battle had been nothing more than a routine exercise.

Then she turned, already moving forward. “Keep up.”

Awase blinked, still catching his breath, but he pushed himself to follow. The forest was still dangerous, and the mission wasn’t over. But in that moment, he understood something clearly - Momo wasn’t just intelligent and resourceful. She was a warrior, and she was far from done.

The forest canopy blurred overhead as Izuku, Shouto, and Shouji soared through the air, propelled by the combined efforts of Ochako’s Zero Gravity and Tsuyu’s tongue-assisted launch. Shouji’s extended Dupli-Arms guided their trajectory, adjusting mid-flight to keep them balanced and on course. The wind whipped past their faces, and the distant rustle of leaves gave way to the sound of their rapid descent. Below them, Mr. Compress darted through the trees with theatrical flair, unaware of the airborne ambush rapidly approaching.

They landed hard, the impact sending a shockwave through the clearing. Mr. Compress was caught beneath the trio, his escape halted mid-step. Leaves scattered, and the villain groaned beneath the weight of their sudden arrival. Nearby, Toga had just regrouped with Twice, her expression a mix of irritation and disappointment.

“I only got one person’s blood,” she muttered. “I was supposed to get three.”

Twice tilted his head, his voice shifting between personalities. “I know who they are!” he declared, before immediately contradicting himself. “Wait, who are they?”

Before either villain could react further, the students sprang into action. Mr. Compress, ever the performer, transformed himself into a marble in a flash of light, slipping from beneath them. Toga hurled a knife toward the group, the blade slicing through the air. Izuku and Shouto dodged instinctively, but Shouji wasn’t as lucky - one of his arms was grazed, blood trickling down the side.

Twice lunged at Shouto, his movements erratic and unpredictable, while Toga tackled Izuku to the ground, her knife gleaming with intent. Izuku struggled beneath her, his broken arm useless, but before she could strike, Shouji slammed into her with a powerful blow, knocking her off balance and sending her sprawling.

Shouto retaliated with a wave of ice, but Twice twisted away, narrowly avoiding the attack. Mr. Compress reappeared in his full form, dusting himself off with exaggerated flair. Toga scrambled to her feet, her eyes locked on the villain.

“Did you get him?” she asked breathlessly. “Did you get the spiky blonde?”

Shouji stepped forward, holding up a handful of marbles. “I took these from his pocket. If he had Bakugou, it’s in one of these.”

A ripple of tension passed through the group as Kurogiri’s portal opened nearby, the swirling darkness beckoning the villains to retreat. Toga pouted, her lips curling in frustration.

“I’m not leaving without him,” she snapped.

Mr. Compress chuckled, his voice smooth and theatrical. “Oh, my dear. You think I’d be so careless? These marbles” - he gestured toward Shouji’s hand - “are nothing but fragments of Todoroki’s ice. The real prizes have been safely tucked away.”

He opened his mouth and revealed two marbles glinting between his teeth. “A magician never reveals his secrets too early.”

He bowed dramatically, his cape fluttering behind him. That moment of flourish was all Yuuga Aoyama needed. From the edge of the clearing, his Navel Laser fired with pinpoint precision, striking Mr. Compress squarely in the mask. The blast shattered the headpiece, and the villain choked, the marbles slipping from his mouth.

Shouji dove forward, catching one mid-air, but the other bounced toward Shouto, who reached out - only for Mr. Compress to snatch it at the last second. He activated his Quirk, releasing the contents of the marble. Katsuki emerged, restrained and furious, his eyes blazing.

Mr. Compress grabbed him and leapt into Kurogiri’s portal, almost dragging him through the swirling void. Izuku screamed, his voice raw and desperate, reaching out with his one good arm.

“Kacchan!”

Then it happened.

From Izuku’s extended arm, a surge of black tendrils erupted, twisting and writhing like living shadows. They shot out in every direction, wrapping around trees, rocks, and people - students and villains alike. The tendrils pulsed with chaotic energy, binding everyone in place. Shouto froze mid-step, Shouji’s arms were pinned, and even Kurogiri’s portal flickered under the pressure.

Izuku’s eyes widened in horror. “Run!” he shouted. “Get away from me!”

But no one could move. The tendrils tightened, their grip unrelenting. Izuku’s body trembled, his breath shallow, and his mind raced to understand what was happening. This wasn’t One For All. This was something else - something darker, uncontrollable.

The forest clearing was a chaos of tangled limbs and panicked voices, the black tendrils erupting from Izuku’s arm continuing to lash out in every direction. They wrapped around trees, dug into the earth, and ensnared anyone nearby - friend and foe alike. Ochako and Tsuyu arrived just in time to witness the scene, their eyes wide with disbelief as they tried to process the surreal sight before them. Before either could react, the tendrils seized them too, coiling around their legs and arms, pinning them in place with suffocating force.

Moments later, Momo and Awase stumbled into the clearing, drawn by the commotion and the residual sounds of battle. They barely had time to register what was happening before the tendrils reached them as well, binding them with the same unrelenting grip. Momo struggled against the restraints, her eyes locked on Izuku, who stood at the center of the storm, his body trembling and his face contorted in pain and confusion.

“Izuku!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Calm down! What’s happening to your Quirk?!”

Shouto, equally alarmed, added his voice. “Izuku, stop! You’re hurting everyone!”

Izuku’s head snapped toward them, his eyes wild and desperate. Sweat poured down his face, and his broken arm hung uselessly at his side. The other arm, the one from which the tendrils had emerged, twitched uncontrollably, refusing to obey him.

“I don’t know!” he cried out, his voice cracking. “I can’t control it! My arm- it’s not listening to me!”

The tendrils pulsed with erratic energy, tightening their grip as Izuku struggled to suppress them. His knees buckled, and his breath came in short, ragged gasps. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the tension mounting with every passing second.

Then, like a blade slicing through the chaos, Aizawa arrived.

He moved with precision, his capture scarf whipping through the air and ensnaring the nearest villains - Twice, Toga, and Mr. Compress - before they could react. His eyes glowed with the activation of his Quirk, and in an instant, the tendrils shuddered and began to dissolve, retracting into Izuku’s arm as if pulled by an invisible force.

The clearing fell silent.

Izuku staggered, his body swaying as the last of the tendrils vanished. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious before he hit the earth. Shouto, Momo, and Ochako rushed to his side, their restraints now gone. Momo knelt beside him, checking his pulse, while Ochako gently cradled his head, her eyes filled with worry. Shouto hovered nearby, his expression grim.

The villains, still bound by Aizawa’s scarf, thrashed and cursed. Toga shrieked in frustration, Twice muttered incoherently, and Mr. Compress struggled against the bindings, his theatrical composure shattered. Kurogiri’s warp gate flickered uncertainly, then vanished entirely, leaving the captured villains stranded and exposed.

Aizawa stood over them, his gaze cold and unyielding. The battle was far from over, but for now, the tide had turned. Izuku lay unconscious, his body broken and his Quirk a mystery, but he had stopped the villains, protected his friends, and revealed a power none of them had expected. The forest was quiet again, but the questions it left behind were louder than ever.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The aftermath of the training camp assault left U.A. High School reeling. Out of the forty students present, fifteen had been rendered unconscious and were in critical condition due to Mustard’s poisonous gas. Their bodies had absorbed high concentrations of the toxin, and though Recovery Girl and other medical professionals worked tirelessly, several remained under close observation. Eleven others, including Midoriya, sustained injuries unrelated to the gas - ranging from broken bones to deep bruises and minor lacerations. Izuku’s broken arm was now secured in a sling, and while his other injuries were superficial, the emotional toll was evident in his quiet demeanor. Thirteen students had emerged physically unharmed, though none were untouched by the trauma of the attack.

Among the pro-heroes, Pixie-Bob had been severely wounded during the confrontation and was recovering in a hospital under heavy sedation. Ragdoll, however, was missing. Her disappearance cast a long shadow over the victory, and the uncertainty surrounding her fate gnawed at the faculty and students alike. Most of the villains responsible - Muscular, Moonfish, Mr. Compress, Twice, Toga, and Mustard - had all been apprehended and were now in police custody, their Quirks suppressed and their movements monitored around the clock.

In the wake of the incident, U.A. granted its students a week of rest and recovery, allowing them to return home and process the events in their own time. Izuku, still recovering, had been planning to return to the shared apartment he occupied with Shouto and Momo. However, Shouto extended an invitation to both of them to join him at his family home instead. Fuyumi had suggested a family dinner, hoping to foster warmth and connection in the wake of the chaos. Shouto, still reserved but clearly appreciative of their presence, expressed that it would mean a great deal to him if they came. Izuku accepted without hesitation, and Momo, ever composed, agreed with a gentle nod.

The following morning, the gates of U.A. High were besieged by a swarm of reporters and media personnel. Cameras flashed, microphones were thrust forward, and voices clamored for answers. The public demanded accountability, and the school’s reputation hung in the balance. Inside the school, a closed-door meeting convened between Principal Nezu, Midnight, Present Mic, Snipe, and All Might. The atmosphere was tense, the stakes higher than ever.

Nezu, perched on his chair with his paws folded, addressed the room with measured calm. “U.A.’s name is being dragged through the mud. The media is painting us as negligent, as incapable of protecting our students. We must respond with clarity and strength.”

Midnight leaned forward, her expression serious. “They’re focusing on Bakugou. His temperament, his aggression. They’re saying he was an easy target.”

Nezu nodded. “If the villains had succeeded in turning him, if he had joined their ranks, it would have shattered our credibility. The public would lose faith in our ability to nurture heroes.”

Present Mic, usually energetic, spoke with uncharacteristic gravity. “There’s something else. We might have a traitor. Someone feeding information to the League.”

The room fell silent.

Snipe’s voice cut through the tension. “That’s a dangerous accusation. We can’t afford to fracture the faculty with suspicion.”

Midnight agreed, her tone firm. “We need unity right now. If we start pointing fingers, we’ll lose the trust we’ve built with each other - and with the students.”

All Might, seated quietly until now, finally spoke. “We must be vigilant. But we must also be careful. The students are watching us. They need to believe in us.”

Nezu’s eyes gleamed with thought. “Then we proceed cautiously. We investigate discreetly. And we prepare for what comes next.”

The meeting adjourned with no resolution, only the shared understanding that the battle was far from over. U.A. had survived the attack, but the war for its reputation - and its future - had only just begun.

Chapter Text

The evening air was cool and quiet as Izuku and Momo arrived at the Todoroki residence, their footsteps soft against the polished stone walkway leading to the front door. The house stood tall and elegant, its architecture traditional but warm, with soft lighting spilling from the windows and the faint scent of grilled food drifting from within. Izuku adjusted the sling on his arm, his nerves tingling slightly - not from pain, but from anticipation. It wasn’t often he visited a friend’s home, and certainly not one as storied as Shouto’s.

The door opened before either of them could knock, revealing a young man with a lean, athletic build and pale skin littered with burns that caught the light in a way that made him seem almost ethereal. His hair was striking - white with streaks of red at the crown, spiked upward in a way that looked both effortless and intentional, with longer strands falling low over his turquoise eyes. He wore a casual black shirt and dark jeans, but his presence was unmistakable.

Izuku blinked, recognition dawning instantly. “You’re Blaze,” he said, voice tinged with awe. “The Blueflame Hero.”

The man chuckled, a warm and easy sound that dispelled any tension. “That’s what they call me on the clock,” he said. “But tonight, just call me Touya.”

He stepped aside and gestured for them to enter, his smile genuine and inviting. “Come in. Fuyumi’s been buzzing around all day getting things ready. She’s excited to meet you.”

Inside, the house was cozy and lived-in, with framed photos lining the hallway and the soft hum of conversation drifting from deeper within. The scent of simmering broth and roasted vegetables grew stronger as they moved toward the heart of the home.

Fuyumi appeared from the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour and her hair pulled back in a loose bun. She was radiant with excitement, her eyes lighting up as she saw them.

“You’re finally here!” she said, rushing over. “Shouto’s told me so much about you both. Every time he texts, it’s always ‘Momo did this’ or ‘Izuku said that.’ I feel like I already know you.”

Momo smiled politely, bowing her head slightly. “Thank you for having us. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Izuku nodded, his voice soft. “It’s really kind of you to invite us.”

Just then, Shouto entered from the hallway, dressed in a simple sweater and slacks, his expression calm but clearly pleased. He gave a small wave before walking over.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “I know things have been… a lot lately. I thought it’d be good to have a quiet evening.”

He led them toward the dining room, where Natsuo was already seated at the table, flipping through a newspaper with a glass of water beside him. He looked up and offered a casual smile.

“Hey. Glad you could make it,” he said, setting the paper aside. “Dinner’s almost ready. Fuyumi’s been cooking like it’s a holiday.”

The room was warm, filled with the soft clinking of dishes and the low hum of conversation. As they settled in, the tension of the past week began to ease, replaced by the comfort of shared company and the quiet strength of family. For Izuku and Momo, it was a rare moment of peace - and for Shouto, a reminder that even in the wake of chaos, connection could still be found.

Dinner unfolded with a warmth that surprised Izuku and Momo. The table was filled with comforting dishes - steamed vegetables, grilled fish, miso soup - and the conversation flowed easily between bites. Fuyumi kept the energy light, asking about school and training, while Natsuo chimed in with dry humor about college life and the chaos of juggling coursework and part-time jobs. Touya, relaxed and quietly observant, offered occasional commentary about his patrols and hero work, his tone casual but thoughtful.

Shouto, seated between his siblings, seemed more at ease than usual. When the topic turned to their mother, Rei, he mentioned his weekly visits with quiet pride. Fuyumi smiled warmly, saying she tried to visit as often as her teaching schedule allowed, and Natsuo nodded, adding that he wrote letters when he couldn’t make the trip. Touya leaned back slightly, arms crossed, and said he always made time to check in, even if it was just a short visit between shifts.

No one mentioned Endeavor’s absence. He was out on duty for the night, and the silence around his name was telling - not bitter, but indifferent. The family had found a rhythm without him, and the evening carried on without the weight of his presence.

After dinner, Shouto decided to stay behind with his siblings, wanting to spend more time with them while Izuku and Momo made their way back to the apartment they all shared. The walk was quiet, the streets dimly lit and peaceful. Momo carried herself with her usual grace, and Izuku, though tired, felt a strange energy humming beneath his skin.

As they reached the apartment, Izuku pulled out his phone and typed a message to All Might, detailing the events of the Forest Training Camp - the villains, the chaos, and most importantly, the black tendrils that had erupted from his arm. He described the sensation, the lack of control, and the fear that had gripped him in that moment.

All Might responded within minutes.

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚢. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗. 𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗?

Izuku agreed, his fingers trembling slightly as he set the phone down. The apartment was quiet, Momo already in her room, and Izuku eased into bed, his broken arm carefully positioned in the sling. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it pulled him into something deeper than rest.

In his dream, the world was vast and dark, a void filled with flickering lights and shifting shadows. Before him stood a line of figures - vague at first, but slowly sharpening into clarity. The previous users of One For All. Their presence was overwhelming, each one radiating a distinct energy, their eyes fixed on him with solemn recognition.

Then the scene shifted.

He saw a younger man, frail but determined, standing opposite a towering figure cloaked in malice. The man who would become All For One. The confrontation was tense, filled with sorrow and defiance. Izuku watched as the younger brother resisted, as the first spark of One For All was born from that moment of rebellion.

Izuku stepped forward, reaching out, desperate to understand. The first user turned to him, his expression soft but resolute.

“You are the ninth,” he said. “The final hope.”

He reached out and grasped Izuku’s hand.

The moment their hands touched, Izuku’s body jolted awake.

He gasped, sitting upright in bed, his heart pounding. The room was in disarray - books scattered, furniture cracked, the walls scorched with streaks of green lightning. One For All had activated in his sleep, and the tendrils had left their mark.

Izuku stared at his hand, trembling. The power was still there, humming beneath his skin, but it felt different now - deeper, older, and far more complex than he had ever imagined.

The sun filtered gently through the canopy of trees as Izuku and All Might walked side by side along a quiet trail in the park. The path was lined with soft grass and the occasional chirp of birds, the serenity of the morning offering a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded just days prior. Izuku’s arm remained in a sling, but his steps were steady, his expression thoughtful. All Might, in his lean civilian form, kept his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his gaze fixed ahead as he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking about what you told me,” he said, his voice low and contemplative. “About the tendrils. About what happened in the forest. I’m not certain, but… it’s possible you’ve unlocked a Quirk from one of the previous holders of One For All.”

Izuku turned to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “A Quirk? From a past user? How would that even work?”

All Might nodded slowly, choosing his words with care. “One For All has always been a stockpiling Quirk. It accumulates power, yes, but it also carries the essence of its users. Their will, their spirit. But before you and me, none of the holders were related by blood. It was passed from one person to another, chosen, not inherited.”

Izuku’s steps slowed as he processed the idea. “So… if I unlocked a Quirk from someone before you, why didn’t you or your predecessor ever access them?”

“That’s what’s strange,” All Might admitted. “Neither I nor Nana Shimura ever experienced anything like this. No tendrils. No secondary abilities. Just raw power. But you… you’re different. Maybe it’s something about your body. Or maybe One For All itself is evolving.”

Izuku looked down at his injured arm, remembering the sensation of the tendrils erupting from his skin, the way they had moved without his command. “It felt like a Quirk Awakening,” he said quietly. “Like something inside me snapped open. It happened when I was desperate. I was trying to stop Mr. Compress, and I couldn’t move fast enough. Then the tendrils came out, and I hurt myself trying to stop them.”

All Might nodded again, his expression grave. “That makes sense. Quirk Awakenings often occur under extreme emotional stress. But this… this is something else. One For All is changing, and we need to understand why.”

Izuku’s eyes met his father’s, and he nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

The rest of the day passed quietly, a welcome reprieve after the chaos of the past week. Shouto remained at his family home, spending time with Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Touya. The siblings shared stories over tea, reminisced about childhood memories, and spoke gently of their mother, Rei, with a warmth that had once been rare in the Todoroki household.

Back at the apartment, Izuku and Momo settled into a rhythm of quiet companionship. Momo spent the afternoon reading through her notes and organizing her training journal, while Izuku rested on the couch with a blanket draped over his legs, flipping through old hero magazines and occasionally jotting down thoughts in his notebook. They didn’t speak much, but the silence was comfortable, filled with mutual understanding and the shared weight of recent events.

Shouto returned just after sunset, his expression relaxed. Momo looked up from her journal and asked how it had gone.

“It went well,” he replied simply, setting his bag down and joining them in the living room. “Fuyumi made dinner. Touya stayed longer than usual. It was nice.”

The three sat together for a while longer, until the evening grew late and each retreated to their rooms. Izuku lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of One For All and the strange energy that had surged through him. Eventually, sleep took him - but it was not a peaceful rest.

In his dream, Izuku awoke in a vast, empty void. The air was still, the space around him dim and endless. He stood beside Nana Shimura, her presence strong and comforting, and a line of unfamiliar figures stretched out beside her. Their faces were obscured, but Izuku recognized them instantly. The vestiges. The previous users of One For All. He remembered a similar vision during the Sports Festival, the flickering silhouettes that had watched him from the shadows. Now they were clearer, more defined, though still distant.

Izuku tried to speak, to move, but most of his body was shrouded in a thick fog. He couldn’t feel his legs, and his voice was trapped in his throat. The vestiges began to fade, their forms dissolving into the mist, and the void shifted.

Suddenly, he was standing in the middle of a confrontation. All For One loomed tall and imposing, his presence suffocating. Across from him stood a younger man - frail, determined, and filled with quiet defiance. The first user of One For All. Izuku watched as the younger brother pleaded with All For One to stop, to abandon his twisted path of stealing and gifting Quirks. But the villain only laughed, his voice cold and mocking.

“You still don’t understand,” All For One said. “This world is changing. Quirks are evolving. Society is fracturing. What I do is necessary.”

To prove his point, he summoned two individuals. One was a man with a fang Quirk, his face distorted and monstrous. He spoke of being disowned by his family, cast out for his appearance. The other was Quirkless, his body thin and bruised, recounting how he had been attacked by a gang of Quirk users with no way to defend himself.

The first user stepped forward, his voice rising in protest. “They need help, not manipulation.”

