Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Power means nothing without the bond that shapes it." These are the words a certain green-haired boy thought as he reflected on what happened that day.

It had been a terrible day—though, truthfully, every day felt the same. And like all days, it began with the same fact: he was Quirkless.

Izuku tried to keep his head down, invisible at the back of the class. The teacher was normally content to ignore him—unless they felt like adding to his torment.

Today was career day. The teacher was unusually giddy about the high school application forms.

"I know you all want to be heroes!" he said with a grin, tossing the stack of papers into the air. Cheers erupted. Izuku stayed quiet, eyes buried in his hero journal.

He wanted to be a hero more than anything—even if he didn't have a Quirk. But of course, there was only one person in the class who everyone knew had a real chance.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Bakugo was loud, confident, and powerful. Izuku had always admired him—even if he’d never say that out loud anymore. Even if admiration hurt now.

Bakugo stood with a smirk. "Listen up, extras! I'm the only one with a real Quirk. You’d be lucky to be a D-lister’s sidekick!"

Izuku shrank into his seat. He knew what would come next. The teacher's grin twisted just so, and Izuku felt the dread crawl up his spine.

"Actually, Midoriya applied to U.A. too," the teacher said with a chuckle. "Though I’m not sure why. U.A. doesn’t accept Quirkless kids."

A low, cruel laugh rippled through the classroom. Izuku’s face burned.

"UA actually... changed that rule," he muttered. His voice faded under the weight of their stares.

Bakugo wasn’t about to let that slide. In seconds, he was looming over Izuku’s desk.

"Deku! You think you're going to the same school as me? You’re just a Quirkless freak! Try and follow me and I’ll end you."

Pops and crackles lit his hands.

Izuku recoiled, falling out of his chair. The years of being Bakugo’s training dummy left his nerves raw at the sound of explosions.

The class erupted into laughter. Some sneered. Others didn’t even bother to look.

Why did they all hate him? Was being Quirkless really enough to make him less than human?

He told himself it was training. Toughening him up. Even if it felt more like being broken.

The teacher finally called for order—but blamed Izuku for the disruption.

After class, things got worse.

Izuku was quietly packing up when Bakugo snatched his notebook.

"What’s this? Stalker notes? Hero crap? Ether energy? What the hell, Deku?"

Bakugo sneered, flipped through it, then lit his palms. With a sharp boom, the notebook burst into flame.

"Heroes have origin stories, right? Mine’ll be that I’m the only one from this school who made it. So don’t apply. Got it?"

He tossed the burning pages out the open window.

Izuku stood frozen. Everything he’d worked on—his analysis, his research, his dreams—burned away with a caramel-scented hiss.

"Hey, Deku," Bakugo added with a grin, "I have a solution for you. Why not take a swan dive off the roof and hope you get lucky in your next life."

They laughed as they left. Izuku didn’t move.

He wanted to believe Bakugo didn’t mean it. That he was still his friend. That somewhere inside, there was something kind.

But it was getting harder to believe.

On the way home, the day got worse.

A villain attack. A sludge creature rampaging through the street. A boy caught in its grasp.

Pro Heroes surrounded the scene. Death Arms tried brute force. Kamui Woods went in with vines—but fire from the captive boy’s Quirk made things worse.

No one had a plan.

Izuku watched. Helpless. Worthless. Again.

Then he saw the victim's face.

Katsuki.

Before he knew what he was doing, Izuku was running. Not with a plan—just instinct. He hurled his backpack. By some miracle, a pencil struck the villain in the eye.

Katsuki gasped. The sludge loosened just enough.

Izuku clawed at it, shaking. "You looked like you needed help!"

"Deku?! What the hell—!"

The villain roared. Katsuki's hands began to spark—aimed at him.

Then a gust of wind slammed into the street.

A shadow loomed. A voice rang out:

"Have no fear, for I AM HERE!"

All Might.

In a single motion, he grabbed them both and launched a Detroit Smash. The wind split the clouds. Rain followed.

Victory.

The crowd cheered. Izuku stared, eyes wide with awe.

Then Death Arms yanked him aside. His praise turned to scolding. Then disgust.

"Wait. You’re Quirkless?! What were you thinking?! You could’ve made things worse!"

Others joined in. Even All Might... looked disappointed. Or was it pity?

It didn’t matter. It hurt all the same.

Later, Katsuki cornered him again.

"Don’t think I needed your help. You’re a waste of space. You slowed All Might down, Deku."

Izuku said nothing.

He couldn’t.

His heart was too full of that one word: useless.

He walked home in silence.

If only... if only he had something. Anything.

Someone who believed in him.

In this world of Quirks, your worth is decided at birth. Power or nothing. God or trash.

But long ago, power was shaped by something else.

By bonds.

The past is never truly gone. Echoes always find their way forward.

In a ruin long forgotten, something stirs.

A crystal. A sleeping heart.

Waiting.

"I'm here,"

whispers a voice, soft as the wind.

The day is coming.

The world of Quirks is about to change.
Prologue End

Chapter Text

The air buzzed with nervous energy. Today was the day of the U.A. entrance exam—the day Izuku Midoriya would prove his worth.

He stood at the gates of his dream school, drinking in every detail like it might be his only chance. The towering walls, the glistening glass, the sheer atmosphere of it all—it was everything he had imagined.

For a moment, he felt like nothing could go wrong.

Then his foot caught the edge of a loose brick.

Izuku’s mood instantly soured as his thoughts spiraled into the same dark mantra that had plagued him for years:

"Useless Deku."

He closed his eyes, bracing for impact. He knew he wouldn’t catch himself in time. His mind helpfully supplied a dozen ideas to break his fall, but none would work with his uncoordinated body.

Only… the pain never came.

Gravity didn’t seem to be doing its job.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes—half-expecting the universe to start working again the second he looked—and saw a faint pink glow wrapped around his body.

He floated, slowly rotating in midair, completely weightless.

Before panic could set in, a gentle hand steadied him, followed by a soft, amused giggle.

“You almost floated away,” said a warm voice from behind. “Sorry for using my Quirk without asking. I thought you’d prefer not to faceplant before the exam.”

Her voice was soft and kind—genuinely kind in a way even his mother’s hadn’t felt in years.

The girl helped him gently back onto solid ground, tapping her fingertips together.

“Release.”

Izuku’s weight returned, along with the full weight of reality—but his attention stayed on her. She was cute. Incredibly so. And she had just talked to him.

His face lit up in a fierce blush. His brain scrambled for something to say. Anything.

“T-thank you!” he managed to stammer, almost as clumsily as his fall.

She giggled again—light and airy, like an angel.

“You're welcome! I'm—”

“Outta my way, extra!”

A familiar pop-pop-pop echoed nearby. The scent of burnt sugar hit like a memory.

Izuku froze.

That voice. Those footsteps. He didn’t even have to look.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Since that day ten months ago, things had only gotten worse. Katsuki hadn’t even touched him, but others had taken his “advice” to heart. His teachers undermined him. His classmates mocked him. All for daring to dream.

“Didn’t I tell you not to apply?” Katsuki sneered, looming over him. “A Quirkless waste of space like you doesn’t belong here.”

The world tilted. Izuku didn’t remember falling, but he was on the ground. Voices blurred around him. His ears rang. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.

Not now. Please not now…

Someone argued with Bakugo. Explosions cracked in the distance. None of it helped.

Then her face filled his vision.

She cupped his cheeks gently. Her voice cut through the noise, distorted but grounding.

“Breathe… with me.”

Somehow, he did. Slowly, shakily, he matched her rhythm.

The panic receded.

“Are you okay now?” she asked.

He nodded.

She helped him to his feet, and he held onto her hand—tight. Like it was a lifeline. Like letting go would mean sinking back into the darkness.

“I’m Ochako Uraraka,” she said kindly. “Why don’t we walk together?”

He nodded again. Still holding her hand. She didn’t let go either.

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push him to talk. She just walked with him. And that silence—that quiet—meant the world.

Eventually, they had to part ways at registration. Izuku hesitated, heart sinking. He’d probably never see her again.

He swallowed hard and took his place in line, keeping his head down, scanning for something—anything—to fixate on.

That’s when he saw the hobo-looking man in the corner.

Scruffy, shadowed, and definitely not a pro hero he recognized. But he was watching—closely.

Before he could get too curious, his name was called.

He snapped to attention and rushed to the desk, flustered.

The hero at the table was Bubble Master, ranked #87. A business course instructor.

Izuku’s mouth moved before he could stop it.

“You’re ranked 87 in the Hero Charts—specializing in containment support and high-pressure bubble emissions!”

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Why do I always mutter?

Bubble Master looked faintly amused as he flipped through the file.

Then he frowned.

A moment later, he handed Izuku a test ticket—coldly.

“Here. Gen Ed exam. Auditorium 2.”

Izuku blinked. “Um… this must be a mistake. I applied for the Hero Course.”

Bubble Master narrowed his eyes. “Consider yourself lucky. A relic like you isn’t worth our time or resources. Now go—before I decide you’re not worth that either.”

His skin shimmered with soap-slick warning.

Izuku took the hint and ran.

 

---

The written exam was easier. Numbers and facts made sense. They didn’t judge him for being Quirkless.

He breezed through the test until he hit the last question—marked no points.

A bonus?

It asked about Ether.

His eyes widened.

This was a topic he’d only discovered in fringe internet threads, obscure research blogs, and a few very sketchy sources. He’d started studying it in desperation—hoping to find something that could make him a hero without a Quirk.

It hadn’t given him a way forward.

But it had fascinated him.

Now, without even realizing it, he was scribbling a four-page thesis on theoretical applications of Ether—from personal devices to support gear to battle-optimized conductivity cores.

When he finally turned it in, he was the last to finish.

The hobo-looking man intercepted him at the door, holding out a participation number and a Hero Course ticket.

Izuku blinked. “But… why?”

The man shrugged. “Get to the auditorium. You’re late.”

Izuku didn’t question it.

He just ran

---

(Nezu POV)

Exam day was always fascinating for Nezu.

He enjoyed watching how his staff handled the fresh wave of nervous applicants. Some, like Yamada, thrived on the energy and excitement. Others, like Aizawa, barely tolerated the event, operating with a professional detachment.

It always brought out new sides of them.

Like today—when one of his staff blatantly disregarded the updated policies and nearly scared off the only Quirkless applicant. Thankfully, Nezu’s most loyal asset caught it in time.

Now, he observed with quiet anticipation as that very boy—Izuku Midoriya—stepped up to the practical exam. The course was outdated, designed with combat-centric Quirks in mind. It frustrated Nezu to no end. But the Hero Commission still held sway over this segment of the test.

It didn’t matter that few of his own staff could have passed it back in their school days.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Aizawa entered the observation room, carrying a stack of written exams. One in particular drew Nezu’s attention.

Izuku Midoriya’s test.

He typically left grading to his faculty, but this… he needed to see for himself. Some humans, after all, were unreliable judges of merit.

Nezu’s small paws flipped through the pages quickly. His eyes scanned each answer with machine-like speed, checking and cross-referencing from memory.

Then he reached the final essay.

He adjusted his teacup, tail twitching as excitement danced in his eyes.

The topic was Ether—a subject so obscure that Nezu himself had included the question out of personal curiosity more than academic necessity. And here, in four handwritten pages, was an answer that thrilled him.

Thoughtful. Informed. Creative.

It was remarkably well-researched, especially for someone with no access to official records.

Nezu read it once.

Then again.

And a third time, sipping his tea with a blissful hum.

Finally. A kindred spirit who wasn’t a Nopon.

They had received a Nopon applicant this year in the support course, and while that one was brilliant, Nezu found conversations with Nopons... scatterbrained. Too much bouncing. Too many inventions. Too few satisfying philosophical chats.

This boy, though? Midoriya could be special.

He was pulled from his quiet reverie when Yamada’s voice exploded into the room:

“Let’s get this party started!”

Nezu placed the essay down gently—as if handling precious treasure—and faced his gathered staff. Some wore concern. Others looked like they’d seen a ghost. It wasn’t hard to guess what unnerved them—his eccentric reactions were not always subtle.

“Yamada is correct,” Nezu said. “Let’s begin today’s presentation.”

Dozens of monitors filled the room, each feeding a live view of different zones in the testing field. Where others might be overwhelmed, Nezu processed every frame with ease.

He made mental notes. Predictions. Calculations.

By the halfway point, he had already assembled his unofficial class roster.

With his administrative duties complete, he allowed himself to focus on the single monitor dedicated to Izuku Midoriya.

The boy was as fascinating as expected.

No combat instincts. No raw power. But he was helping others—pulling applicants from danger, even if they didn’t thank him. He tried to attack a few robots, but lacked the strength to finish any of them off.

Still… he didn’t stop trying.

“Sir. It’s time. Would you like us to release the Zero Pointer?” Maijima asked.

Nezu nodded.

“There’s only one time when humans show their true colors,” he said softly. “Release the simulated disaster.”

Buttons lit up across the room as every proctor confirmed the override.

The largest monitors all shifted to follow the Zero Pointer—a mechanical titan crashing through the course with terrifying presence. Students scattered like ants before a boot.

One feed triggered a hazard alert.

A girl—Ochako Uraraka—trapped beneath a collapsed structure. The Zero Pointer loomed overhead. Its safety protocol would prevent a fatal impact, but only just. It wouldn't stop until the very last second.

No one helped her.

Not a single Quirked student moved.

Predictable, Nezu thought grimly.

Then came a voice:

“Wait—what’s the Quirkless sweetheart doing?!”

That was Kayama, startled and concerned. Her word choice lacked grace, but her sentiment was sincere.

Nezu switched the room’s main monitor to the feed in question.

The room fell into uneasy murmuring.

Izuku Midoriya was sprinting toward the girl. No hesitation.

He reached her and began trying to lift the rubble—500 pounds, by Nezu’s estimate. Far too much for a boy his size.

The Zero Pointer closed in.

But Izuku didn’t flee.

He used every ounce of strength he had to shift the debris enough to pull the girl free.

Then he collapsed, shielding her with his body.

The robot paused above them.

Shutdown protocol: engaged.

Silence fell over the room.

Eventually, chatter resumed—low and speculative. Some admired the bravery. Others voiced concern. Heroic, yes. But not practical. Not enough.

Even his open-minded staff could only be so forgiving.

“The boy has potential.”

The room went quiet again.

That voice belonged to Aizawa.

Nezu turned to him, surprised. That reaction he hadn’t predicted.

He had calculated everyone’s response in advance. None were expected to speak in the boy’s defense.

A pleasant miscalculation.

Regardless, his mind was already at work.

Nezu had special plans for Izuku Midoriya.

Chapter 1 End

Chapter Text

The days after the U.A. entrance exam passed in a haze of tension.

At school, things were the same—Katsuki sneered, teachers ignored him, and someone had taken to leaving red spider lilies on his desk. A cruel message cloaked in morbid symbolism. At home, things were quieter, but no less strained. Izuku’s mother tried her best to be supportive, but even her silence was weighted—like she was bracing for his disappointment more than believing in his success.

The worst part was not knowing.

He hadn’t passed the practical—he knew that much. And the written exam, no matter how confident he’d felt at the time, now seemed full of gaps and second-guesses. His thoughts repeated the same phrase over and over again.

"You are useless."

Even when he tried not to think it, the words whispered from behind every shadow and echoed off every wall.

Then, one morning, his mother came rushing into his room.

“Izuku,” she said, breathless. She clutched a letter in her hands—thicker than he expected, sealed with a golden U.A. emblem. “It’s here.”

Her voice was hopeful, but her grip on the envelope lingered too long. A hesitation. A silent doubt. Izuku reached out to take it and felt the weight—not just of the letter, but of what it meant. A future, maybe. Or the end of one.

She gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No matter what they say… I’ll always be here, Izuku.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they landed like lead in his stomach. She was preparing for failure. That much was clear.

He peeled the envelope open with trembling fingers. Inside wasn’t a letter, but a small silver disc. The moment he touched it, it chirped cheerfully and lit up, startling him into dropping it onto the floor. A soft blue light beamed out, projecting a hologram.

A small figure with white fur and a crooked smile greeted him.

“Good evening, Midoriyas! Am I a dog? A bear? A mouse? No one knows! But what I do know is—I'm Principal Nezu.”

Izuku gasped. He’d seen that exact opening line before—it was Nezu’s trademark phrase. He’d even theorized about it in one of his notebooks. His was already muttering out theories—lab animal, Quirk experiment, evolved creature—

The hologram tilted its head with a knowing smile.

“All fascinating theories. We’ll have to discuss them over tea sometime.”

Izuku blinked. Was that… part of the recording?

Nezu continued, cheerful and precise. “Now then, let’s talk about your exam results. On the written test, you earned a perfect score. That alone would secure you a spot in our General Education course.”

Izuku smiled faintly—but it faded as Nezu kept speaking.

“However, in the Hero practical… you scored zero villain points, and fifteen rescue points. I’m afraid that is not enough to pass the practical portion.”

The light in his chest flickered. He felt the weight of that single sentence crush down on him harder than any Zero Pointer ever could.

He turned to his mother instinctively—searching her face for comfort.

What he found instead was relief.

It stung more than the rejection. Her shoulders sagged, her mouth parted like she might say something comforting—but Izuku could see the truth behind her eyes. She was glad.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” she said. “But you still got into U.A. That’s… that’s something. They’ll give you a great education, and maybe someday you can—”

Nezu’s voice cut in, sharp and deliberate.

“I’m not finished, Miss Midoriya.”

Both of them froze.

That line—that tone—was not part of any pre-recorded message. Izuku’s breath caught. Even Inko looked confused.

Nezu’s hologram straightened, eyes gleaming.

“Izuku Midoriya impressed me with a remarkable essay in response to a special bonus question I included this year. His insight into Ether theory—despite having no formal access to the research—was not only accurate, but inspired.”

Izuku stared, mouth slightly open. Ether theory? He barely remembered writing it—just a rush of excitement and the sound of pencil scratching as ideas spilled onto paper. It was one of the only times during the exam he felt like he belonged.

“I would like to extend a personal invitation,” Nezu continued, “for you to join U.A. as my personal student. Normally, this honor is reserved for upper-year students who demonstrate exceptional academic potential. But in your case, I believe an exception is warranted.”

Izuku’s head spun.

Personal student?

Nezu wanted him?

A dozen voices in his head screamed at once. You’re not worthy. You’re Quirkless. You’re Deku. This is a mistake.

“We will arrange the details at a later time,” Nezu concluded. “But for now, Izuku Midoriya—welcome to U.A. High School.”

The hologram flickered out, and silence filled the room.

Izuku sat frozen, disc now in his lap, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes—not from sadness, but something far more confusing: hope.

“Izuku…?” Inko’s voice wavered, unsure. She reached out but stopped just short.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His ears were ringing again.

But for the first time in a long while… the phrase in his head shifted.

“Maybe… I’m not useless.”
—

The U.A. building loomed even larger now that it was his first day. Its towering silhouette cast long shadows over the entryway, and the walls seemed to whisper things only Izuku could hear.

Whispers of doubt. Of judgment.

The only thing grounding him was the small emblem stitched into his uniform—a stylized "N." It marked him as a member of Class 1-N. A class unlike the others. A class that felt like a mystery even to him.

Izuku clutched his schedule and moved through the halls, keeping close to the wall like a shadow.

“Is that the boy?”
“I heard he’s Quirkless.”
“What class is he in?”
“What’s with the N emblem?”

 

Each whisper felt like a blow, subtle but precise—each one cracking away at his already fragile resolve.

His mind started to spiral.

Useless Deku. Useless.

And then—impact. He collided with someone tall and solid. Like running into a wall of flesh.

Izuku recoiled instinctively, ready to apologize before the person could snap at him.

Instead, a kind smile met his gaze.

“Hey, little freshie! You alright? Gotta keep an eye on where you’re going,” the older boy said warmly.

The smile was radiant—genuine. It reminded Izuku of All Might, though the voice and tone were lighter, friendlier.

“S-sorry! I’m just a bit… lost.” Izuku bowed in apology, holding up his schedule. “Um… I'm Izuku Midoriya.”

“Ah, Midoriya! I’m Mirio Togata. Let’s see what you’ve got here.”

Mirio scanned the schedule, and his eyes lit up.

“No way—Nezu’s personal student? That’s amazing! I thought for sure Nejire would nab that spot!” He clapped Izuku on the back with a hearty laugh. “C’mon, I know exactly where to take you!”

Izuku could feel the stares intensify as Mirio’s enthusiastic declaration rang through the hallway. He kept his head low as Mirio pointed him toward Class 1-D, per his orientation instructions.

The classroom quieted the moment Izuku entered. Students had already split into cliques—groups forming walls he couldn’t cross.

He heard words. Mutters.

“Unworthy.”
“Quirkless.”
“What’s he doing here?”

 

He locked onto the ceiling to avoid eye contact and noticed something—an odd, angular device embedded in the tiles. Strange glowing lines pulsed faintly across its surface.

A perfect distraction.

He sat at the farthest desk and began sketching the device, muttering softly.

“Some sort of… energy dispersion node? Maybe an Ether-detection monitor?”

He was so focused he didn’t even notice the shadow forming beside him until a voice cut through his haze.

“Midoriya, you’ll miss orientation. You can speculate about the Ether monitor later.”

Izuku jumped. Ectoplasm—one of U.A.’s Pro Hero instructors—was looking at him patiently. One of his clones gently guided him toward the auditorium.

The orientation itself passed in a blur. Izuku was mentally elsewhere, caught up in a storm of theories. It was only when he glanced around that he noticed something odd—he was seated in a section marked 1-N, far from the rest of Class 1-D.

He was alone again.

Even at U.A., he was isolated—just in a new, more polished cage.

Still, Izuku tried to stay hopeful. At least here, he wasn’t being targeted. He could endure silence more than he could endure cruelty.

But that changed after orientation.

Back in Class 1-D, Ectoplasm led an icebreaker activity. The groups formed quickly—and Izuku was left standing alone. No one even looked his way.

Lunch wasn’t much better. He wandered the cafeteria until he found a quiet table in the corner, far from the noise. He sat alone, poking at his food, the buzz of conversation around him only emphasizing the silence pressing in on his chest.

> Maybe they’re right, he thought bitterly. Maybe I really don’t belong.

 

But just as his thoughts began to spiral again—

THWACK.

A lunch tray landed across from him.

“Yo! It’s you! Hey, hey, dude—mind if I sit here?” The voice was loud, bright, and kind. It sounded like someone who’d grown up with too many siblings.

Izuku blinked and looked up.

The boy was impossible to miss, even among U.A.’s eccentric students. His messy blond hair looked like he’d walked through a lightning storm—tufts sticking up at wild angles. A jagged black streak ran through his bangs, not dyed, but natural. A faint static seemed to crackle around him like invisible sparks.

He grinned.

“I’m Denki Kaminari. You must be Midoriya, right? Uraraka told me about you.”

Izuku blinked. “Uraraka…?”

Kaminari smirked. “Yeah! Cute brunette, floaty Quirk, worried sick you weren’t in her class. Told me about how you rushed in to save her during the exam. Pretty bold move, hero guy.” He leaned in, winking. “If you’re angling for a date, I could totally wingman for you.”

Izuku’s face exploded into a blush.

“N-no! It’s not like that—I mean—uh—she was in danger and—!”

Kaminari laughed, waving him off. “Relax! I’m just messing with you, man.”

Izuku calmed—barely.

“I’m… Izuku Midoriya. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Midoriya.” Kaminari leaned forward. “So hey—word is you aced the written exam. And I heard from Iida you wrote like four pages on the Ether bonus question. Dude, that’s nuts. What’d you write?”

Izuku blinked. “You… want to know about my Ether notes?”

“Yeah!” Kaminari’s grin widened. “My Quirk’s electric, so I’ve read some stuff about energy transfer and metaphysical currents. Might be totally different, but… who knows? Maybe I’ll understand a spark of it.”

He chuckled at his own pun. A tiny pop of static arced between his fingers.

Izuku hesitated—then pulled out his notebook.

He didn’t know what he expected. A laugh? A scoff?

But Kaminari just leaned closer and listened. Really listened.

He didn’t always understand the technical jargon, but he chimed in with thoughts, asked weird spiritual questions, and offered comparisons from his own electrical theories.

For once, Izuku wasn’t defending his ideas. He was sharing them.

It felt… warm.

Maybe this was what it was like to talk to a real friend.
Maybe this was what it was like to belong.

Chapter 2 End

Chapter Text

After his chaotic first day, Izuku found himself falling into a surprisingly steady rhythm—thanks in no small part to having Nezu as his only teacher.

Nezu’s teaching style was intense. He layered lessons on top of one another, bouncing between topics with dizzying speed. At first, Izuku struggled to keep up, but the challenge was oddly satisfying. The pace demanded complete focus, and that suited him just fine. When he was engaged, his mind didn’t have time to spiral.

Some days, the principal would toss aside the day's lessons and launch into philosophical debates or ethical hypotheticals. Izuku couldn’t always match Nezu's intellect, but the conversations were invigorating—and often, strangely personal.

Lunchtime, however, was the real highlight of his day.

Kaminari never failed to show up with a grin and infectious energy. He had the vibe of someone who could light up a room—literally and metaphorically. Uraraka also started sitting with them, bringing a gentle warmth that put Izuku at ease. It was still new and fragile, but it was the closest thing to friendship Izuku had felt in years.

