Chapter Text
The explosion came first.
A concussive, bone-deep crack that rattled the steel framework of the mock city, sent dust trembling from shattered concrete, and left the air tasting like heat and ozone. It was followed, almost immediately, by ice—jagged, blooming outward in crystalline fractures that locked half a street in frost.
“Midoriya, move!” Iida barked, already in motion, engines roaring as he darted forward.
“I’m moving, I’m moving—!” Izuku scrambled, notebook clutched uselessly in one hand, eyes darting everywhere at once—tracking trajectories, quirks, classmates, damage—
“Left flank! Kaminari, now!” Yaoyorozu called, already creating insulated wire from her arm.
“YEAH, OKAY—” Kaminari grinned, crackling with electricity—
—and then the rogue hit.
It wasn’t supposed to be part of the exercise.
A fake villain—one of the upperclassmen—lost control of a borrowed quirk, something kinetic and unstable, and the air warped wrong.
“WAIT—!” Kirishima shouted.
Too late.
The shockwave slammed outward.
Bakugo, mid-blast, was thrown like a broken spark—his own explosion snapping out as his body hit the ground hard enough to crack pavement.
Todoroki, caught mid-formation of ice, took the brunt of it to his side—his control flickering, fire dying, ice shattering—and then he dropped.
Silence hit like a second impact.
Then chaos.
“STOP!” Aizawa’s voice cut through everything, sharp as a blade. “Exercise is over. Everyone stand down. NOW.”
The remaining “villains” froze instantly.
Class 1-A didn’t.
“Bakugo—!” Kirishima was already running.
“Todoroki!” Yaoyorozu followed, Uraraka right behind her, hands hovering like she didn’t know whether to touch or not.
Midoriya stumbled forward, breath catching. “Kacchan—?”
Tsuyu crouched low, assessing. “They’re both unconscious. Breathing is steady.”
“Shoji—assist perimeter,” Aizawa ordered, already striding toward them, scarf trailing like a threat. “No one crowd them.”
Shoji moved instantly, arms extending to hold people back.
Still—everyone leaned in.
Because something felt wrong.
Not just the hit.
Not just the silence.
Something else.
Something… off.
Bakugo moved first.
A sharp inhale—like dragging air into lungs that hadn’t existed a moment ago—and then he jerked upright, shoulders rigid, eyes wide.
Todoroki followed a heartbeat later.
Both of them sat up at the exact same time.
Both of them groaned—low, disoriented sounds.
“…what…” Todoroki muttered.
Bakugo dragged a hand over his face, breath uneven.
Then—
They froze.
Not gradually.
Not slowly.
Like something inside them had snapped into place.
Todoroki blinked.
“…what—what was that—”
His own voice hit him.
And he stopped.
Utterly.
His eyes widened.
“…what—?” he said again, softer, like testing it.
The sound that came out was not unfamiliar.
It was too familiar.
A voice he hadn’t heard in years.
A voice buried under grief and memory and blood and water and loss—
He inhaled sharply.
“—no—wait—” he whispered, and then louder, faster, tripping over himself, “wait—no—this—this is—this is—”
He laughed.
It came out high, breathless, disbelieving.
“Oh—oh—this is—this is wrong—no, it’s not wrong—this is—”
He pressed a hand to his throat like he could hold the sound there, keep it from escaping, and then immediately kept talking anyway.
“—this is him—this is—this is his voice—this is—Sabito—”
He laughed again.
And again.
And again.
It turned giddy.
It turned bright.
“Oh—this—this is—this is—” he kept going, words spilling out too fast, “—I haven’t—heard—this—voice—in—years—this is—this is—”
“Todoroki?” Midoriya said carefully.
No response.
Todoroki kept talking.
“—this is perfect—this is—this is—” he grinned, wide and almost wild, “—say something else—say something else—keep talking—”
“Uh—he is saying something else,” Sero muttered.
“Dude—why is he—” Kaminari blinked. “Why is he like that?”
“Why is he happy?” Jiro added, eyebrows knitting.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Yaoyorozu said quietly.
Beside them—
Bakugo hadn’t moved.
Not really.
He was sitting upright, same as Todoroki.