But both civilians turned to All For One, pleading for his intervention. The villain touched their heads - removing the fang Quirk from the first and gifting the second with a new ability that caused root-like spikes to sprout from his body. Both men bowed in gratitude, promising to serve All For One if ever called upon.

“You see?” the villain said, turning to his brother. “I give them purpose. I give them balance.”

The first user, enraged, lunged at him, but an unknown bodyguard intercepted him, pinning him to the ground. All For One knelt beside his brother, his voice soft and sinister.

“You could help me. You could be part of this. I’m just evening the playing field.”

Then, without consent, he placed a hand on his brother’s chest and forced a Quirk into him. The younger man cried out, his body convulsing, and the void around Izuku shattered.

He was pulled into a blinding white space, disoriented and breathless. The first user approached, his expression solemn.

“There’s more I want to show you,” he said. “But you’re not strong enough. Not yet.”

Izuku reached out, and the first user took his hand.

“It will be fine,” he said gently. “You’re not alone.”

Izuku woke with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat. The room was dim, the moonlight casting pale streaks across the floor. He sat up, heart pounding, and looked toward the window. A long crack ran through the glass, and his hand pulsed with energy - green lightning flickering across his skin.

One For All was active.

Izuku stared at his hand, breath shallow, the dream still vivid in his mind.

The morning sun filtered through the windows of the training facility, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Izuku sat across from All Might in one of the private rooms, the air between them quiet but charged with anticipation. The events of the previous night still clung to Izuku’s thoughts like dew on grass - vivid, unsettling, and impossible to ignore. He had barely slept, and the weight of what he had seen in his dream pressed heavily on his chest. All Might, sensing the urgency in his successor’s demeanor, leaned forward, his expression calm but attentive.

Izuku began to recount everything. He described the void, the presence of Nana Shimura, and the line of unknown figures he instinctively recognized as the vestiges of One For All. He spoke of the fog that had enveloped his body, the inability to move or speak, and the sudden shift to the confrontation between All For One and his younger brother. As he detailed the villain’s twisted demonstration - removing and gifting Quirks to desperate civilians - All Might’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening with concern. Izuku explained how the first user had tried to resist, only to be pinned down and forcibly given a Quirk, and how the dream had ended with the first user reaching out to him, promising that he wasn’t alone.

When Izuku finished, the room fell into a momentary silence. All Might’s gaze dropped to the floor, his brows furrowed in thought. Then, slowly, he looked up and responded.

“I did see the vestiges once,” he admitted, his voice low. “Back when I was younger. My master, Nana, told me about them. She said they were remnants of the Quirk’s previous holders, echoes left behind. But I never experienced anything like what you’re describing. I didn’t think it was possible to interact with them.”

Izuku’s eyes widened slightly. The realization that he might be the first One For All user to truly connect with the predecessors left him both awed and unsettled. All Might leaned back, his expression distant as he recalled a memory long buried.

“There was a conversation I had with Nana,” he said, his voice softening. “She told me that One For All doesn’t just carry power - it carries presence. The essence of each bearer is stored within it, like a flame passed from one torch to the next. I thought it was a bit gloomy at the time, the idea that we’d live on only as fragments. But she saw it differently. She believed that if we died, we’d meet again inside One For All. That it was a kind of reunion.”

Izuku listened intently, the image of Nana Shimura in his dream now taking on a deeper meaning. The connection he felt wasn’t just symbolic - it was real. These weren’t just memories; they were people, preserved within the Quirk itself.

All Might’s tone shifted as he returned to the present. “Are you hurt? From the activation last night?”

Izuku shook his head. “No. I’m fine. It was sudden, but I didn’t feel any pain.”

All Might nodded, though his expression remained troubled. “I don’t understand what happened to you. That phrase - the ‘singularity’ - it’s not something I’ve heard before in this context.”

Izuku hesitated, then offered a theory. “Do you think it could be related to the Quirk Singularity Doomsday Theory? The idea that Quirks grow stronger with each generation, and eventually they’ll become too powerful to control?”

All Might considered the possibility, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “It’s possible. That theory has been around for a while, but it was dismissed by many. Still, if One For All is evolving, and you’re the ninth user... maybe something is happening that we’ve never seen before.”

Izuku nodded slowly. “There was something else. I saw your vestige - it was still incorporeal, like a shadow. And next to you were two others. I couldn’t see them clearly.”

All Might’s eyes widened again, but he quickly masked his surprise with a thoughtful frown. “I’m sorry, Izuku. I wish I could explain this to you. But I don’t understand it either. What I do know is that this power is your ally. Whatever is happening, we’ll face it together. We’ll investigate, learn everything we can.”

Izuku smiled faintly, the reassurance settling his nerves. “Thank you. I’m glad I’m not alone in this.”

As he stood to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “I saw Nana Shimura. She was very beautiful.”

All Might’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile. “She was,” he said warmly.

And with that, Izuku stepped out into the hallway, the weight of his dream still lingering, but now tempered by the knowledge that he had allies - both in the present and within the very power he carried.

Chapter Text

The week-long break came to a quiet end as the students of Class 1-A returned to U.A. High, their bodies rested but their minds still carrying the weight of the recent attack. The halls felt different now - more guarded, more serious. Security had visibly increased, and the faculty maintained a watchful presence. Still, the day’s classes were tame, a gentle reintroduction to routine. Izuku, now fully healed thanks to Recovery Girl, flexed his arm with quiet relief. The pain was gone, but the memory of the tendrils and the dream lingered in the back of his mind.

After the final bell rang, the students expected to head home, but Aizawa had other plans. He stood at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, his usual tired expression unchanged.

“You’re not going home,” he said bluntly. “You’re moving.”

Confused murmurs rippled through the room, but Aizawa continued without pause.

“Due to recent events, U.A. has constructed a new dormitory facility - Heights Alliance. It’s for your safety. You’ll be living there from now on.”

The walk to the dorms was filled with speculation and subdued excitement. When they arrived, the students were greeted by a sleek, multi-story building nestled behind the school grounds. The interior was warm and modern, with spacious common areas and individual rooms for each student. Aizawa led them through the halls, pointing out amenities and laying down expectations.

“You’ll be preparing for your Provisional Hero Licenses soon,” he reminded them. “That was the original plan for the training camp, and it hasn’t changed. You’ll train harder than ever. But for now, get settled.”

Once the students had unpacked and explored their new living spaces, the atmosphere lightened. The girls - minus Momo - gathered in the common area and proposed a dorm presentation contest. Mina, ever the instigator, declared it a challenge to see who had the most stylish or interesting room. Tooru eagerly agreed, and the two immediately stormed Fumikage’s room.

Fumikage, seated in the corner with Dark Shadow looming behind him, scowled as the girls burst in. His room was dimly lit, the walls draped in dark fabric, and a single candle flickered on his desk. It was gothic, brooding, and exactly what everyone expected. Mina giggled nervously, while Tooru whispered that it felt like a haunted mansion.

Yuuga’s room was next, and it was a complete contrast. The walls sparkled with gold accents, velvet curtains framed the windows, and his bed was adorned with silk sheets. He posed dramatically as the girls entered, basking in their stunned reactions.

No one volunteered to visit Mineta’s room, and the group tactfully skipped it. Ojiro’s room was simple and clean, with a few martial arts posters and a modest bookshelf. Tenya’s was similarly neat, with everything arranged with meticulous precision. The boys, realizing their rooms lacked flair, began to feel the sting of defeat.

Mineta, desperate to shift the tide, pressured the girls to enter the contest themselves. They agreed, but only after finishing the boys’ side. Eijirou’s room was next, and it was exactly what they imagined - bold colors, weights stacked in the corner, and posters of pro heroes with exaggerated muscles. Shouji’s room was nearly empty, save for a futon and a single shelf. He explained that he preferred minimalism, which earned a few nods of respect.

Then came Hanta’s room, which surprised everyone. It was decorated in vibrant colors, with Mexican-style patterns and tapestries. A small cactus sat on the windowsill, and upbeat music played softly in the background. The girls clapped in delight, impressed by the creativity and warmth.

Finally, they reached Shouto’s room. The girls were visibly excited, and even the boys leaned in with curiosity. When the door opened, they were met with a serene, traditional space. Tatami mats covered the floor, and a bunk bed stood against one wall. A small tea set rested on a low table, and the air smelled faintly of incense.

“This is so different,” Mina whispered.

Shouto nodded. “I asked Aizawa for permission to room with Midoriya. We’ve always lived together. It made sense.”

He gestured to the flooring. “I replaced it myself. I can’t sleep comfortably without tatami.”

Everyone admired the craftsmanship, but their attention shifted when they noticed a door near the bunk bed. It wasn’t the bathroom, and curiosity bloomed.

“What’s that?” Tooru asked.

From her seat nearby, Momo sighed and stood. She walked over and opened the door, revealing her own room. It was elegant, with a plush rug, a four-poster bed, and a study desk lined with books. The lighting was soft, and the decor was refined.

The class erupted in disbelief.

“How is this possible?” Mina asked. “Aren’t the girls’ and boys’ rooms supposed to be on opposite sides?!”

Momo shrugged. “Aizawa gave us special permission. The Commission trained us together since we were kids. We shared an apartment before this. It’s not that strange.”

Sero scratched his head. “So… does this count as one room or two?”

No one had an answer, but the novelty of the arrangement kept the conversation lively.

They wrapped up the tour with Satou’s room. It was modest, but he had prepared a tray of sweets - homemade and beautifully arranged. The girls swooned, praising his baking skills, and even the boys admitted it was a strong finish.

The excitement from the boys' dorm tour carried over as the girls prepared to show off their rooms. With Momo’s already revealed and Tsuyu feeling under the weather, the first stop was Jirou’s room. The group approached with a mix of curiosity and caution, unsure of what to expect from the reserved and sharp-tongued rocker.

Kyouka’s room was a reflection of her personality - cool, understated, and undeniably edgy. Posters of rock bands lined the walls, and a sleek electric guitar rested on a stand near her desk. Her bed was simple, with dark sheets and a few scattered music magazines. A small amp sat in the corner, and her headphones were draped over the back of her desk chair. The lighting was low, casting a moody ambiance that felt more like a backstage lounge than a teenage girl’s room.

Yuuga, ever the dramatic critic, tilted his head and muttered, “Not very ladylike…”

Denki, trying to be playful, added, “Yeah, where’s the frilly stuff? No lace? No pink?”

Before either could blink, Kyouka’s earjacks shot out, smacking both boys squarely on the forehead with a satisfying thwack. She didn’t even look up from her seat.

“Say that again and I’ll show you just how 'un-ladylike' I can be,” she said flatly.

The room erupted in chuckles, and even Aizawa, who had been silently observing from the hallway, allowed himself a faint smirk. Yuuga and Denki rubbed their foreheads, grumbling, but wisely kept quiet for the rest of the tour.

Next up was Tooru’s room, which was a burst of pastel chaos. Despite her invisibility, her personality was loud and clear in her decor. The walls were painted a soft lavender, and glittery stickers adorned every surface. Plush toys were arranged neatly on her bed, and a vanity table covered in makeup and accessories stood proudly near the window. She had even hung a string of fairy lights across the ceiling, giving the room a whimsical glow.

Tooru twirled in place, her voice cheerful. “I wanted it to feel like a magical girl’s hideout!”

The girls cooed in appreciation, while the boys looked around with wide eyes, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sparkle. Denki whispered to Mineta, “I think I’m getting glitter in my lungs.”

Mina’s room followed, and it was equally girly but with a more chaotic flair. Her walls were painted in bright pink and orange swirls, and posters of pop idols and fashion icons covered nearly every inch. Clothes were strewn across her bed and floor, and her vanity was cluttered with makeup, nail polish, and hair accessories. A lava lamp bubbled in the corner, and upbeat music played from a speaker.

“I call it organized chaos,” Mina said proudly, striking a pose.

The girls clapped, and even the boys had to admit it was a room that screamed Mina’s name. It was vibrant, energetic, and unapologetically loud.

The group reconvened in the common area to cast their votes for the coveted title of “Room King.” Aizawa, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watched the proceedings with mild interest.

Each student scribbled their choice on a slip of paper and dropped it into a bowl. The votes were tallied quickly, and to everyone’s surprise - especially his own - Satou emerged as the winner.

The girls had unanimously voted for him, citing his delicious cake and warm hospitality. Even those with the most extravagant rooms admitted that Satou’s sweets had won their hearts. He blinked in disbelief as Mina handed him a makeshift crown made of paper and glitter.

“I didn’t even decorate that much,” he said, scratching his head.

“You didn’t have to,” Tooru replied. “You fed us. That’s royalty behavior.”

Denki and Minoru groaned in unison, devastated that their efforts had been overshadowed by baked goods. Mineta muttered something about bribery, while Denki flopped dramatically onto the couch.

Momo, ever composed, had voted for Izuku and Shouto’s shared room. When asked why, she simply said, “It was the most practical and well-integrated space.”

Kyouka raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Favoritism much?”

Momo didn’t deny it, but her subtle smile said everything.

The evening wound down with laughter and teasing, the students sprawled across the common room in various states of exhaustion and contentment. The dorms, once unfamiliar, now felt like home. And though the challenges ahead loomed large, for now, Class 1-A basked in the comfort of camaraderie and cake.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Class 1-A’s homeroom, casting long shadows across the desks as the students settled into their seats. The air was charged with anticipation, a quiet hum of energy that hadn’t been present since before the training camp incident. Aizawa stood at the front of the room, his usual disheveled appearance unchanged, but his tone carried a weight that immediately commanded attention.

“Today marks the beginning of your next challenge,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “The Provisional Hero License Exam.”

A few students straightened in their seats, while others exchanged nervous glances. Aizawa continued, his voice steady and unflinching.

“The exam has a pass rate of roughly fifty percent. That means half of you could fail. And that’s assuming you’re prepared.”

He let the statement hang in the air for a moment before gesturing toward the door. As if on cue, Cementoss, Ectoplasm, and Midnight entered the classroom, each bringing their own distinct presence. Cementoss gave a polite nod, Ectoplasm’s spectral form flickered slightly, and Midnight offered a playful wave that contrasted sharply with the seriousness of the moment.

“You’ll be spending the rest of the summer developing Ultimate Moves,” Aizawa said. “They’re not just flashy techniques. They’re the culmination of your combat style, your Quirk, and your identity as a hero.”

Cementoss stepped forward, his deep voice resonating through the room. “Ultimate Moves are your trump cards. They’re what you fall back on when the situation demands more than instinct. They’re what make you stand out.”

Midnight leaned against the desk, her tone more casual but no less firm. “The exam will test many aspects of being a hero - rescue, strategy, teamwork - but fighting ability is crucial. If you can’t hold your own, you won’t pass.”

Ectoplasm’s voice was calm and analytical. “Take Tenya’s Recipro Burst, for example. It’s a high-speed burst of movement that can overwhelm opponents. That kind of precision and power is what defines an Ultimate Move.”

Tenya’s eyes widened with pride, his posture straightening as he absorbed the praise. Cementoss nodded toward Izuku and Shouto.

“Midoriya has developed multiple smashes, Full Cowling, and now Shoot Style. Todoroki has Heaven-Piercing Ice Wall, Jet Kindling, and Flashfreeze Heatwave among others. These are refined techniques that show growth and adaptability.”

Aizawa stepped back in, his gaze sharp. “You’ll be training at Gym Gamma. And you’ll be thinking about costume upgrades. Your gear should support your Ultimate Moves.”

With that, the class was dismissed to change into their hero costumes. The locker rooms buzzed with conversation and speculation, students discussing their current abilities and what they hoped to achieve. Once suited up, they made their way to Gym Gamma, the massive training facility looming ahead like a fortress of potential.

Inside, the gym was vast and open, the concrete floor stretching endlessly beneath the high ceiling. Aizawa stood at the center, arms folded, while Cementoss gestured dramatically to the space around them.

“Welcome to Training Dining Land,” Aizawa said dryly.

The class blinked in confusion. Mina tilted her head. “Training… Dining Land?”

Cementoss chuckled. “It’s a nickname. I designed this space to be flexible. My Quirk allows me to reshape the concrete floor into any terrain or structure. It’s like a buffet of training scenarios - hence, ‘Dining.’ The gym caters to your needs.”

The explanation earned a few laughs and nods of understanding. Tenya, ever the inquisitive one, raised his hand.

“Why are Ultimate Moves necessary for the Provisional Hero License Exam?”

Aizawa didn’t hesitate. “Because the exam isn’t just about passing a test. It’s about proving you can be a hero in real-world conditions. You need to show you can act decisively and effectively.”

Midnight added, “And in combat, your Ultimate Move is often the difference between victory and defeat.”

Tenya beamed, clearly pleased with the recognition. The rest of the class looked on with a mix of admiration and determination.

Cementoss gestured toward the center of the gym. “Let’s begin.”

The floor shifted beneath their feet, forming platforms, walls, and obstacles. Ectoplasm summoned a series of clones, each programmed to challenge the students in combat. The training began in earnest.

Ojiro stepped forward first, his tail whipping through the air as he engaged a clone. His strikes were clean and forceful, but the clone dodged with ease.

“You’re too predictable,” it said. “You fight exactly how someone with a tail would be expected to fight.”

Ojiro frowned, realizing the truth in the critique. He needed to innovate, not just rely on instinct.

Mina took her turn, launching a jet of acid from her palms. The stream fizzled out after a few feet, splattering harmlessly on the ground. The clone tilted its head.

“Try shaping your fingers into a nozzle. Increase the pressure. You’ll get more range.”

Mina nodded, intrigued by the suggestion. She adjusted her hand position and tried again, the acid shooting farther with more force. Her eyes lit up with excitement.

Momo faced her clone next. It challenged her to create two items simultaneously. Without hesitation, she produced a shield and a staff, her Quirk flowing effortlessly.

The clone paused. “Impressive. I thought that would be difficult.”

Momo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the assumption. “I’ve been doing this since I was a child.”

The training continued, each student facing their own hurdles and revelations. The gym echoed with the sounds of combat, strategy, and growth. And as the sun climbed higher outside, Class 1-A took their first real steps toward becoming licensed heroes - one Ultimate Move at a time.

Four days into their intensive training at Gym Gamma, the students of Class 1-A had begun to show remarkable progress. The once chaotic and uncertain atmosphere had shifted into one of focused determination. The gym, reshaped daily by Cementoss’s Quirk, had become a crucible for growth, and the students were rising to meet the challenge. With the Provisional Hero License Exam looming, each member of the class had taken the task of developing Ultimate Moves and upgrading their costumes seriously.

Tokoyami stood before Midnight, his posture composed but his eyes gleaming with pride. Dark Shadow loomed behind him, larger and more controlled than ever before. With a quiet command, the shadow enveloped him, forming a protective shell that clung to his body like armor. Midnight watched with interest as Fumikage moved swiftly, his strikes more confident and his defense impenetrable.

“This is my Ultimate Move,” he said. “Dark Shadow: Abyssal Black Body.”

Midnight nodded approvingly. “It compensates for your close-range weaknesses. Smart. You’ve turned your Quirk into a shield and a weapon.”

Nearby, Bakugou prepared his demonstration. He stood before a reinforced concrete wall, his gauntlets gleaming. With a sharp inhale, he raised his arm, making a circle with his fingers over his palm with the other, and focused his explosive energy into a single point. The blast was smaller than usual, but far more concentrated. It tore through the wall with a deafening crack, leaving a clean hole in its wake.

“AP Shot,” he said simply. “Precision over brute force.”

The teachers exchanged impressed glances. Bakugou’s control had improved dramatically, and the move was a testament to his evolving tactical mindset.

Others had made notable strides as well. Even Izuku had unveiled something new.

He stood in the center of the gym, his upgraded gloves catching the light. Designed by Mei Hatsume, they were sleek and functional - white with green palms, yellow sights on each knuckle, and dual-layered wristbands adorned with blue seams and yellow bolts. He raised his hand, flicked his fingers, and a compressed blast of air shot forward, striking a target dummy with enough force to knock it off its stand.

“This is Air Force,” he explained. “I can launch up to four Delaware Smashes at once. The gloves help me aim and stabilize the blasts.”

The concussive force was impressive, and the control he exhibited marked a clear evolution in his combat style. The technique allowed him to fight from a distance, reducing strain on his body while maintaining offensive capability.