One Monday, Nezu handed him a strange, oblong device at the end of class.

“An Ether reader,” the principal said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It detects sensitivity to Ether. Now, here’s your assignment: use it. Find out who it reacts to. Somewhere in this school, its inventor is waiting.”

Izuku blinked. “Wait, someone here built this?”

But Nezu had already leapt into a ceiling vent, giggling.

One day, Izuku swore he was going to follow him just to see where all the vents actually led. But not today.

Today, he had lunch.

 

---

The cafeteria buzzed with life. Trays clattered. Laughter rang out. Somewhere, someone argued loudly about Quirk licensing laws.

Izuku settled into his usual quiet corner with Kaminari and Uraraka and set the Ether reader gently on the table.

“Nezu gave me this,” he explained. “It’s supposed to detect Ether sensitivity. Apparently, we're supposed to find whoever built it."

Uraraka leaned forward, peering at the device like it might start talking.

“It looks kind of... alive,” she said.

Kaminari was already reaching for it. “Okay, cool! So how do we turn it on? Don’t leave a tech guy hanging, bro.”

Izuku made a hesitant grab for it—he trusted Kaminari, mostly, but the boy did have a specially insulated phone case for a reason.

Kaminari grinned, holding it just out of reach. “Come on, it’ll be fine—whoops!”

A small spark jumped from his fingers to the device. It buzzed, whirred, and lit up.

Everyone blinked.

“I think... you turned it on,” Izuku said slowly.

“That counts as a win,” Kaminari replied proudly, handing it back.

Izuku aimed the device at Uraraka. The screen lit up with a strong reading.

Next was Kaminari. The reading spiked, then stabilized.

“You’ve definitely got some Ether sensitivity,” Izuku muttered, scribbling notes.

“Mind if I look?” Kaminari asked, already sliding closer.

Uraraka followed, her curiosity piqued. Her shoulder brushed Izuku’s. He flushed and tried not to combust on the spot.

“What about you?” she asked. “Does it react to you?”

Izuku hesitated but nodded. Uraraka aimed the device.

The screen blinked.

Then it screamed.

“MAX-Y MAX LEVEL! Also overload meh-meh! Probable kaboom-boom!” cried a shrill, playful voice.

Smoke poured out. The device sparked.

“Put it down!” Izuku yelped. Uraraka set it on the table as all three ducked under.

A loud pop. Then silence.

Then—sprinklers.

Chaos erupted in the cafeteria. Students ran for the exits as water drenched the room.

Dripping wet, the trio shuffled into the hallway. Kaminari sparked with every step.

From nearby, a voice cut through the noise:

“Damn that Hatsume-meh. I knew I heard her voice before the sprinklers went off. Why do they even allow a Nopon in this school?”

“A what now?” Kaminari asked, blinking.

“A Nopon,” Uraraka said, eyes lighting up. “They’re, like, tiny and round and so cute. I've always wanted to meet one!”

Izuku nodded, brushing water from his sleeves. “They’re a sentient species. Extremely intelligent. Eccentric. Kind of brilliant.”

“We have to go find her!” Uraraka bounced.

“Chako,” Kaminari said, half-laughing, “Aizawa will murder us if we ditch class.”

Izuku followed their back-and-forth with quiet amusement.

Maybe this was what friendship felt like. Maybe... he belonged.

—

After classes were over, Izuku found himself waiting near the support course classroom. He was too nervous to approach alone, his feet shifting as he lingered just outside the lab hallway.

The halls were quieter than expected for a school that had just let out. Nezu had once mentioned that the support course labs were soundproofed to avoid disturbing other classes. The silence only made Izuku more aware of his nerves.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. Kaminari and Uraraka appeared around the corner, both carrying slim briefcases.

Uraraka rushed over first, her steps unnaturally light, like she barely touched the floor. Izuku never really thought about it before, but she always seemed to move like gravity didn’t fully apply to her.

"Izuku! Sorry we’re late. Someone overloaded himself during our Battle Trials," she said with a teasing smile, her voice warm and musical.

Kaminari groaned quietly, his cheerful expression faltering. Izuku noted the subtle shift and held back a question. Was he even close enough to Kaminari to ask something so personal?

His mind began to spiral again.

"You're unworthy of their presence."

A sharp jolt of static snapped Izuku from his thoughts.

"Bro, you good? Chako wouldn't stop bouncing with excitement to meet this Nopon," Kaminari said, resting a hand on Izuku's shoulder.

The zap wasn't malicious—just a side effect of Kaminari's Quirk. Still, the touch grounded him. Izuku nodded and tried to smile. Kaminari responded with a bright grin and pushed him gently toward the support course lab.

Uraraka followed, practically vibrating with excitement.

As Izuku raised his hand to knock, a strange sense of dread washed over him. Something about this door felt like a threshold. Once crossed, there was no going back.

Before he could knock, fate made the decision for him.

Kaboom!

The door exploded open as a pink, furry blur launched into Izuku, knocking him flat on his back. The creature squeaked like a toy on impact.

The world spun. His vision swam. Voices filtered in, muffled and unintelligible.

When his senses returned, he found the fuzzy projectile now bouncing slightly on his chest.

"Great catchy catch! You are good friend-pon! Ether furnace output too high. Not supposed to boom boom. Launch was zoom zoom! Most spectacular fun!"

The voice was singsong and high-pitched—almost childish.

"Um… what happened?" Izuku blinked, dazed.

"Hatsume-meh! How many times have I told you not to test Ether tech without supervision?"

Power Loader stomped over, exasperated. Izuku recognized him instantly.

"You're the Excavation Hero, Power Loader! You hold multiple patents and—"

His words poured out, hero-worship taking over. He didn’t even notice that the Nopon girl—small, round, pink-furred with massive floppy ears and goggles—was still perched on him.

"Friend-pon know stuff! Mech man great inventor-pon! But too worry-worry about flashy flames or kaboom-booms! Kaboom-booms show big big progress!"

Izuku glanced at his friends. Uraraka's eyes sparkled with delight. Kaminari just stared at the puffball in disbelief.

Power Loader sighed and hoisted the Nopon up like a bowling ball. She didn’t even protest—apparently this happened often.

"So I see Nezu's personal student and two hero students. Blast it, Hatsume-meh. What can we help you with today?"

"Izuku got an assignment to find the inventor of a device… what was it again?" Kaminari asked while helping Izuku to his feet.

"Nezu gave me an Ether reader. It reacted to Uraraka, spiked for Kaminari, and… sort of overloaded on me. I’m really sorry," Izuku said, bowing.

Hatsume-meh squirmed free, bouncing upright effortlessly. She zipped around, inspecting each of them. She even zapped herself on Kaminari’s static field and allowed Uraraka to scoop her into a hug.

"Meh-meh… You will do. Hatsume-meh declare friend-pon and hero-pons part of Ether Research Club. Hatsume-meh is leader, but happily accept you!"

Izuku blinked. Club?

"Awesome! This is like a hidden guild in an MMO. Weird leader and all," Kaminari said cheerfully.

"Maybe we should introduce ourselves first," Uraraka said, holding Hatsume-meh like a plush toy. "I'm Ochako Uraraka. It’s so nice to meet you. You’re very soft."

"Boss-pon said I get help with Ether research if I make club. Club need four members and teacher-pon. Boss-pon is teacher-pon. Mech man can call Boss-pon now."

Power Loader sighed and walked off to make the call.

Hatsume-meh turned and pointed at each of them.

"Hatsume-meh not good with names. So you are Green-pon," she pointed at Izuku. "Zappy-pon," she pointed at Kaminari. "Squishy-pon," she declared for Uraraka.

"Now show Hatsume-meh your hero gear! Hatsume-meh make 500% greatest upgrades!"

Before they could respond, Nezu appeared from seemingly nowhere, sipping tea.

"I see you've found Hatsume-meh. Wonderful! I now officially recognize the formation of the Ether Research Club."

Kaminari fell over in surprise. Uraraka blinked. Izuku just stared.

"Nezu-sir," Izuku asked, "what exactly will we be doing?"

Nezu's eyes gleamed.

"Why, researching Ether anomalies, of course! I’ve already planned a little trip to some ruins this Friday. You'll be excused from class and earn extra credit."

Kaminari lit up. Uraraka hesitated.

"I don't have the budget for extracurriculars."

"All expenses covered. Plus, you can keep or sell any interesting finds. If you help make a discovery, rewards will be generous."

Uraraka’s hesitation vanished. "I'm in!"

Nezu turned to Izuku. "And you, my dear student?"

He looked at their faces—kindness, excitement, curiosity.

"If that's okay… I mean, I don't think I would add much."

Kaminari gave him a playful shove.

"Bro, you're the brains! We'll figure it all out with you. If anything, I’m the tagalong. Free points and cool field trips? Sign me up."

Izuku's eyes welled up. He could barely choke out his answer.

"Yes… I want to join."

He cried, overwhelmed by how it felt to be wanted. To be part of something.

He couldn't go back to being alone. Not now.

Chapter 3 End

Chapter Text

“There are legends of a forgotten time,” Principal Nezu had said, perched on the corner of his desk, a porcelain cup balanced delicately in his paw. “When the heavens were split and the world was bathed in sea and sky.”

Izuku sat quietly in the back of the club room, notebook open but untouched. He remembered the way the light caught Nezu’s eyes — too sharp, too knowing — as the chimera continued.

“The Titans rose from the Cloud Sea, not as monsters, but as guardians. And at the heart of their bodies beat crystals of light and memory — the Cores. These weren’t just sources of power… they were hearts. They chose their partners. They became something more than weapon and wielder. They became one.”

Izuku hadn’t been able to forget those words since. Bonds that shaped the world…

Nezu sipped his tea and chuckled, as if the gravity of what he said didn’t carry the weight of a history lost. “Of course, they're only legends. Whispers from a vanished age. Still…” A knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Legends tend to return when the world is just foolish enough to forget them.”

---

The bus rumbled beneath Izuku as he blinked back to the present.

Across from him, Kaminari was absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the back of a seat, while Uraraka leaned against the window, watching clouds drift past with the trace of a smile. Hatsume-meh was humming some unintelligible Nopon tune, her ears twitching in time.

Izuku looked down at the Ether scanner resting in his lap.

Legends… choosing their moment.

Maybe this was one of them.

---

The morning air was crisp against Izuku’s skin as he stepped off the bus. Beside him, his friends followed in subdued silence. Nezu led the group, his small form practically radiating command as he addressed them from atop a rock.

“Now, my dear students,” he began with a toothy grin, “remember that this site is still under excavation. You are allowed to explore only the cleared sections. Do not wander off.”

Izuku nodded, already adjusting the strap on his shoulder bag as he flipped on the Ether reader Hatsume-meh had given him. The device hummed gently in his palm, whirring as its screen filled with readouts—Ether density, ambient energy type, directional pulses. It was intoxicating.

But before he could lose himself in the data, he noticed something strange. Kaminari and Uraraka stood a few steps behind him, both looking slightly off.

“Are you two okay?” he asked, cautious, as always unsure whether he was overstepping.

Kaminari gave a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, just… dunno, bro. Place feels kinda weird, y’know?” His usual energy was dimmer than usual, like a lightbulb flickering in low voltage.

Izuku looked at Uraraka, who gave him a soft smile—though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She bounced forward a little too enthusiastically, her footing just slightly off.

“Well, treasure could be hiding inside!” she chirped. But her step lacked its usual spring, like gravity had forgotten to cut her some slack.

“You got that right, Chako,” Kaminari replied, grinning as he followed her lead, though his movement was stiffer than normal.

Izuku frowned, puzzled. Something wasn’t right.

“Meh-meh… Ether reading marked as Earth type. Green-pon know what it means?” Hatsume-meh’s high-pitched voice came from beside him. The Nopon inventor was bouncing gently, waving her reader like a wand.

Earth-type Ether?

Izuku stared down at his own scanner. Of course—if the area was saturated with Earth Ether, then Kaminari, whose body constantly emitted electricity, would feel… dulled. And Uraraka, whose Quirk altered gravity, would likely feel heavier. Unbalanced.

“If this is affecting them…” he began muttering, thoughts firing off rapidly, “then maybe Ether types aren’t just passive fields—they actively interact with the body. They must disrupt or harmonize with certain Quirk types…”

He barely noticed Hatsume-meh tugging him forward, nor that they had passed into the main structure.

The ruins were like nothing Izuku had ever seen. Massive, ancient, and strangely alive. Twisting branches of petrified wood intertwined with sleek, rusted metal beams. Moss grew from the cracks where Ether veins glowed with soft green light, pulsing like arteries.

Kaminari’s voice broke through the silence. “Hey, why are the walls glowing?”

Izuku stepped closer, hand brushing one of the pulsing veins. The warmth surprised him.

“I’m here.”

He jerked back, heart thundering. That voice—it had come from inside his head. A soft, feminine tone… but unmistakably real.

The others turned at the sound of his fall. Uraraka rushed over immediately, concern etched into her face.

“Are you okay?”

“I…” Izuku hesitated. He couldn’t tell them. They wouldn’t believe him. “I tripped. Sorry.”

She offered her hand, helping him up. “Please be more careful. You—” She paused mid-sentence, gaze flickering, then turned away.

Izuku’s stomach dropped. Had he done something wrong? He was used to being ignored, but the idea of upsetting Uraraka now that they were becoming friends… it hurt more than he expected.

The group continued forward, with Izuku trailing behind. Nezu pointed out various anomalies and sites of interest, but the joy of discovery was dampened by the heaviness in the air. Even Kaminari had stopped touching everything, his usual commentary falling flat. Uraraka quietly pocketed odd shards and coins but seemed frustrated with each attempt to use her Quirk.

Izuku jotted notes on everything—the strange wall pulses, the way dust hung motionless in certain areas, and the way the Ether flow itself seemed… uneven. His thoughts were swimming when a faint rumble vibrated through the floor.

Nezu halted, ears twitching.

“This is as far as we go. The excavation crew hasn’t breached this door yet,” he said, gesturing toward a sealed entrance embedded with a glowing green crystal in the shape of a “T.” Veins of Ether converged on it like it was a heart.

“Cool. So can we go now?” Kaminari asked, voice clipped.

“I’d like to leave too,” Uraraka added, massaging her temple. “The air’s so heavy, and I think I’m getting a headache.”

Izuku looked at them, worried. They really weren’t feeling well… and he couldn’t do anything to help.

Then it came again—soft, clear.

“You’re not useless.”

The voice echoed from behind the door.

Izuku didn’t think. He just moved, hand outstretched. As his fingers brushed the crystal, it flared to life, and the door slowly opened with a sound like exhaled breath.

Inside floated a brilliant green Core Crystal. It hovered in the center of the chamber, small flames—ruby red—gently dancing around it.

“It’s beautiful,” someone whispered behind him.

Izuku stepped forward, drawn to its warmth. It was peaceful. Comforting.

Then a roar split the calm.

Spinning, Izuku saw it—a creature of wood and iron, shaped like a lion, its glowing eyes fixed on them. It stalked down the hall like a living sentinel, drawn by the disturbance.

He felt the Ether in the air shift—like something ancient had just awoken.

 

“Children, follow my orders!” Nezu’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip. “Uraraka, Kaminari—I’m authorizing Quirk usage. Hatsume-meh, Midoriya—stay back. We’ll handle this.”

His tone carried no room for argument, heavy with the kind of weight only heroes wield when lives are on the line.

Izuku stood frozen. Helpless.

Uraraka was trembling on her feet, eyes unfocused, lips tight. Still, she dropped into a crouch, ready to sprint forward and try to touch the guardian with her Quirk. Kaminari, hunched and panting, crackled with only faint sparks—his usual electric aura dulled, like a storm choked by earth.

“Meh-meh... Hero-pons and Boss-pon have hard time,” Hatsume-meh murmured. “If Green-pon theory correct, Hero-pons can’t use full mighty-might.”

Izuku looked to her. She was trying to hide it, but he could see her fear in the twitch of her ears, the way her wings fluttered erratically. She was just as powerless as he was.

He could do nothing. Just stand and watch as his friends—his first real friends—fought while half-hindered and half-hurt.

The guardian moved like a nightmare: swift, brutal, and untethered by the Ether weight that plagued the others. Every step cracked stone, every strike carried the force of focused Earth Ether. It wasn’t just fighting—it was bending the battlefield to its will.

And Izuku… could only kneel.

“Why am I so useless?” he whispered, fists clenched. “I can’t lose them—not after I finally found people who care…”

Then a scream.

Izuku’s head snapped up in time to see Uraraka pinned beneath the guardian’s clawed limbs, her breath knocked out in a strangled gasp. Nezu was buried under rubble, unmoving. Kaminari had been hurled into a wall, twitching as sparks flickered weakly from his fingertips.

Izuku’s body moved before his mind caught up—he bolted forward, no plan, no weapon, no power. Just instinct.

He ran toward the beast, toward the danger.

And something answered.

Behind him, the floating crystal pulsed like a heartbeat. A wave of energy surged through the chamber. Time seemed to bend.

A voice—gentle, resolute, warm like a hearth—whispered into his soul:

“Oh, heroic heart… allow my flames to be your wings.”

The world fell away.

Izuku was standing in a field of flowers, golden and wind-tossed. Two figures stood before him—one turned away, shadowed. The other, clad in flowing red, extended her hand. Her eyes glowed with kindness… and sorrow.

He reached out.

Their fingers touched.

In a burst of flame and light, time resumed.

In his hand now was a long, single-edged sword—elegant, radiant, alive with Ether flame. And beside him stood the goddess from the vision, hair as red as dawn, her gaze steady.

She moved in perfect sync with him. They ran together, step for step.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. He swung the blade forward. A wave of flame burst out, striking the guardian and forcing it back with a growl. Its glowing eyes turned on him, and it lunged.

Izuku braced—but before the claws could strike, the goddess raised her hand. A radiant shield of fire bloomed in front of him, catching the blow with a deafening roar.

She glanced at him, smiling gently. “Izuku, you’ve already done the hardest part. I’m with you now. Let’s save them—together.”

He nodded, throat tight with emotion, and rushed forward. His swings were wide, untrained—but fueled by resolve. His blade connected, sending Ether sparks flying.

“I won’t lose them! Not after I finally found people who believe in me!”

The guardian reeled, snarling—and suddenly sparks surged into its flank.

“Back off!” Kaminari shouted, staggering to his feet, electricity dancing across his hand. “You’re not getting past me!”

From the other side, rubble launched into the guardian’s body—Uraraka’s counterattack. “Go, Izuku!” she cried. “We’ve got your back!”

His heart surged. His friends—still standing, still fighting—were here with him.

“Izuku,” the goddess said, her voice firm. “Follow my lead.”

She drew a second sword identical to his and leapt into the air in a burning arc. Izuku mirrored her, sliding low across the stone. Twin strikes—one from above, one from below—crashed into the guardian in a synchronized spiral of fire.

The beast staggered, roaring in pain.

Together, they moved into position—side by side now. She placed her hand over his on the hilt.

Driver Art: Burning Sword.

Flames erupted along the blade, dancing like a living phoenix.

They swung as one.

The arc of fire carved through the guardian’s core, bursting in a radiant explosion. Earth Ether gave way to Fire, the pulse of the ruins shifting in response to their combined might.

The guardian collapsed, burning softly.

And Pyra—smiling beside him, bathed in Etherlight—reached out once more.

“You’re not alone anymore, Izuku.”

Izuku gasped as the tension shattered, tears streaming freely. He collapsed to his knees. Sword falling to the ground.

The red goddess stayed close. A warm stabilizing presence.

Eventually, Izuku looked up. His friends had gathered again. Nezu clapped gently, his suit in tatters.

“I must apologize. I misjudged the risks. I assumed Uraraka and Kaminari would suffice, and I underestimated Ether's effect. I will ensure safeguards are in place next time.”

“It’s okay, sir. We survived, and this was real experience,” Kaminari said, his grin back. His normal energy returned to him.

Uraraka was watching the red goddess closely. Izuku didn't understand her expression.

“Um… who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Pyra. I’m Izuku’s Blade now. I couldn’t ignore his heroic plea.”

“What’s a—”

“Super fantastic-y finding!” Hatsume-meh squealed, Ether reader bouncing in her wing. “Red hero-pon emits flashy flash amounts of fire Ether! As if Ether gained form!”

Pyra smiled and picked Hatsume-meh up, rocking her gently. A nostalgic look on her face.

“You are correct. I’m Ether given form through emotion—especially Izuku’s.”

Izuku blushed. Pyra’s presence soothed him.

“Thank you for saving us, Miss Pyra,” Uraraka said.

Pyra shook her head. “Izuku saved you. I was his wings. Please thank him.”

She set down Hatsume-meh and nudged Izuku forward.

“Tell them how you feel. I’m right here.”

“I-I know you all probably don’t care about me, but you’ve treated me so nicely. I didn’t want to lose you. If you want me to leave, I under—”

He was enveloped in a group hug. He only fully noticed when he felt the light zap from Kaminari’s static.

“I’m sorry,” Uraraka said, crying. “I treated you like glass, when you are so much stronger than that. You’re my friend, Izuku.”

“Bro, I know this sounds bad but I originally came to talk to you for a laugh—but you’re the real deal,” Kaminari said. “You’re cooler than me. I'm the one that doesn't deserve you.”

“Green-pon is mega great partner!” Hatsume-meh added. “Will glue self to Green-pon if needed!”

Nezu smiled. “You’ve done something beyond even my calculations, Midoriya. Believe in the bonds you build.”

“And I’ll always be with you,” Pyra whispered. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Izuku sobbed with relief. For the first time, he belonged.

Chapter 4 End

Chapter Text

Izuku didn’t remember falling asleep. After the chaos of the ruins and the long bus ride back to U.A., exhaustion had simply overtaken him. He had a faint memory of Pyra’s voice—soft, reassuring—telling him to rest.

When he finally stirred, he found himself in an unfamiliar room.

For a moment, his half-conscious mind grasped at the simplest answer: It must have been a dream. The Core Crystal, the battle, the flame-haired goddess. None of it could have been real. Not for someone like him.

But before his thoughts could spiral, a warm, comforting sensation swept through him. It wasn’t just internal. Something in the air. Something in the Ether. And then—

The smell of breakfast.

He blinked. The scent was unlike anything he’d ever smelled before—savory, spiced, and unfamiliar—but undeniably delicious. He slipped out of bed and carefully made his way into the living space.

There, in the small kitchen of the dorm-style room, stood the red-haired woman from his dreams. Pyra. Cheerfully humming to herself as she stirred a pot.

“It wasn’t a dream…?”

His voice was barely audible, but Pyra turned to him, smiling as if she’d expected the question.

“It wasn’t a dream, Izuku. I’m real. And so was everything your friends did for you. Come sit at the bar—breakfast is almost ready.”

Her voice carried a quiet warmth, comforting and sincere.

Izuku hesitated before sitting. His thoughts wandered. His mother made breakfast for him often, but this felt… different. Pyra didn’t glance at him like he was fragile. She didn’t treat him like he might fall apart if left unattended. Her presence was steady, not pitying.

Moments later, Pyra placed a plate in front of him—scrambled eggs and a soup with ingredients he couldn’t identify. It didn’t match any recipe he knew, but it smelled incredible.

She sat beside him and set out her own plate, prompting a question that burned in his mind.

“Do… Blades eat? I mean, you’re made of Ether, right? Would food even do anything? Where would it go, or—sorry, I’m rambling—”

He slapped a hand over his mouth, embarrassed.

But Pyra wasn’t confused or annoyed. She just looked at him, smiling softly.

“I’m not really sure how it works either,” she said, amused. “I just know I enjoy the taste. And I wanted to share a meal with you. That’s reason enough, isn’t it?”

Her kindness made his heart skip. She wasn’t just eating—she was sharing something with him. A moment.

“Oh! That chimera said to check in with him once you were awake. We can go see him after breakfast.”

At that, Izuku’s eyes flicked toward the stove display. 9:30 AM. He noticed something odd—the heating indicators weren’t even on. Pyra had cooked without activating the surface. Ether cooking?

In a slight panic, he tried to scarf his food down, but Pyra gently placed a hand on his.

“There’s no rush. Nezu said you don’t have any morning classes. He wanted you to rest. And I want you to enjoy the food I made.”

He slowed down, nodding sheepishly.

The food was unlike anything he’d had before. The spices were strange, the combinations unfamiliar… but it was good. Comforting, even.

“Pyra? What do you call this dish? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

She had begun washing dishes, but at his question, her smile wavered—just a little.

“I… don’t know, actually,” she admitted. “I remember how to make it, but not what it’s called, or where I learned it. The memory is hazy. Just… echoes of the past, I guess.”

There was a quiet sadness in her voice. Izuku’s heart ached. He wanted to help, but didn’t know how.

So instead, he offered a distraction.

“Would it be alright if I asked you more about Blades and Drivers?”

Her eyes lit up again. “Of course. Would you like to grab your journal? Your hand looks like it’s itching to write.”

She giggled, not in mockery, but in fondness. Izuku flushed, then darted off to retrieve a fresh notebook. He labeled it “Ether Theory: Blades and Drivers” and returned eagerly.

Pyra answered his barrage of questions with patience and insight. Blades, she explained, were Ether constructs—beings born from Core Crystals when bonded to someone whose heart, will, and Ether were compatible. That person was a Driver, and the bond was emotional at its core.