But where Todoroki had burst into motion—
Bakugo had gone still.
Too still.
His hands were clenched tight in his lap.
His shoulders were locked.
His eyes—
His eyes were unfocused.
Not looking at anyone.
Not looking at anything.
Just—
Staring.
Aizawa crouched in front of him. “Bakugo.”
No response.
“Katsuki.”
Bakugo flinched.
Barely.
Like the name scraped against something raw.
“…hey—” Kirishima stepped closer, voice softer now. “Bro—what’s wrong?”
Bakugo’s lips parted.
He inhaled.
And for a second—
For just a second—
It looked like he was about to speak.
Everyone leaned in.
Waiting.
Because Bakugo not yelling was already wrong enough—
But Bakugo not speaking at all?
Impossible.
He opened his mouth.
And then—
Nothing.
His throat worked.
His expression twisted—
And his eyes filled.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just—
Tears.
Silent.
Uncontrolled.
He snapped his mouth shut.
Hard.
Like he’d bitten something back.
Like speaking was—
Unthinkable.
“Bakugo?” Uraraka said, uncertain.
Tsuyu tilted her head. “His breathing changed.”
“He’s in shock,” Iida said immediately, adjusting his glasses with a sharp motion. “This is clearly a post-impact trauma response—”
“Shut up,” Jiro muttered. “That’s not what this is.”
Because it wasn’t.
It wasn’t physical.
It wasn’t just the hit.
It was something deeper.
Something none of them could see.
Bakugo’s hands were shaking now.
Barely.
Like he was holding himself together by force.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
And for a second—
It looked like he wasn’t there at all.
Like he was somewhere else.
Somewhere darker.
Somewhere colder.
Somewhere filled with a voice he knew too well—
His own.
But not his.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
He didn’t speak.
He refused to.
Across from him—
Todoroki was still going.
“I—this is—this is incredible—” he said, almost breathless, almost reverent. “It’s exactly the same—it’s—”
“Todoroki,” Midoriya tried again. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Todoroki said immediately.
Too immediately.
Too brightly.
“Yes. I’m fine. I’m—better than fine. I’m—this is—this is good.”
“You got hit really hard—” Yaoyorozu began.
“I know,” Todoroki said, nodding quickly. “I remember. That doesn’t matter.”
“That—definitely matters,” Kaminari said.
“No,” Todoroki said again, still smiling, still talking, “it doesn’t—listen—listen—”
He leaned forward.
Like he was sharing a secret.
Like this was the most important thing in the world.
“Do you hear it?” he asked.
Everyone blinked.
“Hear what?” Sero said.
“My voice,” Todoroki said.
Silence.
“…yeah?” Mina said slowly. “That’s… how voices work.”
“No,” Todoroki said, shaking his head, eyes bright. “No, you don’t understand. This isn’t my voice.”
“…it literally is,” Kaminari said.
“It’s not,” Todoroki insisted, almost laughing again. “It’s his.”
“…who?” Midoriya asked.
Todoroki didn’t answer that.
Instead—
He kept talking.
Just to hear it.
Just to feel it.
Just to not lose it.
Because if he stopped—
If he went quiet—
What if it disappeared?
What if it was gone again?
“I haven’t heard this in years,” he said, softer now. “I thought I’d never—”
He cut himself off.
And then immediately started again.
Faster.
Louder.
Like silence was something to fear.
“—anyway, it’s fine, I’m fine, this is fine—”
“This is not fine,” Jiro said.
Aizawa stood slowly.
His gaze moved between them.
Bakugo—silent, shaking, eyes distant.
Todoroki—talking too much, too fast, too bright.
“…we’re done here,” Aizawa said.
“No kidding,” Kirishima muttered.
“Everyone back to the dorms,” Aizawa continued. “Now.”
“But—” Midoriya glanced between them. “Sensei—”
“I said now.”
No one argued.
They moved.
Reluctantly.
Slowly.
Looking back.
Again and again.
Because they had never seen this before.
Not from either of them.
Not from Bakugo—
Who now wouldn’t speak at all.
Not from Todoroki—
Who wouldn’t stop.
As they walked—
Todoroki kept talking.