Shouto had been working just as hard. His focus had been on refining Hell Spider, a move that concentrated his flames into white-hot points on his fingertips and emitted slicing beams of fire. The technique had previously caused pain in his fingers, but through repetition, he was beginning to master it. He had also been experimenting with simultaneous use of ice and fire - his greatest challenge. At present, it took him 1.3 seconds to switch between sides, a delay he found unacceptable.

During a break in training, the class dispersed to rest and hydrate. Shouto and Izuku, both still in costume, wandered toward the far end of the gym where Momo sat cross-legged on a bench, sketching in her notebook. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and her pencil moved with deliberate strokes.

“What are you working on?” Shouto asked, his voice calm.

Momo glanced up, then returned to her sketch. “Support gear,” she replied. “I’m finding it surprisingly difficult to come up with an Ultimate Move for my Quirk. It’s frustrating.”

Izuku sat beside her without a word, and Shouto followed suit. They didn’t press her for details or offer unsolicited advice. They simply sat with her, their presence quiet and steady. It was a familiar rhythm for the three of them. No need for explanations. Just support.

Momo continued sketching, her thoughts still tangled in the challenge before her, but with her friends nearby, the frustration felt a little less heavy. The gym buzzed with energy, and the summer heat pressed against the windows, but in that moment, the three of them found a pocket of calm amid the storm of progress.

Chapter Text

The morning of the Provisional Hero Licensing Exam arrived with a crisp breeze and a sky streaked with soft clouds. Excitement and nerves buzzed through the halls of U.A. High as Class 1-A gathered outside the school, dressed in their hero costumes and ready to board the bus that would take them to the National Dagobah Arena. The atmosphere was electric - students chatted in hushed tones, adjusted their gear, and mentally prepared for the challenge ahead. This was the moment they had been training for all summer, and the weight of it was palpable.

But as the class began to file onto the bus, Aizawa stepped forward, his usual tired expression unreadable. He raised a hand and called out three names.

“Midoriya. Todoroki. Yaoyorozu. Stay behind.”

The trio exchanged brief glances, then stepped away from the group, following Aizawa toward a quieter corner of the campus. The rest of the class watched curiously but didn’t question it - after all, the Trust Trio had always operated a little differently.

Once they were out of earshot, Aizawa turned to face them, his gaze steady.

“There’s something you need to know before the others leave,” he began. “The Hero Public Safety Commission has issued a special directive regarding the three of you.”

Izuku’s brows furrowed, and Momo tilted her head slightly. Shouto remained silent, waiting.

“You’ve all been trained under the Commission since childhood,” Aizawa continued. “That makes you outliers. Your development has been monitored and evaluated separately from the standard U.A. curriculum. Because of that, the HPSC has decided to grant you Provisional Licenses without requiring you to take the exam.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out three slim envelopes, each bearing the official seal of the Commission. He handed one to each of them.

“These arrived two days ago,” he said. “I held onto them until now.”

Izuku stared at the envelope in his hands, the weight of it sinking in. Inside was his Hero License - proof that he had been deemed ready to operate as a professional, even without passing through the same trial as his classmates. Momo opened hers carefully, her eyes scanning the contents with quiet reverence. Shouto didn’t react outwardly, but his grip on the envelope tightened slightly.

Aizawa’s tone shifted, becoming more pointed.

“Don’t let this make you complacent. Just because you’ve bypassed the exam doesn’t mean you’re done. You’re still students. You’re still growing. And you’re still expected to train harder than ever.”

Izuku nodded quickly, his voice earnest. “We understand. We’ll keep pushing ourselves.”

Aizawa gave a small nod of approval. “Good. You’ve earned this, but you still have a long way to go.”

The bus pulled away in the distance, carrying the rest of Class 1-A toward the arena and the exam that awaited them. The Trust Trio stood together, licenses in hand, not with pride or superiority, but with a renewed sense of responsibility.

As they turned back toward the school, the morning sun caught the edges of their licenses, casting a soft glow across the embossed lettering. It was a quiet moment, but one that marked a significant step forward.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

In the stark, fluorescent-lit corridors of the Hero Public Safety Commission headquarters, the atmosphere was tense and clinical. Deep within the building, behind layers of security and soundproof walls, a small group of high-ranking officials sat around a polished steel table, their expressions grim as they flipped through a thick dossier. The file was marked with a red stamp - Priority Threat - and inside were surveillance photos, intelligence reports, and maps dotted with red ink. The subject of their scrutiny: the Uncanny Trio.

The villains had become a growing concern over the past year, their movements erratic yet calculated, their hideouts always discovered just a moment too late. Each time the Commission closed in, the trio vanished, leaving behind traps, destruction, and a mocking trail of clues. Their unpredictability made them dangerous, and their ability to evade capture had begun to undermine public confidence in the Commission’s reach.

One of the officials, a sharp-jawed man with graying temples and a reputation for ruthless pragmatism, leaned forward and tapped the map with a pen.

“They’ve resurfaced again,” he said. “Three possible hideouts. All booby-trapped, all likely decoys. But we can’t afford to wait for another slip-up. We need boots on the ground.”

Another official, a woman with a composed demeanor and a long history in strategic operations, frowned as she reviewed the latest intelligence. “We’ve sent teams before. They barely made it out. These locations are death traps. We can’t afford to lose more agents.”

The first official didn’t flinch. “Then we send someone who can handle it. Someone trained. Someone Commission-bred.”

He paused, letting the implication settle before continuing.

“One of the Trust Trio.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the suggestion hanging heavy in the air. The third official, a younger man with sharp eyes and a reputation for being idealistic, immediately shook his head.

“Absolutely not. They’re our top operatives. We’ve invested years into their development. Sending them into a trap is reckless.”

The first official leaned back, his voice calm but cold.

“Not all three. Just one.”

He opened the file again and slid a photo across the table - Momo Yaoyorozu, her expression poised and intelligent, her record impeccable.

“She’s the most expendable.”

The second official’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not how we operate.”

The first official didn’t blink. “Let’s be realistic. Midoriya is the son of All Might. Todoroki is Endeavor’s heir. If either of them dies or is seriously injured, the fallout would be catastrophic. Press, politics, public morale - it would be a disaster. But Yaoyorozu? She’s brilliant, yes, but she doesn’t carry the same legacy. If something happens, the scandal will fall on U.A., not us. And frankly, the risk is worth it.”

The third official’s jaw tightened. “None of them are expendable. You send her in, and if she dies, it’ll fracture the other two. They’re bonded. You know that. You jeopardize one, you destabilize all three.”

The first official shrugged, his tone devoid of emotion. “Then we manage the fallout. We’ve done it before.”

The second and third officials exchanged a glance, both visibly uncomfortable. They knew the logic was cold, but not unfounded. The Commission had always operated in shades of gray, balancing public safety against political optics. Still, this felt different. It felt personal.

After a long pause, the second official sighed, her voice low. “If anything happens - and we all know something will - you’ll be the one answering for it.”

The third official nodded, his expression hard. “We’ll document everything. If this goes south, it’s on you.”

The first official didn’t respond. He simply closed the file, the sound of the clasp echoing through the room like a final verdict. The decision had been made, and the wheels were already turning.

The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows of U.A.’s private training hall, casting long streaks of light across the polished floor. Inside, the rhythmic sounds of footwork, grunts, and controlled impacts echoed through the space as Momo, Izuku, and Shouto trained in their gym gear. The session was focused entirely on close-quarters combat - an area Shouto had long struggled with due to his reliance on ranged elemental attacks, and one Izuku was determined to refine further through his evolving Shoot Style.

Momo moved with calculated precision, her strikes fluid and deliberate. She wasn’t known for brute force, but her adaptability and tactical mind made her a formidable sparring partner. Izuku, meanwhile, darted between the two, using his legs to launch rapid, low-powered kicks, testing his ability to manage multiple opponents at once. Shouto, though less agile, held his own, his movements growing sharper with each exchange. The trio had developed an unspoken rhythm, their trust in one another allowing for seamless coordination even in the heat of sparring.

Just as Izuku pivoted to launch a sweeping kick toward Shouto’s side, the gym doors creaked open. Cementoss stepped inside, his massive frame casting a shadow across the floor. Perched comfortably on his shoulder was Principal Nezu, his small paws folded neatly, eyes gleaming with polite urgency.

The sparring stopped immediately.

All three students turned toward the entrance, sweat glistening on their foreheads, breathing steady but alert. Momo instinctively stepped forward, flanked by Izuku and Shouto, their expressions shifting from focus to concern.

Nezu offered a cordial nod. “Good afternoon, students. Apologies for the interruption.”

Cementoss cleared his throat and gestured toward Momo. “We’re here for Yaoyorozu.”

Izuku and Shouto both took a step forward, their instincts kicking in. But Nezu raised a paw gently, his tone firm yet kind.

“Just her.”

The words settled heavily in the room. Izuku’s brows furrowed, and Shouto’s jaw tightened slightly, but neither spoke. They stepped back, reluctantly, their eyes fixed on Momo.

Momo approached calmly, her expression composed. Cementoss handed her a slim file, the seal of the Hero Public Safety Commission stamped clearly on the front. Nezu spoke as she opened it.

“This is a directive from the Commission. Nothing too complex - just a reconnaissance assignment. A potential villain hideout. They want eyes on the location.”

Momo scanned the contents quickly, her mind already processing the logistics. The file contained coordinates, a brief profile of the suspected villain group, and a note emphasizing discretion. She nodded once, then closed the file.

“I understand,” she said. “I’ll get changed.”

She turned to Izuku and Shouto, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Tell them I’ll be back soon.”

Without waiting for a reply, she walked briskly toward the locker rooms, her steps steady and purposeful. Cementoss and Nezu watched her go, their expressions unreadable. Izuku and Shouto remained rooted in place, a quiet unease settling between them.

Neither said it aloud, but both felt it - something about this assignment didn’t sit right. And though Momo had left with confidence, the silence she left behind was heavy with unspoken worry.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a warm amber glow across the U.A. campus as Class 1-A returned to their dorms, the air buzzing with post-exam energy. The students were still in their hero costumes, some with scuffed boots and torn sleeves, others with dried sweat streaking their foreheads. Despite the exhaustion, their spirits were high, and the courtyard outside the dorm building filled with chatter and laughter as they regrouped.

Midoriya stood near the entrance, his eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. As he spotted Kirishima approaching with Denki and Mina in tow, he raised a hand in greeting.

“How’d the exam go?” Izuku asked, voice tinged with curiosity and relief.

Eijirou’s face lit up instantly, his grin wide and proud. “We all passed!” he declared, pumping a fist into the air. Then, with a sheepish chuckle, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… almost all of us. Bakugou kinda… didn’t.”

Izuku blinked, surprised. “He failed?”

“Yeah,” Eijirou said, nodding. “But he’s allowed to take remedial courses. He’ll get another shot at the license. You know how he is - he’ll probably crush it next time.”

Before Izuku could respond, Uraraka bounded over, her hair bouncing with each step. Her eyes were bright with excitement, and she practically vibrated with energy as she reached him.

“Midoriya! You wouldn’t believe how crazy the exam was!” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “All the other schools targeted us first. Like, immediately. It was total chaos! But we held our ground. Everyone worked together, and we made it through.”

She was so close that Izuku could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the way her cheeks flushed from exertion. His own face reddened instantly, and he looked away, flustered. Ochako noticed his reaction and, realizing how little space separated them, took several quick steps back, her own face turning a deep shade of crimson.

“Ah- sorry!” she stammered, waving her hands in front of her. “I didn’t mean to-uh- get so close.”

Izuku shook his head quickly, trying to dispel the awkwardness. “No, it’s fine! I mean- it’s good to hear you all made it through.”

The moment lingered awkwardly for a beat before Jirou, who had been leaning against the dorm’s railing, tilted her head and frowned slightly.

“Wait… where’s Yaoyorozu?” she asked, her tone casual but edged with concern.

Shouto, who had been quietly observing the reunion from a few feet away, stepped forward. His expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed a hint of unease.

“She was given a mission by the Commission earlier today,” he said. “Cementoss and Principal Nezu came to get her during training. It was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance task.”

Jirou’s brow furrowed. “She’s not back?”

Shouto shook his head. “Not yet.”

Izuku glanced between them, then offered a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s probably fine. Momo’s incredibly capable. If she’s not back yet, it just means the mission turned out to be more complicated than they expected.”

The group fell into a thoughtful silence, the earlier excitement dimming slightly. The sunset bathed the dorms in soft orange light, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Though no one said it aloud, the absence of their Class President - someone so reliable and composed - left a subtle tension in the air. They trusted her, of course. But the unknown had a way of gnawing at even the strongest convictions.

As the students began to drift inside, voices quieter now, Izuku lingered near the entrance, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He told himself she’d be back soon. She had to be.

Chapter Text

Far from the quiet halls of U.A., in a secure government facility tucked behind layers of reinforced concrete and surveillance, a high-level strategy meeting was underway. The room was filled with some of the most powerful heroes in Japan, seated around a long, rectangular table. The air was tense, thick with anticipation and the weight of what was to come. At the head of the table sat Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, his usual calm demeanor sharpened by urgency. Beside him stood a large monitor displaying maps, dossiers, and surveillance images of the remaining League of Villains members.

Endeavor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression one of thinly veiled irritation. His flame-patterned costume flared slightly as he shifted.

“Why do I need to be involved in this raid?” he asked, voice low but edged with impatience. “You have enough people for this.”

Across the table, Best Jeanist narrowed his eyes, his tone clipped. “You’re a U.A. alumnus. Stop complaining and act like it.”

Endeavor’s eyes flicked toward him, but he didn’t respond. The tension between the two was palpable, but Tsukauchi stepped in before it could escalate.

“We’ve been tracking the remaining League members for weeks,” the detective explained. “Spinner, Magne, Kurogiri, and Tomura Shigaraki. We believe they’ve split into two separate hideouts. The plan is to strike both simultaneously and arrest every remaining member before they can regroup.”

He gestured toward the screen, which displayed two red dots on opposite ends of the city. “We’re dividing the team. One group will hit the primary hideout, where Shigaraki is believed to be. The other will target the Nomu factory.”

Hours later, the Hideout Raid team assembled outside the League’s suspected headquarters. The building was nondescript, tucked between warehouses in an industrial district. The heroes stood in formation, their expressions grim and focused. All Might, in his muscular form, cracked his knuckles and stepped forward.

With a single, thunderous blow, he smashed through the wall, sending debris flying and revealing the interior of the hideout. The villains inside scrambled to react, but the heroes were faster.

Kurogiri immediately attempted to open a warp gate, his mist-like form swirling with urgency. But Kamui Woods was already in motion, his Quirk launching tendrils of wood that wrapped around the villains with precision. Spinner drew his blades and tried to cut through the restraints, only to be intercepted by Gran Torino, who zipped through the air and delivered a swift, stunning kick to the side of his head. Spinner collapsed instantly.

Edgeshot slipped through the door like a whisper, his body flattening and reforming in a blur. He stood tall and calm as he addressed the room.

“The building is surrounded. There’s nowhere to run.”

Outside, Endeavor paced near the perimeter, flames flickering along his shoulders. He glanced toward the entrance, scowling.

“Why does Edgeshot get to fight while I’m stuck out here with the police?”

Tsukauchi, standing nearby, didn’t look up from his tablet. “You’re here to catch anyone who tries to escape. If they slip past the interior team, you’re our final line.”

Inside, Tomura Shigaraki’s eyes darted around the room, calculating. He turned to Kurogiri.

“Warp in the Nomu. Now.”

But at that very moment, Mt. Lady tore through the side of the Nomu factory across town, her massive form crashing through the walls like a wrecking ball. Best Jeanist and Gang Orca moved in swiftly, restraining the Nomu with threads and sonic blasts. Kurogiri’s mist flickered, destabilized by the disruption. He couldn’t complete the transfer.

All Might stepped forward, his voice booming. “It’s over. You’ve lost.”

Edgeshot didn’t wait for a response. He activated his Quirk and struck Kurogiri with a precise blow, knocking him unconscious and dispersing his mist.

Gran Torino hovered near Tomura, his eyes sharp beneath his mask. “You underestimated us. You always do.”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “We know who you are. We know your real names. Tomura Shigaraki, Shuuichi Iguchi, Kenji Hikiishi.”

Gran Torino’s tone grew colder. “Where is All For One?”

The room fell silent, the question hanging in the air like a blade. The villains were bound, the factory dismantled, and the League’s plans shattered. But the shadow of All For One loomed still - unseen, but never forgotten.

Just as the dust began to settle inside the hideout and the heroes started to secure the scene, a sudden shift in the atmosphere sent a chill through the room. Without warning, several portals erupted into existence - dark, swirling voids that tore through space like jagged wounds. From them emerged more Nomu, grotesque and snarling, their bodies twisted with unnatural enhancements. The heroes instinctively braced for impact, but something was off. These portals didn’t resemble Kurogiri’s signature misty gateways. They were sharper, more chaotic, and pulsed with a sinister energy.

Edgeshot narrowed his eyes, his voice calm but firm. “This isn’t Kurogiri’s doing.”

Kamui Woods, already struggling to maintain his restraints on the initial group of villains, turned toward the entrance, desperation creeping into his voice. “Endeavor! We need your help!”

But outside, Endeavor was already locked in combat. The same mysterious portals had opened near the police perimeter, unleashing a wave of Nomu directly into their ranks. Officers scrambled to form defensive lines, but the creatures were relentless. Endeavor’s flames roared as he launched himself into the fray, incinerating the monsters with precision and fury. His voice crackled through the comms.

“I’m dealing with them out here. Hold your ground.”

Detective Tsukauchi, standing near the mobile command unit, attempted to reach Best Jeanist through his communicator. Static greeted him.

“Jeanist, come in. Do you copy?”

No response.

Meanwhile, at the Nomu factory, Mt. Lady stood amidst the wreckage, her massive form towering over the subdued creatures. She glanced around, her brow furrowed.

“This was too easy,” she muttered.

Best Jeanist, standing nearby and scanning the area, didn’t look up. “Our role was important. We neutralized the production line. That’s a victory.”

Tiger called out from deeper within the facility. “I found her!”

The heroes rushed to his location, where Ragdoll lay unconscious against a wall. Her body was intact, but her expression was vacant, her eyes unfocused. Something was wrong. Tiger knelt beside her, checking her vitals.

“She’s alive, but… she’s been tampered with.”

A voice echoed through the chamber, smooth and chilling.

“I needed her Quirk. I haven’t stocked up in a while.”

From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in darkness, his presence suffocating. The heroes instinctively stepped back, recognizing the aura of power that surrounded him. Best Jeanist didn’t hesitate. Threads shot forward, aiming to restrain the intruder.

But the man raised a hand, and in an instant, a violent explosion erupted from his palm, tearing through the wall and sending debris flying. The force knocked several heroes off their feet, and smoke filled the room.

Back at the hideout, chaos unfolded as the portals began to close. In their final moments, they pulled the restrained members of the League of Villains into their depths. Tomura, Spinner, Magne, and even the unconscious Kurogiri vanished in flashes of dark energy. Kamui Woods, his tendrils still extended, lowered his head.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop them.”

Edgeshot placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice steady. “There was nothing you could do. That warping Quirk was targeted. It wasn’t random - it was designed to retrieve specific individuals.”

Inside the hideout, the remaining Nomu surged forward, but All Might stood firm. His muscles tensed, and with a roar, he unleashed an Oklahoma Smash that sent shockwaves through the room, repelling the creatures with devastating force. Outside, Endeavor’s flames lit up the sky as he incinerated the last of the Nomu threatening the police.

He activated his comms, voice sharp and resolute. “Situation’s under control out here. All Might - go. Go after the League.”

All Might didn’t hesitate. With a burst of speed, he launched himself into the air, eyes fixed on the horizon where the portals had vanished. The battle was far from over. The League had escaped, and All For One had revealed himself. But the heroes were ready. The war had truly begun.

The smoke from the explosion still hung heavy in the air, curling around the fractured walls of the Nomu factory like a shroud. Amid the rubble, Best Jeanist slowly rose to his feet, his body battered but upright, his threads still taut and protective around the unconscious Ragdoll and the nearby heroes. The masked figure stepped forward, his presence commanding, his voice calm and eerily devoid of emotion.

“You protected them,” he said, almost with admiration. “You saved yourself while shielding the others. That’s commendable.”