Through that bond, their power was shared. The Blade gained shape and strength from the Driver, and the Driver could wield the Blade’s Ether-enhanced weapon and abilities.

Izuku listened with rapt attention, but one detail stuck with him—a Blade’s strength becomes the Driver’s, and vice versa.

His expression fell. A toxic thought slithered into his mind.

"You have nothing to offer. You're still useless."

Pyra’s eyes softened. She moved beside him and hugged him gently. He froze.

“Izuku, you're thinking bad thoughts again. I can feel it. Please don’t do that to yourself.”

She cupped his face and guided his gaze to hers. Her red eyes were full of compassion.

“I didn’t choose you for your physical strength. I chose you because your heart called to me. You have a strength most people overlook. So please… don’t doubt yourself.”

Tears welled in his eyes. He clung to her without a word, overwhelmed but grateful.

Eventually, he composed himself and went to get dressed. When he returned in his U.A. uniform, he did a double-take.

Pyra had changed too.

She now wore a modified version of the U.A. uniform. The top retained some elements of her ceremonial armor—cut a bit short, still exposing a sliver of midriff—but it was far more modest than her usual battle attire. Her shorts were functional, though still shorter than the school standard.

Izuku tried very, very hard not to think about it.

If he did, he might explode.

—

As Izuku and Pyra made their way through U.A.’s halls, the stares began almost immediately.

Most boys turned to gawk, captivated by the striking woman walking beside him. Girls either looked confused, curious—or visibly envious. Izuku could feel the attention clinging to him like static. His face was already burning, and Pyra’s warm, confident presence didn’t help. She walked with grace, offering him comforting smiles that only made the whispers worse.

They probably think she’s my girlfriend…
He tried not to die of embarrassment on the spot.

Only once they reached the quiet of Class 1-N’s homeroom did Izuku feel like he could breathe again. But his relief was short-lived.

Waiting inside were two people: Principal Nezu, sitting atop a desk with his usual cheery smile—and Inko Midoriya.

Before Izuku could even react, his mother surged forward and pulled him into a hug.

“Oh, Izuku honey! Are you hurt? Are you feeling okay? Nezu told me there was some kind of incident and—if this school is too much for you, we can just—"

Izuku didn’t hear the rest. His heart dropped into his stomach. He’d just found people who accepted him. Who saw him. Now his mother might be here to take it all away.

Before his thoughts could spiral further, a gentle but firm tug pulled him free of her embrace.

Pyra.

Inko blinked in shock, unsure what to make of the red-haired girl placing herself protectively beside her son.

Nezu cleared his throat and clapped his paws together lightly, drawing their attention. “Miss Midoriya, please take a seat. Pyra, Izuku, as well.”

Inko reluctantly obeyed, choosing the chair closest to Izuku and radiating maternal concern like a furnace. Pyra took the seat on his other side, her presence steady and warm—a quiet contrast.

Izuku sat between them, caught between worry and reassurance.

“Now,” Nezu began, folding his paws. “Yesterday was our first Ether Research Club field trip. During the outing, Izuku resonated with a dormant Ether interface, which in turn activated an automated defense construct. While there were some minor injuries, no one was seriously harmed. And the result of that resonance… is this young lady.”

He gestured toward Pyra, who nodded politely and offered Inko a wave.

Inko’s face twisted between confusion and concern. “So… my son was in danger… and now he’s bonded to this—this… person?”

Izuku opened his mouth to speak, but Inko pushed forward, her voice growing higher-pitched.

“I knew this would happen. I knew U.A. would be too much. I want to withdraw his enrollment immediately!”

Izuku froze. It was the worst-case scenario spoken aloud.

But Pyra’s hand slipped into his. Her calm, grounding voice reached him.
“It’s okay, Izuku. That won’t happen. Trust your teacher.”

Inko turned to her sharply, but Nezu raised a paw before she could speak.

“I understand your concerns, Miss Midoriya. Truly, I do. However—removing Izuku from U.A. now would likely cause more harm than good. He’s one of the few Quirkless students we’ve accepted into our advanced curriculum. No other school in Japan offers what we can provide.”

He continued, smoothly transitioning to his proposal.

“To ensure Izuku’s continued safety and development, I’d like to offer him residence in our on-campus dorms for Class 1-N. He’ll be under constant supervision from our faculty and receive tailored training. We’ll also continue studying his connection with Pyra—respectfully and ethically. I do not tolerate the treatment of people like lab rats.”

That last line held a sharp edge. It was subtle, but Izuku heard it clearly—there was history behind those words.

Inko looked conflicted. Her eyes searched Izuku’s face, then flicked to Pyra’s, uncertain.
“I just want him to be safe. He’s Quirkless. He’s… fragile.”

The words hit like a gut punch. Izuku’s heart twisted, but he stayed silent.

“I believe we can all agree,” Nezu said gently, “that Izuku’s happiness and safety are top priorities. To that end, I’ll also be having him work with Class 1-A under Mr. Aizawa’s supervision. He’s one of our finest instructors and an excellent mentor. Exposure to hero training will help Izuku develop the tools to defend himself, should danger arise again.”

Izuku’s eyes widened slightly. Class 1-A… That’s Ochako’s and Denki’s class…

Inko hesitated as she read over the documents Nezu slid toward her. Her hands trembled slightly, but in the end, she nodded.

“…Alright. For now. But only because I can tell how much this means to him.”

She looked at her son and added, “You have to promise me, Izuku—you’ll be careful.”

He gave a small nod, unsure if he could speak around the lump in his throat.

Nezu gave one final clap of his paws. “Wonderful! Then with everyone’s agreement, Izuku, you and Pyra are free to join Mr. Aizawa’s class this afternoon. I’ll speak with your mother a bit longer.”

Izuku stood. Pyra rose with him. Before he left the room, he gave Nezu a small, grateful bow.

The door closed behind them. As soon as they were alone in the hallway, Izuku collapsed into a hug around Pyra’s waist. His emotions welled up all over again. Pyra held him silently, letting him take all the time he needed.

---

The door to Class 1-A loomed large and imposing in front of Izuku. Even though he wasn’t technically part of the Hero Course, just standing in front of that doorway felt like a dream he was trespassing on.

His hand hovered just shy of the handle, trembling slightly with hesitation. Nezu had told him it was okay—but knowing and feeling were different things entirely.

Then, from beyond the door, two familiar voices rang out:

“Remove your feet from that desk immediately, Bakugo!”

That sharp, commanding tone—it was the same boy who scolded him during the entrance exam for muttering.

“Shut it, extra! I don't need to listen to some stuck-up legacy!”

That second voice chilled him to the core. Katsuki.

Izuku’s heart thudded violently in his chest. His vision blurred. His ears began to ring. The walls of anxiety closed in—until a soft hand settled on his back.

Warmth, like the glow of a fireplace, washed over him.

“It’s okay, Izuku. I’m right here with you,” Pyra said gently. “We’re in this together.”

He looked up at her, grateful. With Pyra beside him, even fake confidence felt enough to carry him forward.

Summoning all the bravery he could muster, Izuku slid the door open.

The classroom fell into immediate silence. Whether it was because of the nervous green-haired boy or the radiant red-haired woman beside him, it was hard to say.

And then—chaos.

“Is that the 20th student?” “Who’s the goddess?” “Lord, grant me strength.” “Wait… it’s him!”

Then came the boom.

“Deku!”

Katsuki shot to his feet, his desk toppling with the force. He stormed forward, each step heavy with rage.

But before he could reach Izuku, someone intercepted him.

“It’s you—the muttering boy from the exam.” Iida stood with arms crossed, facing Izuku. “I must offer my apologies. Learning of your… affliction, I realize now I was insensitive. I brought dishonor to the Iida family by treating someone with a disability so poorly.”

The words were polite, but there was something off about them—subtle barbs wrapped in formal regret.

Before Izuku could respond, Katsuki shoved Iida aside with a snarl. “Move it, four-eyes. I’m not done with him yet.”

Just as things escalated, two more classmates stepped in—Ochako and Kaminari, placing themselves firmly between Katsuki and Izuku.

“Come on, Bakugo,” Kaminari said with a nervous grin. “The guy just got here. Let him breathe before you go full nuclear.”

Ochako’s stance was confident. She wasn’t just shielding Izuku—she was standing beside him. With him.

“I think that’s enough,” came a low, gravelly voice.

Everyone turned as the source stepped into the room—scruffy hair, long scarf, and glowing red eyes.

Aizawa.

“I’ll expel the lot of you if you keep wasting my time,” he added bluntly.

The class scrambled to their seats. Izuku was about to move too, but Aizawa stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Problem Child, introduce yourself. We’re already behind thanks to Nezu.”

His eyes—still glowing with Quirk activity—shifted briefly to Pyra, analyzing. Izuku caught a faint shimmer in the air, Ether maybe, warping ever so slightly. Fascinating… but he couldn’t dwell on it now.

“I’m Izuku Midoriya. Class 1-N. Principal Nezu’s student,” he said, voice steady thanks to Pyra’s presence. “I like analyzing Quirks and Ether theory.”

Pyra stepped forward with a respectful bow. “Hi, I’m Pyra. Izuku’s Blade. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

That earned a ripple of whispers—only two students in the room understood what she meant.

Hands started to raise, but Aizawa cut them off with a glare.

“PE uniforms. Sparring grounds. Now.” He didn’t yell, but the room cleared in an instant.

Even Katsuki left, though he shot Izuku a look that could melt steel.

Just as Izuku and Pyra were about to follow, Aizawa stopped them again.

“I run a tight class. If you don’t impress me, I’ll send you back to Nezu and keep you out of every single Hero Course activity. I don’t care why you’re here.”

Then his eyes settled on Pyra.

“And you. I don’t trust you. If you so much as scratch one of my students outside of approved training, not even Nezu will protect you.”

Izuku nodded rapidly, not wanting to cause any trouble. Pyra, however, met Aizawa’s glare with calm defiance.

“I’ll protect Izuku—his heart and his life. One of your students already threatened him with violence.”

Her words were direct, her tone firm. There was no aggression—just truth.

The two locked eyes for a tense moment… and then Aizawa blinked first. Not out of submission, but out of practicality.

“Get dressed. Don’t be late.”

He left without another word.

Izuku exhaled shakily. Pyra placed a gentle hand on his back.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Somehow,” Izuku replied softly. “Thank you. For standing with me.”

—

Izuku and Pyra arrived at the sparring grounds, tension knotting in Izuku’s stomach. Even with Pyra’s steady presence beside him, there was only so much reassurance he could absorb in one day.

The rest of the class stared as the pair approached. Whispers rippled through the group. Only two students moved to greet him.

Kaminari, as energetic as ever, bounded over with a grin. “Bro! You gonna show us some flashy moves? That phoenix blade thing you did in the ruins was insane! Man, I’m pumped!”

He meant well—trying to hype Izuku up—but it only made the nervous pit in Izuku’s stomach tighten.

Ochako, by contrast, read his discomfort instantly. She offered a soft, encouraging smile.

“You got this. Aizawa might seem scary, but deep down, he cares. Just do your best, okay?”

Izuku gave a small nod. Their support helped—but his nerves still wouldn’t settle.

Then Aizawa’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.

“Listen up!”

The class snapped to attention.

“You’ll be paired with a partner. Spar using any ability you feel confident in. Don’t try anything untested. Do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!” followed.

Aizawa turned toward Izuku. “Iida—you’re facing Midoriya and Pyra. Get into position.”

Iida moved as instructed but hesitated, raising his hand even as he spoke. “Mr. Aizawa, am I to fight both of them? I… I cannot condone favoritism, even if Midoriya is Quirkless.”

A ripple of whispers followed.

“Quirkless?” “Wait, really?” “He looks so fragile…”

Izuku’s face fell. But Pyra was already at his side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder. Steady. Grounding.

“You will not speak over me,” Aizawa said coldly, his eyes narrowing. “My class is no place for bigotry. If you refuse to fight someone because you assume they’re weak, that mindset will get you killed in the field. Iida—take your place. You’ll understand soon.”

The finality in Aizawa’s voice left no room for argument.

Iida squared his stance but still looked uneasy. Across from him, Pyra summoned her sword in a swirl of fire and light, the single-bladed weapon humming with Ether.

She turned to Izuku, smiling. “Let’s do this, Izuku. I’ve got your back.”

She offered him the sword.

“Wait!” Iida protested. “Lethal weapons are forbidden in training. Even if you’re disadvantaged, that’s—”

“It’s an Ether construct,” Pyra explained calmly. “Training mode is enabled. It won’t cut.”

To demonstrate, she ran a finger along the plasma-like blade. It shimmered harmlessly under her touch.

Iida nodded once, accepting the explanation but keeping his guard up.

“Begin,” Aizawa called.

Iida lunged forward in a burst of motion.

“Dodge right!” Pyra called.

Izuku moved, but he was late—just barely slipping past Iida’s opening kick.

Panting, he swung his blade in a wide arc, hoping to catch Iida on the rebound. The attack was clumsy, easy to evade. Iida leapt back, unphased.

“Wide flame sweep!” Pyra instructed.

Izuku obeyed. Fire arced across the training floor, but the flames flickered out weakly—lacking precision or power.

Iida didn’t hesitate. He charged through the dying fire, his engine-enhanced steps distorting the air around him.

Izuku waited for Pyra’s next command.

It came too late.

Thud. A solid kick to his gut sent him reeling.

The pattern repeated. Izuku hesitated, relying entirely on Pyra’s voice. Iida exploited every pause, every second of delay. The only thing keeping Izuku standing was sheer stubbornness.

“Tch. Knew it,” Bakugo’s voice rang out from the sideline, acidic. “Even with some magic sword chick, Deku’s still useless.”

“Why isn’t he doing those cool moves from before?” Kaminari asked, more confused than cruel. “Come on, man, you’ve got this!”

Izuku’s thoughts spiraled. Why? Why isn’t it working? I’m following instructions. I’m doing what she says—

“Is he actually going to fight,” a girl muttered, “or just act like a puppet?”

That one hit hardest. A puppet. They were right.

Suddenly, flames surged between him and Iida—Pyra had thrown up a barrier, shielding him from another incoming kick. She now stood in front of him.

“Izuku,” she said gently, “I didn’t choose you for your strength.”

Her words reached past the fog.

He met her eyes. Not for strength… then why?

Then something clicked.

His gaze flicked to Iida’s legs—and saw it. The Ether near Iida’s engines. Warping. Rippling.

Distorted Ether flow…

His brain raced. A memory resurfaced—Nezu’s voice in one of their Ether chats: “Ether, when charged or disturbed, can interact unpredictably with nearby energy signatures.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Pyra,” he said, breathing hard. “Lower the barrier. I think… I think I’ve got a plan.”

She smiled and nodded, stepping back.

The barrier vanished.

Izuku’s eyes locked onto Iida. His posture shifted—tense, but no longer hesitant. Focused.

Iida adjusted his glasses. “You’ve fought well… but this ends now.”

He shot forward again.

Izuku ducked beneath the attack. Ether flared between him and Pyra—a sudden burst of connection.

With a shout, he dashed under Iida’s kick, leaving a trail of Ether flame in his wake. As he spun, he slashed his sword through the air where the flame lingered—igniting a thread of Ether energy.

The flame followed the distortion, racing straight toward Iida’s engines.

At first—nothing.

Iida landed, glancing back. “Your attack failed. You lack the—”

WHUMPH.

He activated his engines again—and the flame reacted violently.

Ether supercharged the thrust. Iida rocketed forward uncontrollably, overshooting the arena and slamming hard into the far wall.

Silence.

Izuku collapsed to one knee, panting and shaking.

Pyra knelt beside him, concern in her eyes. But before she could speak, Aizawa approached.

His expression was unreadable.

“You’re uncoordinated,” Aizawa said bluntly. “You lack battlefield awareness. You misjudge your spacing, and you’re too reliant on Pyra’s support. Without her, you’d have lost immediately.”

Each word felt like a blow heavier than Iida’s kicks.

“But—” Aizawa held up a hand, cutting off Pyra’s protest. “Despite all that… I saw something interesting.”

He crouched slightly, meeting Izuku’s eyes.

“That last move. That was smart. You stopped second-guessing yourself. You moved. Your Ether sense isn’t refined—but it’s there. I won’t allow you into the Hero Course…”

Izuku’s heart sank—

“…yet.”

Aizawa stood.

“But I’ll allow you to train. Show me you can improve.”

Izuku blinked, stunned.

Then Pyra whooped and pulled him into a hug. Ochako and Kaminari ran to his side, cheering.

Izuku could only cry—tears of relief, of joy, of possibility.

He had a long road ahead.

But for the first time… he’d taken a step.

Chapter 5 End

Chapter Text

The curtain rose beneath a sky of stars.

Two figures stood atop a rooftop overlooking a ruin freshly disturbed by a recent U.A. field trip. The taller of the two struck a flamboyant pose, sipping tea as his long, stylish coat flared dramatically in the breeze. Beside him stood his smaller companion, quietly typing away on a laptop screen that pulsed with Ether readings.

“Danjuro, my love,” she began, her voice tinged with concern, “these readings are just as we feared. The Earth Ether was completely dispersed—overwritten by a massive wave of Fire Ether. I believe the Aegis has awakened once more.”

The man turned to face her, his gaze filled with affection that softened the weight of her words.

“Manami, dearest... troubling news indeed. While I trust Nezu to play his part with care, I cannot say the same for those he surrounds himself with. Do we know who the Aegis has chosen?”

Without a word, Manami—La Brava—typed with the precision of a stage magician performing sleight of hand. She turned her laptop toward him.

“Yes. A Quirkless boy named Izuku Midoriya.”

The word Quirkless struck a chord in Gentle Criminal. He repeated it slowly, letting the implications linger.

“So... the Aegis has chosen one who knows weakness as an old friend. How utterly unexpected. A delicious twist for the first act.”

He struck a grandiose pose, as if savoring the drama. La Brava only shook her head fondly.

“That’s not all—”

Before she could continue, one of her surveillance programs chimed urgently.

“—Incoming transmission. Patch through,” she murmured, fingers flying.

“This is Agent Fetch. We've located the source of the energy spike. The mission was a failure. The Core Crystal and surrounding ruins locked down when we tried to secure them. The internal reactor activated the moment we entered the facility.”

 

A Hero Commission agent, speaking to unseen higher-ups. Danjuro and Manami exchanged a knowing look—a silent dialogue passed through the space of their shared understanding.

“It seems,” Gentle said with a flourish, “that we have a heist to plan, my lovely La Brava. That Core Crystal must be reclaimed before it falls into the wrong hands. Act One begins in earnest.”

La Brava nodded, already preparing a digital map on her screen.

“I’ll keep tracking this Midoriya boy. If he truly bonded with the Aegis, we’ll need to make sure that bond remains healthy. Balanced. We cannot allow another tragedy to unfold. Not again.”

With the grace of a practiced romantic, Gentle swept La Brava into his arms. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“We won’t let history repeat itself. Still... I have a feeling that child may be the key to everything. Someday soon, we’ll test him—not as enemies, but as guides. Now, onward, my love.”

La Brava giggled softly as Gentle stepped off the rooftop, using his Quirk and her love to glide into the night. Together, they vanished into shadow and starlight.

Though the world may call them villains, perhaps they are the only ones who understand the full shape of the play.

Interlude End

Chapter Text

(Izuku Midoriya POV)

Izuku couldn’t help but reflect on the whirlwind of the past week. Ever since joining Class 1-A, life had been… interesting, to say the least.

Many students were still wary of him—whether because he was Quirkless or because of Pyra’s presence. Aside from Ochako and Kaminari, he remained an outsider. But even so, he was learning quickly, growing more confident in combat—though he still relied on Pyra more than he probably should.

Outside of combat training, he spent much of his time with the Ether Research Club. Nezu had mentioned another expedition soon, and the group was buzzing with excitement. Apparently, these outings would now be treated as field training exercises, meaning Ochako and Kaminari could bring their hero gear along.

That declaration had sent Hatsume-Meh into an invention spree, which resulted in at least five explosions—just from updating Ochako’s and Kaminari’s gear. Most were minor tweaks, like replacing Ochako’s impractical heels or swapping out Kaminari’s jacket that kept shorting out. And that didn’t even touch on the mysterious project she’d been hinting at all week.

Then there was the matter of living with Pyra.

She was warm, gentle, and kind, but there was… one complication: the dorm only had one bed. While Pyra insisted she didn’t need sleep, Izuku had woken up more than once to find her curled beside him. She claimed it was to help soothe his nightmares—but it still nearly gave him a heart attack every time.

Even so, life was going… pretty well.

Today was special. Today, Izuku would be participating in one of Class 1-A’s Hero Foundation courses. Not just any lesson—this one was led by his idol, All Might. He could barely contain his excitement, and Pyra noticed.

“This All Might guy must be incredible if you’re this fired up,” she said with a soft smile. “But remember—you’re incredible too. Don’t measure yourself against someone else’s flame. You have your own light.”

Her words helped. They always did.

Kaminari leaned back in his chair, tossing in his own brand of support. “Man, having All Might as a teacher still feels surreal. Sure, he’s a little cheesy and reads off cue cards, but learning from the number one hero? It’s awesome.”

Izuku’s seat was at the back of the room, thankfully far from Bakugo. He’d been placed near Ochako and Kaminari, which helped him feel more grounded—even if he technically wasn’t a full member of the class yet.

As for Pyra, she’d originally been assigned a seat next to Aizawa so he could “keep an eye on her.” But she quickly started ignoring that, choosing instead to hover protectively by Izuku’s side. Eventually, Aizawa gave up and let them sit together.

The room buzzed with energy. Some students were chatting about strategies, others were jotting down move combinations or stretching in place. The Hero Foundation class was a big deal.

Izuku, though, found himself staring down at his Ether notes again. As much as he was excited, he still felt… separate. Not just because he wasn’t officially in the hero course, but because of what he represented—something new, strange, and largely untrusted.

That’s when he noticed eyes on him.

He glanced up and found himself locking eyes with someone from across the room. Onyx-black eyes, thoughtful and curious. She was looking at his notebook.

He blinked, then tilted the notebook slightly so she could see the title more clearly. They were too far apart to actually speak, but it was a small gesture.

She blinked back, and to his surprise, held up her own book—an old Ether-related history tome. He recognized it immediately. He’d read it before and found it half-nonsense, trying to tie together conflicting myths and ancient legends.

Still… she was interested in Ether.

Maybe—just maybe—he’d found someone else to talk to about this. Another possible friend.

Before he could think more on it, the door slammed open.

A towering figure strode in, backlit like a spotlight had just followed him from the hallway. And on his shoulder rode a familiar pink furball, clutching a briefcase almost as big as she was.

“I AM HERE—! To teach your class once more!” boomed All Might with a radiant grin. “Today, we’re revisiting the Battle Trial format—with a twist! A new challenger enters the ring!”

The class exploded in murmurs—less about the announcement, and more about the little Nopon now floating gently down from All Might’s shoulder.

Ida immediately stood, eyes tracking the strange visitor. “Sir! What… is that pink creature? It’s highly irregular to bring personal pets into a professional environment!”

The “creature” waddled directly up to Izuku, ignoring everyone else.

“Green-pon!” Hatsume-Meh chimed in her sing-songy tone. “Hatsume-Meh has completed best baby for Green-pon! New gear for training and exploration! Only 60% chance of kaboom-boom! Much safer than last time, yes-yes!”

She plopped the briefcase down in front of him like she’d just delivered a divine relic.

The rest of the class blinked in confusion.

All Might laughed. “Ah! That’s one of our top Support Course students. She’s also the head of the Ether Research Club, believe it or not. Brought gear for young Midoriya so he doesn’t get upstaged by all of you in full costume.”

He gave no one time to respond before clapping his hands. “Now! Everyone to Ground Beta! Suit up!”

As he vanished in a burst of speed, all eyes turned back to Hatsume-Meh—who was now being picked up effortlessly by Pyra like it was routine.

Izuku could feel the judgment in the air. People didn’t know what to make of her. And somehow, that made him want to protect her even more.

—

Izuku found the process of putting on his new gear surprisingly cumbersome. It wasn’t a full hero costume—he wasn’t a hero student, after all—but more of a patchwork support outfit.

The most difficult part was the body brace that fit under his clothes, designed to help with posture and blunt impacts. Then came the gloves—meant to improve his grip on Pyra’s sword and protect against Ether feedback. He also had a utility belt outfitted with magnetic latches to “sheath” the sword on his back, along with a small Ether collector tucked into one side.

The final piece was the most ridiculous: a head-mounted Ether reader that sat over one eye like a scouter from some old anime. It was bulky, overdesigned, and blinked far too often.

None of it matched. None of it looked cool. But Izuku wasn’t about to ignore the time and effort Hatsume-meh had poured into making it for him.

In the end, he and Pyra were the last to arrive at the training grounds. Pyra was still carrying Hatsume-meh in her arms.

Izuku couldn’t help but notice that Pyra always looked strangely nostalgic when she held the tiny Nopon. He thought about asking why—but something about it still felt too personal to bring up just yet.

Refocusing on his surroundings, Izuku was struck by the sight of Class 1-A assembled in full hero costumes. Every outfit radiated personality, style, and polish—making his own gear feel even more clunky and mismatched by comparison. The Ether reader on his head blinked with unnecessary flair, and his patchwork gloves and belt clearly screamed “support tech,” not “hero.”