Rambling.
Laughing under his breath sometimes.
Testing words.
Repeating them.
Like he was savoring every sound.
And Bakugo—
Walked beside them in silence.
Head down.
Hands clenched.
Eyes glassy.
Refusing—
Absolutely refusing—
To let a single word pass his lips.
Behind them—
Aizawa watched.
And for once—
Even he didn’t have an answer.
Because whatever had happened—
Was not a quirk.
Was not an injury.
Was not something he could erase.
And the worst part—
Was that neither of them were looking at anyone else.
Not their classmates.
Not their teacher.
Not the world around them.
They were somewhere else entirely.
One of them—
Clinging desperately to a voice he thought he’d lost forever.
The other—
Running from one he could never bear to hear again.
And neither of them—
Had any idea how to explain it.
So one of them spoke.
And the other—
Never would.
The walk back should have been loud.
It should have been filled with Kaminari complaining, Mina speculating, Midoriya spiraling into analysis, Iida lecturing about safety protocol violations, Kirishima hovering like a worried guard dog—
—but it wasn’t.
Not really.
Because something in the air had shifted.
Something uneasy.
Something that made even the loudest of them glance back more than once.
Still—
They kept walking.
And behind them—
Two boys who were not those boys at all followed at a distance that grew, step by step, without anyone noticing.
—
Sanemi could feel his heartbeat in his throat.
Wrong.
Everything was wrong.
His body—
Too light.
Too young.
Too intact.
No scars pulling tight across his skin. No ache in bones worn down by years of fighting. No weight of a sword at his hip. No blood. No smell of iron. No—
He inhaled sharply.
Even the air was wrong.
Clean.
Too clean.
His hands curled into fists.
Not his hands.
Smaller.
Unfamiliar.
He stared at them like they might disappear.
…this isn’t—
He swallowed.
Hard.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t—
Don’t speak.
Because the last time he had—
The last time he had—
Genya.
His chest seized.
That voice—
That voice—
He could still hear it echoing in his skull, layered over his own, wrong, wrong, wrong—
He squeezed his eyes shut.
If he spoke—
If he heard it again—
He might break.
So he didn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
He walked in silence.
Let the others move ahead.
Let them talk.
Let them exist in this… this place that made no sense—
Because none of it mattered.
Not yet.
Not until he understood—
Where the hell he was.
—
Beside him—
Giyuu would not stop talking.
It spilled out of him like water breaking through a dam that had held for too long.
“…and the buildings—did you see them? They’re too straight—everything is too straight—and the air—there’s no—there’s no blood scent, there’s no demons, there’s nothing—”
He laughed softly under his breath, almost in disbelief.
“And this voice—this is—this is his voice, Sab—”
He cut himself off.
Blinking.
Like he’d tripped over something.
But then he kept going.
Because silence—
Silence was dangerous.
Silence meant losing it.
“I can hear it every time I speak,” he murmured, almost reverent. “It’s exactly the same. It hasn’t changed. It hasn’t—”
He flexed his fingers.
Then paused.
Slowly—
Carefully—
He lifted his arm.
Both of them.
His breath caught.
“…both,” he said quietly.
His other hand—his new hand—gripped his sleeve, fingers digging in like he didn’t trust it to stay.
“I have both,” he whispered.
Awe.
Shock.
Something fragile and aching threaded through it.
“I can feel it.”
He rotated his wrist, watching the movement like it was something miraculous.
“I can—move it—”
His voice cracked.
Just slightly.
And then he kept talking anyway.
Because if he stopped—
He’d have to feel that properly.
And he wasn’t ready.
—
Sanemi heard it.
Didn’t want to.
Tried not to.
But it slipped through anyway.
Both.
“I have both.”
His steps faltered.
Just for a second.
And then—
He stopped.
Completely.
The others kept walking.
Didn’t notice.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t see the moment something shifted.
Sanemi turned his head.
Slowly.
Eyes narrowing.
Staring at the boy beside him—
Red and white hair.
Heterochromatic eyes.
A stranger’s face.
A stranger’s body.
But—
That voice.
Those words.
That… tone.
That quiet disbelief wrapped in something almost soft—
He knew that.