Best Jeanist narrowed his eyes, his breath steady despite the pain. He had seen this man before - never in person, but in countless reports, surveillance footage, and whispered accounts from survivors. The mask, the voice, the overwhelming aura of power - it all pointed to one conclusion.

“You’re the ringleader,” he said, his voice low but firm. “The one behind the League of Villains. All For One.”

The villain didn’t deny it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the recognition. Best Jeanist didn’t wait for further confirmation. With a flick of his fingers, he launched a barrage of reinforced threads, aiming to bind the enemy before he could act again.

But All For One didn’t flinch. With a subtle movement, he released a concentrated blast of air pressure that tore through the attack, sending Best Jeanist flying backward and slamming him into the far wall. The hero groaned, his body crumpling to the ground, but he remained conscious, his eyes locked on the villain.

All For One stepped closer, his tone contemplative. “You’re strong. But your strength comes from discipline, from practice, from experience. It’s not something I can extract. Your Quirk… I’ll leave it with you.”

He turned away, his attention shifting to the swirling portals that had begun to reappear around him. One by one, the members of the League of Villains materialized at his side, drawn through space by an unseen force. Shigaraki stumbled slightly as he arrived, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration.

All For One placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm. “It’s time to reset your game, Tomura. You’ve played long enough without understanding the rules.”

Before Tomura could respond, a powerful gust of wind swept through the battlefield, and All Might landed with a thunderous impact, his eyes blazing with determination. The ground cracked beneath his feet, and the air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his presence.

“All For One!” he bellowed. “This ends today.”

All For One didn’t move, his gaze steady behind the mask. “You always speak in absolutes. That’s your weakness.”

All Might charged, his fist cocked back, muscles bulging with power. But before he could land a blow, All For One unleashed a devastating combination of Quirks - shockwaves, kinetic bursts, and spatial distortion - all layered into a single, overwhelming counterattack. The force of it sent All Might skidding backward, his feet carving trenches into the ground as he struggled to remain upright.

“Tomura,” All For One said calmly, “leave. Your training begins anew.”

Tomura hesitated, his eyes flicking between his mentor and the hero he had long despised. But the command was absolute. He turned and began to retreat, the other villains following suit.

All For One approached Kurogiri’s unconscious form, kneeling beside him. With a surge of energy, he reached into the mist-like body and forcibly activated the Warp-Gate Quirk. A swirling vortex opened, its edges crackling with unstable energy.

All Might recovered and lunged again, refusing to let the villains escape without a fight. He collided with All For One in a clash of titanic force, fists meeting with explosive impact. The ground trembled beneath them, and shockwaves rippled outward, shattering nearby debris.

As the remaining villains slipped through the Warp-Gate, the battle between the two titans raged on. The sky above darkened, not from clouds, but from the sheer magnitude of their power. This was no longer a skirmish. It was the beginning of a war that would decide the fate of Hero Society.

The battlefield had become a war zone, the air thick with smoke and the scent of scorched concrete. The clash between All Might and All For One had drawn the attention of the entire city, and helicopters hovered overhead, broadcasting the confrontation to a stunned public. The two titans stood amidst the wreckage, their silhouettes framed by fire and dust, locked in a battle that transcended mere physical combat - it was a war of ideals, of legacy, and of the future of Hero Society.

All Might’s eyes burned with intensity as he squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. His voice rang out with renewed resolve, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

“I’ve been holding back,” he said, his tone low and thunderous. “But not anymore.”

He surged forward, his fist cocked for a devastating blow, but All For One responded with chilling precision. With a flick of his hand, he activated a warping Quirk and pulled Gran Torino into the path of the attack. All Might’s eyes widened in horror, but his reflexes kicked in. He twisted mid-strike, catching Gran Torino in his arms and shielding him from the impact. The old hero grunted, but nodded in silent gratitude.

All Might didn’t hesitate. He pivoted and launched a counterattack, his fist glowing with power as he unleashed a Detroit Smash. The force of the blow collided with All For One’s spring-like limbs Quirk, sending shockwaves through the battlefield and forcing the villain to brace himself against the impact.

All For One remained composed, his voice calm and cutting. “You’re still holding back. Because of the bystanders.”

All Might’s expression darkened, his jaw clenched. “I won’t let your disrespect for the common man continue.”

With a roar, he charged again, this time with unrelenting force. His fist connected with All For One’s helmet, and the impact shattered the mask, sending fragments flying. The villain staggered, his face partially revealed beneath the broken armor. But he didn’t fall. He straightened slowly, blood trickling from his mouth, and smiled.

All Might’s breathing grew heavier, and his muscular form began to flicker. His body trembled as he partially reverted to his weakened state, the toll of the battle beginning to show.

“You sound just like her,” he said softly. “Nana Shimura. Always so righteous. So predictable.”

The name struck a chord deep within All Might, and rage surged through him. He lunged forward, his movements fueled by emotion rather than strategy. All For One had been waiting for this. With a calculated motion, he unleashed a powerful air cannon blast, striking All Might squarely in the chest and sending him hurtling through the sky.

The hero spiraled toward a nearby media helicopter, its crew frozen in terror as the massive figure approached. But before impact, Gran Torino shot through the air and intercepted him, slowing his descent and guiding him to safety. The old hero hovered beside him, his voice stern.

“Don’t let him get to you. That’s how he beat you last time. He wants you angry. He wants you reckless.”

All Might nodded, his gaze fixed on the villain below. He knew Gran Torino was right, but the pain of hearing Nana’s name twisted in mockery was hard to ignore.

Back at Heights Alliance, the students of Class 1-A watched the broadcast in stunned silence. The screen flickered with images of destruction, of All Might struggling to stay upright, of All For One standing tall amidst the chaos. Midoriya’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes wide with fear and helplessness. The others were equally shaken, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief.

On the battlefield, All For One stood calmly, his voice echoing through the smoke.

“I feel conflicted,” he said, almost wistfully. “Landing the final blow to Hero Society after my protégé worked so hard to ruin it. But you… you ruined everything I built. Everything I cultivated since the beginning of my reign.”

His body began to glow with energy as he charged up another attack, the ground beneath him cracking from the pressure. Gran Torino’s voice rang out, urgent and commanding.

“All Might! Evade!”

But All For One didn’t aim for the hero. His arm shifted, and the blast was directed toward a nearby civilian trapped beneath a collapsed building. The woman screamed, her body pinned and vulnerable.

All Might didn’t hesitate. He launched himself forward, placing his body between the blast and the civilian. The air cannon struck him full force, the impact sending tremors through his frame. He gritted his teeth, shielding the woman with his own body, refusing to let her be harmed.

The battlefield had grown eerily quiet, the tension thick enough to choke the air. Smoke drifted lazily through the ruins, and the eyes of the nation remained glued to the broadcast, watching the confrontation unfold in real time. All Might stood at the center of it all, his body trembling, his breath shallow. The last blast had taken its toll, and now, before the eyes of countless civilians, heroes, and students, his muscular form flickered and vanished. What remained was the frail, emaciated figure that had long been hidden from the public - a shell of the man they had revered.

Gasps echoed from the media helicopters, and across the country, viewers stared in stunned silence. All Might’s true form had been revealed.

All For One’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. “So this is the great Symbol of Peace. Look at you. Weak. Broken. I’ll destroy your reputation, your legacy, by exposing the truth. You’re no hero. You’re just a man pretending to be one.”

All Might’s shoulders sagged, but his eyes remained locked on his nemesis. His voice, though hoarse, carried the weight of conviction.

“My body may be weak,” he said, “but I am still the Symbol of Peace in my heart.”

All For One’s expression twisted into something darker, more cruel.

“Then let me break your heart,” the villain said. “Tomura Shigaraki… is Nana Shimura’s grandson.”

The words struck All Might like a physical blow. His eyes widened, and he staggered back, disbelief etched across his face. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to reject the truth.

“No… that’s not possible…”

All For One stepped forward, his voice dripping with venom. “You smile all the time, don’t you? Just like her. Always smiling, even when everything falls apart.”

All Might’s mind reeled. Memories surged forth - Nana Shimura’s warm smile, her unwavering courage, her teachings. He remembered her words clearly: “The strongest people are always smiling.” But now, that smile felt distant, almost mocking. He thought of Tomura - twisted, violent, consumed by hatred - and wondered if Nana could see what her grandson had become. The thought tore at him, and his knees buckled slightly.

Despair threatened to consume him, but then, a voice called out.

“You can win!”

It was the civilian he had saved earlier, her voice trembling but resolute. She stepped forward, eyes filled with gratitude and hope. Her words echoed across the battlefield, and others began to join in. From the sidelines, from the helicopters, from homes across Japan, citizens began to cheer.

“All Might! Don’t give up!”

“You’re our hero!”

“You’re still Number One!”

At Heights Alliance, Class 1-A watched with wide eyes. Izuku pressed his hands against the screen, tears welling in his eyes.

“Dad… win! Please!”

The chorus of support surged like a wave, and All Might felt it wash over him. His heart steadied, and his resolve reignited. He clenched his fist, and the flickering embers of One For All began to glow once more. He focused the energy into his arm, the last reservoir of power he could summon.

“Heroes have too much to protect,” he said, voice rising. “That’s why we don’t lose!”

He thought back again to Nana’s teachings, her final words before she passed the torch.

“Remember your origin,” she had said. “That’s how you go beyond your limits.”

The memory burned bright in his mind, and with a roar, he surged forward, his arm glowing with the full force of One For All.

From a distance, Gran Torino watched with a mixture of awe and concern. He could see the toll the battle had taken - All Might’s body was failing, his Quirk nearly depleted. The old hero clenched his fists, knowing that this might be the final stand.

Above the battlefield, All For One levitated, gathering energy for another devastating blast. But before he could strike, two figures burst onto the scene. Endeavor and Edgeshot arrived in a blur of motion, their faces grim and determined.

Endeavor’s eyes locked onto All Might’s frail form, and rage surged through him. “You’re the Number One Hero,” he shouted. “So show us why!”

All For One turned his attention to Endeavor, launching an attack toward the Flame Hero. But Edgeshot intercepted it, his body stretching and twisting to absorb the impact. Kamui Woods arrived moments later, using his Quirk to pull the injured heroes to safety. He glanced at Mt. Lady, who stood nearby, bruised but unyielding.

“You did well,” he said. “We all did.”

Tiger, recovering from his earlier injuries, stepped forward and raised his voice.

“All Might! No matter what you look like, you’re still our Number One Hero!”

The world watched with bated breath, hearts pounding in unison as the battle between All Might and All For One reached its crescendo. Across Japan, in homes, shops, and crowded city squares, citizens clung to hope, praying that the Symbol of Peace would prevail. The sight of All Might - frail, battered, yet unyielding - had stirred something deep within the public. They believed in him. They always had.

But All For One, cloaked in malice and power, had grown irritated by the resilience of the heroes and the unwavering faith of the people. With a flick of his hand, he unleashed a devastating blast that sent Edgeshot and Endeavor flying, their bodies crashing into the rubble with bone-jarring force. The villain’s form began to shift, his body swelling grotesquely as he activated a terrifying combination of Quirks. Muscles expanded, tendrils of energy crackled around him, and a monstrous arm formed - an amalgamation of strength, impact, and destruction. It pulsed with lethal intent.

“You’ve passed One For All,” All For One sneered, his voice echoing across the battlefield. “Through your son. You’re only using the embers now. This is the end.”

He lunged forward, the massive arm aimed to crush All Might once and for all. But the hero met him head-on, his own arm glowing with the last remnants of One For All. The collision sent shockwaves through the air, the ground splintering beneath their feet. All For One grinned, pressing his advantage.

“You have no control over your student,” he taunted. “You’ll die full of regrets.”

All Might’s body trembled under the pressure, but his spirit remained unbroken. His voice rang out, hoarse but resolute.

“No. I must live. To reprimand Izuku. To make up for my faults as a father. To do for him what Nana did for me.”

With a surge of determination, All Might shifted his strategy. He allowed All For One to injure his right arm, absorbing the pain without flinching. The sacrifice gave him the opening he needed. He closed the distance between them and launched a powerful punch, striking All For One squarely in the face and shattering more of his mask.

The villain staggered, blood dripping from his exposed features. He chuckled darkly.

“Tricks like that aren’t in your arsenal. That’s why your punch was weak.”

All Might’s eyes narrowed. “No. My back just wasn’t in it.”

He planted his feet, his body trembling with exertion. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his left arm. The last embers of One For All surged into his fist, the energy crackling with raw intensity. As he prepared to strike, memories flooded his mind - Nana Shimura’s smile, her strength, the moment she placed her hand on his shoulder and passed the torch.

With a roar that shook the sky, All Might unleashed his final technique.

“UNITED STATES OF SMASH!”

The punch landed with cataclysmic force, a shockwave erupting outward and engulfing All For One. The villain’s body was hurled backward, crashing into the ruins with a deafening impact. Silence followed, then a rising chorus of cheers.

All Might stood tall, his fist raised triumphantly. The crowd erupted, chanting his name, tears streaming down their faces. He had done it. He had won.

Edgeshot, still recovering, called out, “You shouldn’t push yourself!”

But Gran Torino stepped forward, his gaze steady. “His job isn’t over. He’s the Symbol of Peace. He must reaffirm the faith in heroes for the people.”

Rescue teams arrived swiftly, tending to the wounded and securing the area. All For One, unconscious, was placed under arrest; his reign of terror finally ended. The media swarmed, cameras capturing every moment.

All Might turned to one of the cameras, his expression solemn. He raised a trembling hand and pointed directly at the lens.

“You’re next.”

The message rippled across the nation. To the average citizen, it was a warning to criminals - a declaration that justice would prevail. But to Izuku Midoriya, watching from Heights Alliance with tears in his eyes, it meant something else entirely.

He knew.

All Might could no longer wield One For All. The torch had been passed. The legacy now rested with him.

And he would carry it forward.

Chapter Text

The mood inside the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s central investigation office was grim. A group of seasoned detectives and analysts sat around a long table, their faces illuminated by the glow of monitors displaying footage from the recent battle. The room was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of papers and the low hum of the projector. On the screen, the final moments of All Might’s clash with All For One played in a loop - his weakened form, the triumphant United States of Smash, and the haunting declaration: “You’re next.”

Despite the victory, the investigators knew the cost had been steep. All For One had been defeated and arrested, but the world had lost its Symbol of Peace. The man who had stood as a pillar of hope for decades was no longer able to fight. The psychological impact of that loss rippled through society, and the investigators feared it would embolden the remaining villains.

One of the senior analysts leaned forward, tapping a file labeled Tomura Shigaraki.

“We’ve underestimated him,” she said. “He was always erratic - childish, prone to tantrums. But something’s changed. His focus has shifted. He’s no longer just lashing out. He’s trying to reshape society.”

Another detective nodded grimly. “We can’t approach him like we did before. He’s evolving. Strategically. Philosophically. And with All For One gone, he’s likely to assume full leadership of the League.”

The group agreed unanimously. Their pursuit of Tomura Shigaraki would require a new approach - one that accounted for his growing influence and the ideological war he was beginning to wage.

Later that day, Naomasa Tsukauchi and Gran Torino made their way to the hospital where Toshinori Yagi - All Might - was recovering. The room was quiet, the blinds drawn to shield him from the harsh afternoon sun. Toshinori sat upright in bed, his body wrapped in bandages, his frame thinner than ever. Despite the physical toll, his eyes held a quiet resolve.

Naomasa pulled up a chair beside him, while Gran Torino remained standing, arms crossed.

“You’re stable,” Naomasa said. “But you’ll need time. That last fight… it took everything.”

Toshinori nodded slowly. “The embers of One For All are gone. I can feel it. There’s nothing left.”

Gran Torino’s gaze softened, but he said nothing. Toshinori looked down at his hands, then back up at his old mentor.

“I have to go after Tomura Shigaraki.”

Naomasa and Gran Torino exchanged a glance. The detective leaned forward.

“Your view of him changed, didn’t it? After learning who he is.”

Toshinori’s gaze faltered.

Naomasa turned to the older hero. “Did either of you ever have contact with Nana’s family?”

Gran Torino sighed, his expression heavy. “After her husband was killed, she put her son in foster care. She wanted to protect him from the dangers of her life. She made it clear - no contact. She didn’t want us involved.”

Toshinori looked away, guilt flickering across his face. “I never knew. She never told me.”

Gran Torino stepped closer, his voice firm. “That’s exactly why you can’t go after him.”

Toshinori’s eyes snapped back to his mentor, confusion and frustration rising.

“You’re too close to this,” Gran Torino continued. “You can’t look at him as a criminal. You’ll hesitate. And next time… that hesitation could cost lives.”

Naomasa nodded. “We’ll lead the investigation. You need to stay at U.A. Focus on your students. They’re the future now.”

Toshinori’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he didn’t argue. Deep down, he knew they were right. His judgment was clouded, his emotions tangled in the legacy of his predecessor and the tragedy of her family. But even so, he couldn’t shake the image of Tomura’s face - the rage, the pain, the twisted reflection of Nana’s strength.

Gran Torino placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done enough. Let us handle this.”

Toshinori nodded slowly, his gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the city moved on, unaware of the quiet war still brewing beneath its surface. He would remain at U.A., guiding the next generation, nurturing the flame that would one day burn brighter than his own.

But in his heart, he knew the battle was far from over.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The morning at Heights Alliance began quietly, the usual hum of conversation and clinking of dishes filling the dorm’s dining hall as Class 1-A gathered for breakfast. The mood was subdued, a lingering heaviness still hanging in the air after the events of the previous night. The broadcast of All Might’s battle had left its mark - some students were still shaken, others contemplative, and a few tried to mask their concern with forced cheerfulness.

Izuku sat at the far end of the table, stirring his miso soup absentmindedly. His thoughts were elsewhere, his mind replaying every moment of his father’s fight, every word spoken, every blow exchanged. Across from him, Ochako watched quietly before finally speaking.

“Midoriya,” she said gently, “are you okay? After everything that happened last night… I mean, with All Might being your dad and all.”

Izuku blinked, pulled from his thoughts. He looked up and offered a small, grateful smile.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Thanks for asking. It’s… a lot, but I’m okay.”

Ochako nodded, relieved but still concerned. Before either could say more, their attention was drawn to Todoroki, who was pacing near the entrance to the common room. His phone was in his hand, and he checked it every few seconds, his expression growing more tense with each glance.

Iida, ever observant, approached him. “Todoroki, is something wrong?”

Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, he turned abruptly and walked over to Izuku, his voice low and urgent.

“Have you heard from Momo?”

Izuku’s heart skipped. He shook his head slowly. “No. Nothing.”

Shouto’s jaw tightened. “She’s been gone too long. That Commission directive was supposed to be simple. Just reconnaissance.”

The two exchanged a look, their worry deepening. Having grown up together under the Commission’s training, the Trust Trio had developed a bond that went beyond friendship. They were interdependent, each one a pillar supporting the others. If one faltered, the entire structure trembled.

Before they could speak further, Aizawa entered the room, his usual tired expression giving way to something more serious. He scanned the room and called out.

“Midoriya. Todoroki. With me.”

The two boys stood immediately, their unease growing. They followed Aizawa out of the dorm, down the steps, and into the morning light. Waiting by a sleek black car was Hawks, the Wing Hero, leaning casually against the hood. He offered a two-fingered salute and his signature greeting.

“Hey-o.”

But his tone was off - less playful, more restrained. His eyes, usually glinting with mischief, were somber.

“Thanks for letting me take these two off your hands,” Hawks said to Aizawa.

Aizawa nodded. “Just have them back before Hero Training.”

Izuku and Shouto climbed into the car, settling into the back seat. Hawks joined them, and as the doors shut, the atmosphere shifted. The moment the engine hummed to life, Hawks dropped his laid-back demeanor entirely. His voice was quiet, hesitant.

“There’s been an incident,” he said. “Regarding Momo’s mission.”

Both boys leaned forward, their eyes locked on him.

“She’s alive,” Hawks continued. “But there was an explosion. She was caught in it. The hospital says she’s in critical condition. Comatose.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. Izuku’s breath caught, and Shouto’s fists clenched in his lap. The silence in the car was suffocating.

“She was supposed to be in and out,” Hawks added. “Recon only. But something went wrong. We’re still piecing it together.”

Izuku stared out the window, his mind racing. Momo wasn’t just a teammate. She was family. They had trained together, lived together, grown together. Her absence wasn’t just a gap - it was a collapse. If one of them was stalled, all three were set back.