Still, Izuku’s eyes drifted from student to student, cataloging design choices. His brain couldn’t help but kick into gear, supplying ideas and Ether-based upgrades for each costume—minor tweaks here, compatibility enhancements there...

“Meh-meh! Green-pon slow down! Hatsume-meh can only write so fast!”

Izuku froze. His face flushed red as he glanced toward Hatsume-meh, who was scribbling furiously into a tiny notebook, barely looking up from his muttering. Pyra, standing beside him, offered a warm, encouraging smile—one that gently said, It’s okay. Keep going if you want to.

“I… sorry. Would you like me to start again?”

Before Hatsume-meh could answer, a familiar gust of wind and a dramatic whoosh signaled All Might’s arrival. He landed in a bold pose, cape fluttering and voice booming.

“You all look fantastic! Now, just like before, we’ll decide team matchups at random. One team will defend the bomb, the other will—”

“Like, wait!” an energetic voice cut in. A pink-skinned girl raised her hand mid-interruption. “Isn’t Midoriya paired with that Pyra girl? Wouldn’t that be, like, totally unfair?”

All Might blinked, digging through the pocket of his costume for his cue cards. “You’re absolutely corr—wait, no, that’s not the one.” He flipped cards rapidly. “Ah, here it is. Pyra is registered as a… Ether support unit?” He squinted. “Nezu made the writing so small…”

A wave of murmurs passed through the class. Before the conversation could spiral, another hand rose—this one calm and deliberate.

It was Momo Yaoyorozu.

“Sir, if I may,” she said, voice clear and steady, “perhaps rather than a random draft, we allow for volunteers. I’d like to pair with Midoriya and Pyra—and request that two other students volunteer to take the challenge of a three-versus-two match. That way, there’s no claim of unfairness. Everyone enters knowingly.”

There was a commanding certainty in her tone. The class turned to her with clear respect—some with admiration, others with curiosity—but none questioned her logic.

All Might nodded thoughtfully, slipping the cue cards away. “Yes, that seems fair. Excellent thinking, Yaoyorozu. Now then—who’s up for the challenge?”

Bakugo’s hand shot into the air immediately.

Izuku tensed, a cold weight settling in his stomach. He’d known this would happen eventually. He just hadn’t expected it to happen now.

The second volunteer was a tall, orange-haired girl—Kendo, if he remembered correctly. She gave a calm nod, as if she understood what kind of match this would be.

Sensing his unease, Pyra leaned down and whispered gently in his ear. “I’m right here. Just breathe, Izuku. You’ve got this.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, counting each breath. He wasn’t that helpless kid from before. He had Pyra. He had friends. And he had strength he’d earned.

He could do this.

—

Izuku wasn’t sure what to do. Yaoyorozu had chosen to work with him, but they’d never even spoken before. While he’d gotten more comfortable around Pyra and Ochako, Yaoyorozu was... different. Elegant. Brilliant. And her hero costume, while practical, made it hard for him to meet her eyes without turning red.

For a while, they worked in silence as Yaoyorozu began setting up the bomb room. Eventually, she turned to him, calm and composed.

“If I may—could I ask your thoughts on how we might defend the objective? I understand you have a history with Bakugo. Do you know of any particular strategies that might work against him? He appears to be one of the most skilled in close combat.”

Izuku tensed. Just hearing Bakugo’s name made his chest tighten, but Pyra gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Her presence grounded him like always.

“K-K-Kacchan’s really aggressive,” Izuku stammered. “He’ll probably ignore the bomb and just come after me. I could—”

“No,” Pyra cut in, her voice firm yet kind. “You’re not sacrificing yourself just to win. Think of another way. I know you can.”

Her words stopped him cold. She wasn’t angry—just... resolute. Izuku hadn’t realized how quickly he’d defaulted to the idea of throwing himself at the problem.

“She’s right, Midoriya,” Yaoyorozu added, her tone composed but sincere. “We’re a team. We should find a plan that ensures all our safety—ideally, one that allows us to win as well.”

Izuku blinked. Was she worried about him? Her words didn’t carry the usual undertone he’d come to expect—the subtle “you’re not strong enough” that so many used without realizing it.

“Um… could you tell me more about your Quirk?” he asked. “Maybe I can help figure something out.”

Yaoyorozu nodded and held out her hand. As she began to generate something, his Ether reader flickered to life. Light Ether readings spiked as her hand shimmered—creating what looked like a small matryoshka doll.

Izuku’s eyes widened.

“So it does use Ether? But… no, Quirks don’t directly manipulate Ether, do they? Then again… Iida’s Quirk distorted wind Ether and responded to fire input… Maybe—”

“Midoriya?”

Yaoyorozu’s voice cut through his muttering. He looked up, startled—and immediately turned to Pyra. She gave him an encouraging smile, the kind that said “I heard every word and I’m proud of you.”

Taking a breath, he looked back at Yaoyorozu, worried she’d be annoyed or put off.

Instead, she said, “Do you really believe my Quirk has something to do with Ether? As I understand it, I convert lipids into matter—as long as I know the item’s molecular structure.”

She didn’t sound dismissive—only curious. Analytical, even.

“Um… I’m not sure,” Izuku admitted. “But your hand gave off a clear light Ether spike when you created that doll. If that’s your Quirk, then I think I might have an idea, if…”

He trailed off. He knew this part—the part where people usually rolled their eyes or laughed at him.

But Yaoyorozu simply said, “I asked for your plan. If you have one, I’ll listen. You’re clearly smart and observant. I’d like to hear what you’ve come up with.”

Izuku searched her expression, almost in disbelief. But there was no hint of mockery—just calm sincerity.

“Go on, Izuku,” Pyra whispered beside him. “Show her how brilliant you are.”

He swallowed, nodded, and began.

And to his surprise, Yaoyorozu listened attentively. She followed his logic, added thoughtful input, and adjusted the plan with graceful precision. For the first time, Izuku felt like he wasn’t just tolerated—he was trusted.

He hoped, with all his heart, that this would work.

—

(Katsuki Bakugo POV)

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The sharp crackle of Katsuki’s mini-explosions echoed off the hallway walls as he bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, waiting for the signal. The orange-haired extra at his side was rambling again. Something about teamwork. Useless.

What a joke.

The strong didn’t need help. The strong should crush everything in their path without relying on anyone. Teammates only slowed you down.

“...So how should we handle Midoriya?”

“Tch. Shut it, Big Hands. You’re not even necessary. Just stay out of my way.” Katsuki flexed his fingers, sparks crackling. “I’ll handle Deku and Ponytail myself.”

The girl tried to object, but he wasn’t listening. All that mattered was wiping that smug look off Deku’s face—and maybe breaking a few bones in the process. Sword girl, Ether tricks, whatever. He’d blow straight through them.

All Might’s voice crackled over the comms, signaling the start. That was all he needed.

Boom!

Katsuki launched himself forward, blowing through the first floor in a blur of smoke and scorched tile.

Then something felt... off.

His sweat wasn’t evaporating properly. His palms were clammy. His blasts stuttered, sputtering mid-air like faulty fireworks. The air was wrong. It felt thick. Wet.

And familiar.

A bitter memory surfaced like bile. A forest trail. A stream. That day, when they were kids—he slipped off a log and fell into the creek. His body reacted the same way then: sluggish, clumsy, cold. And Deku had come running, unbothered by whatever ambient weirdness was screwing with him. Like it didn’t affect him at all. Like he was better.

The memory snapped like a wire in his brain.

He gritted his teeth and scanned the hallway. Devices were bolted to the walls—dull, humming things that radiated subtle pulses of Ether. Water-type, probably. The closer he got, the worse the sensation became.

Boom!

One by one, he blasted the emitters to pieces.

“Come out here, Deku! Your stupid tricks won’t save you!”

His voice echoed, full of venom.

Smoke bombs rolled down the hall. Mist hissed up in clouds.

“THERE you are, you coward!” he roared, charging forward—only to find a spring-loaded launcher rigged to the floor. Another decoy.

He tore it apart with a snarl and blasted his way to the next floor, but the mist grew heavier.

Wait... no, not mist.

Antiperspirant.

His Quirk was being shut down.

“So that’s your game, Deku,” he muttered, seething. “Too scared to fight like a real man, so you sabotage me and play pretend with that glowing sword freak. You think she won’t leave you too? Once she figures out how useless you are—”

Footsteps. Approaching.

Finally.

Deku emerged from the fog, sword drawn, with that same look—analyzing, waiting, calm. Like he knew what Katsuki would do next.

Katsuki met the blade with the edge of his gauntlet and followed through with a right hook. Deku ducked it easily, like he knew. The bastard had studied him.

“So,” Katsuki sneered, “still filling up those stalker notebooks? Bet you’ve got a whole section just for me, huh?”

Deku mumbled something useless—Katsuki didn’t care. His eyes were locked on the sword girl. Pyra. The way she looked at Deku made his stomach turn. That look wasn’t pity. It was belief.

Boom!

He forced his explosions through the suppression, throwing out a furious flurry of attacks. Pyra raised firewalls to block his strikes, while Deku used his “toy” sword to dance around his blows. Katsuki’s fists landed, but with no real power behind them.

“I knew it. You’re just hiding behind her. You’re still the same worthless Deku.”

But Deku didn’t shrink away. He met his gaze and said firmly, “I’m not hiding. We’re fighting together.”

That name again.

“Deku.”

“Deku.”

“Deku.”

It echoed in Katsuki’s head like a war drum.

Then—like a flame catching—two voices shouted in perfect harmony:

“That’s not my name!”
“That’s not his name!”

An orange-red aura flared to life around them, light dancing through the mist. For a split second, Katsuki’s heart stuttered.

What the hell was this?

Their movements shifted. Fluid. Synchronized. Pyra launched fireballs that Deku sliced through with practiced ease, redirecting them like guided missiles. They weren’t just fighting together. They were linked.

He’d never seen anything like it.

He was forced to take a knee under the barrage.

Then—click.

His gauntlet’s pressure gauge hit maximum.

He grinned.

“You think you’ve won? Tch. Think again.”

He raised his arm, aiming the nozzle at them. “You probably already figured it out, stalker. My gauntlets store nitroglycerin in reserve. This baby’ll level the floor.”

All Might’s voice cut through the comms.

“Bakugo, don’t do it! Firing in close quarters could kill—!”

“Not if his little girlfriend throws up a barrier.”

With a smile that could cut steel, Katsuki pulled the pin.

KA-BOOM!

The floor trembled. Fire surged. Smoke filled the air.

As it cleared, Katsuki stepped forward—then paused.

Deku was gone.

There was a crater where he had stood. No trace of them.

Then Katsuki noticed something.

At his feet, a small canister—flickering blue, sparking violently.

“Meh-meh overload: Kaboom-booms~!”

BOOM!

The explosion knocked Katsuki back against the wall, lights flashing in his vision.

As darkness swallowed him, his final thought was one he could barely believe:

Deku beat me.

—

(Ochako Uraraka POV)

As the first match began, Ochako felt both nervous and annoyed. Nervous for how Izuku would handle Bakugo… and annoyed at the way her classmates were talking.

To them, Izuku wasn’t a person. He was some kind of zoo exhibit — something to gawk at, whisper about, dissect. Like he was some bizarre, sad curiosity on display for their entertainment.

She heard the snide comments about his Quirklessness, how fragile he looked, how strange it was that he’d been allowed into UA at all. It made her stomach twist, especially because... she'd been like that too. Before she got to know him, before the ruins, before Pyra — she would’ve said the same things.

She wasn’t alone in her irritation. Kaminari looked like he was barely biting his tongue, jaw tense and fists curled. Even Hatsume-meh looked ready to pop.

Maybe it was the bond they'd formed — the Ether Research Club was still new, but it had created something unspoken between them. Ochako could feel it: a chasm opening between them and the rest of Class 1-A.

Only one person didn’t seem to fall fully on either side. Shoto Todoroki. He didn’t speak much, and he definitely didn’t come off as friendly, but he’d never once mocked Izuku’s lack of a Quirk. His critiques were always neutral — focused on skill, not status.

The room’s atmosphere shifted as Bakugo started fighting in earnest. His explosions were weaker, his movement slightly off.

“Oh hey! Izuku used the Ether Emitters we’ve been working on, Mei-Mei!”

Kaminari’s voice broke the tension, proud and unfiltered. Everyone turned to look.

“Meh-meh! Yes yes! Water Ether projectors,” Hatsume-meh chirped. “Make Boom-Boom boy Quirk go fizzle. Sparky-pon designed circuit core. Hatsume-meh bet fabricator girl helped Green-pon build 'em.”

A few students stared, clearly confused. As if Kaminari being part of something that technical just didn’t compute. It frustrated Ochako. She knew how into Ether he was, how sharp he could be with electric systems. But somehow, to the class, he was still the comic relief.

“You’ve gotta be kidding, Kaminari. You actually helped build those?” Jirou’s voice was half-teasing, half-incredulous.

Kaminari flinched. The pride drained from his face.

“I mean... you’re sorta right. I probably didn’t help that much,” he said with a weak laugh. “Izuku’s the one who came up with the idea. I just drew some lines on a napkin.”

Ochako winced. It was the kind of laugh you force out when you're trying not to let something sting. She wanted to say something — tell him he was awesome, that he didn’t need to downplay himself — but the words wouldn’t come.

Then everything changed.

Onscreen, Izuku and Pyra moved together with flawless precision — a burst of motion and flame that had the whole room leaning forward. Their synchronization left the class in stunned silence.

But what followed shattered Ochako.

Bakugo pulled the pin on his gauntlet — a blast that could kill.

Ochako shot to her feet, horror blooming in her chest. Her classmates murmured, confused but unmoved. Like they thought it was just a stunt. Like the idea of Izuku dying wasn’t even possible — or worse, didn’t matter because he was Quirkless.

Then came the explosion.

She screamed. The sound tore from her throat before she even realized it. Her knees hit the ground. Kaminari and Hatsume-meh were suddenly at her side, but all she could see was the image in her mind — Izuku’s broken body, smoke and silence.

And then—cheering.

Voices all around her, gasps of amazement, shouts of relief.

Ochako looked up.

The monitor showed him — alive. He’d dropped through the floor just before the blast hit. Dust-covered, singed at the edges, but alive.

A weight she didn’t even realize she was carrying lifted.

He was okay.

She hadn’t lost her friend.

She hadn’t lost the boy she might… maybe… probably had a crush on.

—

Even after several matches had passed, the sound of the explosion still echoed in Ochako’s ears. She and the rest of the Ether Research Club had instinctively gathered close to Izuku—drawn to him not just out of concern, but out of a shared need to confirm he was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.

Surprisingly, Yaoyorozu had joined their little cluster, quietly discussing Ether mechanics with Izuku and Hatsume-meh. The Nopon had taken to clinging to Izuku like an angry plush toy, her fluff noticeably puffed out, though she was more focused on the conversation than she let on.

Ochako, meanwhile, struggled to steady her nerves. The adrenaline hadn’t fully worn off, and her heart still beat a little too fast. She didn’t even notice when Iida stepped in front of her, speaking in his usual firm cadence. The words didn’t register.

It wasn’t until Kaminari gently zapped her with a soft static shock—his hand on her shoulder—that she snapped back to awareness.

“It’s our turn, Chako,” he said, unusually serious. “I get it. But let’s talk about it during the next club meeting, okay?”

Ochako nodded slowly, then turned to Iida with a small, apologetic bow. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

Iida simply gave a nod in understanding before heading toward their designated starting point.

Before following, Ochako cast one last glance at Izuku. Just to be sure. Just to see him there.

She clenched her fists lightly.

She needed to get stronger too.

—

Ochako was still lost in her thoughts even as she stepped into the starting zone. Iida was already there, reciting their strategy with his usual rigid energy — all clean lines and protocol.

But her mind wasn’t on the plan.

“Iida,” she interrupted quietly. “What does heroism mean to you?”

The question stopped him mid-gesture. His mouth opened, then closed. It was like she’d knocked him off a script he thought they were both following.

He stood still for a moment, then answered.

“Heroism is… upholding justice.”

So simple. So certain. Like the words had been written on a wall in his heart for years.

But that wasn’t enough for her.

“Then why wasn’t Bakugo punished more?” she pressed, her voice sharper than she intended. “He nearly killed Izuku, and no one seemed to care.”

Iida frowned slightly, not in anger, but in confusion — like he was trying to translate her feelings into terms he could understand.

“Hero work is dangerous, Uraraka,” he said carefully. “Even with his... condition, Midoriya chose this path. That’s commendable — if perhaps reckless.”

So that’s all it was to him? Reckless, not outrageous? Just another hazard of the job?

Ochako bit her lip. That answer felt like a bandage over a bullet wound.

She turned toward him again. “Then why do you want to be a hero?”

He blinked but didn’t hesitate this time.

“To carry on my family’s legacy,” he said, voice proud. “To save people — like my brother does.”

A textbook answer. Clean. Honorable.

“What about you?”

The question hit her like a slap — even though she should’ve seen it coming. Her chest tightened. Could she say it? Should she?

Ochako looked down, searching for the strength to be honest.

“I want to make money—”

But All Might’s voice rang out overhead, signaling the start of the match.

She flinched.

Iida’s expression darkened — not with rage, but disappointment — before he turned and bolted into the building without another word.

His silence said everything.

"Your reasoning is so shallow."

She didn’t know if he’d meant to say it aloud or if it was just her own guilt echoing in her head.

Either way, she followed after him.

There’d be time to wrestle with her feelings later.

—

Ochako hurried up the stairs, forcing herself to push her emotions down. There would be time to unpack things later — right now, she needed to focus.

The third floor opened up to chaos. Ida was already engaged in a fast-paced clash with Sato, who was clearly running on a sugar boost. His bulky frame and powerful swings made it hard to get close — and while Ochako could’ve easily floated him out of the fight, someone else was already stepping into her path.

“Yo, Chako,” Kaminari called out with a lopsided grin. “Sorry, but I’m gonna have to give you a blackout.”

It was a terrible line. The kind of dorky quip he always thought sounded cool. And yet… it made something tighten in her chest. He wasn’t being a goofball. He was covering up again.

Ochako dropped into a stance. Talking this out — or switching partners — wasn’t an option right now. Not when she still hadn’t sorted through her feelings about Ida, and especially not with Kaminari looking like he had something to prove.

Kaminari made the first move, darting in close, crackling with energy. Ochako kept her distance, retreating step by step down the hall, every swipe of his hand humming with static.

As she moved, she tapped anything loose she could find — books, debris, even a half-open locker door — and sent them sailing toward him. Kaminari fried most of them mid-air with pinpoint bolts.

Except for one.

Thunk.

A lone, dusty boot clocked him in the face.

Ochako blinked. “Wait, was that—?”

Kaminari staggered, more confused than hurt, the boot dangling comically off his head. She couldn’t help it. A giggle escaped.

“Sorry, Kaminari. I didn't mean—ha!—for that to happen.”

Kaminari pulled the boot off, trying and failing to look suave.

“Guess I need to kick it up a notch, huh?” he said, groaning at his own pun. “No way I look cool if you’re laughing at me.”

The humor faded as sparks danced along his limbs. His body began arcing with electricity — not the casual flickers of his usual attacks, but a raw, building charge. Ochako’s smile vanished.

Too close. She was way too close.

He stepped forward, aura flaring. She could only backpedal.

Then—his foot caught on a loose tile.

“Wait, Kaminari—!”

He tripped.

The charge released in a violent burst, cracking through the hallway. The shockwave rolled outward—and just stopped short of her.

Smoke drifted. Ochako blinked, heart pounding.

“Kaminari?!”

She rushed to him. He was still conscious, barely — eyes dazed, mouth slack, expression frozen in that strange post-discharge haze. It would’ve been funny, except—

Something about his eyes didn’t feel funny.

Not to her.

That look... it wasn’t just the usual aftermath. It was disappointment. Shame.

Like he’d wanted this to go differently.

Like he’d wanted to be the hero, just once.

She knelt beside him and gently tied his wrists — more ceremonial than practical — before helping him sit against the wall.

The match wasn’t over yet. Ida still needed backup.

But as she turned to go, she looked back at Kaminari one last time.

No jokes. No pity.

Just that sad, quiet look.

It stuck with her.

—

(Izuku POV)

After class, Izuku and the rest of the Ether Research Club gathered in the Ether Lab—their shared sanctuary tucked behind reinforced doors and stacks of half-finished inventions. The usual buzz of activity was missing. In its place, silence loomed.

Kaminari sat cross-legged on the floor, absently rewiring a half-disassembled emitter. Ochako leaned against the window, eyes unfocused, watching the sky like it held answers. Hatsume-meh, uncharacteristically solemn, was working on something at half her usual speed—each careful twist of a bolt or click of a gear a quiet reflection. The only sounds were the hum of the ventilation and the occasional spark of Kaminari’s circuits.

Izuku could feel it—the heaviness in the air, like static before a storm. Everyone was processing what had happened, but alone. And Izuku, who still questioned if he had the right to stand among them, felt that distance more than ever.

He wanted to do something, anything. But the old fear clawed at him. What if they don't want me to? What if I break something just by being near?

A soft warmth reached across the table—Pyra’s hand on his. A simple gesture, steadying and sure. You’re not alone.

He took a breath and stood, about to speak—when the door clicked open.

Nezu entered first, wearing his usual smile—but there was a tightness behind it today. A tension he didn’t bother to hide from those who knew how to look. Aizawa followed, his tired expression unreadable as ever. And behind them stood Momo Yaoyorozu, a little stiff, a little uncertain, like someone who wasn’t sure they’d walked into the right room.

All eyes turned to her—curious, but not hostile. She was just… separate.

Before the awkwardness could deepen, Nezu clapped his paws together cheerfully.

“My dear students! I have a few important matters to discuss. Please, gather around.”

Reluctantly, everyone shuffled toward the central workbench. Even Hatsume-meh set down her tools and—perhaps needing comfort—hopped into Izuku’s lap, fidgeting silently. Izuku rested a hand on her soft fluff, unsure if it helped, but doing it anyway.

Nezu continued, tone chipper but tinged with gravity. “First, the matter of Katsuki Bakugo. During the battle trial, he used excessive force in violation of direct orders. As Principal, and on behalf of myself and Aizawa—” He bowed deeply. “—I sincerely apologize to you, Midoriya.”

Aizawa followed suit, offering a curt but sincere nod of his own.

Izuku panicked. “No—no, it’s okay! I mean, I’m fine, so—”

“It’s not okay,” Pyra interrupted gently. Her voice was calm, but carried the kind of firmness that left no room for protest. “What he did wasn’t right. And you don’t need to apologize for someone else’s cruelty. You’re worth more than that.”

Izuku froze.

He looked at his friends. At the way Kaminari had set down his tools, at Ochako turning toward him, at the way Hatsume-meh clung tighter. His mind itched for excuses, reasons to deflect—but all that came out was a whisper.

“I… I’m sorry I made you all worry.”

His voice trembled. The sting of tears gathered behind his eyes, but they didn’t fall. His friends moved as one, wrapping him in a quiet, wordless embrace.

Nezu waited, respectfully silent, until the moment passed.

“Unfortunately,” he said at last, “Bakugo’s punishment will be… limited. He is suspended from training for a set duration.”

“What?!” Ochako exploded. “He almost killed someone and that’s it?!”

“That’s insane!” Kaminari snapped. “He’s a danger, sir! Why even let him stay?!”

Nezu’s smile faltered completely. “Believe me, this is not ideal. But to explain… I must reveal something.”

He folded his paws on the desk, posture formal. “Midoriya’s acceptance into UA was heavily contested. Despite passing the written exam, many on the education board argued that a Quirkless student had no place here. As a compromise, I established Class 1-N—not as a formal Hero Course class, nor under General Studies. Officially, you are not on any public roster.”

A heavy silence fell.

“You are not monitored. You are not ranked. You are not publicly acknowledged. For all intents and purposes… you do not exist. And that is your protection. But it comes with a cost: no medals. No press coverage. And no justice, not in the public eye. That is the price of shadows.”

The words rang with uncomfortable clarity.

“But let me be perfectly clear,” Aizawa added, stepping forward. “I don’t care what the board says. Bakugo’s actions will have consequences. I run my class my way. He will learn something from this.”

Nezu nodded and let the weight settle before pivoting.

“Now, on to brighter things! Miss Yaoyorozu here has expressed a sincere interest in joining the Ether Research Club.”

Momo bowed politely, her voice small. “I apologize if this feels sudden. I only… I wanted to learn more. To understand what you’re all discovering.”

Ochako glanced at her, expression unreadable. Kaminari gave a low hum. “Just don’t faint when the lab explodes.”

“I would never—”

“Fabricator girl will help Hatsume-meh make babies,” Hatsume-meh announced.

Momo turned bright red.

“She means inventions!” Izuku quickly clarified, face also pink.

Pyra chuckled. “The more the merrier.”

“Then it’s settled,” Nezu said. “Now, regarding the next expedition. Due to what happened last time, I’ve reclassified the Ether Research Club. Under Article 27-B of the National Hero Education Reform Act—a clause nestled quietly in the margins—you are now a Category IV Investigative Body.”

Everyone blinked.

Aizawa sighed. “In plain terms: you now have the same privileges as official licensed researchers.”

“Exactly!” Nezu beamed. “You can explore ruins, wield support items, and use your abilities during supervised expeditions. And for those in the Hero Course—these are considered field exercises.”