He knew that.
His breath came out sharp.
“…you—”
His voice broke.
Wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong—
He flinched hard, jaw clenching, and then forced it out anyway—
A low, rough growl that scraped his throat raw.
“—hey.”
Giyuu blinked.
Turned.
Mid-sentence.
Sanemi grabbed him.
Hard.
Fingers digging into his arm with bruising force.
Giyuu’s eyes widened.
Sanemi yanked him back a step.
Then another.
Out of line.
Out of earshot.
The others kept walking.
Still talking.
Still unaware.
Sanemi stared at him.
Really stared.
Like he was trying to peel the face off and find something underneath it.
“…say that again,” he rasped.
Giyuu froze.
Something in the tone—
In the way he was looking at him—
It twisted something deep in his chest.
“…what?” he asked, softer now.
Sanemi’s grip tightened.
“—that thing you said,” he growled. “About your arm.”
Giyuu hesitated.
Then—
“…I said I have both,” he answered quietly. “I lost one. In the final—”
Sanemi’s breath hitched.
That was it.
That was—
He leaned in.
Close.
Too close.
Voice dropping into something almost desperate.
“…Giyuu?”
Giyuu stilled.
Completely.
The world narrowed.
Just like that.
The noise ahead faded.
The strange buildings.
The unfamiliar bodies.
All of it—
Gone.
Because that voice—
Even wrong.
Even changed.
Even layered with something else—
He knew it.
“…Sanemi?” he said.
Soft.
Careful.
Like he didn’t trust it to be real.
Sanemi’s eyes snapped sharp.
“…shit,” he whispered.
Relief hit him like a punch.
Hard.
Ugly.
Unwanted.
But there.
“…it is you,” he muttered.
Giyuu’s expression cracked open.
Shock.
Recognition.
And then—
Something bright.
Too bright.
“Sanemi—”
His voice pitched up—
That same voice—
That same voice—
Sanemi’s hand clamped over his mouth instantly.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.
Giyuu made a muffled noise.
Eyes wide.
Sanemi glared at him.
“Do you want them to hear?” he growled under his breath. “We don’t even know what the hell’s going on—”
Giyuu blinked.
Then nodded.
Fast.
Sanemi hesitated.
Then slowly pulled his hand away.
“…keep it down,” he muttered.
Giyuu inhaled.
Then—
Immediately started whispering.
“…you’re here,” he said, like he was still confirming it. “You’re actually—here.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Sanemi snapped quietly.
“You died,” Giyuu added.
Sanemi scowled. “So did you.”
“…yes.”
A pause.
“…we’re alive,” Giyuu said.
Sanemi’s jaw tightened.
“…doesn’t feel right.”
Giyuu glanced down at himself again.
At the body.
At the hands.
“…this isn’t ours,” he said.
“No shit.”
“They’re younger,” Giyuu murmured. “Fifteen, maybe sixteen. The bones haven’t finished developing.”
Sanemi shot him a look. “How the hell do you know that?”
“…I can feel it.”
Sanemi didn’t like that answer.
Didn’t like any of this.
“…where are we?” he muttered.
Giyuu shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But those people—” he nodded faintly ahead, where the others were still walking, still unaware— “they think we’re… someone else.”
Sanemi followed his gaze.
Scowled.
“…brats,” he muttered.
“They know our names,” Giyuu added. “But not our names.”
“…yeah.”
A pause.
Giyuu flexed his arm again.
Still fascinated.
Still disbelieving.
“…I have both,” he said again, softer this time. “I can feel both.”
Sanemi glanced at it.
At him.
At the way he was looking at it—
Like it was something precious.
Something returned.
Something he thought he’d never have again.
Sanemi looked away.
“…don’t get used to it,” he muttered.
Giyuu didn’t answer that.
Instead—
He looked at Sanemi.
Really looked.
“…you’re smaller,” he said.
Sanemi’s head snapped back. “The hell did you just say?”
“You’re shorter than before,” Giyuu clarified calmly.
“…I will kill you again.”
Giyuu nodded, like that was fair.
“You look different,” he added.
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Your face—”
“Stop talking.”
“…your eyes are red.”
Sanemi blinked.