“I wasn't really supposed to tell you,” Hawks murmured. "But I couldn't keep it to myself."

The car sped toward the hospital, the city blurring past. Inside, the two boys sat in silence, their thoughts heavy, their hearts aching. The Trust Trio had been fractured, and the road ahead had just become far more uncertain.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the courtyard of U.A. High School as Class 1-A assembled outside Heights Alliance, preparing to head toward the Sports Ground for their joint Hero Training session. With both Yaoyorozu and Midoriya absent - Momo being the Class President and Izuku the Vice President - the responsibility of organizing the class fell squarely on Iida’s shoulders. True to form, he took the task with unwavering seriousness.

“Everyone, single file!” he called out, his arms chopping through the air with mechanical precision. “Maintain formation and pace! We must arrive promptly and respectfully!”

The students complied, some with amused smiles, others with quiet appreciation for Iida’s consistency. As they marched toward the training field, their chatter was light, though a few couldn’t help but wonder aloud about the absence of the Trust Trio.

Before they could reach the gates, a familiar voice rang out from the side path.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Class 1-A,” said Monoma, stepping into view with his usual smug expression. “I heard one of your precious prodigies failed the Provisional Hero License Exam. How embarrassing.”

The line faltered slightly as the students turned to face him. Monoma stood with a few members of Class 1-B behind him, arms crossed and smirk firmly in place.

Denki stepped forward, his tone defensive but confident. “Yeah, Bakugou didn’t pass. But let’s not forget - Todoroki, Midoriya, and Yaoyorozu didn’t even have to take the exam. They already have their licenses. That’s how good they are.”

Monoma’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Interesting point, Kaminari. But where are those three now? Not here, are they?”

The jab landed harder than expected. The absence of the Trust Trio had been quietly unsettling, and Monoma’s words brought it to the surface. Jirou frowned, glancing around.

“He actually has a point... where are those three?” she asked, her voice low.

Kirishima stepped up beside her, arms crossed. “Class 1-B’s turning this into a fake competition. They’re just trying to stir things up.”

From behind Monoma, Pony stepped forward, her expression earnest. “Vlad King said we’ll be having classes together today.”

Monoma’s eyes lit up with opportunity. “Ah, thank you, Tsunotori. So considerate. And what was it you said earlier? That Class 1-A should try to keep up?”

Pony blinked, confused. “I didn’t say that…”

Monoma waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, but you implied it. Don’t worry, we’ll help you improve.”

The students of Class 1-A bristled, but before the exchange could escalate further, another voice cut through the tension.

“Move aside. You’re blocking the path.”

Hitoshi stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. He wore the standard U.A. training uniform, his posture confident, and his presence immediately shifted the dynamic. The students parted instinctively, allowing him and a small group of General Studies students to pass.

Sero leaned toward Kyouka, whispering, “He’s bulked up since the Sports Festival.”

Kyouka nodded, her eyes following Shinsou. “Yeah. He’s definitely been training hard.”

Monoma’s smirk faltered slightly as Shinsou passed without acknowledging him. The moment defused the tension, and Tenya quickly resumed his role, urging the class forward.

“Let’s continue, everyone! We mustn’t be late!”

As Class 1-A moved on, the murmurs about the Trust Trio lingered. Their absence was more than just logistical - it was emotional. The class felt incomplete, and though they didn’t yet know the full story, a quiet worry had begun to take root.

The morning sun bathed the Sports Ground in golden light as the student body gathered in neat rows, the various classes of U.A. High standing at attention. The air was filled with a quiet buzz of anticipation, though the absence of several key students from Class 1-A had not gone unnoticed. The faculty stood at the front, and Principal Nezu, perched atop a podium with a microphone adjusted to his height, tapped it lightly before speaking.

“Good morning, students,” Nezu began, his voice cheerful and articulate. “Let me begin with something very important - sleep! Yes, sleep is essential not only for your mental clarity but also for your fur and hair quality. A healthy lifestyle is the foundation of a healthy hero.”

A few students blinked, unsure if they had misheard, while others chuckled softly. Nezu’s tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

“Unfortunately, many of you have experienced disturbances in your lifestyle this summer. The attack on the training camp, the rise in villain activity, and the loss of our Symbol of Peace have all contributed to a growing sense of chaos. But it is precisely in times like these that your role becomes more vital than ever.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

“You are the future of hero society. And that future begins with preparation. Which is why today, we will begin discussing your next step - Internships.”

As murmurs spread through the crowd, Kan stepped forward, taking the microphone with a grin.

“Before we get into the details, allow me to introduce someone who will help you manage your stress and emotional well-being - Hound Dog!”

The microphone screeched as Hound Dog lunged forward, growling and barking into it with such ferocity that several students flinched. His words were incoherent, a mix of snarls and guttural yells, but his passion was unmistakable.

Sekijirou quickly reclaimed the microphone, smiling sheepishly. “Right. What he meant to say is: live a life of moderation. Don’t let stress consume you.”

The assembly ended shortly after, and the students returned to their classrooms. In Class 1-A, the atmosphere was tense. Aizawa stood at the front, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping across the room.

“It’s time to switch gears,” he said. “Back into student mode.”

Mina leaned toward Tsuyu, whispering, “He’s not talking about the Internships Principal Nezu mentioned, is he?”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked toward her. “Ashido.”

Tsuyu, unfazed, raised her hand. “Sensei, could you tell us more about the Internships?”

Aizawa nodded. “Internships are hero activities conducted outside of school. They’re more immersive than the Hero Agency Internships you did after the Sports Festival. You’ll be working alongside Pros in real scenarios, not simulations.”

Ochako frowned. “Then why did we have to work so hard to get recruited after the Sports Festival if we were going to do Internships anyway?”

Aizawa’s tone remained even. “The Sports Festival was about visibility. Agencies scout talent there. These Internships are about experience. You’ll learn more soon.”

As the class absorbed the information, Tenya stood abruptly, raising his hand with formality.

“Sensei, where are Midoriya, Todoroki, and Yaoyorozu? They are at the top of our class, and Yaoyorozu is our Class President. Midoriya is Vice President. Their absence is concerning.”

Aizawa hesitated, his expression unreadable. “There was a situation involving Yaoyorozu. Midoriya and Todoroki are with her.”

The room fell silent. Jirou leaned forward, her voice tight. “What kind of situation?”

Aizawa sighed, knowing evasion would only worsen the tension. “Hawks informed me that Yaoyorozu was given a directive directly from the Hero Public Safety Commission. It was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance assignment. Something went wrong. She’s in the hospital. Comatose.”

The reaction was immediate. Gasps, cries, and a flurry of questions erupted from the class. Aizawa raised a hand to quiet them.

“This is why I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to avoid panic.”

Mina’s eyes were wide with worry. “Can we go visit her?”

Aizawa shook his head. “Not right now.”

Tooru’s voice rose from the side. “But Todoroki and Midoriya get to visit her. That’s not fair.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened slightly. “Midoriya, Todoroki, and Yaoyorozu have done everything together since they were children. You’ve seen it yourselves - how they struggle to communicate with others, how they rely on each other. They’re getting better, but their bond is unique.”

He paused, then sighed. “After your written classes today, I’ll take you to see her.”

The class settled, though the worry lingered. The absence of their leaders had left a void, and the news of Momo’s condition had shaken them deeply. But Aizawa’s promise offered a sliver of comfort. They would see her. They would stand by her. And together, they would face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time Class 1-A arrived at the hospital. The building loomed quietly against the night sky, its windows glowing with soft, sterile light. The students moved in a subdued line through the lobby, their usual energy replaced by a respectful silence. They approached the reception desk, where Aizawa calmly asked for the room number of Momo Yaoyorozu. The nurse, recognizing the group immediately, gave a quiet nod and directed them to the intensive care wing.

The walk down the corridor was slow, each step echoing faintly against the polished floors. The walls were lined with muted artwork and the occasional hum of medical equipment. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. The weight of the situation hung heavily in the air, and each student carried it in their own way.

When they reached the room, the door was already slightly ajar. Inside, the soft beeping of monitors and the rhythmic hiss of a ventilator filled the space. Momo lay in the hospital bed, her body wrapped in bandages, her skin pale against the white sheets. Tubes and wires connected her to various machines, and her chest rose and fell in slow, mechanical rhythm.

Midoriya sat closest to her, his hand resting gently on the edge of the bed. His eyes were tired, red-rimmed, but focused entirely on her. Beside him, Todoroki stood with his arms crossed, his gaze locked on Momo’s face, unmoving. Neither spoke as the rest of the class quietly entered, forming a respectful semicircle around the room.

Ochako stepped forward first, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Midoriya… are you okay?”

Izuku turned slightly, offering a faint smile. “I’m managing. Thanks.”

Sero approached Shouto with equal caution, unsure of how to break the silence. “Todoroki… you holding up?”

Shouto didn’t look away from Momo. “Trying.”

Aizawa stepped into the room, his presence grounding the group. He looked between the two boys before speaking.

“How’s her condition?”

Izuku straightened slightly. “The doctors say she’s recovering smoothly. But she’s still in critical condition. They don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

Shouto added, his voice low and steady, “She’s been through multiple surgeries. They’re trying to reduce scarring and remove all the shrapnel and debris from the explosion. It’s… extensive.”

The room fell into a deeper silence. The reality of Momo’s condition settled over the class like a fog. She had always been composed, intelligent, a pillar of their group. Seeing her like this was jarring.

Bakugou, who had remained near the back, finally stepped forward. He didn’t speak. Words weren’t his strength, especially in moments like this. Instead, he placed a firm hand on Izuku’s shoulder, a gesture that carried more weight than any sentence could. Izuku nodded, understanding the sentiment.

Satou, his brow furrowed, looked toward Aizawa. “Why was she even in a place like that? If it was booby-trapped…”

Aizawa’s expression darkened slightly. “The assignment came directly from the Hero Public Safety Commission. U.A. couldn’t refuse it. And I doubt the Commission knew it was a trap. No one in their right mind would send a fifteen-year-old into a situation like that knowingly - even if she’s Commission-trained.”

The explanation didn’t ease the tension, but it provided context. The students exchanged glances, their concern deepening. Momo had been sent into danger under official orders. That fact alone made the situation feel even more unjust.

They remained in the room for a while longer, each student taking a quiet moment to stand near Momo, to offer silent support. Some whispered words of encouragement, others simply stood in reflection. The Trust Trio had always been a unit, and now, with one of them down, the rest of the class felt the fracture.

As the visit came to an end, Aizawa gently ushered them out, reminding them to respect the hospital’s rules and Momo’s need for rest. The students filed out slowly, casting one last glance at their classmate before stepping back into the hallway.

The night outside was cool, the stars barely visible through the city’s glow. But within each student, a quiet resolve had begun to form. Momo was down, but not gone. And when she returned, they would be ready to stand beside her - stronger, united, and more determined than ever.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

Three days had passed since the class’s visit to the hospital, and the mood in Class 1-A remained subdued. The absence of Yaoyorozu was still deeply felt, and Todoroki had yet to return, choosing instead to remain by her side. But that morning, as the classroom door slid open, Midoriya stepped inside, his bag slung over one shoulder and his expression weary but composed.

The class immediately turned toward him, their faces lighting up with a mixture of relief and curiosity. Denki was the first to speak.

“Midoriya! You’re back!”

Kyouka leaned forward in her seat. “How’s Todoroki?”

Izuku offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s still at the hospital. He refuses to leave Momo’s side. Honestly… it was hard for me to come back.”

The class nodded in understanding. They knew the bond between the Trust Trio ran deep, and Izuku’s return was not a sign of detachment, but of duty. He had come back because he knew Momo would want him to continue moving forward.

Before the conversation could continue, Aizawa entered the room, his capture weapon trailing behind him as he approached the front. He looked over the class, noting the shift in energy, and spoke with his usual bluntness.

“Today, we’re going to go into more detail about the Internships.”

He gestured toward the door, which slid open to reveal three older students in U.A. uniforms. The room immediately buzzed with recognition and awe.

“These are the top three students in the Hero Course,” Aizawa said. “The Big 3. Mirio Toogata, Tamaki Amajiki, and Nejire Hadou.”

The First Years murmured among themselves. Many had heard of the Big 3 - students so advanced they were considered the strongest in the entire school. Izuku recalled seeing Mirio in last year’s Sports Festival, though he remembered that none of the Big 3 had placed particularly high. Still, their reputations were built on more than just tournament rankings.

Aizawa turned to the trio. “Introduce yourselves.”

Tamaki Amajiki stepped forward first. His eyes scanned the room, and several students flinched under what appeared to be an intense glare. In reality, Tamaki was desperately trying to imagine the class as potatoes - a trick he used to manage his stage fright. Unfortunately, while their heads were potato-shaped in his mind, their bodies remained human, and the illusion failed.

He turned his back to the class, his shoulders slumping. “I want to go home,” he muttered gloomily.

The class blinked in surprise. This was one of the strongest students in the school?

Nejire Hadou bounced forward next, her energy infectious. “Hi everyone! I’m Nejire Hadou, and this is Tamaki! We’re here to talk to you about Hero Work Studies!”

She beamed, then immediately veered off topic.

“Wow, your uniforms are so neat!"

"Do you style your hair like that on purpose?"

"What’s your favorite food?"

"Do you like cats or dogs?"

"What’s your Quirk?"

"Oh, you - why do you have that mask on?”

She fired off questions in rapid succession, her eyes wide with curiosity, not giving anyone time to answer. The class was both amused and overwhelmed by her childlike enthusiasm. Aizawa, however, pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly exasperated.

“Hadou. Stay on topic.”

Nejire giggled and nodded, though it was clear she was already thinking of her next question.

Mirio Toogata stepped forward last, his posture relaxed and confident. He raised a hand in greeting and offered a wide smile.

“Hey there, First Years! I’m Mirio Toogata. I’m here to help you understand what Work Studies are all about.”

He paused, then added a joke with a grin, though the punchline landed flat. The class stared at him, confused. Mirio blinked, then laughed.

“Okay, maybe not the best icebreaker. But trust me, you’ll get used to me.”

The students exchanged glances, beginning to wonder how such esteemed students could be so… strange. But Mirio’s next words shifted the mood.

“The best way for you to understand Work Studies is to experience them. So how about a training match? Against me.”

The room fell silent. A training match against one of the Big 3? The challenge was clear, and the opportunity undeniable. Whatever quirks these upperclassmen had in personality, their skill was unquestionable. And Class 1-A was about to find out just how wide the gap between them truly was.

The atmosphere in Gym Gamma was electric with anticipation. The entirety of Class 1-A - minus the absent Momo and Shouto - stood in formation, facing down the lone figure of Toogata. Though the numbers were overwhelmingly in their favor, there was a palpable tension in the air. Mirio stood relaxed, smiling with an almost playful confidence, while the students braced themselves for what they assumed would be a straightforward demonstration. Amajiki, standing off to the side with Hadou, looked visibly anxious.

“You really shouldn’t do this,” Tamaki muttered, his voice low and uncertain. “Words should be more than enough to explain.”

Nejire, however, tilted her head and smiled wistfully. “There was a student here once,” she said, her voice soft but clear enough for the class to hear. “They nearly gave up on becoming a hero because of all sorts of problems. But they saw something during a training session that changed everything. Sometimes, seeing is believing.”

The students of Class 1-A exchanged glances, their resolve hardening. Tokoyami stepped forward, his dark wings flaring slightly as he spoke.

“We’ve fought against Pro Heroes and real villains. We don’t need a handicap.”

Kirishima nodded in agreement, his fists clenched. “Yeah! We’re tougher than we look!”

Mirio chuckled and raised a hand. “Alright then. One of you, step up.”

Without hesitation, Izuku stepped forward, his eyes focused and determined. “I’ll go first.”

The rest of the class began to spread out, forming a loose perimeter around Mirio. The close-combat specialists - Kirishima, Satou, Ojiro, and others - moved in to flank him, ready to pounce. But before anyone could make a move, something strange happened. Mirio’s clothes suddenly slipped off his body, falling to the ground in a heap. The class froze, startled and confused, unsure whether this was a tactic or a mistake.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, aiming a powerful kick at Mirio’s exposed side. But to his shock, his foot passed clean through Mirio’s body, as though he were striking air. The momentum threw Izuku off balance, and before he could recover, Mirio vanished from his position.

The rest of the class launched their ambush, but Mirio reappeared behind them in a blur of motion. The students gasped, believing he had warped using his Quirk. Without missing a beat, Mirio targeted the long-range fighters - Jirou, Kaminari, Sero, and Tokoyami - disabling them with swift, precise strikes. His movements were fluid and unpredictable, and his attacks landed with surgical efficiency.

Tamaki watched from the sidelines, his expression unreadable. “Mirio’s Quirk isn’t the power to envy,” he said quietly. “People should be jealous of his skill. After training with a certain Pro, he was built up into the most powerful hero.”

One by one, Mirio dismantled the formation. More than half of Class 1-A lay sprawled across the gym floor, groaning in defeat. Aizawa, arms crossed, observed the match with a rare glint of approval in his eyes.

“Mirio is the closest hero to being Number One,” he said, his voice firm. “Even when you include the Pros.”

The remaining conscious students regrouped, their expressions grim but determined. They began to discuss the nature of Mirio’s Quirk, debating whether it allowed him to phase through objects or teleport. Izuku, catching his breath, stood up and rallied his classmates.

“We can’t beat him individually,” he said. “But if we work together, we can find an opening.”

Mirio, sensing the shift in strategy, smiled and sank into the ground. The students braced themselves, scanning the area for signs of his reappearance. Suddenly, he burst out from behind them, aiming to catch them off guard. But Izuku had anticipated the move. He pivoted and delivered a swift kick to Mirio’s head, connecting solidly.

Mirio staggered for a moment, then phased through Izuku’s body, reappearing behind him with a gleam in his eye. “Blinder Touch Eyeball Crush!” he announced, his hand darting toward Izuku’s face. But Izuku twisted away just in time, narrowly avoiding the attack and countering with another kick.

Mirio dodged effortlessly and retaliated with a powerful punch to Izuku’s gut, sending him sprawling. The rest of the class charged in, but Mirio subdued them one by one with graceful, calculated movements. Within minutes, the gym was silent save for the groans of the defeated.

Tamaki sighed and shook his head. “He really needs to learn to hold back.”

Mirio stood in the center of the gym, surrounded by his fallen opponents, his expression calm and composed. Despite the overwhelming defeat, the students of Class 1-A had witnessed something extraordinary - not just the power of a Quirk, but the result of relentless training, experience, and mastery. And though they had lost, the lesson was clear: the path to becoming a true hero was far more demanding than they had imagined.

As the dust settled in Gym Gamma and the groans of defeated students slowly faded into silence, Toogata stood at the center of the room, still smiling despite the exhaustion etched into the faces around him. His posture remained relaxed, though he had taken the time to gather his fallen uniform and put it back on. With a sheepish grin, he scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry about being naked,” he said, his voice lighthearted but sincere. “It’s kind of a side effect of my Quirk. Anyway… do you all have a better idea about what Work Studies are like now?”

The students of Class 1-A, still sprawled across the gym floor or sitting up with sore limbs and bruised egos, exchanged tired glances. Ashido groaned as she sat up, rubbing her shoulder.

“We didn’t learn anything,” she muttered. “We just got beat up.”

Several others nodded in agreement, their expressions ranging from frustrated to bewildered. Mirio chuckled softly and crouched down to meet their gaze.

“Do you think my Quirk is strong?”

There was a pause before Kaminari responded, his voice tinged with awe. “Yeah. It’s way too strong.”

“Can you tell us what it actually is?” asked Asui, her tone curious but cautious.

Hadou stepped forward, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Mirio’s Quirk is called Permeation,” she explained. “If he activates it throughout his whole body, he can pass through anything - walls, floors, even attacks. That’s why his clothes fall off. They don’t permeate with him.”

She gestured toward the ground. “When he phases through the floor, he starts falling. But if he deactivates his Quirk while he’s still falling, the ground repels him upward, and he can launch himself out like a bullet.”

The students murmured in amazement, finally beginning to grasp the mechanics behind Mirio’s seemingly impossible movements. Tokoyami nodded thoughtfully.

“That explains the sudden appearances. He’s not warping - he’s navigating through solid matter.”