Kaminari's eyes lit up. “Wait—so we’re professional treasure hunters?!”

“More or less.”

“Sweet!”

Ochako still looked wary. “Isn’t that… kind of a lot?”

Izuku, finally catching on, paled. “If that’s true, then technically we—”

“Are operating under my full authority,” Nezu interjected. “Which means I can shield you from certain political pressures. Officially, you’re all just bright students in a research pilot program. Unofficially… you’re pioneers.”

The mood began to lift.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of new mission briefings. Their next destination: a dormant power plant ruin with anomalous Ether readings. Another step into the unknown.

As the club slowly came back to life, Izuku looked around the room. At Kaminari, now energized; at Ochako, still quiet, but steady; at Yaoyorozu, folding into the group with soft grace; at Pyra, offering him her warmest smile.

He didn’t know what the future held. But maybe—for the first time—he believed he had a place in it.

Chapter 6 End

Chapter Text

(Denki Kaminari POV)

When Denki first heard they’d be heading to a power plant, he’d been excited. Finally — a place where he could prove his worth. This was his element, right? Electricity, circuits, voltage… this was where he could shine. Be the cool guy. The guy who wasn’t just comic relief.

Now, standing in front of the facility, the reality hit a little harder than expected.

The air crackled with static. Even the gravel underfoot sparked when stepped on. Denki caught sight of Yaoyorozu and Ochako quietly removing metal accessories from their costumes — smart move.

As they approached the entrance, Mr. Aizawa raised a hand to stop them. He was their sole chaperone this time; apparently, Nezu had been called away for some high-level meetings or something.

Aizawa’s ever-present intensity was unnerving. He scanned the group with sharp eyes.

“This is considered both a field exercise and a research excursion. I’m only here to monitor. I’ll intervene if necessary… but until then, you’re in charge.”

Denki blinked. Wait, seriously?

Wasn’t the last outing the one where they were attacked by a ruin-boss straight out of a video game?

“Mr. Aizawa,” Yaoyorozu spoke up, voice calm but firm, “Is it really safe to allow first-year students to explore dangerous ruins with so little oversight?”

She always knew how to ask the exact question Denki wanted to ask but couldn't phrase without sounding like a coward.

Aizawa sighed. “Due to how these excursions are categorized, I’m a supervisor first and a hero second while on-site. That doesn’t mean you can run wild. I expect you all to act intelligently and responsibly.”

Denki glanced around the group. Izuku nodded so hard he looked like a bobblehead. Yaoyorozu and Ochako nodded with a more controlled calm. Hatsume-Meh was practically vibrating with anticipation.

Denki… mirrored that energy. It was easier than admitting he was nervous.

Once everything was settled, they moved into the ruins, Aizawa trailing behind like a silent shadow. Creepy if he wasn’t their teacher.

The interior was incredible. Slick metal walls lined with rust and flickering panels, humming with crackling Ether. They all quickly split up, fanning out to take readings or explore different areas of interest.

Denki spotted Ochako gathering coins and scrap. Most of it looked valuable.

“What’cha got there, Chako?” he asked, casually wandering over.

She jolted — clearly startled — and quickly pocketed the items. “Oh, just some artifacts. Historical value and all that.”

Riiight.

He didn’t press. They all had their reasons. Well… except him.

With a shrug, he looked over to where Izuku and Hatsume-Meh were chatting animatedly.

“Hey guys, you found any—whoa!”

Denki’s foot caught a wire, and he stumbled, landing hard on one knee.

“Are you okay?”

Izuku was at his side in a flash, offering a hand. His eyes were full of concern — no teasing, no laughter. Even after the Battle Trials, Izuku had looked at him the same way. Everyone else had laughed. Izuku hadn’t.

“No worries,” Denki said, forcing a grin. “Just testing gravity. Y’know… for science.”

His hollow chuckle didn’t land. Izuku’s face twisted into that weirdly complex expression Denki could never quite decode — all anxiety and empathy rolled into one.

Pyra, standing beside him, looked even more direct. Her gaze said it plainly: You don’t have to be a joke.

Denki swallowed and looked away. He needed to contribute something. Anything.

“So… what’s the deal with this place?” he asked, pivoting to face the others. “It’s not buried like the last one. And it’s still got power. Why hasn’t it been, like, picked clean by now?”

The room fell quiet.

Except for Izuku’s muttering, of course — always present, always indecipherable.

Yaoyorozu lit up, practically glowing at the opportunity. “An excellent question! I wondered the same. According to my family’s archives, there were no buildings in this region prior to about fourteen or fifteen years ago. These facilities… they just appeared. And the materials are remarkably durable. It's only recently that entrances have begun to open.”

Buildings appearing out of nowhere?

Denki blinked. Okay, that’s mildly terrifying.

He glanced toward Pyra. Her expression was hard to read — a blend of familiarity, concern, and something that looked a lot like guilt.

Before Denki could ask, a blaring siren ripped through the ruins.

A voice echoed through the walls in a language he didn’t recognize. Pyra, however, tensed.

“That announcement says: ‘Core meltdown imminent. Please activate shutdown protocol.’”

Aizawa stepped forward, his entire demeanor shifting into full hero mode.

“What does that actually mean?”

“Meh-meh!” Hatsume-Meh blurted, suddenly serious. “Facility this big go boom-boom! Best if friend-pons find main control room to shut it down!”

With a curt nod, Aizawa took point, the rest of them falling in behind. No time to evacuate — they had to stop the meltdown.

The group rushed deeper into the facility, sirens blaring like a heartbeat on the verge of flatlining. As they passed room after room, Denki noticed something odd—shimmering fields of light had formed over many of the doorways they’d already explored.

He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not now. Not when the situation was this serious—

Thud!

Denki slammed directly into Aizawa’s back, sending them both stumbling into a branching hallway. As their feet barely regained footing, a sensor overhead lit up with a mechanical chime. Another blaring announcement echoed in the air—followed by a crackling wall of light sealing off the corridor behind them.

They both turned and pressed their hands against the barrier. It shimmered slightly under their touch, but it may as well have been reinforced steel.

“What the heck?! What is this?” Denki asked, a bit more panicked than he intended.

The rest of the group caught up, only to be met with the glowing blockade. Ochako tried pushing against it to no effect. But when Izuku and Pyra reached out, their hands passed cleanly through the field—like it wasn’t there at all.

“The system just said it detected a ‘Compatible Ether Being and Operator,’” Pyra murmured, eyes narrowing. “It must’ve misread Kaminari’s Quirk as a Blade’s Ether signature—and assumed Mr. Aizawa was his Driver.”

She sounded baffled. Almost offended.

Aizawa remained as calm as ever. “Then why can’t the others get through? I’d assumed you and Midoriya were an exception because of your bond.”

Denki blinked at him. That calm tone. That steady voice. Even with alarms screaming and walls locking them in, Aizawa barely flinched.

Man, he was just… cool. The kind of unshakable leader Denki wished he could be. Not a punchline. Just someone solid when things got scary.

Izuku nodded, mind already working. “That’s probably it. The shield must recognize Ether connection. The automated system mistook Kaminari’s Quirk for an electric-type Blade’s, and Aizawa was the nearest ‘non-Blade’ with a matching signal. But once the pairing was set, the field must’ve realized it wasn’t a true bond—so it locked down the area.”

Izuku always had some kind of theory, not a clear answer—but Denki figured that was better than standing around clueless.

“So that means this hallway must lead to the reactor,” Izuku continued. “It’s probably some kind of safety measure. Lock in whoever’s best suited to handle the surge and make sure no one else interferes.”

Aizawa stepped back from the barrier. “Then there’s no time to waste. You all keep heading for the control room. Kaminari and I will find another way through.”

The group nodded and took off down the adjacent hallway, Pyra glancing back once in quiet concern.

Denki stood frozen for a moment. His chest tightened.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Aizawa… I didn’t mean to mess this up.”

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Just… everything.

Aizawa gave a long sigh, brushing the dust from his scarf. “I told you: always be aware of your surroundings. But what’s done is done. Come on—we need to move.”

There was no anger in his voice.

But somehow, that quiet disappointment stung a thousand times worse.

Denki followed Aizawa in silence, the only sounds echoing through the corridor were the blaring sirens and the low crackle of unstable Ether. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the silence between them — and the guilt gnawing at his chest.

Then, unexpectedly, Aizawa let out a quiet sigh and slowed his pace.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Kaminari.”

Denki blinked, caught off guard. The words came out of nowhere — but hit somewhere deep.

“A hero acts when they’re needed,” Aizawa continued, voice steady. “That’s what matters.”

No dramatics. No lectures. Just a quiet truth, delivered like it was the simplest thing in the world.

And somehow… it stuck.

Aizawa picked up his pace again without another word. This time, Denki followed more closely — and for once, made sure to watch where he stepped.

As they moved down the corridor, the air grew thick with Ether. Denki could feel it in his bones — his body crackling with electricity as if his Quirk were constantly active. He had to keep a few steps behind Aizawa just to avoid accidentally zapping him.

Aizawa, for his part, paused more than once to remove his goggles and loosen his scarf — both were starting to spark ominously. The further they went, the more dangerous things became.

Suddenly, Aizawa held up a hand. “I think that’s the reactor room. We’ll have to find another way.”

Denki looked up and froze.

A massive metal door stood before them, reinforced and sealed, but the reinforced glass panel offered a view inside. Beyond it was chaos — a swirling storm of electric Ether centered on a massive machine. It looked like a thundercloud had been crammed into a box and told to sit still.

He stepped closer, eyes scanning the mess, trying to make sense of the overload. This was his element, right? Electricity was supposed to be his thing. Surely he could at least understand why it was failing.

“Kaminari, this way,” Aizawa called.

Denki blinked and turned. “Yes, sir.”

He moved to follow — and then froze.

“He… lp…”

The voice was faint, static-filled, almost mechanical. Like a broken radio on the verge of death. But he’d heard it. It came from the reactor room.

Shaking his head, Denki followed Aizawa down the adjacent hallway. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not again.

The hallway led them to a side chamber — a maintenance room filled with ancient but advanced terminals. Each hummed with residual Ether, arcing faintly as they passed.

Aizawa stepped toward one of the consoles and tried to activate it, only for a sudden jolt to spark through his gloves.

Denki flinched. “Uh—sir, maybe let me try.”

He moved to the next terminal, running an arcing hand over the panel. The screen flickered… and then powered on.

“Sir, I think this one’s responding.”

Aizawa stepped closer but kept a safe distance from the ambient charge. “Anything useful?”

Denki frowned. That was the million-Volt question. He tapped through a few menus, trying not to flinch every time the screen flickered or buzzed under his fingers. Most of it was unreadable. Pyra was the only one who could translate this stuff. Maybe Hatsume-Meh or Yaoyorozu could figure it out — even Izuku, maybe.

But him? He was the dumb one. What was he even doing here?

Don’t panic.

He shook off the thought and entered one final string of commands. The screen flickered—then shifted to a grainy, static-laced video feed. It showed Izuku and the others in what looked like the control room, likely deeper inside the facility.

From the camera angle and layout, it had to be a security feed. Maybe even a communications relay.

The team was in the middle of a fight—Izuku and Ochako holding off an unseen threat while Yaoyorozu and Hatsume-Meh worked furiously at a nearby terminal.

“Sir, they’re in the control room… but they’re under attack. What should we do?”

His voice cracked. Panic was rising fast.

Aizawa moved in and examined the screen. His jaw tightened. Then — without a word — he slammed a fist into the console.

The force shook the frame. He was angry. Not at Denki — at himself. At the helplessness.

Denki’s heart sank deeper. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t bumped into Aizawa… if they weren’t stuck here…

And then—

“He… lp…”

That voice again.

Denki turned, slowly. The sound had come from the reactor room.

He stepped out of the maintenance area, drawn toward the swirling storm beyond the glass. Something was… calling.

There — at the center of the chaos, floating amidst the electricity — was a crystal. Not part of the machinery. It shimmered, pulsing with energy. Familiar. Like Pyra’s Core Crystal.

Denki’s breath caught. Could that be what was calling to him?

He didn’t hear what Aizawa said behind him. He only felt the man’s gaze — intense, steady, waiting.

“A hero acts when they’re needed.”

The line rang in his head. Clear. Echoing.

Again and again.

Denki exhaled and made a choice.

Maybe the sensor had been right. Maybe it saw something in him. Maybe he wasn’t a Blade… but he could still act.

He reached for the panel beside the door and slammed the override switch.

“Kaminari—!” Aizawa barked.

But Denki was already stepping into the storm.

If it killed him… at least he would’ve tried.

.

Denki rushed in—and immediately felt the world shift.

The air was dense with Ether, thick enough to choke on. It smelled like ozone, sharp and metallic, the kind of smell he’d only experienced once—right after getting struck by lightning. Every atom around him crackled like it was alive, and the static bite of overcharge sank deep into his bones.

His skin stung. His muscles twitched. His thoughts fizzled.

Still, he pushed forward.

His eyes locked onto the Core Crystal at the center of the storm—no, not just pulsing, beating. Like a heart straining against its limits. This wasn’t just a meltdown. It was a cry. A desperate, chaotic wail. Not energy gone wild, but a soul screaming not to be forgotten.

His body slowed. Muscles began to seize. Sparks arced across his fingertips, crawling along his arms. But he kept walking. Staggering. Moving forward no matter the pain. Whether he looked cool or ridiculous didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was saving everyone.
Saving whoever was in that crystal.

His vision blurred. For a second, he thought he was passing out. Or maybe dying.

Then the storm changed.

He was no longer in the reactor room, but standing inside a tempest—lightning tearing through the sky, wind howling like it had a grudge. At the center stood a girl, alone, teal hair whipping in the gale, poised at the edge of an abyss.

She didn’t see him. Didn’t seem to see anything at all.

Then she turned, gave one last lonely look to the storm—and stepped off the edge.

Denki didn’t think. He moved.

“Gotcha!”

His hand shot out, catching her wrist. He gritted his teeth as lightning tore through his back. He held on, refusing to let go. Refusing to let her fall. Refusing to let her be alone.

The storm cleared.

His vision snapped back into focus—and there she was.

Standing in front of him, hand still in his, was a teal-haired elf girl in sharp glasses and a confident smirk. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

Then, with zero warning, she spun him in a circle like a dance partner.

“Well, well, well! Looks like I scored myself one cute little spark plug,” she teased, grinning from ear to ear. “Though you do smell like burnt toast. No need to deep-fry yourself just to get my attention, buddy-boy.”

She twirled away and struck a pose—one leg out, one hand behind her head in a flourish.

“So! What’s the deal, huh? You’ve got the great Pandoria on your side now. Hope you can keep up!”

Denki blinked, still reeling. He opened his mouth—then shut it again. What was the deal?

“Kaminari!”

Aizawa’s voice sliced through the moment like a blade, deadpan and sharp as ever.

“That was completely reckless and illogical.”

Denki winced—but didn’t flinch. He stood straight, met Aizawa’s eyes.

“I… I acted when I knew I was needed, sir.”

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second. He’d saved someone.

And that meant everything.

Pandoria stepped forward, hands on her hips. “Hey, grumpy—maybe thank the guy who just stabilized your death room, huh? Sparky here was a total lifesaver.”

It was weird. Having someone back him up like that. It felt… good.

This must be how Izuku feels when Pyra stands beside him.

Aizawa sighed. Deep. Resigned.

“We’ll talk about this later. For now, the others need us. If the reactor’s stable, we move.”

Denki nodded, ready to follow—only for Pandoria to grab his arm.

“Whoa there, hero,” she said, smirking. “You’re missing something.”

With a flick of her staff, a bolt of lightning cracked through the air. It struck the floor between them—and from the flash, a gleaming, stylized greatsword emerged, humming with electric charge.

“Can’t charge into battle without a cool sword. Goes against the vibe.”

Denki grinned. He hoisted the blade onto his shoulder—it was heavier than he expected, but something about it felt right. Like it belonged to him.

Time to save his friends.

—

(Izuku’s POV)

Izuku looked back one last time toward Kaminari and Aizawa before hurrying after the others. No matter how much he wanted to go with them, he had to focus. If more Ether shields separated the group, he might be the only one able to push through.

The winding corridors buzzed with Ether. Izuku tried not to flinch as Pyra walked beside him, eyes scanning every surface like a predator on edge. The static in the air was building, an unnatural hum rising in pitch — something was waking up. Or dying.

“I think we’re close,” Izuku muttered, mostly to himself.

Yaoyorozu tapped at the tablet Hatsume-Meh had handed her. “The deeper sections are rerouting all Ether flow here. This has to be the control center.”

Ochako adjusted her grip on a salvaged case of tools. “Let’s just hope it’s not crawling with more ruin guards…”

But when they reached the final door—it opened silently.

The control room was still. Too still. No alarms. No enemies. Just rows of ancient consoles and flickering monitors, glowing faintly with golden Ether light.

And at the center stood two figures, calmly waiting.

“So, the main event begins at last. And fortune smiles upon us — the Aegis herself takes the stage. A pity the curtain call will come so soon.”

The flamboyant man stepped forward, cane twirling in hand. He didn’t look threatening, but his words made Pyra tense.

Izuku felt it instantly. Fear. From her.

He didn’t know what this man was talking about, but it was clear — this wouldn’t end peacefully.

“Gentle Criminal, my love, please don’t overdo it,” the smaller woman behind him said sweetly. “The Core Crystal in the reactor is still unstable. I’m trying to suppress the surge, but it’s emitting more than we expected.”

She raised a hand, activating an Ether shield around the terminal she stood at. It shimmered faintly.

“Have no fear, La Brava. I’ll simply entertain our guests a while longer.” Gentle turned back to Izuku and Pyra with a dramatic flourish. “Well now, Driver of the Aegis — shall we dance?”

Without warning, the air shimmered — and a forceful blast of wind sent the group sprawling.

The strike was sudden, controlled… precise.

“Izuku!” Yaoyorozu called out as she pulled herself up. “I don’t trust that woman’s story. Can you keep this guy busy? Hatsume-Meh and I will work on a terminal!”

She spoke with confidence, already directing action. Izuku nodded.

“Look out!”

Pyra’s warning came just in time. Izuku raised his blade on instinct, catching a blow from Gentle’s cane. But the follow-up kick struck him clean, launching him back — right into Ochako.

“Ow… Izuku, are you okay?”

Izuku didn’t respond to Ochako’s concern. The way he stood, clutching his side, was answer enough.

But his eyes were on Pyra.

She looked… small. Like the fire she always carried had been dimmed. Her hands trembled slightly, and that unreadable look in her eyes — part fear, part memory — unsettled him more than any villain ever had.

“Aegis…” the man had said.

Why did that word shake her so much?

What did it mean?

Izuku didn’t know. And that scared him.

Because he wanted to help her — to protect her like she always did for him — but he couldn’t if he didn’t understand. He felt like he was fumbling through shadows, blind to something important, something only Pyra knew but wouldn’t say.

He hated that feeling. That helplessness.

He gripped his sword tighter and forced himself to focus.

“Come now, child,” Gentle said, casually twirling his cane again. “Too slow. Too reactive. A Blade shouldn't need to instruct their Driver mid-battle. Rise — and show me why the Aegis chose you.”

He stepped back, waiting, like a teacher inviting a student to try again.

Izuku’s mind raced. Why was Pyra afraid? What did “Aegis” mean? Why did this man know that word?

He shook off the questions. Now wasn’t the time

“I don’t know why you’re calling her that, but it doesn’t matter,” he said, stepping forward. “You’re the ones who triggered the meltdown. We’ll stop you here and now!”

He charged. But something felt… off. His Ether flow was sluggish. Even with Pyra supporting him, it felt dimmer. Fuzzier.

“Oh, but it does matter,” Gentle chided, effortlessly dodging Izuku’s swings. “You see, the bond between Blade and Driver is a duet, not a solo act. If you don’t understand her, how can you expect to stand with her?”

Another shimmer. Another wave of elastic air launched Izuku backward.

“You don’t know anything about Izuku or Pyra!” Ochako yelled, flinging crates toward him.

But the crates hit the shimmering air — and bounced back.

“Look out!” Izuku dove forward, slashing them apart before they hit her.

He paused, studying the strange air distortion. Elastic. Reflective. A trap.

“Why are you doing this? How do you even know that name?” Pyra’s voice wavered.

Gentle didn’t answer at first. Instead, he simply watched Izuku.

Izuku didn’t understand him — or his goals. He wasn’t trying to stop Yaoyorozu or Hatsume-Meh. He hadn’t aimed for Ochako once. He was testing him.

But Pyra was scared. And that was all that mattered.

Izuku stepped in front of her and raised his sword.

“Izuku…?”

“It’s okay,” he said, eyes fixed on Gentle. “Whatever that name means to you doesn’t matter right now. I’m here. And just like you support me — I’ll support you.”

A surge of Ether flared between them.

He moved fast — striking the air barrier, letting it bounce him back, and twisting mid-air. Pyra’s flames spiraled around him in a vortex as he landed, blade slamming into the ground. The fire rebounded across the floor, forming a wave that forced Gentle back.

The heat disrupted the air defenses, if only for a moment.

Gentle’s smile widened. “Well said, my boy. A Blade is only as strong as their bond allows. Perhaps the Aegis is in good hands after all.”

As he stepped back, the stinging Ether in the room seemed to stabilize.

“Gentle,” La Brava called out calmly. “The reactor just calmed. And I’m almost finished purging the terminal. Once you're done, we should go.”

“I see. Excellent work, La Brava.” Gentle Criminal twisted his cane with a theatrical flourish. “Well then, now that the tempo has changed… let’s see how you perform.”

Izuku tightened his grip on his sword. The moment the reactor stabilized, he knew the fight would escalate. Gentle was no longer holding back.

A tense silence fell.

Then — motion.

Gentle stomped the floor and rocketed forward, his cane crashing into Izuku’s ribs. The impact hurled him backward into Pyra’s arms.

The man began ricocheting across the control room like a pinball, each step bouncing as if the floor were a trampoline.

“Y-your Quirk… you’re making the ground elastic!”

Gentle offered a midair bow. “Bravo! You’ve grasped it quickly. Though I’m afraid that won’t help you.”

He launched again — but just before the strike landed, a bolt of teal lightning split the air, forcing him to recoil mid-leap.

A greatsword followed, crashing into an elastic air barrier with a satisfying boom.

“Hope we didn’t miss the dance. I brought the disco ball.”

A teal-haired elf girl descended gracefully beside Kaminari, her staff humming with static. An Ether tether linked the two.

“Sorry, Pops, but we’ll be cutting in,” Kaminari quipped as he was bounced backward by the elastic wall.

“Oh ho! Another duet joins the stage!”

Izuku blinked. Kaminari had bonded with a Blade? How? When?

There wasn’t time to ask.

Pyra was still visibly shaken. Izuku reached out with his thoughts — not words — and she met his gaze. Understanding flickered between them.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Let’s take things one step at a time.”

Pyra nodded, her smile fragile but real.

Meanwhile, Kaminari staggered back, his blade dragging behind him.

“Sparky, you sure you got this?” Pandoria asked, voice laced with concern. “No need to fry yourself on my account.”

Still panting, Kaminari gave a thumbs-up. “I’m good. Just… heavy sword, y’know?”

Izuku turned to him, eyes burning with focus. “Can you follow my lead?”

Kaminari nodded. “Whatever you got, bro. Let’s go.”

Ether surged around Izuku as he charged forward. Pyra matched his rhythm — their hearts synchronized. He knew how to crack the elastic barriers now. He just needed Kaminari for the follow-up.

Gentle smiled as if sensing the plan. He conjured another glimmering wall in Izuku’s path.

“Pyra—now!”

She gathered Ether into searing flames that wrapped around Izuku’s blade.

Driver Art: Flame Nova.

Izuku slammed the flaming Ether into the elastic air. The barrier twisted, resisted… then burst apart.

Kaminari charged behind him, greatsword dragging — until it fell away, unraveling into a sleek whip-blade.

“Let’s do this, Pandoria!”

“Now you're cookin’, Sparky! Lightning Force — now!”

Pandoria unleashed a thunderbolt, which Kaminari caught mid-air with the whip-blade. He flung the charged weapon through the shattered gap.

But before it could land—

A burst of pink Ether hearts surged up, forming a radiant barrier around Gentle.

“Forgive me, my love,” he said as La Brava leapt into his arms. “I simply had to test their resolve.”

Izuku blinked in shock. An Ether tether now linked the two. The pink energy crackled with affection and power.

“Hey, come on! That’s totally cheating!” Kaminari whined, panting hard.

“All’s fair in love and war,” La Brava chimed. “Now, if you're quite finished, Gentle… we need to go. I stalled Eraserhead, but we won’t stand a chance if he catches up.”

“Quite right, my darling.” Gentle turned to the group with a flourish. “A shame to end the performance, but you all have promise. You just need a few more rehearsals. Until our next act, young Drivers.”

Izuku and Kaminari lunged to stop them — too late.

With a tap of his cane, Gentle whipped the air into a swirling vortex. La Brava kissed her drone, and it fired a concentrated beam of heart-charged Ether into the gale.

Izuku’s eyes widened. “Wait—!”

The two energy types fused — destabilized — and exploded.

A flash of heart-filled wind engulfed them.

Izuku and Kaminari slammed into the far wall and collapsed. Consciousness faded, the last thing Izuku saw was Pyra rushing to his side—

And then, darkness.

Chapter 7 End

Chapter Text

"...and that’s all that happened. The data we collected is on that tablet."

Yaoyorozu stood with perfect posture before Nezu’s desk, her uniform dusted with dirt and lingering Ether residue. Her tone was calm, composed — but her eyes, sharp and searching, betrayed deeper intentions. She wasn’t just reporting. She wanted to understand.

“Very good, Yaoyorozu,” Nezu replied, sipping his tea as he tapped through the data pad with his paw. “It’s heartening to see you integrating so well with the group. That said... this raises some troubling implications. According to these logs, the system was indeed tampered with. I’ll need to investigate further, but I suspect our theatrical duo were not the true cause of the meltdown.”

He paused, eyes gleaming. “And then there’s Kaminari’s resonance. Now that is... fascinating.”

“Sir,” Yaoyorozu interjected, “if I may — what is the Aegis? Pyra had a strong reaction to that title. If Midoriya is to be her Driver, any emotional instability could present serious hazards.”

Nezu hummed. He set the tablet down and fixed her with a sharp, unreadable gaze — one that dissected rather than questioned.

Yaoyorozu met it. Her stance didn’t falter. There was a flicker of hesitation, but her resolve — her need to know — pushed through.

“I see.” Nezu smiled faintly. “The truth is... I don’t entirely know. And that, in itself, is the danger. The Aegis is a term found in scattered, contradictory records — a divine weapon, a calamity, a bringer of world’s end. What I do know is this: Pyra is the Aegis. But what that means — we’re still uncovering. Which is why I intend to keep both her and Midoriya protected, and under close observation.”

He leaned forward, folding his paws. “That’s your role as well.”

Yaoyorozu closed her eyes, processing. This was more than she’d signed up for. Originally, she was to monitor the club in Nezu’s stead — an academic overseer, a researcher. Now, her responsibilities had deepened.

“I understand, sir,” she said at last. “I asked for this chance to study Ether up close. I won’t disappoint you.”

Nezu’s smile warmed, just slightly. “I appreciate your diligence. But do not distance yourself from your peers in the name of this duty. Ether — like trust — blooms through connection. You're not a spy, Yaoyorozu. You're a student researcher. Act as such.”

There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes — then a nod. “I see. Thank you, sir. I’ll take my leave.”

With a final bow, she exited.

The office was silent. Nezu sat still for a moment, staring at the closed door.

So many threads. And not nearly enough time.

The Hero Commission’s fingerprints were all over the data. Aizawa’s report only confirmed it. Gentle Criminal and La Brava, meanwhile, were a wildcard — disruptive, observant, and worryingly aligned with something.

He allowed himself a single, tired sigh — the only crack in his perfectly composed façade. Then, a knock at the door.

Nezu straightened. The warm smile returned — the one humans found so pleasant. Deceptively pleasant.

“Come in,” he called, pressing a button.

The door swung open. In stepped All Might — in his skeletal form — accompanied by two others: the ever-smiling Mirio Togata, and the sharp-eyed Sir Nighteye.

Right on schedule.

“So,” Nezu said, “you’ve made your decision, All Might. Am I to assume young Togata is the one?”

They took their seats. All Might nodded. “Yes. He has the heart of a true hero — and he’s physically compatible with One For All. I believe he’s the best choice.”

Nezu’s ears twitched. You believe... or you hope?

Sir Nighteye spoke next, his tone clipped and confident. “It was always clear. Mirio was the optimal successor. I’ve foreseen this outcome for years. There’s no point delaying the inevitable.”

Nezu’s smile thinned. “I see. And you, Togata? You’re comfortable with this responsibility?”

Mirio flashed a grin that could outshine a stadium. “Yes, sir! All Might and Sir Nighteye explained everything. I don’t need this power to be a great hero, but if it helps me save lives like All Might does, then I’ll take it gladly.”

Nezu studied him — not with suspicion, but with curiosity. Earnest. Popular. A beacon. In many ways, the correct choice. But was “correct” what the world still needed?

“Well then,” Nezu said, “unless you need anything from me...”

“There is one thing,” All Might interjected. “I’m still... not great at teaching. I was hoping you could oversee his initial training.”

Nezu chuckled, tail swishing. “Of course. Though I’ll need to include my personal student and his peers. They won’t know about One For All, naturally, but I suspect they’ll offer valuable insight.”

All Might accepted this with a nod. Nighteye did not comment — though his frown deepened.

“So how do we do this?” Mirio asked brightly. “Some kind of ceremony?”

All Might rose, puffed himself up into his muscle form, and plucked a single strand of hair from his head.

“To receive my power...” he said solemnly, “you must eat this.”

The room went silent.

Mirio blinked. Nighteye stared. Nezu... burst into delighted laughter.

Human reactions were always the best part of this job.

Interlude End

Chapter Text

(Izuku Midoriya POV)

Something was humming.

A low, persistent buzz echoed in Izuku’s ears, like static clinging to the edges of a dream. The sharp scent of disinfectant tickled his nose. He blinked against pale ceiling lights, sterile and clinical. Somewhere nearby, a familiar laugh rang out—too loud, too close.

When his vision finally focused, he saw a teal-haired girl with pointed ears leaning over him, her golden eyes locked on his like she was inspecting a bug under glass.

“Huh. You wake up way less dramatically than I expected.” She grinned and stepped back with a flourish. “Hey, Granny! Greeny’s awake now!”

Her voice was bright, teasing—and far too casual for a complete stranger.

Before Izuku could process that, two familiar faces rushed to his side. Ochako’s eyes were red and puffy, her fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. Pyra, calmer but visibly relieved, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Umm… what happened?” Izuku asked groggily.

Pyra helped him sit up slowly. His surroundings became clearer—white walls, beeping medical sensors, the faint glimmer of an Ether-filtering unit in the corner. Definitely a medbay. He spotted Kaminari nearby, half-bandaged and sitting cross-legged on a bed, holding a game controller. The teal-haired girl from before was next to him, leaning on a staff and grinning like she owned the place. Hatsume-meh stood behind them, clapping rhythmically like it was a sporting event.

A short, helmeted old woman waddled over, thumping the floor with a syringe-shaped cane.

“A lively bunch, aren’t you.” Recovery Girl squinted through her visor. “Now move aside. I’ve got patients to clear.”

Ochako shuffled back reluctantly. Pyra didn’t budge.

The nurse rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, raising her sensor wand and scanning Izuku from head to toe. The device beeped.

“Hmph. Concussion’s healed. Let me guess—that was your doing, missy?”

Pyra nodded with a faint smile. “Yes. So long as there’s enough ambient Ether, I can heal moderate injuries.”

Izuku blinked in fascination. “You can… heal?” he muttered, then immediately reached for his journal and began scribbling notes at a frantic pace, whispering to himself about Ether density, resonance harmonics, and battlefield applications.

Recovery Girl sighed and lifted her cane as if to bonk him. Pyra intercepted without looking, calmly shielding Izuku like it was second nature.

The teal-haired girl tilted her head and gave Kaminari a sideways glance. “Eheh. Greeny sure can talk, huh? Wonder what he’s saying.”

Izuku startled at the sound of her voice again and turned to face her. “Wait—you’re a Blade. How are you here? Did—?”

The girl raised one hand, cutting him off with a teasing smirk. “Whooaa there, motor mouth. Cool your jets. I can only answer one question at a time.”

She twirled her staff dramatically and posed. “I am the great Pandoria! Mistress of lightning, champion of style, and this guy’s Blade.”

Kaminari gave a sheepish wave, one hand still wrapped in bandages. “I, uh… found her. Reactor room. Very dangerous. Wouldn’t recommend.”

Ochako filled in the blanks. “Aizawa gave him detention for a month.”

Kaminari chuckled weakly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. Not my smartest move, but hey—I learned I can survive prolonged exposure to electric-type Ether. That’s valuable data, right? Y’know… for research.”

Pandoria puffed out her cheeks. “Data, schmata. This guy ran in like a total hero and pulled me out. Super dramatic. I bet a certain girl wishes someone rescued her like that. Being the damsel’s pretty romantic, huh?”

Her tone danced the line between flirtatious and teasing. Izuku flushed. Kaminari spluttered. Ochako crossed her arms and turned away, muttering something inaudible.

“Alright, enough chatter,” Recovery Girl said firmly, already waving her cane like a conductor’s baton. “All of you—out. You're cleared. Go be loud somewhere else.”

As they filed out, Izuku glanced once more at Pyra, still walking quietly at his side. She hadn’t said much, but her hand hadn’t left his shoulder since he woke up.

He wasn’t sure what waited outside this quiet room—but with her there, he felt ready to face it.

—

After leaving the nurse’s office, everything became a whirlwind of activity. Kaminari had officially moved into the 1-N dorms, bringing Pandoria along with him. Between the sudden adjustment and the new energy she brought with her, Izuku barely had time to process it all before the day came to an end.

The following morning started with a loud crack of electricity.

Izuku jolted upright and rushed into the hallway, only to see Kaminari and Pandoria stumbling out of a smoking room. Pyra, unfazed, was already cooking breakfast like usual, her expression somewhere between tired and amused.

“Pandoria! Please don’t do that,” Kaminari groaned, hair standing on end. “You scared the thunder out of me!”

“Can’t blame me, Sparky,” Pandoria chirped, clinging to his side and sending small jolts through his hair. “You’ve got the cutest sleeping face.”

Izuku blinked and quietly took a seat at the kitchen bar, still trying to catch up with the situation.

“What exactly… happened?”

Pyra set down a plate of her usual strange-but-delicious cooking in front of him. She shook her head like an exhausted mother who had seen it all.

“Pandoria snuck into his bed. Kaminari got startled and zapped the sheets. Some of them might’ve caught fire.”

Izuku nodded, only to freeze as an uncomfortable realization hit him.

That… actually sounded kind of familiar. Pyra had ended up in his bed once or twice, too. He cleared his throat, his face flushing.

“Is, um… being that close normal for Blades and Drivers? I mean, emotionally linked or… um—physically—?”

“Totally normal, Greeny,” Pandoria said brightly, hopping into the seat next to him and reaching for his food—only for Pyra to smack her hand with a wooden spoon.

“Get your own,” Pyra said flatly. “I’ll make you a plate.”

Kaminari slumped into the seat next to them and dropped his head onto the bar. “Okay but seriously—Nezu has to know one bed isn’t enough. What are the odds he did that on purpose?”

Izuku tried not to think about it. But his mouth moved faster than his brain.

“I'm almost certain he did it on purpose.”

Both boys groaned in sync.

“Oh, cheer up,” Pandoria grinned. “You both landed some serious hotties. Especially you, Sparky. I’m quite the catch.”

Kaminari tried to hide his face behind his hands.

“Anyway!” Izuku cut in quickly, eager to change the subject. “Kaminari, how are you feeling? About being a Driver now, I mean.”

Kaminari perked up a little, still red in the face. “It’s actually… really cool. That whip-blade is awesome, and when I ran into the fight with Pandoria right behind me, it felt right. I think I get now why you and Pyra are always together.”

Izuku had already pulled out his notebook, scribbling down thoughts while Kaminari spoke.

“Ooh, ooh!” Pandoria raised her hand like a student in class. “I’m also helping regulate his electricity. I am the master of lightning, after all.”

Both boys blinked.

“Wait—you mean I won’t short circuit myself anymore?” Kaminari asked hopefully.

Pandoria spun on her stool and landed facing him. Her tone was still playful, but now tinged with something steadier.

“Well, you probably will if you go overboard,” she said, “but I’ve got your back now. If we work together, you can do anything.”

She leaned forward like she was going to kiss him—then suddenly snatched a strip of bacon off his plate.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Kaminari protested. “You have your own!”

“Don’t care,” she said with a wink, dodging his swipe with a grin. “I like messing with you.”

Izuku chuckled and glanced at Pyra, who had quietly taken the seat next to him.

“They’re good for each other,” Pyra whispered.

Izuku turned back and watched the two playfully fencing with their forks, Pandoria cackling and Kaminari dramatically defending his breakfast.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I’m happy for Kaminari.”

—

After the chaotic breakfast, the group had settled into the living room space of the 1-N dorms. Kaminari lounged across the couch, mashing buttons on his game controller, while Pandoria sat beside him, providing dramatic commentary like a sports announcer at a high-stakes tournament.

Izuku knelt at the coffee table, journal open, muttering quietly as he wrote. Pyra sat close by, carefully polishing their shared sword, eyes soft as she listened to his words.

Then Izuku paused.

He closed his notebook gently, and the muttering stopped. That alone was enough for Kaminari to pause his game and glance over.

All eyes turned to him.

Izuku hesitated, feeling the weight of the question on his tongue. He wanted to ask Pyra about the word Aegis—why it had rattled her so deeply when Gentle Criminal said it. But it felt like stepping into something sacred, private. Like he might break something if he said it wrong.

He looked to Kaminari, silently hoping for guidance. To his surprise, Kaminari met his gaze and gave a small, reassuring nod.

It was enough.

Izuku turned to Pyra, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

“Pyra… can I ask you something?”

She shifted closer and placed her hand over his—warm, grounding. She always knew when he needed that extra strength.

“Of course.”

He took a steadying breath. “When Gentle Criminal called you the Aegis… what did he mean? Why did it scare you?”

The effect was immediate. Her grip tightened instinctively at the word. But Izuku didn’t let go. He matched the pressure, anchoring her as she had done for him so many times before.

The silence that followed was thick, alive. The Ether tether that connected them shimmered faintly in the air, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Finally, Pyra spoke.

“I… I don’t know everything,” she said quietly, eyes distant. “I remember the name Aegis. I know it’s mine. But I don’t understand what that means — only that when someone says it, something inside me tightens. Like I’m being asked to carry a burden I can’t see. A title… or maybe a warning. I think I’ve hurt people before. I think there’s a part of me that could do it again.”

She was trembling now. Pyra—who always stood tall, who was always so steady—was shaking.

Izuku’s heart clenched. He didn’t know if asking had been the right thing to do, but in that moment, he wanted more than anything to protect her from the fear in her own voice.

Without thinking, he leaned forward and pulled her into a hug.

She clung to him instantly, as if afraid he might disappear. The Ether around them swelled, gentle and warm, responding to the depth of their bond.

“Whatever that name means,” Izuku whispered, “I’ll help you find the truth. And I’ll be by your side—always. You said you’d be my wings… so let me be yours too.”

A shiver ran through her, and then Pyra began to cry—quiet, grateful tears as she buried her face in his shoulder.

“Hey,” Kaminari spoke up, raising a fist from the couch. “Count us in too. Helping friends figure out crazy mystical nonsense? Sounds heroic as heck.”

Pandoria sprang to her feet with exaggerated flair. “If Pyra gets a mysterious title, I want one too. Call me the Gigavolt Goddess! Or wait—no, I’ve got it! Lady Pandemonium!”

Even Pyra couldn’t help but laugh through her tears. She slowly pulled back from Izuku, still holding his hand tightly.

“Thank you. All of you.”

And just like that, the moment was broken—by a sharp knock at the door and Aizawa’s unmistakably tired voice:

“Nezu has called for a club meeting and training session. Get to Gym Gamma. Now.”

The four of them exchanged looks of confusion.

“Wait… it’s Sunday,” Kaminari muttered.

No one had the answer—but no one dared be late either.

As they scrambled to get ready, Izuku felt his nerves returning.

He didn’t know what Nezu had planned.

But he prayed it wouldn’t be anything too emotionally draining.

Because after this morning… he wasn’t sure how much more his heart could take.

—

(Ochako Uraraka POV)

Despite it being Sunday, Ochako found herself walking the quiet halls of U.A. in her hero costume. Nezu had requested her presence for an Ether Research Club activity. Attendance wasn’t mandatory, but he’d offered a free meal in exchange—and since it was a school function, her travel fees were automatically covered by her student ID.

She hadn’t had much food in her apartment lately. The place her family was paying for—barely—was already more than she felt she deserved. Another burden stacked on their shoulders.

The club, at least, helped keep her afloat. A little, anyway.

But the truth kept gnawing at her: she didn’t belong here. Not in the hero course. Not in the Ether Research Club. Everyone else had real reasons, noble goals. She was here for the money. Always had been.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth as she reached the gym doors. She forced herself to push the feeling down. This wasn’t the time to spiral. She needed to focus—on becoming a hero, on building a better life for her family. That was the least she could do.

When she opened the door, the contrast hit her like a gust of wind.

Laughter echoed off the gym walls. Kaminari was sparring with Pandoria, the two exchanging energetic banter even mid-swing. Yaoyorozu and Hatsume-Meh were prepping strange equipment nearby, the latter practically bouncing as she fiddled with settings. Izuku stood by the sidelines, muttering softly and scribbling in his notebook, Pyra by his side. As always.

They looked so close.

Ochako found her gaze lingering on Izuku and Pyra. That bond. That ease. That warmth.

She wished—selfishly, achingly—that she had something like that. Instead, she felt like she was drifting. A single float note left behind in the current. Watching everyone else sail ahead without her.

Stop it, she scolded herself. Get it together.

She took a breath, shook her head, and stepped forward—slipping on the mask she wore so well. The bright, bubbly Ochako. The girl who smiled, who laughed, who never let on how little she had. Or how deeply alone she sometimes felt.

As she approached the group, Nezu made his appearance. With him were four others: All Might, Aizawa, a tall green-haired man with streaks of yellow in his hair, and an older boy who radiated heroic energy like the sun.

Ochako couldn’t stop staring at the upperclassman—not out of attraction, but awe. There was something larger-than-life about him, like he belonged on a billboard already. Just standing there, he seemed to glow.

The others in the room paused what they were doing and gathered around. Well—everyone except Hatsume-Meh, but that was probably for the best.

“Oh, it’s you. Mirio Togata, right?”
Izuku was the first to speak, clearly recognizing the boy.

“Yep! Glad to see you’re doing great, little green. Better than the nervous ball I saw on the first day,” Mirio replied brightly.

He stepped up and ruffled Izuku’s hair with easy familiarity. It was like watching an older brother playfully mess with his sibling. But Ochako caught something strange—just a flicker in Pyra’s expression. Not jealousy or annoyance. Something deeper. A flash of recognition. A twinge of fear, maybe. Pandoria, too, looked wary in a way that didn’t match the mood.

Before Ochako could focus on that, Nezu addressed the group.

“Now then, my dear students, I’ve called you here to participate in a training and research opportunity. Our dear Togata has recently undergone a Quirk Awakening of sorts. This was the result of advanced personal training. As you’ve all reported, Quirks interact with Ether in many ways. I would like you to train alongside Mirio and document any Ether phenomena. This will aid both your research and, for those of you in the hero course, your field experience. Mirio Togata is one of our top hero students, after all.”

There was a murmur of excitement from the group—but Ochako remained quiet. She didn’t feel excited. She wasn’t really a researcher. She wasn’t a prodigy or a Driver. She was just… there. A treasure hunter clinging to a sinking self-worth.

Mirio’s grin somehow grew wider.
“I heard two of you have Blades? That’s incredible! I’d love to see how that works. Sounds super cool.”

Pandoria’s tail twitched in irritation. “Listen up, buddy boy, we’re not just things. We’re partners. Ain’t that right, Sparky?”

Kaminari offered a sheepish smile to hide his irritation. “Yeah. She’s right. We can show you better than we can explain.”

He strode toward the sparring zone and attempted a flashy flourish with his whip-blade—only to fumble it and nearly drop the weapon.

Mirio chuckled with dazzling warmth. “Such great spirit. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got! Though I think you’ll need backup. Midoriya, why don’t you and the redhead join in?”

Izuku hesitated briefly, then nodded and stepped beside Kaminari. His stance was careful, efficient. Practical. Kaminari, meanwhile, struck a loose, open pose—more performance than posture.

Mirio shifted into a boxing stance that mirrored All Might’s almost exactly. Even his red cape fluttered at just the right moment, as if the wind itself wanted to crown him the next Symbol of Peace.

Ochako quietly stepped back and joined Yaoyorozu and Hatsume-Meh near a workbench cluttered with prototype scanners and Ether detectors. The room buzzed with movement and momentum.

But Ochako felt still. Outside of it all.

She watched the others—Izuku drawing his blade with purpose, Kaminari’s Blade matching him in sync, Momo adjusting settings mid-thought, Hatsume-Meh soldering with cartoonish focus—and felt a sharp ache of distance.
What was she?

She didn’t even know what she’d write down if she had a notebook like Midoriya’s.

The girl that could make things float?
That wasn’t special. That wasn’t strong.

Even Mirio’s smile felt like a spotlight too bright to stand beneath. It made her want to shrink away, to vanish into the bleachers.

So she smiled instead. Slipped the mask back on. The bright, bubbly Ochako Uraraka who never let her poverty show. Who never burdened her friends. Who pretended her whole reason for being here wasn’t already fraying under the weight of comparison.

And she waited.

The atmosphere in the gym shifted the moment both sides took their stances. A quiet tension rippled through the space — not fear, but anticipation.

Curiously, the tall green-haired man stepped forward and leaned in close to whisper something into Togata’s ear. Whatever he said made the upperclassman grin wider, rolling his shoulders with renewed confidence.

Then came Aizawa’s signal.

Izuku and Kaminari launched into motion the instant the word “Begin!” was barked.

They split in opposite directions — Kaminari sweeping left with a snarl of crackling electricity, Izuku dipping low on the right, sword trailing a bloom of flame across the floor. Pyra and Pandoria moved with them like echoes of their momentum.

The coordination was seamless. A graceful, mirrored assault.
It looked rehearsed. But Ochako knew better. They’d never trained this way before. Never had time to choreograph anything this fluid.

And yet… they moved like they shared a heartbeat.

Togata dodged every strike with casual ease. Not even a flicker of his Quirk yet. He weaved between the blazing sweep and dancing lightning like he’d seen it all before.

Ochako’s gaze drifted to the tall man in the back — the one with green hair tinged with gold.
He was watching calmly. Intently.
Like he already knew what was coming.

The initial assault tapered off. Kaminari fell back a step, eyes alive with energy.

“Izuku, I’ve got an idea. Let me take the lead this time.”

Izuku didn’t even pause. He nodded once, steady and sure.

“Pandoria, we’re going all out. Full Burst!”

Kaminari surged forward, electricity flaring brighter with every step. Izuku circled wide, ready to flank.

“Don’t fry your brain, Sparky,” Pandoria teased as the Ether between them surged to a crescendo.

In a flash, Kaminari discharged a blinding wave of lightning — but not like before. This wasn’t the unfocused blast Ochako remembered from the training grounds.

“Fascinating!” Yaoyorozu muttered from beside her. “He’s altered the local Ether density — and the discharge is refined.”

Ochako didn’t fully understand the jargon, but the feeling was clear. This wasn’t just a power boost. This was growth.

Pandoria shot past Kaminari, launching a precise teal bolt that slammed into Togata’s chest and forced him to brace — the first sign of impact. He stumbled slightly, eyes narrowing.

Izuku was already there, following up with a tight, spiraling arc of fire aimed for Togata’s legs. The blow connected, singeing his cape and nearly knocking him off balance.

There was a sudden pause. Ochako felt that it all ended abruptly. Like something was missing.

Togata for his part blinked in surprise.

“Well now!” he laughed, clapping once. “Looks like these Blades really do make a difference. Guess I’ll have to step it up. Sorry in advance.”

And with that — he vanished, sinking into the ground like a ghost through water.

 

Ochako’s breath caught in her throat as Togata vanished into the ground. She didn’t know what his Quirk was, but this wasn’t what she had imagined.

Izuku’s eyes scanned the floor—then suddenly snapped to the side.

“Kaminari, left!”

Kaminari flinched, twisting just as Togata burst upward from the ground like a breaching dolphin. He wasn’t fast enough. The punch landed hard, sending him skidding back. Pandoria caught him mid-stumble but couldn’t react before Togata slipped beneath the surface once more.

What followed was a blur of movement—brutal and relentless. Togata danced through the floor, surfacing and striking with precise, punishing blows. Izuku and Kaminari did their best, but they were outmatched. Pyra and Pandoria moved on instinct, shielding their partners from the worst of the blows, but each barrier only blocked one strike before Togata vanished again.

And yet… something was strange.

Izuku—despite his frantic movement—always managed to place himself in front of Pyra whenever Togata targeted her. The same pattern emerged with Kaminari and Pandoria. Even if they couldn’t block every attack, they never failed to protect each other in those moments. It wasn’t calculated—it was instinct.

Ochako didn’t fully understand what was happening, but it struck her somewhere deep. That reflexive bond, that silent promise between Driver and Blade—it was beautiful. Painfully so.

Then Togata launched into the air. For a heartbeat, golden light shimmered around him. He slammed down like a thunderbolt, the impact unleashing a shockwave that sent all four combatants flying from the sparring ring.

The air filled with warning beeps. Sensors flared to life. Yaoyorozu and Hatsume-Meh immediately called out Ether levels and energy spikes—but Ochako didn’t hear them.

Her eyes were fixed on Mirio Togata, standing tall with a triumphant smile. His red cape fluttered behind him, his presence blazing like a beacon.

That strength… that aura…

It was like looking at All Might.

“You all did amazing!” Togata called out cheerfully, already moving to help the others to their feet.

Ochako didn’t move. She didn’t smile.

She just stared, a quiet ache blooming in her chest.

Mirio Togata was everything a hero should be.