Mirio stood again, his expression more serious now. “It’s true that Permeation can be powerful. But it wasn’t always like that. When I activate my Quirk, I lose all my senses. Sight, sound, touch - everything passes through me. I can’t see or hear or feel anything while I’m phasing.”

The class fell silent, absorbing the implications of such a limitation. Mirio continued, his voice steady.

“For a long time, I was behind my peers. I couldn’t control where I’d end up, and I couldn’t fight properly. But I learned to use my head. I trained to predict my opponents’ moves, to time my Quirk perfectly. I gained those skills through experience - real experience - during my Work Studies with Pro Heroes.”

He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each student. “That’s why I fought you today. Not to show off, but to help you understand. Work Studies aren’t just about watching Pros in action. You’ll be treated like Sidekicks, not guests. You’ll be thrown into real situations - some of them dangerous, some of them chaotic. But all of them will help you grow.”

The sincerity in his voice resonated deeply. The students, still aching from the match, now sat upright, their expressions shifting from defeat to contemplation. Mirio’s words had struck a chord. He wasn’t just strong - he was wise, experienced, and willing to share the lessons he’d earned through hardship.

“Even if you’re scared,” Mirio said, “I encourage you to participate. You’ll come out stronger. I promise.”

A moment passed before the gym erupted into applause. The students clapped, some weakly, others with renewed energy. They had seen firsthand the gap between themselves and a seasoned hero-in-training, and now they understood what the Work Studies could offer them - not just power, but growth.

Aizawa stepped forward, his usual stoic demeanor softened slightly. “Thank the Big 3 before they leave.”

The class turned to Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire, offering their gratitude with bows and words of thanks. Nejire, ever curious, leaned toward Mirio with a grin.

“Did any of the students stand out to you?”

Mirio nodded, his gaze settling on Izuku. “Midoriya. He’s got good instincts. I think he’d fit in well working with Sir.”

Izuku’s eyes widened slightly at the mention, but he said nothing, storing the name away in his mind.

Later that day, after classes had ended, the students of Class 1-A returned to Heights Alliance, their dormitory. The mood was quieter than usual, contemplative. They had been humbled, but also inspired. Izuku, however, didn’t linger. He dropped off his bag and exchanged brief words with his classmates before slipping out once more.

His destination was clear. The hospital.

He walked with purpose, his thoughts swirling with everything he had learned that day. Mirio’s strength, his vulnerability, and his message had all left a mark. But above all, Izuku knew that Momo needed him. And even if he couldn’t be by her side every moment, he would make sure she knew he hadn’t forgotten her - not for a second.

Chapter Text

The golden hues of sunset spilled through the hospital window, casting long shadows across the sterile floor and bathing the room in a warm, melancholic glow. Izuku sat quietly beside Shouto, both boys keeping vigil at Momo’s bedside. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, a steady reminder that she was still fighting. Her face was peaceful, her body still, wrapped in bandages and monitored by machines that hummed softly in the background.

Izuku glanced at Shouto, who hadn’t moved from his chair in hours. His posture was rigid, his eyes fixed on Momo’s face, as if willing her to wake up through sheer force of will. Izuku hesitated before speaking, his voice low and careful.

“When are you coming back to school?”

Shouto didn’t look away. His reply was quiet but firm. “I’m not leaving her. When she wakes up and can return, I’ll go back with her.”

Izuku frowned slightly, concern flickering across his features. “You’ll fall behind. I told you about the Work Studies. Aizawa explained everything today. It’s a big opportunity.”

Shouto’s gaze didn’t waver. “It doesn’t matter. Momo’s falling behind too. I want to be where she is.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, only quiet conviction. Izuku nodded slowly, recognizing the depth of Shouto’s loyalty. He didn’t push further. Instead, he stood, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.

“I’ll come back every day,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything that happens in class. You won’t miss a thing.”

Shouto finally turned to look at him, and though his expression remained stoic, there was gratitude in his eyes. Izuku offered a small smile before slipping out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

The next morning, Class 1-A gathered in their homeroom, the atmosphere more focused than usual. Aizawa stood at the front, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping across the room.

“Today we’re going to talk about Hero Work Studies,” he began. “These are different from the internships you did after the Sports Festival. They’re more immersive, more demanding. You’ll be treated like sidekicks, not guests.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

“Most of the faculty believe First Years shouldn’t participate. But we’re allowing it - under one condition. You’ll only be permitted to work with agencies that have strong reputations and proven track records.”

The class nodded, absorbing the information. The opportunity was exciting, but the stakes were clearly higher than before.

After class, Izuku wandered through the halls of U.A., searching for Mirio. He eventually found the Third Year near one of the training courtyards, stretching and chatting casually with a few other upperclassmen. Izuku approached, his steps quick and purposeful.

“Toogata,” he called out.

Mirio turned, surprised by the sudden appearance. “Hey, Midoriya! What’s up?”

Izuku didn’t hesitate. “Yesterday, you mentioned someone named ‘Sir'. I wanted to ask who you meant. And if… if I could accompany you to your Work Study.”

Mirio blinked, taken aback by the directness. Then he smiled, clearly impressed by Izuku’s resolve.

“Sir is Sir Nighteye,” he said. “He used to be All Might’s sidekick. One of the sharpest minds in the hero world. He runs his own agency now.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “All Might’s sidekick?”

Mirio nodded. “Yeah. He’s intense, but brilliant. He doesn’t take on just anyone.”

He tilted his head, studying Izuku. “So tell me - what kind of hero do you want to be?”

Izuku hesitated for a moment, then spoke with quiet certainty. “I’ve been trained to be a hero since I was a kid. The Commission raised me for this. But I don’t want to be just any hero. I want to be the kind of hero who can save everyone.”

Mirio’s smile widened. “That’s a good answer. I think Sir would like you.”

He clapped a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Alright. I’ll talk to him. Let’s see if we can get you in.”

Izuku nodded, hope blooming in his chest. The path ahead was uncertain, but he was ready to walk it. Not just for himself - but for Momo, for Shouto, and for the future they were all fighting to protect.

The weekend arrived with a brisk chill in the air, and the dorms of Heights Alliance were unusually quiet. Bakugou had departed early that morning for his Remedial Provisional Hero License training, his departure marked by little more than a gruff farewell and the distant sound of his boots echoing down the hallway. Midoriya, however, was anything but calm. He rushed out of the dorms in a flurry, his bag slung over one shoulder and his hair still damp from a hasty shower. Today was the day Toogata would take him to meet Sir Nighteye.

The journey to the Nighteye Agency took nearly an hour, the train ride filled with a mix of anticipation and nerves. Mirio sat beside Izuku, his usual cheerful demeanor tempered by a note of seriousness.

“Sir’s not like other heroes,” Mirio warned. “He’s strict. Very strict. If you want to make a good impression, you’ll need to do something that really stands out.”

Izuku nodded, absorbing every word.

“And one more thing,” Mirio added with a grin. “Try to make him laugh before the end of the day. Sir holds humor in high regard. If you can’t make him laugh, you’re already starting off on the wrong foot.”

Izuku blinked. “Make him laugh?”

Mirio nodded. “It’s part of his philosophy. He believes a society without humor is doomed to collapse.”

By the time they arrived at the agency, Izuku’s nerves were frayed. The building itself was sleek and modern, tucked between two larger office towers, but the interior was anything but ordinary. As they stepped inside, Izuku was immediately struck by the overwhelming presence of All Might memorabilia. Posters, figurines, signed photographs, and even a life-sized cardboard cutout of the hero adorned every corner of the lobby.

They were greeted them at the front desk, her expression weary. The two had just reached Nighteye's office door when Sir Nighteye’s voice cut through the air.

“There is no room for a society without humor.”

Izuku opened the door to see the source of the voice and froze. Sir Nighteye stood tall and imposing, his sharp eyes locked onto Bubble Girl, Sir Nighteye’s assistant, who was strapped into a bizarre contraption - a tickle machine. Her face was flushed, and she squirmed helplessly as mechanical feathers poked at her sides.

“Failure to amuse is a failure of spirit,” Sir Nighteye declared.

Izuku’s jaw dropped. Mirio winced.

Sir Nighteye turned his gaze toward Izuku, his expression unreadable. The room fell silent. Izuku, desperate to break the tension, took a deep breath and contorted his face into a wide, exaggerated grin - an expression modeled after All Might’s iconic smile. It was a face he had practiced countless times, one that always got a chuckle out of Momo and even coaxed a rare smile from Shouto.

Mirio’s eyes widened. “Wait, that’s your plan?”

Sir Nighteye’s brow furrowed. He stepped forward, scrutinizing Izuku’s face with unsettling intensity.

“Are you mocking All Might?” he asked coldly. “His wrinkles are completely different.”

Izuku blinked, startled. “No! I wasn’t mocking him - I was imitating the face he made during the Vinegar Riverbank Incident.”

Sir Nighteye’s eyes narrowed. “You know that interview?”

Izuku nodded quickly. “He said he smiled to reassure the civilians, even though he was in pain. I thought… I thought it was inspiring.”

There was a pause. Sir Nighteye studied him for a long moment, then stepped back.

“Were you testing me?”

Izuku shook his head. “No, Sir.”

Mirio, sensing the shift in tone, moved to release Bubble Girl from the tickle machine. She collapsed into a nearby chair, gasping for breath.

“Well,” Mirio said, “you didn’t make him laugh, but I’m impressed. That was a bold first impression.”

Sir Nighteye didn’t smile, but his gaze softened slightly. The tension in the room eased, and Izuku felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen. He hadn’t passed the test, but he hadn’t failed either. And somewhere beneath the stern exterior, he sensed that Sir Nighteye had taken notice.

The atmosphere in Sir Nighteye’s office shifted from eccentric to austere as the conversation turned toward formalities. Izuku stood stiffly, clutching the contract paper Mirio had handed him earlier. Sir Nighteye, now seated behind his desk, gestured for Izuku to present the document. As Izuku stepped forward, the Pro Hero’s eyes scanned the page with clinical precision, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he set the paper aside and folded his hands.

“This is a Hero Work-Study contract,” Sir Nighteye said, his voice calm but firm. “Not a week-long internship. The difference is significant. Internships are observational. Work-Studies are immersive. You will be expected to perform real duties, face real threats, and contribute meaningfully to the agency.”

Izuku nodded, absorbing the weight of the distinction. He had known this wasn’t going to be easy, but hearing it laid out so plainly made the challenge feel even more daunting.

Sir Nighteye continued, “I refuse to stamp this paper.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“You bring no benefit to this agency,” Sir Nighteye replied. “You’ve shown me nothing that proves you’re worth the time and resources. So tell me - how do you plan to be useful?”

Izuku opened his mouth to respond, but Sir Nighteye raised a hand to silence him.

“Don’t answer with words. Show me.”

He reached into his desk drawer and retrieved a small, square stamp - the kind used to officially approve documents. He held it up between two fingers, then placed it on the desk beside him.

“You have three minutes to take this stamp from me and make the contract official using your own hands. If you fail, you leave.”

Mirio and Bubble Girl exchanged glances. Sir Nighteye turned to them.

“Leave the room.”

Mirio hesitated. “Sir, I don’t think-”

“Now.”

With a reluctant nod, Mirio guided Bubble Girl out of the office, closing the door behind them. The room fell silent, save for the ticking of a wall clock and the faint hum of fluorescent lights.

Izuku activated Full Cowl, his body crackling with energy as green lightning danced across his limbs. He lunged forward, aiming for the stamp, but Sir Nighteye didn’t flinch. With effortless grace, he sidestepped the attack, his eyes locked onto Izuku’s every movement. Again and again, Izuku tried to outmaneuver him, but each attempt was met with precise evasion.

After one minute, Izuku was panting, his brow slick with sweat. Sir Nighteye remained composed, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

“You’re predictable,” he said. “I’ve already seen everything you’ll do.”

Izuku froze. “Your Quirk…”

“Foresight,” Sir Nighteye confirmed. “By locking eyes and touching someone, I can see their future for the next hour. Every step, every breath, every misstep - you’re already written.”

Izuku’s heart sank. He had heard rumors of Sir Nighteye’s Quirk, but facing it firsthand was a different experience entirely. It was like fighting a ghost who already knew the outcome.

Sir Nighteye’s voice grew colder. “You're All Might's son, correct? I’m disappointed. You inherited his power. That makes you his successor. But you lack the qualities that made him great. Mirio should have been the one to receive One For All. He’s stronger, smarter, and more capable. You’re a poor substitute.”

The words hit Izuku like a punch to the gut. He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“I refuse to acknowledge you,” Sir Nighteye said. “Not because you’re weak, but because someone else is more worthy.”

Izuku’s eyes burned with determination. He wouldn’t let this be the end. He propelled himself around the room at high speeds, bouncing off walls and furniture in an attempt to create unpredictable patterns. Sir Nighteye watched with detached interest, his movements minimal but effective. Every time Izuku came close, the stamp remained out of reach.

“You’re a poor man’s Gran Torino,” Sir Nighteye remarked. “All speed, no substance.”

Izuku gritted his teeth. He had to do something different. He began tossing books from the shelves, letting them fall randomly across the floor. His hope was that the chaos would disrupt Sir Nighteye’s foresight, introduce variables that hadn’t been accounted for. But the Pro Hero remained unimpressed. He stepped over the obstacles with ease, his path unaltered.

Three minutes passed. The clock chimed softly, marking the end of the challenge. Izuku stood in the center of the room, exhausted and defeated.

“You had one plan,” Sir Nighteye said. “It failed. And in your desperation, you became clumsy.”

Izuku looked down, his breath ragged. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes.

“I wasn’t just trying to get the stamp,” he said. “I was trying to avoid stepping on your All Might poster.”

Sir Nighteye blinked. “What?”

“The one near the bookshelf. It’s rare. Not even for sale anymore. I figured… if you admire my father that much, you wouldn’t want it damaged.”

Sir Nighteye turned his gaze toward the poster in question. It was pristine, untouched, despite the chaos Izuku had created. For the first time, his expression shifted. There was a flicker of something - surprise, perhaps even respect.

“You noticed that?”

Izuku nodded. “I didn’t want to disrespect him. Or you.”

Sir Nighteye leaned back in his chair, silent. The stamp remained on the desk, untouched. But something had changed. Izuku hadn’t passed the test, but he had revealed something deeper - an understanding of what All Might represented, and a willingness to protect that legacy even in the face of rejection.

And for Sir Nighteye, that meant more than any stamp.

As the door to Nighteye’s office creaked open, Mirio and Bubble Girl stepped back inside, their expressions curious but composed. Izuku stood in the center of the room, still catching his breath from the failed challenge, while Sir Nighteye remained seated behind his desk, fingers steepled and gaze unwavering.

“I’ll take you in,” Sir Nighteye said, his voice calm and deliberate.

Izuku blinked, stunned. “You will?”

Sir Nighteye nodded once. “I was always going to. I knew you weren’t completely useless. But that doesn’t mean I’ve accepted you.”

Mirio raised an eyebrow, surprised by the admission. Bubble Girl tilted her head, watching the exchange with quiet interest.

Sir Nighteye continued, “You’re All Might’s son. That fact alone places expectations on you that most heroes will never face. But lineage doesn’t make you worthy. Power doesn’t make you worthy. Legacy must be earned.”

He gestured toward the stamp still resting on the desk. “You’ll work alongside professionals. You’ll see what it means to carry the weight of real responsibility. And maybe then, you’ll understand what it truly means to be the Symbol of Peace.”

Izuku stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up the stamp. He pressed it to the contract, the ink marking the paper with finality. Despite the tension, his voice was steady.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Sir Nighteye didn’t respond, but his silence carried a weight of acknowledgment.

Later that evening, Izuku returned to Heights Alliance, the dorms quiet and bathed in the soft glow of sunset. His classmates were gathered in the common room, chatting and unwinding from the day’s lessons. As Izuku entered, several heads turned, and Denki was the first to speak.

“Midoriya! You’re back! How’d it go?”

Izuku smiled, trying to keep his tone light. “I was accepted into the Nighteye Agency for Work-Studies.”

The room erupted in congratulations. Mina clapped enthusiastically, while Iida offered a formal nod of approval. Even Bakugou, seated near the window, gave a subtle grunt of acknowledgment. But Izuku kept the deeper truth to himself - that Sir Nighteye had taken him in not out of belief, but to prove a point. To make him relinquish One For All.

Ochako, seated on the couch, crossed her arms and grumbled. “I wish I could do Work-Studies with Gunhead. He was awesome.”

Tsuyu, sitting beside her, nodded. “Same here. Selkie said he’s not taking Work-Study students this term.”

Eijirou slumped into a chair, his shoulders sagging. “Fourth Kind doesn’t even do Work-Studies. I asked.”

Denki leaned over the armrest. “I heard only top-tier Pros can take students. Because the missions are dangerous.”

Kyouka added, “Makes sense. They’re putting their reputations - and our lives - on the line.”

Just then, Aizawa entered the room, his usual tired expression in place. He glanced around before speaking.

“It’s true. Work-Studies are a serious responsibility. Pro Heroes have to be confident they can guide you through real threats.”

He turned to Fumikage. “You’ve received an invitation. Hawks wants you in Kyushu.”

Fumikage’s eyes widened slightly, though his expression remained composed. The others murmured in surprise, and Mina leaned forward.

“Didn’t you intern with Hawks before? With Todoroki, Midoriya, and Yaoyorozu?”

Fumikage nodded. “Yes. During the Sports Festival internship period.”

Denki grinned. “Then he must’ve really liked you. Number Three Hero, huh?”

Fumikage bowed his head slightly. “I accept the offer.”

Aizawa turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “Tamaki wants to speak with Kirishima. Nejire wants to speak with Uraraka and Asui. I suggest you talk to them tomorrow.”

Eijirou tilted his head. “What do they want to talk about?”

Tsuyu tapped her chin. “Probably Work-Studies.”

But curiosity got the better of them. Without waiting for morning, the three students stood and made their way toward the Third Years’ dorm wing. The hallway was quiet, the air tinged with anticipation. Whatever the upperclassmen wanted to discuss, it was clearly important - and none of them were willing to wait another day to find out.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp and clear as Izuku stepped out of the Nighteye Agency, his newly stamped contract tucked safely away and his costume freshly adjusted for the day’s patrol. It was the first official day of his Work-Study, and already the weight of responsibility pressed against his shoulders. Mirio walked beside him, relaxed and confident, his cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The streets of the city bustled with civilians going about their day, unaware of the quiet tension that simmered beneath the surface.

As they turned a corner, Mirio glanced at Izuku with a curious smile.

“So, Echo,” he said, emphasizing the name with a playful tone, “what was your Internship like?”

Izuku adjusted the mask hanging like a hood, the ear-like protrusions swaying slightly. “It was… limited. I didn’t get to do many basic patrols. There were reasons.”

Mirio nodded, not pressing further. “Well, today should be smooth. Sir and Bubble Girl are watching the target, so we’re just covering ground.”

Izuku’s thoughts drifted to Sir Nighteye and All Might. The tension between them was palpable, and though Sir had accepted him into the agency, it was clear that acceptance didn’t mean approval. Izuku wondered what had fractured their relationship so deeply, and whether he could ever bridge that gap.

Mirio interrupted his thoughts. “Echo, huh? That’s your Hero Name?”

Izuku nodded. “Yeah. I chose it because I want my actions to resonate. Like an echo - something that lingers and inspires.”

Mirio grinned. “Nice. Mine’s Lemillion. I want to save a million people. Even if I can’t save everyone, I’ll get as close as I can.”

They continued down the street, their conversation light but meaningful. Then, without warning, a small figure darted out from an alleyway and collided with Izuku’s chest. He stumbled back slightly, catching the girl instinctively. She was tiny, her arms trembling, her eyes wide with fear. Her pale skin and white hair made her look almost ghostly, and she recoiled from Izuku’s hands as if they might hurt her.

“Hey, are you okay?” Izuku asked gently, crouching to her level.

The girl didn’t respond. Her eyes darted toward the alley, and Izuku followed her gaze. From the shadows emerged a man in a long coat, his face partially obscured by a mask as a gold beak. The air around him seemed to darken, and Izuku’s instincts flared.

“Eri,” the man said calmly, “come back.”

Izuku’s body tensed. The man’s presence was wrong - too composed, too cold. His eyes flicked to Mirio, who quickly stepped between them and pulled Izuku’s mask up to cover his expression.