But if that was true…

What did that make her?

Chapter 8 End

Chapter Text

(Ochako Uraraka POV)

Ochako sat stiffly in the soft office chair across from Nezu’s desk, the quiet hum of the room pressing in around her. She’d been asked to stay behind after the sparring match — and to her surprise, she was grateful for the excuse.

Being alone right now felt like the worst possible idea.

Nezu poured her a delicate cup of tea, steam curling like ghostly tendrils into the air, while he flipped through a folder of documents with small, practiced motions. Ochako waited in silence, uncertain, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Finally, he closed the folder and looked up.

"Uraraka, how have you found your time at U.A. and within the Ether Research Club?"

The question caught her off guard. For a heartbeat, she hesitated — then quickly reached for the usual mask.

"It’s been great," she said, smiling just enough to make it sound real. "The hero course is challenging, but nothing I can't handle. I've made a lot of friends. And the ruins we’ve explored… they’ve been really interesting. Dangerous, sure, but exciting."

Nezu studied her with a look that wasn’t quite skeptical, but wasn’t fooled either. It was as though he could see right through her carefully chosen words — and chose not to say so.

Instead, he nodded thoughtfully.

"That sounds wonderful. I was reviewing your file and noticed that you’re currently living alone in an apartment nearby. Is that correct?"

Ochako’s breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around the teacup.

Was he going to tell her that wasn’t allowed? That she’d violated some rule? That she could be expelled?

"Yes," she said quickly. "But I’m completely fine. It’s technically company housing — my family’s business still holds the lease. It’s not a problem, really. I make sure to wake up on time and never miss class."

Nezu nodded again, his face unreadable. For a long, tense moment, he said nothing.

Then:

"I see. Since you’re close by, would you be willing to participate in a small Ether research initiative? Nothing strenuous — I’d simply ask you to check in if anything unusual occurs."

Ochako blinked.

"Y-Yes, of course," she said — a little too fast. Her mind raced. Was this a way to monitor her? Was he giving her a chance to stay?

She would do anything if it meant avoiding technical trouble.

Nezu watched her for another second, then quietly opened a drawer. He placed a small black velvet box on the desk between them, turning it so the clasp faced her.

Ochako looked at it warily, then reached out with trembling fingers and opened the lid.

Inside was a violet, teardrop-shaped crystal suspended in a narrow silver lattice. It looked… expensive. Precious. Like something meant for someone who deserved it. The crystal shimmered with an inner pulse, faint but steady, like a distant heartbeat.

It was beautiful. It felt old. Important.

She lifted it from the box and found a chain — light but strong, metallic but soft to the touch. It was a pendant. A necklace.

But not just jewelry.

Was this… a Core Crystal?

As her fingers closed around it, the crystal pulsed faintly brighter. Not a flare — not an awakening. But it responded. Just enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

Not like Pyra. Not like Pandoria.

Just a flicker.

Am I not enough?

Nezu’s voice was gentle, almost fond.

"I see it’s reacting to you. I’d like you to wear it for now, as part of the project. Should it awaken, we’ll observe and record the phenomenon. And if not, that’s perfectly fine. You’re welcome to keep it regardless."

Ochako opened her mouth to object — to say she couldn’t accept something like this. That she clearly wasn’t the right person. That it should go to someone more—

But then she remembered: this wasn’t a gift. It was an assignment.
If nothing happened, it would just return to the archives. Or maybe… maybe she could give it to Izuku someday, if it meant something to him.

"Thank you, sir," she said, bowing her head. "I’ll do my best."

Nezu shook his head slowly, his eyes kind — but tinged with something heavier.

"My dear student, you’re already doing more than a child should ever have to.
Please… just enjoy your time here at U.A."

He dismissed her with a gentle wave, and she stood, slipping the necklace around her neck with careful hands.

It settled just above her heart — the crystal still pulsing softly with Ether, quiet and unreadable.

Dormant.

But perhaps not forever.

—

(Izuku Midoriya POV)

Izuku didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere until it was too late.

He’d spent most of the morning with Kaminari and Pandoria, and while he was beginning to grow used to their antics, Class 1-A clearly wasn’t.

The moment they stepped into the classroom, every eye turned—not to him or Kaminari, but to Pandoria.
Even dressed in a modified UA uniform instead of her usual gothic lolita outfit, she still showed a lot of skin. More importantly, she clung to Kaminari like a lover clinging to her partner, arms wrapped around his like it was second nature.

Izuku still couldn’t tell if she was teasing him… or if she genuinely meant it. Either way, it was definitely embarrassing for them both.

“Kaminari, it is highly inappropriate to bring your girlfriend to class,” Iida said, blunt as always.

Kaminari flushed. “She’s not—! I mean—!”

“See, Sparky?” Pandoria leaned in with a smirk. “Told you we looked cute together.”

Whether she was playing it up for fun or actually serious was anyone’s guess.

“Pandoria, please,” Kaminari groaned, burying his face in one hand. “Just let me sit down.”

“As you wish, captain.”
She gave an exaggerated salute, clearly not planning to stop anytime soon.

Izuku smiled faintly, then glanced around.
His eyes caught on Ochako, sitting quietly near the window. She wasn’t watching the chaos. She was staring at something—a necklace in her hands, one he didn’t recognize. A faint glow pulsed from the crystal at its center.

It looked... beautiful. But something about the way she looked at it made his chest feel tight.

He let Kaminari deal with Pandoria and made his way to his desk. He could hear the others reacting to Pandoria’s loud self-introduction, the room buzzing with confused laughter and amused disbelief, but his eyes remained on Ochako.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice him.
He wanted to reach out—ask if she was okay—but stopped himself.

Was it even his place?
He and Ochako didn’t share the same bond he had with Pyra. He couldn’t always read her emotions, couldn’t tell when it was okay to ask.

He glanced toward Pyra, hoping for a signal, but she seemed distracted—eyes distant, lips slightly parted like she was sensing something.

He inhaled slowly, trying to gather his courage—
Then a loud crash snapped his focus forward.

Kaminari was on the ground, tangled in the coils of his own whip-blade.
Izuku didn’t know what stunt he’d attempted, but judging from his sheepish grin, it hadn’t gone well.

Laughter rippled through the room. All except Pandoria.

Despite her teasing nature, she didn’t laugh—not when it mattered.
Izuku noticed her expression shift, her voice softening.

“You okay, Sparky?”

Kaminari got up, brushing himself off. He opened his mouth to crack a joke—then saw the concern on her face.

“I wanted to show off,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Izuku blinked. He hadn’t expected that level of honesty, but he was glad for it.
Pandoria hadn’t just boosted Kaminari’s power—she was helping him open up.
Izuku couldn’t help but wonder… Is that how Pyra and I look from the outside?

He turned back to Ochako—only to find her already watching him.

Their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, neither moved.

Then Izuku looked away, face flushing with heat. He didn’t know why that caught him off guard so much—but it did.

He tried to collect himself, to ask what was on her mind—
But Aizawa entered the room, and the class fell silent in an instant.

Well… most of the class.

Pandoria, unfazed, tilted her head. “Is this the part where the sleepy hobo starts lecturing?”

Aizawa’s eye twitched. He looked like he regretted coming in at all.

Still, he began announcing plans for the class representative election. Izuku assumed Nezu wanted him to participate, even if he wasn’t technically a full-time student.

But his thoughts drifted again—
Back to the look in Ochako’s eyes, and the faint, pulsing glow of the crystal at her neck.

He’d have to find the right moment.
Because whatever she was holding onto… it mattered.

—

The rest of homeroom blurred together—shouting, posturing, too many voices vying for attention. Nothing really got done until Iida took charge, his booming voice slicing through the chaos like a sword. After that, a vote settled everything.

Izuku had been allowed to vote, but not be nominated. Technically part of the class, but not really. Not officially. Not comfortably. Just… present. An oddity the others hadn’t figured out how to place.

In the end, Iida was named class representative. Yaoyorozu was chosen as his vice. A strong pairing, by all accounts, but Izuku noticed the way Yaoyorozu’s eyes drifted after the announcement. Something about the tightness in her shoulders, the pause in her nod, suggested she wasn’t fully pleased.

Still, he didn’t get a chance to speak with Ochako during the whole process. She’d remained quiet through the commotion, and by the time lunch came, she was already gone.

Izuku caught up with her in the cafeteria. Even then, it was hard to find an opening. She sat at the edge of their usual table, lost in her own head, fingers idly brushing across the smooth surface of the violet crystal pendant she now wore.

A Core Crystal. He hadn’t seen it before. But it pulsed faintly with Ether—subtle, steady. Alive.

He sat down across from her, careful not to startle her, though it didn’t matter. She didn’t even notice him.

His chest tightened. She was one of the first people who ever saw him as more than just Quirkless. More than the nickname people used like a punch. And now, here she was—adrift. Wearing a hollow expression that mimics stability.

He took a deep breath and looked to Pyra. She gave him a gentle nudge. She may have been distracted today but she still knew when he needed her support.

“O-Ochako? Are you okay?”

His voice was soft, uncertain. She flinched anyway.

She turned to him slowly, as though her mind was catching up to her body. Her expression shifted—smile first, words a beat behind.

“Oh, yes. I’m doing great.”

But it wasn’t real. He could see that clearly now. That smile was a mask, and a cracked one at that.

He hesitated. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he should back off. But—

“Can I—”

Whatever courage he’d gathered shattered when Kaminari slammed his tray onto the table, udon noodles clinging to his arms like streamers.

“I totally thought that would work, Pandoria! Either way, I made everyone laugh, so it’s fine!”

Pandoria didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smirk. She just leaned in close to Kaminari, face unreadable, and began gently peeling noodles off his shirt with surprising care.

Kaminari opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Failed.

Izuku glanced back at Ochako.

She was gripping the Core Crystal now. Tight. The crystal pulsed like a heartbeat. It was full of Ether. Resonating.

His instincts told him to try again. To reach her. She’d been there for him when he spiraled—he had to be there for her.

“Ochako, can I—”

The alarm blared, cutting him off.

Red lights pulsed overhead. A computerized voice echoed through the lunchroom, sharp and clinical: “Class 4 breach detected. Please evacuate in an orderly fashion.”

Izuku’s hand found Pyra’s without thinking. He needed her steadiness—her warmth grounding him as the cafeteria turned chaotic.

Students jumped to their feet, panic rising. Kaminari looked ready to charge into the fray, but Pandoria stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, her posture still and composed. They were seated in the far back; waiting was safer.

“Hey, Izuku! What’s a class four alarm mean?”

He turned to Kaminari, raising his voice over the din. “It means someone unauthorized has breached campus. We should head to the designated evacuation points.”

Near the exits, a scuffle broke out—brief, intense. A few sharp commands from staff calmed things quickly, and the exodus resumed in smoother waves.

Izuku stole one last glance at Ochako. She was standing now, following, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. Still clutching the pendant like a lifeline.

As he and Pyra moved with the flow of students, a sudden chill crawled up his spine.

He turned. Pyra met his eyes instantly—tense, alert.

They had both felt it. A disturbance in the Ether. Subtle, but wrong. Deeply wrong.

Their expressions mirrored each other.

Something had arrived.

And Izuku wasn’t sure if he was ready.

Chapter 9 End

Chapter Text

Izuku stood quietly as Iida tried—desperately—to conduct all of Class 1-A onto the bus in an orderly fashion. They were headed to an off-site training facility, one designed for practical rescue scenarios.

Izuku wasn’t actually part of the training. His role was more observational—monitoring Ether readings as part of the Ether Research Club. He might’ve been participating in Class 1-A’s physical lessons, but officially, he was still a student of 1-N.

It stung a little, if he was honest. But not as much as he expected.

Pyra’s presence beside him helped. The steady Ether flowing between them was like a quiet anchor in the noise.

“You still okay?” she asked, her warmth brushing gently along his senses.

Izuku nodded. “Yeah. I thought this would hurt more… but I think I’m okay.”

For so long, he’d dreamed of being a hero. Standing so close to that dream without being fully included should have cut deeper. Should have reminded him of everything he lacked.

But somehow, it didn’t.

“Come on, bro. Let’s get on before Iida blows a gasket,” Kaminari called, chuckling as he clapped a hand on Izuku’s shoulder.

Izuku smiled faintly and followed. Kaminari was busy trying to rein in Pandoria, who was currently pestering Iida by asking if his Quirk required manual calibration.

As Izuku boarded, he scanned the bus. Students had already begun claiming their spots in familiar clusters, falling into early cliques as if by instinct.

He thought about sitting with Ochako—maybe asking how she was feeling—but she’d taken a seat at the very back, alone. Her hand was still curled around her necklace, the violet crystal faintly pulsing. She didn’t look up.

She didn’t want to be disturbed.

Instead, Izuku found himself beside the frog girl—Tsuyu Asui, he recalled—while Pyra settled at his side. Kaminari flopped down across from him, already deep in animated conversation with Mina as Pandoria excitedly gestured like she was narrating a soap opera.

Izuku let the bus’s chaos fade into the background and opened his notebook. Pyra idly ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing strands in a quiet, familiar rhythm.

For a moment, everything felt… calm.

That was, until he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

He looked over. Asui was staring at him—not annoyed or impatient, just curious.

“Sorry, Asui.” he said quickly. “Was I muttering again?”

She shook her head. “Ribbit. It’s Tsu.”

Izuku blinked. “Huh?”

She tilted her head. “Call me Tsu. Everyone does.”

“Oh. Okay, Tsu. Did you have a question?”

She nodded, pleased. “Yeah. Are Blades like Quirks? It seems weird to think there’s other powers out there.”

The question carried across the bus like a ripple. Conversations faded. Heads turned. Even Aizawa, slouched at the front, opened one eye slightly.

Izuku froze.

His thoughts stuttered.

He wanted to mutter—wanted to ramble about theories and notes and Ether resonance—but doubt gnawed at him. What if she was just being polite? What if everyone thought he was weird again? What if—

Pyra’s hand settled on his head, grounding him. Across the aisle, Kaminari offered a casual thumbs-up. Pandoria gave him a confident wink. Even Yaoyorozu looked like she was gearing up to launch into an academic tangent, should he need the support.

He wasn’t the mumbling, Quirkless outcast anymore.

People saw him now.

With a steadying breath, he found his voice.

“…Blades aren’t really like Quirks,” he said, softly at first. “Quirks are genetic. Inherited. They shape how you grow. But Blades… they’re born from Core Crystals. When someone resonates with one, a Blade appears—because something in that person’s heart calls out. It’s not biology. It’s… something deeper.”

Pyra picked up where he left off, voice gentle. “It’s a connection through Ether. Through trust. We grow stronger together—but not just because of strength. Because of the bond.”

Izuku nodded slowly. “Quirks are something you’re born with. Blades are someone you meet. They don’t make you someone else—they help you become who you’re meant to be.”

He glanced down, bracing himself for awkward silence—or laughter.

But the hush that followed was thoughtful.

And for the first time, he didn’t shrink beneath the attention.

Tsuyu blinked once, slowly. “Huh. That makes a weird kind of sense, ribbit.”

Izuku managed a small, relieved smile.

His gaze flicked toward the back of the bus. Ochako hadn’t moved. Her hand still clutched the necklace, knuckles white. The crystal shimmered faintly. She stared at the floor, unmoving.

Not rejection. Just… distance.

Izuku looked away before the ache in his chest could spread.

Then someone murmured from the middle rows, almost reverently, “That’s kinda beautiful…”

The words landed softly, unexpected and sincere.

Izuku exhaled.

And then, predictably—

“Tch. Sounds like a bunch of fairy tale crap,” Bakugo muttered from his window seat, arms crossed. “Bonds. Emotions. None of it matters if you’re not strong enough to win.”

No one responded.

Kaminari looked ready to bite back, but Pandoria gently touched his arm, shaking her head with a smirk. “Let him stew in it.”

The bus continued on.

And though the unknown waited at the end of the road, for now, Izuku sat with Pyra beside him, his notebook resting in his lap, and the quiet, certain feeling that—at least for this moment—he belonged.

Not to everyone.

But to enough.

—

It wasn’t long before the bus pulled to a stop in front of a massive domed structure — the kind of building that could’ve passed for a sports arena or even a small city enclosed in glass.

But this was U.A., after all. The school where mock cities were standard training fare.

Standing just outside the entrance, a figure in a bulky white space suit waited with a posture of calm anticipation. Their round helmet gleamed faintly in the sun. Izuku recognized them instantly — and judging by the excited gasp beside him, so did Ochako.

“It’s Thirteen!” she whispered, eyes wide. “They’re actually here!”

Izuku nearly echoed her words, barely keeping himself from blurting something fanboyish. It helped — a little — to see Ochako caught up in the moment. At least she was smiling again.

The suited hero gave a small wave before ushering the class inside with practiced energy.

“Welcome,” Thirteen began, voice projected through a crisp speaker system, “to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint — or USJ for short. This facility is designed to train young heroes in large-scale rescue scenarios under every imaginable condition. From landslides to shipwrecks, from collapsed buildings to forest fires — and even more recent disaster types now linked to Ether-based incidents — this site prepares you for them all.”

They paused with a hint of pride, clearly pleased by the gasps and murmurs of awe as the class stepped into the enormous interior.

The dome’s interior stretched wide like a theme park divided by terrain. Instead of rides, each section simulated a different disaster — shipwreck, flood, inferno, mountain collapse, and more. Jagged peaks, faux rivers, and controlled hazards had been meticulously designed down to the smallest detail.

Izuku couldn’t help it — he slipped his Ether Reader from his coat and began scanning the environment. The emitters were subtle but present — carefully placed around the arena, glowing faintly in Ether-rich hues.

He was so focused on the readouts that he didn’t notice Aizawa stepping up behind him.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Midoriya. Stay with the group,” Aizawa said, voice flat but not unkind. “You’re here to monitor, not wander.”

Izuku flinched but nodded quickly, stowing the Reader away and falling back into step.

Thirteen continued without missing a beat, leading them toward the observation platform that overlooked the central plaza.

“One final note before we begin. Maybe two.” The space-suited hero’s voice softened slightly. “Quirks are powerful tools — but they can be dangerous, especially in high-stress environments. Even well-trained heroes can make mistakes in a crisis. Panic, misjudgment, emotional overdrive — these are real risks. So, above all, stay calm. Use your heads. And remember: rescue work isn’t about glory. It’s about care.”

Izuku glanced around. Most students nodded along, but he could tell from their body language that the message wasn’t sinking in. Some shifted restlessly, others exchanged grins or bored glances. It wasn’t defiance — just inexperience. They didn’t get it yet.

He exhaled slowly.

Pyra’s hand settled on his arm again, grounding him.

And then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Izuku looked down at his Ether Reader.

The signal had spiked.

His breath caught just as Pyra’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

A disturbance in the Ether. Sudden and wrong.

Something was coming.

Izuku wasted no time turning toward the source of the signal. As he moved, a sharp clicking echoed through the dome — like locks snapping into place one by one. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

Pyra followed close behind. Aizawa called after him, but Izuku didn’t hear. His focus narrowed to a single point — the disturbance forming in the plaza below.

He reached the railing overlooking the center of the USJ just as a swirling mist began to coalesce. It wasn't just fog. It churned like a living thing, dense and suffocating. Whatever it was, it pulsed with a wrongness Izuku could feel in his bones.

And then—figures emerged.

The first was a man clad in black, his face obscured by a crude hand-mask. More hands gripped his body like claws — on his shoulders, arms, even his face.

That alone would’ve been nightmare enough.

But what followed behind him twisted Izuku’s stomach.

It was... something humanoid. Barely.

Muscle clung to bone in grotesque excess. A hooked beak jutted from its face beneath bulging, unfocused eyes. Its scalp had been carved open, brain exposed to the air. And embedded deep in its chest, like a spike through a corpse, was a jagged, glowing red crystal.

“No…” Pyra whispered. “Something like that shouldn’t exist.”

Her voice trembled — more shaken than when she’d heard the word Aegis.

Izuku’s hand found hers. He was trembling too, but he had to be strong — if not for himself, then for her.

More villains spilled from the mist.

Behind them, Aizawa stood frozen, eyes locked on the growing horde. His face was unreadable — not panic, not shock. Calculation.

“Mr. Aizawa, we… we need to evacuate,” Izuku said, voice shaky.

Aizawa gave a curt nod and turned toward the group. Most of the students had gathered by now, drawn by the commotion.

Izuku scanned their faces.

They weren’t afraid.

Some looked excited. Like this was a surprise training drill — a test of their strength, not a real attack.

Only a few stood stiff and silent: Kaminari. Ochako. Yaoyorozu. Maybe two others.

The rest looked ready to charge in headfirst.

Aizawa’s voice cut through the confusion like a whip.
“Thirteen, evacuate the students. I’ll buy you time.”

His tone left no room for argument.

But Pandoria wasn’t having it.

“So what, Gloomy-sensei? Gonna throw yourself into a meat grinder for pride?” she snapped, spark flaring in her voice. “You’ve got a whole squad right here—”

Aizawa shut her down without even looking back.
“You Blades don’t understand how heroes operate. I’m the only combat-ready Pro here. Escort the students. That’s an order.”

And with that, he leapt into motion, scarf flaring behind him as he ran toward the central plaza.

“He’ll get himself killed…” Pyra murmured, still pale.

Thirteen stepped in. “Aizawa is a capable hero. Trust him. Now—everyone, follow me. We need to alert the main building.”

The class began moving, Thirteen guiding them toward the exit.

Izuku lingered.

Just for a moment, he looked back. Watched Aizawa vanish into the storm of villains.

Aizawa had always been calm. Rational. Methodical.

But this?

This wasn’t logic.

This was sacrifice.

Izuku tried not to dwell on it. All he could do was leave and get help.
He wasn’t a hero—not yet.

Then came the sharp beep of the Ether Reader.
A dreadful warning.

He didn’t even need to pull it from his pocket. He could already feel what it was reacting to.

Ether was distorting.

Near the front entrance, the air shimmered unnaturally. Izuku wasn’t sure how he could tell—only that something was wrong. Very wrong.
And he wasn’t alone. Pyra and Pandoria stiffened beside him.

Both Blades summoned their weapons in a flash of Ether. Pyra’s sword flared into Izuku’s waiting hand. Pandoria’s whip-blade crackled as it arced toward Kaminari, who startled but caught it on instinct, backing toward Izuku.

Neither of them raised their weapons to strike.
They weren’t attacking.
They were bracing.

A swirling mist erupted at the doorway. From it emerged a figure in a crisp bartender’s uniform, his face expressionless, body half-formed from the same fog that birthed the earlier portal.

“I must apologize for our intrusion,” the figure said with eerie calm. “We were informed that All Might would be here. Has there been a change of plans?”

His voice was smooth. Polite.
But there was no soul behind it. Just a script.
Just a servant.

“Children, stand back. I’ll—”

Before Thirteen could finish, a deafening blast tore through the air.

“Like hell we’re just gonna sit back!” Bakugo roared, launching himself at the mist-man, explosions igniting in his palms. Kirishima was right behind him.

Bakugo hurled a point-blank blast—
—but the mist parted.

A portal opened midair, redirecting the explosion straight into Thirteen.
The impact cracked their reinforced suit and sent them flying.

Kirishima’s punch met the same fate. His hardened fist vanished into a rift—
—then slammed into Bakugo’s face as it emerged from another.

“My, my,” the mist-man said, tilting his head. “You children are rather spirited.”

He straightened his cuffs as if brushing away dust.

“No matter. I have my orders.”

His voice remained calm. Detached. Too smooth.
Like someone reciting a recipe for murder.

“I shall scatter you across the facility… so that you may face the reality of this world. Do try your hardest to survive. We still need All Might to arrive—so we can kill him.”

With that, the mist surged outward in every direction.

Screams rang out. The roar of Ida's engines filled the air.
Shapes disappeared into the fog.

And for Izuku—
Everything went dark.

—

(Denki Kaminari POV)

As the mist cleared from Denki’s vision, he realized he was falling.

He’d been warped high above one of the USJ zones — not dangerously high, but definitely high enough to hurt if he didn’t land right.

He twisted midair, trying to roll with the drop, but overcorrected. His landing turned into a messy tumble that ended with a sharp thud against a rock.

“Ow!”

Before he could recover, something — or rather, someone — landed directly on his back. Though he wasn’t sure how.

“You’re such a gentleman, Sparky,” Pandoria said, casually lounging across him. “Even caught me despite the circumstances.”

Denki groaned, trying not to think about the awkward pose they’d landed in. He pushed himself upright just as the others hit the ground behind them.

He glanced back and saw Yaoyorozu and Jiro had been warped with them. Yaoyorozu looked composed, already scanning their surroundings, but Jiro—

“Jiro, are you okay?”

She was on her knees, hands clamped over her ears.

“No!” she cried, her voice trembling. “It’s so loud here… the static sound is overwhelming—!”

Denki blinked. To him, it was quiet. Aside from the faint buzz of his own Quirk, there was hardly any noise.

He looked around again, eyes narrowing as he spotted several Ether Emitters buried in the terrain. The air felt heavy — not like the ruin from before, but charged. Earth-aligned Ether, maybe?

“It’s the Earth Ether, I think…” he murmured. “But why isn’t it affecting me like last time?”

He meant it to be helpful, but the question only made his own head spin. He wasn’t good at this kind of analysis — Izuku would already have ten theories and three backup plans.