“Don’t let him see your face,” Mirio whispered. “Suspicions written all over you.”

Overhaul stepped forward, his gaze unreadable. “Apologies. My daughter can be… difficult.”

Mirio nodded politely. “No worries. Kids can be unpredictable.”

Izuku’s fists clenched. Daughter? This girl was terrified.

Mirio kept his tone light. “You’re with the Hassaikai, right? That mask - pretty distinctive.”

Overhaul’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sensitive to filth. It’s a precaution.”

He glanced at their costumes. “What agency are you with?”

Mirio smiled. “We’re just students. Interns. No agency worth mentioning.”

He tugged at Izuku’s arm. “Let’s go.”

But Eri clung to Izuku’s leg, her grip desperate. Her eyes pleaded silently, and Izuku felt his heart twist. Mirio’s plan was clear - avoid confrontation, report to Sir, gather intel. But Izuku couldn’t ignore the trembling child at his feet.

He shook his head. “We can’t leave her.”

Mirio’s eyes widened. “Echo-”

Izuku stepped forward, his voice firm. “What have you been doing to her?”

Overhaul’s gaze sharpened. “If you’re that curious, come with me. I’ll explain.”

He gestured toward the alley. Eri flinched, her body reacting to something unseen. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, she broke free from Izuku and ran back to Overhaul, her small frame trembling as she reached his side.

Izuku’s breath caught. “No…”

Mirio placed a hand on his shoulder. “She knew what would happen if we pushed. Her intent was clear. We need to talk to Sir.”

Izuku nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Eri as Overhaul disappeared into the shadows with her. The encounter had lasted only minutes, but its impact was profound. Something was wrong - deeply wrong - and Izuku knew they had just brushed against the edge of something far darker than a routine patrol.

As they turned back toward the agency, Izuku’s mind raced. He had chosen his Hero Name to be a symbol of resonance, of lasting impact. And now, with Eri’s terrified eyes burned into his memory, he vowed that his echo would reach her. No matter what it took.

Across town, the mood at the Nighteye Agency was tense and focused. Sir Nighteye stood beside Bubble Girl on a rooftop overlooking the Shie Hassaikai compound, his sharp eyes scanning every movement below with clinical precision. The compound was quiet, but the silence felt deliberate - like a predator holding its breath. Bubble Girl’s phone buzzed, and she answered quickly, her expression shifting as she listened.

“It’s Mirio,” she said, turning to Sir. “They made contact with Kai Chisaki.”

Sir Nighteye’s gaze narrowed. Without a word, he turned and began walking, Bubble Girl following close behind. The two regrouped with Izuku and Mirio in a quiet alley not far from the compound. The students stood stiffly, still shaken from the encounter. Izuku’s eyes were clouded with worry, and Mirio’s usual brightness had dimmed into a more somber focus.

Sir Nighteye took responsibility immediately, his voice calm but firm. “That encounter was my fault. I underestimated the possibility of a public appearance.”

He explained that the Nighteye Agency had been monitoring Overhaul ever since his violent run-in with Team Reservoir Dogs. The incident had initially seemed like a brutal gang clash, but what caught Sir’s attention was the aftermath - Overhaul had restored the bodies of the injured, erasing any trace of his Quirk’s destructive power. It was a calculated move, one that suggested a deeper strategy and a desire to remain hidden.

“That level of control,” Sir said, “is what makes him dangerous. He doesn’t just kill - he manipulates the aftermath.”

Mirio stepped forward, recounting what they had learned about the girl, Eri. Her fear, her reaction to Overhaul, and her desperate grip on Izuku had left a lasting impression. Izuku clenched his fists as he spoke, his voice trembling with conviction.

“We have to save her. She’s suffering. I could feel it.”

Sir Nighteye’s expression hardened. “Don’t be arrogant.”

The words hit Izuku like a slap. He looked up, startled, but Sir continued.

“This isn’t about emotion. It’s about precision. If we act rashly, we tip our hand. The villains will vanish, and we’ll lose our chance. We must proceed carefully, gather evidence, and strike only when we’re certain.”

Izuku’s shoulders sagged under the weight of those words. He understood the logic, but the image of Eri’s terrified eyes haunted him. Sir turned away, his coat fluttering slightly as he walked.

“Return to the office. We’ll plan from there.”

The students watched him go, the silence between them heavy with frustration and helplessness.

The next morning, Class 1-A buzzed with its usual energy, but Izuku felt disconnected from it all. Katsuki slumped in his seat, clearly exhausted from his recent Provisional License Training. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his usual scowl had softened into something more subdued. A few students commented on his worn-out appearance, but Katsuki brushed them off with a grunt.

Eijirou, Ochako, and Tsuyu were absent, having started their own Work-Studies. Their seats sat empty, a quiet reminder of the growing responsibilities each student now carried. Izuku stared at the board, the words blurring together. His mind was a whirlwind - Eri’s trembling form, Sir’s cold logic, the pressure of the Work-Study, and the lingering concern over Momo’s condition. It was all too much.

He tried to focus, gripping his pen tightly, but his thoughts kept drifting. Momo still hadn't woken up, and Shouto hadn't left her side. The combination of worry for her and the unresolved tension from the patrol made it impossible to concentrate.

As the lesson continued, Izuku sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the page but his mind far away. The classroom around him faded into background noise, and all he could think about was the girl with the haunted eyes - and the promise he had silently made to her.

*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*

The following morning at U.A. High School, the atmosphere in Class 1-A was noticeably lighter. Students gathered around Eijirou’s desk, congratulating him with wide grins and playful jabs. His debut as a hero had made headlines, and the footage of his courageous actions had circulated across social media and news outlets. His hardened form, his unwavering resolve, and his infectious spirit had earned him praise not just from his classmates, but from the public at large. Eijirou laughed humbly, scratching the back of his head as he tried to downplay the attention, though the pride in his eyes was unmistakable.

Nearby, Ochako and Tsuyu were also being celebrated. Their work with Ryuukyuu’s agency had been featured in the same broadcast, showcasing their teamwork and quick thinking during a recent mission. The girls smiled politely, accepting the praise with grace, though Tsuyu remained her usual reserved self. The classroom buzzed with excitement, students chatting about their own Work-Studies and speculating about what kind of missions they might be assigned next.

But amidst the cheerful chatter, Izuku sat quietly at his desk, his fingers curled around his notebook. His classmates’ successes were well-deserved, and he was genuinely happy for them, but the weight of Eri’s terrified expression still lingered in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her trembling form, her small hands clutching his leg, and the hollow look in her eyes as she returned to Overhaul. The guilt gnawed at him, and no amount of classroom noise could drown it out.

Later that day, Izuku, Eijirou, Ochako, and Tsuyu left school together, each heading out for their respective Work-Studies. As they walked through the city streets, they began to notice something odd - they were all heading in the same direction. At first, they exchanged curious glances, chalking it up to coincidence, but as they turned the final corner and saw the familiar building of the Nighteye Agency looming ahead, realization dawned.

Standing outside were The Big 3, waiting with calm anticipation. The students gathered together, exchanging greetings and surprised remarks, before being ushered inside. What awaited them was far beyond their expectations.

The meeting room was filled with Pro Heroes, some of whom they recognized instantly. Ryuukyuu stood tall and regal, her presence commanding. Fat Gum leaned casually against the wall, his round form relaxed but alert. Gran Torino, though aged, exuded a quiet intensity. Among them were lesser-known heroes like Rock Lock, Kesagiri Man, and Mr. Brave, each with their own unique aura. Even Eraserhead had joined, his tired eyes scanning the room with quiet scrutiny.

Nejire leaned toward Ryuukyuu, her voice hushed but curious. “What’s going on?”

Ryuukyuu responded with a calm but serious tone. “You’ve all been included in a special case. It’s time you understood the full scope.”

Sir Nighteye stepped forward, his expression grave. “We’re here to discuss the Shie Hassaikai.”

The room fell silent as the conference began. Nighteye’s sidekicks presented their findings, detailing how the agency had begun tailing the Yakuza following the incident with Team Reservoir Dogs. The fight between the Hassaikai and the League of Villains had further complicated matters, revealing a tangled web of alliances and betrayals.

Gran Torino spoke briefly, confirming his involvement in investigating the League’s connection to the Yakuza. His words were clipped and efficient, but the weight behind them was clear - this was no ordinary case.

Rock Lock, arms crossed and brow furrowed, interrupted. “Why are kids here? This is a serious operation. They’re slower to grasp situations like this.”

Fat Gum stepped forward, his voice firm but respectful. “They’re not just kids. They’re directly involved. Tamaki was shot with a bullet that harms Quirks.”

The room shifted, the revelation casting a shadow over the gathering. Eraserhead explained the nature of his own Quirk, how it could halt abilities without damaging the Quirk Factor. But the bullets used on Tamaki were different. They caused real harm, attacking the very foundation of a person’s Quirk. Fortunately, Tamaki had recovered, suggesting the bullets were still in a testing phase.

Sir Nighteye continued, revealing that the Shie Hassaikai were involved in a large-scale crime ring. Their operations included the distribution of illegal drugs, including Quirk Enhancers. One of the villains encountered by the Ryuukyuu Agency had used such an item, confirming the reach of the organization.

Fat Gum added another chilling detail. The Quirk-Cancelling bullets contained blood and cell samples from a human source. The implications were horrifying.

Sir Nighteye turned to the group, his voice steady. “Izuku and Mirio encountered Overhaul’s daughter, Eri. She had bandages running up and down her arms and legs. We believe she is the source.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, and Mirio’s eyes widened with horror. The realization hit them like a tidal wave. They had seen her. Touched her. And then let her go.

Both boys stood abruptly, their chairs scraping against the floor.

“We won’t let that happen again,” Mirio said, his voice resolute.

Izuku nodded, his fists clenched. “Next time, we’ll save her. No matter what.”

The room remained quiet, but the shift was palpable. The heroes understood the gravity of the situation, and the resolve of the students was no longer in question. The mission had changed. It was no longer just about dismantling a criminal organization - it was about saving a life. And for Izuku and Mirio, that life had a name. Eri.

The conference room at the Nighteye Agency had grown increasingly tense as the details of the Shie Hassaikai’s operations were laid bare. The assembled heroes - veterans and rising stars alike - stood in grim silence, absorbing the magnitude of what they were up against. Sir Nighteye stood at the head of the room, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. Behind him, a large map of Japan had been pinned to the wall, marked with red dots and notes indicating known Hassaikai properties and suspected fronts.

“This is our strategy,” Sir Nighteye began, his voice steady and deliberate. “We will divide into teams and investigate every known property connected to the Shie Hassaikai. Warehouses, offices, safe houses - anything that could be used to hide a person or conduct illegal operations.”

He gestured to the map. “We must find the location of the girl. But we cannot act without solid evidence. If we strike prematurely, the Yakuza will scatter, and we’ll lose our chance. They must not know we’re watching.”

The room nodded in agreement, though the weight of restraint was difficult to bear. Every hero present knew the stakes. They had heard the desperation in Izuku and Mirio’s voices. But they also understood the danger of rushing in blind.

Eraserhead stepped forward, his arms crossed, his gaze sharp. “Then use your Quirk. Foresight. If we’re looking for precision, that’s the most direct path.”

Sir Nighteye’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

The refusal was immediate and firm. The room fell silent again, the tension thickening.

Eraserhead didn’t flinch. “Why not?”

Sir Nighteye looked away, his voice quieter now. “Because I might see someone’s death. And once I see it, it cannot be changed.”

The words hung in the air like a shadow. Everyone knew the implications. Foresight was powerful, but it came with a cost. The future it revealed was immutable, and the burden of knowing someone’s fate - especially a child’s - was too great to bear.

After a long pause, Gran Torino cleared his throat. “Then we do it the hard way. We dig. We watch. We wait.”

One by one, the heroes voiced their agreement. Fat Gum, Ryuukyuu, Rock Lock, and the others pledged their support, committing to the investigation with quiet resolve. The meeting concluded shortly after, the map now divided into sectors, each assigned to a team of heroes and sidekicks.

In the back of the room, the U.A. students gathered together, their expressions somber. Izuku stared at the floor, his fists clenched at his sides. Eijirou leaned against the wall, his usual energy subdued. Ochako and Tsuyu sat close together, their eyes reflecting the same quiet sadness.

Aizawa entered the room, his presence grounding the group. He looked at each of his students, his gaze lingering on Izuku.

“You’re not wrong to feel this way,” he said. “But don’t let guilt paralyze you. Use it. Let it sharpen your focus.”

He stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “You’re all here because you’ve proven yourselves. I believe in you. And I believe you can save that girl.”

The students looked up, the weight on their shoulders still heavy, but now tempered by purpose. They weren’t just trainees anymore. They were part of something larger - something that demanded courage, restraint, and unwavering resolve.

As the heroes dispersed to begin their investigations, the students remained together a moment longer, silently vowing that next time, they would not fail. Eri’s fate was still uncertain, but her hope now rested in the hands of those who had seen her pain and refused to turn away.

Chapter Text

The next day at lunch, the cafeteria at U.A. buzzed with its usual energy, but Izuku sat quietly at a table near the window, his tray untouched. Beside him were Ochako and Iida, both trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy despite the tension that hung over their group. Todoroki’s absence was felt keenly - he remained at Momo’s bedside in the hospital, refusing to leave until she woke. Her condition hadn’t changed, and the uncertainty weighed heavily on Izuku’s heart.

He stared down at his food, his thoughts drifting between Momo’s pale, unmoving form and Eri’s terrified eyes. The guilt was relentless, and the pressure of the Work-Study, the looming rescue operation, and the emotional toll of seeing his childhood friend comatose was beginning to crack his composure.

Tenya, ever observant, leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle but firm. “Midoriya, if there’s anything you need to talk about… you can. We’re your friends.”

The words struck a chord. Izuku’s breath hitched, and his eyes welled with tears. The sincerity in Tenya’s voice reminded him of Momo - her calm, reassuring presence, the way she always knew how to lift him up when he faltered. The memory was too much. A tear slipped down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away, shaking his head.

“Heroes don’t cry,” he whispered, trying to steady himself. “But… thank you, Iida.”

Ochako frowned, her voice soft but resolute. “That’s not true. Sometimes even Heroes have to cry. It’s how we keep going.”

Without a word, she and Tenya slid portions of their lunch onto Izuku’s tray. He looked at them, surprised, then nodded quietly and accepted the gesture. The warmth of their support didn’t erase the pain, but it reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

Later that afternoon, Izuku joined Ochako, Eijirou, Tsuyu, and the Big 3 at the Nighteye Agency. The group waited anxiously, their eyes flicking to their phones every few minutes, hoping for a message, a signal - anything that would tell them they had found Eri. Izuku and Mirio were especially tense, their guilt and determination intertwined in a silent vow neither had spoken aloud but both understood deeply.

Two days passed in agonizing silence. Then, late at night, their phones buzzed simultaneously. Sir Nighteye had sent a message. They had found her.

The students and heroes gathered quickly at the agency, the air charged with urgency. Eraserhead arrived with the others, his expression unreadable, but his tone impressed.

“The Heroes worked fast,” he said. “Good.”

Sir Nighteye stood at the front of the room, a map of the city projected behind him. His voice was calm, but the gravity of his words was unmistakable.

“Eri is being kept in the main hideout. Underground.”

Fat Gum stepped forward, arms crossed. “How do you know that?”

Sir Nighteye reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, brightly colored toy - a doll designed for young girls. He held it up for the room to see.

“One of the Hassaikai members has been purchasing these in bulk. At first, it seemed innocuous. But I used my Quirk on him.”

The room fell silent.

“I saw his future. He’s Eri’s caterer. He brings her food, toys, and other items to keep her quiet. Thanks to that, we know where she is and how to reach her.”

The sidekicks stepped forward, adding their findings. “We’ve confirmed the time frame when the compound is least guarded. We’ve secured a warrant from the Police Force. All that’s left is to move in.”

The news lifted the room’s mood. Mirio’s shoulders straightened, and a spark returned to his eyes. He turned to Izuku, his voice filled with renewed energy.

“We’re going to save her, Echo. This time, we won’t fail.”

Izuku nodded, his heart pounding. “We’ll protect her. No matter what.”

Their classmates watched the exchange, inspired by their resolve. The weight of the past days began to lift, replaced by a sense of purpose.

Sir Nighteye observed Mirio quietly. He had seen the boy struggle, had watched him wrestle with the consequences of choosing caution over instinct. But now, seeing his apprentice stand tall again, he understood. Mirio had suffered, yes - but he had grown. And once Eri was safe, the pain of that decision would transform into strength.

The operation was set. The heroes were ready. And this time, they would not leave the girl behind.

The morning sun cast a pale glow over the city as the clock struck 8:00 AM. In front of the Police Station, a large assembly of Pro Heroes and their sidekicks stood in formation, their expressions solemn and focused. The gravity of the mission ahead was unmistakable. Officers moved among them, distributing final dossiers containing the most up-to-date intelligence on the Shie Hassaikai’s underground facility. The documents detailed the layout of the compound, highlighting the shortest and safest route to Eri’s location, as well as the known Quirks of every registered member of the organization. It was a rare moment of clarity in a mission that had, until now, been shrouded in uncertainty.

Among the gathered heroes, Uraraka, Asui, and Eijirou stood close together, their nerves barely concealed beneath their determined expressions. Ochako clenched her fists, her mind racing with thoughts of Eri and the horrors the young girl must have endured. Tsuyu’s gaze was steady, but her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. Eijirou bounced on the balls of his feet, his usual bravado tempered by the seriousness of the situation. They were eager to act, to make a difference, but the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on them.

By 8:30 AM, the convoy of Heroes and Police vehicles had arrived outside the Shie Hassaikai’s headquarters. The compound loomed ahead, its traditional architecture masking the sinister operations hidden beneath. The air was tense, thick with anticipation. Officers moved into position, and one stepped forward to press the intercom at the gate, prepared to read the warrant aloud and initiate the legal breach.

Before the officer could speak, the gate exploded outward with a deafening crash. Rikiya Katsukame, one of the Hassaikai’s most dangerous enforcers, burst through the entrance with terrifying force. His massive frame barreled into the front line, sending several policemen flying through the air. Chaos erupted instantly, but Eraserhead and Echo reacted with precision. Eraserhead’s capture weapon lashed out, securing one of the airborne officers mid-flight, while Echo used Full Cowling to catch them, preventing serious injury.

Rock Lock narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Did they anticipate our arrival?”

Rikiya’s voice boomed across the courtyard, his tone aggressive and unyielding. “Why are you here? What do you want with us?”

His muscles bulged grotesquely as he prepared to strike again, his body swelling with power. Before he could land a blow, Ryuukyuu surged forward, her body morphing into her formidable Dragon form. Her massive claw intercepted Rikiya’s punch mid-swing, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground. With a swift motion, she knocked him backward, her strength overwhelming even his enhanced physique.

“Leave this one to my agency,” Ryuukyuu commanded, her voice resonating with authority. “You need to get to the hideout. Go!”

Her declaration galvanized the other heroes into action. As Ryuukyuu and her team engaged Rikiya, more members of the Shie Hassaikai emerged from the compound, refusing to let the invaders pass without resistance. A fierce battle erupted outside the headquarters, with minor heroes and police officers clashing against the Yakuza foot soldiers. The sound of Quirks activating, bodies colliding, and orders being shouted filled the air.

Amid the chaos, Sir Nighteye stepped forward, his expression unreadable but his intent clear. He raised a hand, signaling the main strike team to follow. Izuku, Mirio, Eijirou, and others fell in behind him, their movements swift and coordinated. They knew the path, they knew the stakes, and they knew that every second counted.

With the outer defenses engaged and the entrance now exposed, the main charge surged forward, led by Sir Nighteye himself. The mission to rescue Eri had officially begun, and nothing would stop them now.

Outside the Shie Hassaikai compound, the battle between the Pro Heroes and the Yakuza foot soldiers intensified. Mr. Brave, Kesagiri Man, and a host of other minor heroes coordinated with the police to hold the line. The Yakuza thugs, though lacking the refined power of their elite members, fought with a ferocity born of deep loyalty and desperation. Their resistance was relentless, and the heroes had to rely on teamwork and quick thinking to prevent the situation from spiraling out of control. Mr. Brave used his defensive Quirk to shield officers from incoming attacks, while Kesagiri Man sliced through debris and obstacles with surgical precision, clearing paths and neutralizing threats. The police, though shaken by the sudden violence, held their ground with the support of the heroes.

Inside the compound, Sir Nighteye led the main strike team through the entrance and into the dimly lit corridors of the hideout. The air was thick with dust and tension, the walls lined with aged wood and stone that masked the labyrinthine structure beneath. Eraserhead moved alongside him, his eyes scanning every shadow.

“The Yakuza are bound by extreme loyalty,” he explained quietly. “They’ll fight to the end for their boss. We need to be prepared for anything.”

Sir Nighteye paused at a seemingly ordinary section of wall. His eyes narrowed as he activated his Foresight Quirk, peering into the future of the space before him. After a moment, he reached forward and pressed a hidden panel, entering a sequence of numbers with deliberate precision. A soft click echoed through the corridor, and the wall slid open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into the underground labyrinth.

As the group began their descent, a sudden commotion erupted behind them. More Yakuza thugs surged up from the lower levels, attempting to cut off their advance. Centipeder reacted instantly, his segmented body expanding to block the passage and ensnare the attackers. Bubble Girl followed suit, launching a barrage of bubbles that disoriented and immobilized the thugs. Their swift action allowed the main team to press forward without delay.

The underground maze was a twisting network of corridors and dead ends, designed to confuse and trap intruders. As they moved deeper, they encountered a hastily constructed blockade - a wall of jagged stone and metal that impeded their path. Mirio stepped forward, his expression calm and focused. Without hesitation, he activated his Quirk and phased through the wall, reappearing on the other side.

“It’s Overhaul’s work,” he called back. “He used his Quirk to throw this together fast. It’s not stable.”

Echo and Red Riot stepped up. Echo’s arms crackled with energy as he focused One For All into his fists, while Red Riot hardened his body to its maximum. Together, they struck the blockade with synchronized force, shattering the wall and clearing the path. But their progress was short-lived.

The walls around them began to shift and twist unnaturally. Mimic, one of the Eight Bullets, had taken Trigger to enhance his Quirk and merged with the structure itself. The corridor distorted, floors rising and falling, walls stretching and compressing to create a chaotic, disorienting environment. Suneater faltered, his confidence shaken.

“We’re not going to make it through,” he muttered, panic creeping into his voice.

Mirio turned to him, his voice steady and encouraging. “You can do this, Tamaki. I believe in you.”

With renewed resolve, Mirio surged ahead, his Quirk rendering Mimic’s manipulations ineffective. Unable to stop him, Mimic let him pass, focusing instead on the remaining heroes. With a malicious grin, he created a hole beneath their feet, dropping them into a lower chamber.

The heroes landed hard, quickly regaining their footing. Before them stood Toya Setsuno, Yu Hojo, and Soramitsu Tabe - three members of the Eight Bullets. Their presence was unmistakable, and their intent was clear. Fat Gum stepped forward, his voice booming.

“If you want a fight, you’ve got one!”

Tamaki stepped beside him, his eyes burning with determination. “Let me handle this. I can take all three.”

Fat Gum hesitated, but the conviction in Tamaki’s voice was undeniable. The young hero had been inspired by Mirio’s courage and was ready to prove himself. Mimic, still manipulating the upper levels, left the heroes to face the Eight Bullets alone, confident they would be delayed.

Tamaki turned to the others. “They’re just trying to buy time. Let me deal with them. You need to keep moving.”

Eijirou stepped forward, shaking his head. “We should fight together. We’re stronger as a team.”

Toya smirked and raised his hand, baiting them. “Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The police officers nearby panicked as Toya activated his Quirk, snatching their firearms from their holsters with a flick of his fingers. Eraserhead reacted instantly, erasing their Quirks with a glance, but the trio pulled out concealed weapons, ready to escalate the fight.

Before they could act, Tamaki sprang into motion. His body shifted, octopus tentacles sprouting from his arms and lashing out with incredible speed. He disarmed the villains, crushing their weapons and restraining them with precision. His voice was firm and commanding.

“Fat Gum, take the others and go. I’ve got this.”

Eraserhead nodded, his tone serious. “Act quickly. We don’t have time to waste.”

As the others moved on, Tamaki stood alone against the three villains, his resolve unwavering. The path ahead was still long, but with each step, the heroes drew closer to Eri - and they would not stop until she was safe.

Deep within the twisting corridors of the Shie Hassaikai’s underground labyrinth, Sir Nighteye’s group pressed forward with urgency. The air was thick with dust and tension, the walls groaning as Mimic’s Quirk continued to distort the structure around them. The stone corridor began to twist violently, the floor buckling and the ceiling lowering in jagged waves. It was clear that Mimic, now fully enhanced by Trigger, was determined to crush the intruders or at least scatter them beyond coordination.

Rock Lock stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the shifting terrain. With a sharp motion, he activated his Ultimate Move - Deadbolt. The surrounding walls and floor locked into place, held firm by his Quirk’s ability to freeze objects in position. The corridor stabilized momentarily, giving the heroes a brief reprieve from the crushing pressure.

“Deadbolt’s holding,” Rock Lock muttered, sweat beading on his brow. “But it won’t last forever.”

Irinaka, still hidden within the walls, responded by sending a barrage of stone slabs toward the group, each one aimed to disorient and divide. The heroes ducked and dodged, but the attacks were relentless. Echo stepped forward, his body glowing with the energy of Full Cowl. With a burst of speed, he launched into Shoot Style, his iron-soled boots striking the incoming walls with explosive force. Each kick shattered the stone, sending debris flying and clearing a path for the others.

Mimic snarled from within the walls, realizing that reinforcements had arrived and his advantage was slipping. Determined to regain control, he twisted the corridor again, this time with greater intensity. The walls surged upward and sideways, separating the heroes into isolated pockets. Sir Nighteye, Eraserhead, Rock Lock, and Izuku found themselves cut off from one another, each trapped in a shifting maze of stone.

“Stay sharp!” Eraserhead called out. “He’s trying to divide us!”

The heroes began to coordinate, calling out positions and attempting to triangulate Mimic’s location. Echo moved quickly, using bursts of Full Cowl to leap between sections of the corridor, scanning for any sign of the villain’s physical form. The walls continued to shift, but Izuku’s instincts guided him. He paused beneath a particularly unstable section of ceiling and narrowed his eyes.

“He’s above us,” Izuku muttered. “I can feel it.”

With a surge of power, he launched upward, his boots striking the ceiling with a resounding crack. The stone shattered, revealing a hidden cavity - and within it, Mimic’s hunched form, eyes wide with panic.

Eraserhead reacted instantly, his gaze locking onto Mimic and nullifying his Quirk. The walls ceased their movement, and Mimic’s body, no longer supported by his ability, plummeted downward.

Sir Nighteye stepped forward with practiced precision, pulling one of his Hyper-Density Seals from his coat. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the seal at Mimic, the weighted disc striking the villain squarely in the chest. The impact knocked Mimic unconscious mid-fall.

Izuku leapt again, catching Mimic’s limp body before it could crash into the ground. He landed softly, cradling the villain’s weight and setting him down with care.

“He’s down,” Izuku said, breathing heavily. “We’ve got him.”

Sir Nighteye nodded, his expression unreadable but satisfied. “Good work. Let’s regroup and move forward. Eri’s close - I can feel it.”

The corridor was still, the chaos finally subdued. With Mimic neutralized, the path ahead was clear. The heroes gathered once more, their resolve renewed. The mission was far from over, but they had overcome another obstacle - and Eri’s rescue was now within reach.

Deep within the Shie Hassaikai compound, Lemillion moved with relentless purpose. The winding corridors and shifting walls had done little to slow him down. His mastery of Permeation allowed him to bypass every obstacle, every trap, every ambush. He had one goal: reach Eri. And now, at last, he had.

He burst into a wide chamber where Overhaul stood with Chronostasis, and the trembling girl clutched at his side. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with tension. Overhaul turned, his eyes narrowing in surprise.

“You caught up quickly,” he muttered.

Mirio’s eyes locked onto Eri, her small frame wrapped in bandages, her expression hollow. He stepped forward, but Overhaul raised a hand, his voice sharp and cruel.

“She doesn’t want to be rescued,” he said. “You’re no hero.”

Mirio’s jaw clenched, but before he could respond, his body lurched. A wave of dizziness overtook him, his equilibrium thrown into chaos. He staggered, struggling to maintain his footing. From the shadows, Deidoro Sakaki emerged, his drunken sway masking the potency of his Quirk. The room tilted unnaturally, and Mirio’s balance faltered.

“Die,” Overhaul said coldly.

Deidoro chuckled, his eyes glassy. “Let’s see you fight when the world won’t stand still.”

Another figure stepped forward - Shin Nemoto, gun in hand. He raised the weapon and fired, but Mirio allowed the bullets to pass through him, his body phasing effortlessly. Shin’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s your Quirk?” he asked, his voice laced with power.

Mirio felt the compulsion, the strange pressure that forced him to answer. He realized Shin’s ability - he could force people to speak the truth, to expose their vulnerabilities. The realization hit hard. Shin wasn’t just a fighter; he was a manipulator.

“You’re the only one allowed to walk beside him,” Mirio said, his voice steady. “But his ambitions are corrupt. He’s abusing his own daughter.”

Shin smirked. “You let her go once. You chose strategy over instinct. You’re not here for her - you’re here to make yourself feel better.”

The words cut deep. Mirio’s mind flashed back to that moment, the guilt still fresh. But he didn’t waver. He dodged another volley of bullets, his body slipping through the air like a phantom. Then, with a burst of energy, he launched into his Ultimate Move.

“Phantom Menace!”

The enclosed space became his weapon. Mirio activated and deactivated his Quirk in rapid succession, catapulting himself from the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Each movement was calculated, each strike precise. He collided with Deidoro, sending him sprawling, then rebounded off the ceiling to slam into Shin. The velocity of his attacks increased with every launch, the physics of Permeation turning the environment into a battlefield.

Despite the lingering effects of Sakaki’s Quirk, Mirio adapted. His body was always off balance when using Permeation, and now that instability became his strength. He moved faster, hit harder, and refused to fall.

He fought not for glory, not for redemption, but for Eri. A kind girl who had chosen pain over the risk of others being hurt. Mirio couldn’t let that stand. He couldn’t allow her to suffer in silence any longer. With a final surge, he knocked both villains unconscious, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

He turned to Overhaul and Chronostasis, his eyes blazing. Overhaul raised a hand, dodging Mirio’s punch with practiced ease. But Mirio anticipated the movement. He phased his leg through Eri’s head, careful not to harm her, and delivered a powerful kick to Chronostasis, sending him flying.

Eri gasped, her eyes wide with shock. Mirio caught her gently, cradling her in his arms.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ll be your hero.”

Overhaul stepped forward, his voice venomous. “Return to me, Eri. You’re diseased. You break people.”

Mirio held her tighter. “How can you say that? She’s your child.”

Overhaul paused, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he removed his gloves, revealing his bare hands - hands that had never held a child with love.

“She’s not mine,” he said. “That’s just the excuse I used when I first met you.”

The words hung in the air, cold and hollow. Mirio’s grip on Eri tightened, his resolve solidifying. She wasn’t a tool. She wasn’t a burden. She was a child who deserved to smile, to live without fear.

And he would make sure she did.

The battle within the Shie Hassaikai compound escalated with terrifying intensity. The air grew thick with dust and tension as Overhaul, his expression cold and calculating, activated his Quirk once more. The ground beneath Mirio and Eri trembled violently, then shattered, erupting into jagged stone spikes that shot upward like spears. The chamber transformed into a deadly forest of blades, each one aimed to maim or kill. Mirio reacted instantly, shielding Eri with his body, maneuvering through the chaos with the fluidity only Permeation could grant. His focus was absolute - Eri could not be harmed.

But as he dodged and weaved, a chilling realization settled in his mind. Overhaul wasn’t just trying to stop him. He was willing to hurt Eri too. The spikes had no discrimination, no care for her safety. Mirio’s eyes narrowed, fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. Overhaul’s voice rang out, devoid of empathy.

“I can always restore her,” he said, his tone disturbingly casual.

Eri flinched at the words. She knew exactly what that meant. She had felt it before - her body torn apart and reassembled, her pain recycled endlessly. The memory of it made her tremble, and Mirio’s rage ignited. This wasn’t just a villain. This was a monster who saw a child as a tool, a disposable piece in his twisted ambitions.

Overhaul stepped forward, his gaze locked on Mirio. “What will you do if she gets hurt?” he asked. “There’s no escape. I’ve sealed every route.”

Mirio didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His actions would speak louder than any words.

From the rubble, Chronostasis stirred, his body battered but functional. He rose, gun in hand, and Overhaul gave the order with chilling precision.

“Shoot the arm carrying the girl.”

The spikes crumbled suddenly, disintegrated by Overhaul’s power to give his aide a clear shot. Chronostasis took aim, his eyes narrowing. But Mirio was faster. He wrapped his cape around Eri, using it as a shield - not to block the bullet, but to obscure the shot. The villain hesitated, uncertain, and in that moment of doubt, Mirio slipped through the ground, phasing downward and reappearing behind him in a blur of motion. Chronostasis barely had time to react before Mirio’s fist collided with his jaw, sending him sprawling once more.

But the danger wasn’t over. Overhaul turned his attention to Eri, who had been momentarily left alone. He lunged, his hands outstretched, his intent clear. Mirio’s heart pounded as he surged forward, intercepting the villain with a devastating strike. Overhaul staggered, his mask cracking slightly from the force.

“Heroes wear capes,” Mirio said, his voice firm, “to wrap up little girls who are in pain.”

The words hung in the air, a declaration of purpose. Mirio didn’t deny Overhaul’s strength. He acknowledged it, but he made it clear that he was stronger - not just in power, but in resolve. He wasn’t fighting for glory or recognition. He was fighting for Eri’s smile.

“You’re strong, Kai Chisaki,” he said, using Overhaul’s real name with deliberate weight. “But I’m stronger.”

The moment was electric, but it was shattered by the sound of movement. Shin Nemoto, bloodied and bruised, dragged himself back into the fray. His loyalty to Overhaul was unwavering, even in defeat. Overhaul didn’t hesitate. He reached into his coat and tossed Shin a small case - inside were the Quirk-Destroying Bullets.

“Shoot him,” Overhaul ordered.

Shin’s hands trembled as he loaded the weapon. He knew the stakes. Mirio wouldn’t be easy to hit. He’d dodge, phase, escape. But then Shin’s eyes shifted to Eri. A cruel calculation flickered across his face. He raised the gun and aimed - not at Mirio, but at the girl.

Eri’s eyes widened. She understood what was coming. She had always understood pain. She braced herself, ready to accept it again, ready to protect those around her by sacrificing herself. It was the only way she knew how to live.

But Mirio wouldn’t let her.

He saw the trajectory, saw the intent, and made his decision in an instant. He moved - not to dodge, but to intercept. His body shifted, his Quirk activated, and then he let it go. He allowed the bullet to strike him, shielding Eri with his own flesh. The impact was sharp, final. His Quirk vanished.

Mirio staggered, the loss immediate and profound. He felt the absence like a void in his soul. But he didn’t regret it. He turned to Eri, his smile unwavering.

“You don’t have to be sad anymore,” he said.

In that moment, he remembered his father’s words from long ago. The first time he learned about his Quirk, his father had told him it would be difficult, that it would take time and patience to master. But he had also said something else - that it was a gift, and that gifts were meant to be used to help others.

Mirio had taken those words to heart. And now, even without his power, he stood tall. Because being a hero wasn’t about Quirks. It was about heart. And his was unbreakable.

Chapter Text

The chamber echoed with the sound of crumbling stone and labored breathing. Mirio Toogata, battered and bloodied, stood his ground with Eri clutched protectively behind him. His cape was torn, his body bruised, and his Quirk - his greatest tool - was gone. Yet his resolve remained unshaken. Across from him, Overhaul sneered, his mask cracked and his arm hanging limp from their last exchange.

“You’re a diseased man,” Overhaul spat, his voice low and venomous. “A fool with dreams that are lost now. You’re nothing.”

Mirio didn’t flinch. He had heard worse. He had lived through worse. And he had fought through worse. As Overhaul prepared to strike again, Mirio acted first. With a burst of strength, he hurled Chronostasis’s unconscious body at the villain, forcing him to stumble. In the same motion, Mirio closed the distance and drove his fist into Overhaul’s arm, shattering bone with a single, precise punch.

The pain rippled through Overhaul’s body, but Mirio didn’t stop. Despite still being under the disorienting effects of Sakaki’s equilibrium-warping Quirk, despite having lost Permeation, Lemillion continued to fight. For one-third of their brutal bout, he had protected Eri without powers - dodging, blocking, and countering with nothing but instinct, training, and heart. He had proven, beyond any doubt, that he was a true hero.

But Overhaul was relentless. Bloodied and enraged, he managed to back Mirio into a corner, his remaining arm twitching with anticipation. He raised it, his voice filled with twisted conviction.

“I’ll fix you,” he growled. “I’ll fix diseased men like you.”

Before he could strike, the wall behind him exploded in a burst of green lightning and shattered stone. Echo burst into the room, his body glowing with the power of Full Cowl. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Overhaul, his fist connecting with the villain’s shoulder and sending him flying across the chamber.

Eraserhead entered behind him, his eyes locked onto Overhaul. With a blink, he erased the villain’s Quirk, halting his ability to reshape the battlefield. He turned to Sir Nighteye, his voice clipped and urgent.

“See to the wounded.”

Sir Nighteye nodded, immediately moving to Mirio and Eri. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the devastation. Half the Eight Bullets had been defeated, and Overhaul had been grievously injured - all by Mirio alone. The realization struck him with quiet awe. He knelt beside his protégé, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You did well,” he said softly. “You protected her. You fought without powers. You proved everything I ever believed about you.”

Mirio, exhausted, allowed himself a brief smile. Eri clung to him, her small hands trembling, but her eyes wide with hope.

But the moment was short-lived.

Overhaul, his Quirk suppressed, staggered to his feet and screamed for Chrono to wake up. The aide stirred, his body twitching as he activated his Quirk - Chronostasis. Time around him slowed, and in a flash, he slashed Eraserhead’s arm with a hidden blade. The hero grunted, his body suddenly sluggish, his movements dulled by the temporal distortion.

Overhaul had healed Chrono during their earlier battle with Mirio, and now the aide was ready to strike. He lunged, aiming to skewer both Eraserhead and Izuku in one motion. But Eraserhead, despite his slowed reflexes, managed to push Echo aside at the last moment, taking the brunt of the attack himself.

Forced to blink from the pain, Eraserhead’s Quirk deactivated. Overhaul seized the opportunity. With a roar, he slammed his hand into the ground, reshaping it into a massive fissure of spikes that erupted across the battlefield. The chamber transformed into a jagged hellscape, the ground splitting and rising in chaotic formations.

“I won’t let it end here!” Overhaul bellowed.

His eyes burned with desperation and fury. He reached for Shin Nemoto’s broken body and, with a sickening motion, absorbed him. Flesh twisted and bones cracked as Overhaul’s form mutated into something monstrous. Four new arms sprouted from his back, each one pulsing with raw power. His body expanded, his mask fusing into his face, and his voice deepened into a guttural snarl.

“You were the stronger man, Lemillion,” he admitted. “But it was all for nothing.”

He stepped forward, his new form towering and grotesque. His gaze locked onto Eri, who clung to Mirio with wide, terrified eyes.

“Return her to me,” he demanded. “She belongs to me.”

The heroes stood their ground, battered but unyielding. Mirio, despite his injuries, shielded Eri with his body. Izuku stepped beside him, his fists clenched, the power of One For All surging through his veins.

They would not let her go.

Not now.

Not ever.

The battle raged on beneath the shattered remnants of the compound, the air thick with dust and tension. Overhaul’s monstrous form loomed over the battlefield, his fused body pulsing with unnatural strength. The grotesque fusion of himself and Shin Nemoto had granted him a terrifying new power, but at a horrifying cost. Echo watched in stunned silence as the villain stood tall, his new limbs twitching with anticipation.

“You destroyed yourself,” Izuku said, his voice low with disbelief. “You fused with your own underling.”

Overhaul turned his gaze toward the young hero, his expression unreadable beneath the warped remnants of his mask. He nodded slowly, his voice calm and cold.