Pandoria, ever breezy, leaned on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sparky. With me around, the Ether in the air doesn’t stand a chance.”

Her teasing grin grounded him. She always acted like it was no big deal, even when everything was a big deal. Denki liked that about her. It helped him stay calm.

“This isn’t good,” Yaoyorozu said, tone crisp. “Kaminari, we have villains approaching. If Jiro can’t fight, we’ll need to work together to get her out of here.”

Even in chaos, she sounded like a leader. Denki remembered the power plant — how she took control, issued orders, made everyone feel like they had a part to play.

“O-okay. Got it.” He squared his shoulders and turned to Pandoria. “Let’s show them why you don’t mess with live wires.”

He struck a dramatic pose, trying to channel something cool. Anything cool.

Pandoria matched it, energy crackling around her like stage lights.

Jiro didn’t seem impressed. She just shook her head from where she crouched, eyes squeezed shut. Her expression cut deeper than Denki expected — like she was already regretting being stuck with him.

“Yaoyorozu,” Jiro said dryly, “do you have a plan? Preferably one that doesn’t end with him short-circuited?”

Denki flinched.

Right. That was how most of his classmates saw him — a walking power surge waiting to blow. With the Ether Research Club, he’d almost forgotten. Almost.

Yaoyorozu was already creating support gear with her Quirk, calmly explaining her plan as she went. She didn’t assign him anything too delicate or complex. She was kind about it — but even that kindness made it sting more.

Pandoria leaned in close.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice low and gentle. “It’s okay, Sparky. Let’s show them the new you. I’m right behind you.”

Her tone reminded him of how Pyra spoke to Izuku — not teasing, not scolding. Just believing.

He turned toward her. Her eyes held real concern. She wasn’t just saying it. She meant it.

He felt it in the tether too — Ether arcing softly between them, alive with shared emotion.

“…Thanks.” He smiled at her, then turned to face Yaoyorozu with renewed focus. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

His part of the plan was simple: clear a path with electricity. Yaoyorozu would provide support from behind—though Denki wasn’t entirely sure what she’d created. Some kind of launcher, maybe? It looked like a non-lethal firearm, possibly loaded with rubber bullets. Or beanbags?

Questionable gear aside, Denki pushed forward with Pandoria right behind him, his whip-blade loose in his grip and crackling with static.

Strangely, the mist villain had dropped them at the top of the landslide zone. From this vantage, Denki could see a cluster of villains climbing up the simulated slope. Most seemed to have Earth or Metal-aligned Quirks.

No time to think—he moved.

Denki lashed out with the whip-blade, its arcs of electricity striking out like live wires. He kept the voltage just high enough to stun—non-lethal, like they'd been taught. Beside him, Pandoria regulated his output with expert timing, sending shimmering shields into place whenever a projectile flew their way.

Behind them, Yaoyorozu peppered the field with beanbags—turns out it was a riot-style launcher after all. Jiro followed close behind, still visibly shaken, her hands trembling as she covered her ears.

Something felt… off. These villains were weak. Untrained. Sloppy. The mist villain had seemed so coordinated and dangerous, but this batch? Their Quirks flickered awkwardly, their moves predictable. Some could barely activate their abilities at all. It was like they’d never fought seriously—just used their powers for posturing.

Still, as they reached the base of the slope, the tide began to turn.

Some of the thugs Yaoyorozu had downed earlier were getting back up—surrounding them. And a few of the smarter ones were beginning to adapt. No matter how erratic Denki made his whip strikes, it was getting harder to land clean hits.

Yaoyorozu looked like she was trying to form a plan—but froze. Her usual composure was cracking. Denki didn’t know what she was thinking, but her uncertainty was palpable.

He wanted to help. He needed to do something. But his only backup plan was the one Jiro had made very clear she didn’t trust—his wide-range electrical burst. If he used it, he’d risk frying his brain again, leaving himself defenseless. But maybe, just maybe…

A light tap landed on his head. Pandoria’s staff.

“Sparky,” she said gently, “don’t worry about the outcome. Do what you think is right. I’ll handle the rest.”

Denki hesitated. Could he really trust her not to let him short out? The doubt flickered—but only for a second. He shook it off. She had his back. Always had.

“You’re right. Okay.”

He turned to Yaoyorozu with renewed clarity. “Can you make an insulated blanket or tarp? I’ll handle the rest.”

Yaoyorozu blinked, then nodded, already creating the fabric. It struck Denki as strange—how easily she followed his lead when she always seemed like the natural commander.

Jiro, however, wasn’t convinced.

“Wait. Don’t be stupid. You’ll just fry yourself and be useless.”

Pandoria stepped toward Jiro, her expression sharpening into something fierce.

“Sparky’s more capable than you give him credit for,” she snapped. “Now get under that blanket Class Rep made—and enjoy the show.”

Jiro faltered. It was like the very idea of someone believing in Denki had caught her off guard. That sting lingered in the air.

“Do it, Kaminari!” Yaoyorozu shouted, yanking Denki back into the moment. She pulled the blanket over herself and Jiro as the villains closed in.

Denki grasped Pandoria’s hand and braced himself.

“Indiscriminate Shock: 1.3 Million Volts!”

Their hands thrust into the air, arcs of yellow and teal lightning bursting skyward before slamming down like a curtain of electrical rain. Bolts struck across the zone, dropping every villain in a radius of several meters.

When the storm finally settled, the dust cleared—dozens of villains lay unconscious or twitching. But one figure still stood.

A tall man with reptilian skin and a tattered sword. He had stayed just outside the blast radius.

Denki’s head spun, but he was still standing. Still coherent. Still him.

“We did it! Thank you, Pandoria!”

Pandoria grinned and pointed her staff toward the final opponent.

“Don’t celebrate yet, Sparky. Looks like we’ve got an encore to perform.”

The man charged forward, sword raised and eyes locked on his target.

Kaminari retracted his whip-blade with a snap, locking it into its rigid sword form just in time to meet the strike. Steel clashed with a harsh spark. The two parted from the initial bind, feet grinding into the rubble-strewn ground.

“Typical false hero,” the lizard-like man spat. “Needing some sidekick to hold your hand. I saw what she did. If she wasn’t there, you’d be face down in the dirt. You don’t even deserve to train as a hero.”

Kaminari stiffened. False hero. He recognized that phrase—it echoed the ideology of that hero killer who’d been all over the news. But… what did relying on someone have to do with being a hero?

“So what if I need her help?” Denki shot back. “We took down your buddies and protected our team. I’d call that pretty heroic.”

The man lunged again, only to be blocked mid-swing by one of Pandoria’s energy shields. Denki unlatched his blade and snapped it back into its whip form, electricity dancing along its coils as he sent a crackling arc toward the enemy.

The lizard man dodged, fast despite his size.

“Really? You call that heroism?” he sneered, pointing his sword toward Jiro. “I saw the look in that girl’s eyes. That whole stunt—just a performance. Reckless. All for show.”

Denki stumbled back under a new flurry of blows. The words dug deeper than he expected. He had wanted to look cool. He did want to be taken seriously—especially by Jiro. Maybe that was selfish. Maybe—

Pandoria stepped in, locking the man’s sword between the prongs of her staff.

“So what if he wanted to prove himself?” she said sharply. “Since when is wanting to be relied on a bad thing?”

She discharged a surge of electricity through her weapon. The man pulled back just in time to avoid the jolt, face twisting in frustration.

Each rebuttal, each blocked attack—it was chipping away at something inside him. Whatever righteous cause he thought he was fighting for, it didn’t look so steady now.

Kaminari’s grip tightened on his handle.

“I don’t know much about hero rankings or ideologies,” he said, his voice firming. “But if being a hero means doing everything alone, then what’s the point of saving anyone at all?”

He took a breath, eyes flicking to Pandoria. Their Ether tether crackled—bright yellow and teal bolts arcing wildly between them, but in a rhythm now. Not chaotic. In sync.

“With Pandoria by my side, I can help more people than I ever could alone.”

The Ether between them surged.

In a sudden burst of movement, Kaminari bolted forward like a living thunderclap, whip trailing sparks behind him. Pandoria moved in tandem, teal lightning slamming down around the battlefield, fencing the lizard man in.

Driver Art: Thunder Lance.

Denki stopped on a dime, snapped his arm forward, and launched the whip-blade like a railgun projectile. A blinding column of lightning followed in its wake.

The man raised his sword to block—but it cracked, then shattered under the impact, sending him skidding backward across the dirt.

He wasn’t injured, but the outcome was clear.

“Tch… whatever,” he muttered, eyes narrowed. “She’ll leave you one day. Trade you in for someone stronger. Trusting people only ever gets you hurt.”

With that, he turned and fled into the distance.

Denki started after him—but before he could take more than a step, a massive crash echoed across the USJ, shaking the ground beneath their feet.

“What was that?” he asked, turning toward Pandoria.

She just shrugged—and threw her arms around him.

“No clue, Sparky,” she grinned. “But for what it’s worth… you looked so cool just now.”

Jiro and Yaoyorozu caught up to them, skidding to a stop.

“Hey, Kaminari…” Jiro mumbled, brushing hair behind her ear. “Sorry about earlier. You’re… actually kinda cool. Sometimes.”

Her blush betrayed more than the words did.

Kaminari blinked, then scratched the back of his head, trying not to smile too much.

For now, her words were enough.

—

(Ochako Uraraka – POV)

The mist cleared, revealing a shattered cityscape frozen in time. Cracked concrete pillars loomed like broken bones, overturned cars rusted in silence, and hollow buildings stretched toward the artificial sky above. She was still inside the USJ — the curved dome ceiling confirmed that — but this place felt abandoned, forgotten. Like a memory no one wanted to reclaim.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped forward, boots crunching on gravel. Only her thoughts walked with her.

For days now, since Nezu had handed her the necklace — the Core Crystal — her thoughts hadn’t left her alone. About her place at U.A. About the Ether Research Club. About the truth she couldn’t deny. Her motives weren’t noble. She wasn’t clever like Midoriya, Yaoyorozu, or Hatsume-Meh. She didn’t light up the room like Kaminari. She was just a girl who wanted money.

Her fingers curled around the Core Crystal resting near her chest. It pulsed gently, like it understood. Like it forgave her. But even that warmth felt distant now.

“Well, look what we’ve got here. A lost little princess, wandering blindly. Hate to say it, but you’ll probably die here.”

The voice sliced through the silence, making her whip around and brace herself. She spotted him a moment later — and froze.

The man looked like he’d been stitched together out of rage and ruin. His skin was stapled in strips. His coat hung half-burned, soaked in ash and malice. He moved slowly, lazily, like a predator who already knew how the story ended.

“W-who are you? What do you want?” she asked, trying to steady her voice.

“The name’s Dabi. As for what I want—” he tilted his head, smirking, “—that’s long-term. For now, I’m just here killing time. And maybe offering you a deal.”

He pulled something from his coat and tossed it at her feet.

A thick wad of yen bills hit the ground with a soft thud. Ochako stared. Neatly banded. Crisp. Clean.

Three million yen.

“That’s half of what Dusty paid me to kill one of you brats,” Dabi said, nudging the bundle with his boot. “But I’m not feeling it today. So I figured, why not make someone’s life easier?”

Ochako’s stomach turned. This wasn’t a bribe. It was a test. A knife wrapped in ribbon.

“What makes you think I’d just take that and walk away? I’m a hero student—”

He cut her off with a laugh — dry, jagged, like glass underfoot.

“Intel says at least one of you is just here for the paycheck. Guess who I think that is?”

His voice lowered.

“Come on, princess. Don’t lie to yourself. That money could change everything for your family. You really think a fancy costume and a title are worth more than that?”

Ochako’s breath hitched. Her thoughts blurred. How does he know that? How could anyone have found out?

Her eyes locked on the money. It was everything she needed. Everything she’d quietly dreamed of. She could take it. Walk away. Pretend this was just a bad dream.

Would her friends even notice she was gone? They probably already knew. That she wasn’t as noble as the others. That she didn’t belong.

But—

A spark. A memory.

Izuku, stammering, eyes wide with panic — and the way they softened when she helped him. The tears he shed when she called him a friend.

Kaminari, always grinning, always making sure she was included, carrying her pack like it was nothing.

None of them ever asked why she was here. They just welcomed her anyway.

She gripped the Core Crystal around her neck. Its pulse aligned with her heartbeat. Warm. Steady. Real.

She closed her eyes.

And opened them to a different world.

A vast, luminous library stretched into the sky. Towering shelves brimming with books hovered weightlessly, caught in shimmering Ether currents. At the center stood a calm woman with teal hair and eyes full of starlight. Books orbited around her in quiet rhythm.

One floated forward — small, soft pink leather, delicate as breath. On its cover, a single question:

Who are you?

Beneath it, a blank line.

Ochako reached for the book, and it settled into her hands. As she turned it over, a gentle voice echoed in the stillness.

“Well, my dear? How do you want your story to continue?”

The librarian’s voice was kind, but curious. Waiting.

Ochako clutched the book to her chest. She finally knew her answer.

The library faded — and Ether exploded into the air around her.

“I want to stand with my friends! I won’t compromise! I won’t take the easy way out!”

Wind howled, Ether swirled, and her Core Crystal lit with brilliant pink. The librarian stepped forward, smiling.

“Then your path begins here.”

Back in the real world, Dabi flinched as Ether sparked around Ochako like a cyclone. He kicked the cash back toward his boot and scowled.

“I never wanted to be a hero for money,” Ochako said. “I wanted to be a hero to help others. I just understood the price of living.”

She stepped forward — not alone.

Adenine stood beside her, radiant and resolute, the very image of composure in motion.

A pair of chakrams materialized in her hands, each lined with glowing Ether cores. Ochako caught them without thinking, her body settling into a stance that felt like second nature.

“Well said, dear Ochako,” Adenine said softly. “Now—let’s show this ne’er-do-well what we’re made of.”

Ochako darted forward, her chakrams arcing in brilliant sweeps of light. Dabi dodged, barely, retaliating with a pillar of blue flame — only to meet a barrier of swirling Ether and wind.

Adenine raised her hand, shielding them both without flinching.

“Tch. This isn’t worth my time,” Dabi muttered.

He stepped back, pulled something from his coat — and a portal tore open beneath him. Ochako hurled one chakram, but it passed through empty air. He was gone.

Her weapons floated back to her, and her legs gave out. She collapsed to her knees, her breath shaking.

Adenine knelt beside her, calm and patient.

“You did well. It’s over now.”

Ochako clung to her, trembling.

“I… I almost took it. If you hadn’t…”

She broke down, tears falling fast.

Adenine held her, voice soft. “No, Ochako. You made the choice. That strength was always inside you.”

The weight of fear and shame began to ease, slowly replaced by something gentler. Something whole.

Even as the faint, distant sound of something crashing echoed through the mist — thunderous and urgent, somewhere far off in the dome — Ochako didn’t move.

She didn’t need to. Not yet.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

—

(Izuku Midoriya POV)

Izuku was falling.

Not from an extreme height — but high enough that hitting the ground would definitely hurt. He wasn’t coordinated enough to fall safely, so all he could do was brace for impact.

But the pain never came.

Instead, he landed softly in Pyra’s arms.

He blinked in surprise. “How did you get under me so fast? You weren’t falling with me.”

Pyra helped him to his feet, her touch steady.

“Your heart called out,” she said gently. “As long as we’re bonded, I’ll never be too far.”

Izuku’s mind immediately began spinning with theories, but before he could ask a single follow-up question, the sound of another landing behind them pulled his attention back to the situation.

He turned — and saw Tsu crouched on the dock, having landed easily thanks to her frog-like Quirk.

“Ribbit. I’m glad you landed safely, Midoriya,” she said. “Where are we?”

Only then did Izuku fully take in his surroundings. They stood on the edge of a crumbling dock, overlooking a misty, stagnant lake. Half-sunken ships jutted from the water like broken bones. Ether mist clung to the air, thick and unnerving. Looking up, he spotted the curved dome ceiling.

“We’re still in the USJ,” he muttered. “Probably the Shipwreck Zone. Judging by the curvature of the dome, the plaza should be that way.”

He pointed down the foggy pier.

Tsu nodded and stepped ahead. “Midoriya… you’re not a hero student. I’ll take the lead. Ribbit.”

Her tone was flat, as always — logical, not cruel — but it still stung.

“It’s okay, Izuku,” Pyra said softly beside him. “Let’s follow and help where we can.”

He nodded and trailed after Tsu, hand resting nervously on the hilt of his sword.

The further they walked, the thicker the fog grew. Izuku didn’t need his reader to sense it — the ambient Ether here was saturated with water-aligned energy, explaining the heavy moisture and the eerie stillness. Every creak of the dock, every lap of water, felt sharpened against the silence.

He kept his blade drawn, tense.

Then Tsu spoke suddenly, startling him.

“What does it feel like,” she asked quietly, “to have someone so deeply connected to you, ribbit?”

Izuku blinked. At first, the question confused him… but then he noticed the way Tsu’s arms were drawn tight at her sides, how her fingers twitched just slightly. She was scared. She was trying to distract herself.

He tried to find the right words.

At first, his thoughts drifted to Katsuki. Then to his mother. But neither of those comparisons felt right. Those bonds were… fractured.

“I—I don’t really know how to describe it,” he admitted. “Pyra… she’s the first person who ever saw me as me.”

He hesitated. “Kacchan—” He frowned, catching himself.

Pyra gave him a small look, shaking her head gently. He felt the message through their bond. Not cruel. Just... encouraging. He knew he shouldn’t keep using that name, no matter how deeply ingrained it was.

“I mean, Katsuki used to be my best friend. But then he got his Quirk and I didn’t. After that, everyone saw me as worthless. A useless Deku.”

His voice trembled.

“Even my mom… she didn’t mean to, but she started treating me like I was too fragile to do anything. Too breakable.”

He swallowed hard. “But then I bonded with Pyra. And suddenly—someone understood me. She doesn’t tell me I’m annoying or useless. She grounds me. When I start spiraling, she’s just there. And she makes me feel like… like I matter.”

His throat tightened. Pyra stepped close and wrapped him in a quick, firm hug — a moment of warmth in the cold mist.

“A bond between a Driver and Blade,” Pyra said softly, “goes deeper than words. We’re connected, soul to soul. I want what’s best for Izuku, and he wants the same for me. That mutual care strengthens our connection — and the Ether that flows between us.”

Tsu made a soft ribbit, thoughtful.

She didn’t speak again. But she didn’t need to.

She had been listening.

Suddenly, something shifted in the dense Ether fog.

Izuku’s eyes scanned the haze, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had just crossed his line of sight. Then, as if coming from all directions at once, a manic laugh echoed through the mist. It was wild, deranged even—but beneath it, Izuku heard something else. Something sad.

"You talk about bonds and being seen... it sounds sooo nice. But wouldn’t it be even nicer if it was covered in blood?"

The voice was that of a girl. Unstable, yes—but laced with something more. Not hatred. Not joy. Hunger.

Izuku raised his sword, Pyra stepping in close behind him. Tsu took a defensive stance beside them, but the fog made it impossible to tell where the voice was coming from.

For a long moment, nothing moved. No attack came. The tension only grew thicker.

Then, in a sudden blur of motion, a figure burst from the fog and slashed Tsu’s arm with a knife before vanishing again.

Tsu cried out and clutched her bleeding arm.

"See? You look so pretty in red. A bond of blood is so much prettier. I’ve connected with so many hearts, but they always go away. But it’s fine... I’ll just keep trying. Maybe one day..."

Her voice trailed off as her footsteps retreated.

Pyra rushed to Tsu’s side and conjured healing flames. Thankfully, the cut was shallow, missing any major arteries.

Izuku tried to stay calm, sword steady. Whoever this girl was, she wasn’t finished yet.

Then she attacked again—silent steps, blade aimed at Pyra.

Izuku’s body moved instinctively, parrying the strike with his own arm. For a brief second, their eyes met. She looked about his age, maybe a year older. Blond hair tied into messy buns. A school uniform and a brown cardigan. A fanged smile stretched across her face—too wide, too bright.

She sprang back, vanishing into the mist again.

"Wait!" Izuku called. "Why are you attacking us?"

There was no hate in her gaze. Just... confusion.

"I just want to bond with you, Izuku. Like that beautiful girl did. I want to be seen too. You made it sound so nice."

Her voice echoed around them.

Izuku’s mind raced. How did stabbing them equal bonding?

“She’s got too much of an advantage in this fog,” Tsu muttered. “We need to clear it, ribbit.”

Izuku shook himself out of his thoughts. They needed vision—now.

"Pyra!"

He shifted his stance, and Pyra responded immediately, flames gathering at his feet.

With a spinning leap, Izuku unleashed a spiraling vortex of flaming Ether. The heat surged outward, evaporating the mist around them.

Driver Art: Flame Vortex

He landed hard and drove his sword into the ground, sending the flames blasting out in all directions. The Ether-heavy fog scattered.

And standing opposite them was... Izuku?

No—her. The girl wore his face, his body, but her uniform remained unchanged. She hugged herself, smiling with teary joy.

"Eehehe! Look—I’m just like you! Now I can be seen too. Now we’re the same."

It was his voice, but wrong. Too high. Too sweet. Too eager.

Pyra’s gasp pulled his attention—an Ether tether shimmered faintly between them and the girl.

Izuku took a step forward—not in anger, but in sorrow. He could feel it now. Not bloodlust. Not madness.

Loneliness.

For a second, he saw it—not a monster, but a girl who had no idea what being cared for really meant.

The girl’s smile faltered. Her eyes widened.

"W-what is... this? No. No no no. This is wrong. Why does it feel so warm?"

She dropped her bloody knife. The sludge of transformation fell away, revealing her real face beneath the mask.

"It’s okay," Pyra said gently, stepping forward. "You don’t have to be alone anymore."

"No! Stay away!" the girl backed up, scrambling as if she still held her weapon.

"I know you’re not evil," Izuku said softly, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "We can help you."

"No! I’ll just break you if you get too close. You’ll leave—like all the rest!"

She turned and ran, tears trailing behind her.

Izuku started forward, but Tsu stepped into his path.

"Midoriya. We should go before she comes back, ribbit."

Izuku hesitated. Then he nodded.

"...Let’s get going.”

—

The three finally reached the edge of the central plaza. Izuku—and to some extent Tsu—were out of breath. Pyra, being a Blade, remained unshaken.

They had no time to rest. At the center of the plaza, Aizawa was still fighting.

He moved like a force of nature, taking down villain after villain. It was awe-inspiring—and tragic.

“Ribbit... Mr. Aizawa is so strong,” Tsu whispered.

Izuku could only nod. He wanted to say something—praise Aizawa, admire him—but the words wouldn’t come. It wasn’t right.

He shouldn’t be out there alone.

“He’s injured,” Pyra said quietly, voice laced with worry. “Every villain he takes down costs him two more wounds.”

She voiced the fear Izuku couldn’t speak. Aizawa was bleeding for them—fighting alone to buy time. Every movement screamed sacrifice. All they could do was watch.

Until the terror escalated.

Without warning, the man covered in severed hands darted forward. Aizawa, caught off guard, threw a blind elbow—but the man caught his arm.

What happened next was horrifying.

Aizawa’s sleeve crumbled into dust. Then his skin began to decay.

Only his quick thinking and activation of Erasure saved him from worse. The decay halted. He drove a kick into the villain’s chest, forcing him back.

The man laughed—a harsh, gleeful, malicious sound that clawed its way under Izuku’s skin.

Then came the words that would haunt him forever.

“Nomu kill him.”

All eyes turned to the massive, muscle-bound creature. The Nomu moved its head, its unfocused eyes rolling until they locked on Aizawa. The jagged crystal embedded in its chest flared with malice.

Izuku could feel the Ether in the air scream. It writhed in pain, recoiling from the presence of that thing.

Then it vanished.

And reappeared in front of Aizawa.

Its punch came down—impossibly fast, impossibly strong.

CRACK.

The sound rang out like a death knell. A crater split the floor where Aizawa once stood.

Izuku moved without thinking—only to find arms around him.

Not in comfort.

In restraint.

“Izuku—you can’t. W-we can’t—” Pyra's voice trembled, right beside him yet far away. Her grip tightened.

He struggled, tears in his eyes, voice breaking under the weight of helplessness.

“I—I have to do something. Anything. I can’t lose him. I—”

He turned to her. His expression shattered.

Desperation leaked from every syllable.

Pyra’s eyes widened. She was terrified—not of the Nomu—but of him. Of what he was asking.

She knew what he was really pleading for.

There was something in her eyes—something hidden. Something sealed.

“Izuku, I— There’s... I...”

Izuke's eye widened as he caught what he was unintentionally doing.

“No!”

His scream ripped through the air.

But before anything else could happen—

BOOM.

A massive shockwave exploded across the USJ.

And in the blink of an eye, Izuku and Pyra were at the entrance—surrounded by classmates, scattered and confused.

Izuku didn’t notice them.

His gaze remained locked on Pyra.

The sound of combat, of shouting, of awe—it all faded beneath the pounding of his heart.

“Pyra... I didn’t mean to force you... I’ll never force you. I—I promise.”

His words fell between choked sobs. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers as the weight of everything poured out of him.

Behind him, Mirio shouted orders. The Nomu roared. Heroes clashed.

But none of it mattered to Izuku.

Not now.

Not when the only thing that mattered... was her.

Chapter 10 End