“…what?”
Giyuu tilted his head slightly, studying him.
“They weren’t before,” he said.
Sanemi frowned.
Something about that—
About this whole situation—
“…and you won’t shut up,” he shot back.
Giyuu paused.
Then—
“…I don’t want to stop,” he admitted quietly.
Sanemi stilled.
“…why.”
Giyuu hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
“…because of the voice,” he said.
Sanemi’s expression darkened instantly.
“…don’t,” he snapped.
Giyuu blinked.
“…don’t what?”
“Don’t say that.”
“…why?”
Sanemi’s hand clenched.
His throat tightened.
That voice—
That voice—
“…it’s wrong,” he said, low and rough.
Giyuu watched him.
Then—
“…it’s not,” he said.
Sanemi’s head snapped up.
“What?”
Giyuu’s gaze softened.
“…it’s him,” he said.
Sanemi flinched.
Hard.
Like he’d been struck.
“…don’t,” he repeated.
Giyuu didn’t back down.
“It’s the same,” he said quietly. “Exactly the same.”
Sanemi’s breathing went uneven.
“…I know.”
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Complicated.
Then—
“…you stopped talking,” Giyuu said.
Sanemi scoffed bitterly. “No shit.”
“…because of it.”
“Yeah.”
“…I understand.”
Sanemi glanced at him.
“…do you.”
Giyuu nodded once.
“…I just—chose differently.”
Sanemi huffed.
“…figures.”
Giyuu almost smiled.
Soft.
Faint.
Then—
Ahead—
“Hey!” Kirishima’s voice rang out.
Both of them froze.
“They’re lagging behind!” Mina added.
“Oh my god, are they about to pass out again?!” Kaminari yelped.
Sanemi clicked his tongue.
“…great.”
Giyuu straightened.
Just slightly.
“…we should go,” he said.
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
Then nodded.
“…yeah.”
They stepped forward.
Falling back into line.
Into roles they didn’t understand.
Into lives that weren’t theirs.
And as they walked—
Giyuu kept talking.
Quieter now.
More controlled.
But still talking.
Still chasing that voice.
And Sanemi—
Stayed silent.
But this time—
Not entirely alone.
They slipped back into the flow of the group like nothing had happened.
Like they hadn’t just clawed their way back from death into borrowed skin.
Like the world hadn’t tilted on its axis and refused to settle.
Ahead, Class 1-A kept moving—voices overlapping, concern buzzing, confusion lingering—but no one turned around again.
No one noticed.
And behind them—
Giyuu bounced.
Actually bounced.
Not dramatically. Not enough to draw attention.
But enough that every step had a strange, light energy to it—like he wasn’t fully grounded in this body yet, like gravity hadn’t quite convinced him it applied.
“…and the buildings, they’re all uniform but not—there’s variation in materials but the structure is too consistent, and the clothes—did you see what they’re wearing—? And the way they talk, it’s—”
“—shut up,” Sanemi muttered under his breath.
Giyuu didn’t.
“—and the air smells different, there’s no wisteria, no blood, no—”
“—I said shut up,” Sanemi snapped, harsher this time, voice low and clipped.
Giyuu glanced at him.
Then—
“…you’re talking,” he pointed out.
Sanemi’s eye twitched.
“…barely.”
“And you don’t like it,” Giyuu added.
“…no shit.”
Giyuu hummed softly, like that was something to catalogue.
Then kept going anyway.
“…your voice is different too.”
Sanemi stiffened.
“…don’t.”
“It is,” Giyuu continued, completely ignoring him. “Lower. Rougher. But—”
“Giyuu.”
“—but it’s layered with something else, like—”
“Giyuu.”
“—like there’s another—”
Sanemi grabbed him.
Again.
Hard.
Fingers digging into his shoulder this time, yanking him just slightly off balance so he’d stop—
“—calm. down,” he growled.
Giyuu blinked.
Stopped bouncing.
Stopped mid-sentence.
Just—
Paused.
Sanemi leaned down a little, scowling.
“…you’re acting weird.”
Giyuu tilted his head.
“…I am aware.”
“You don’t act like this.”
“…I am also aware of that.”
Sanemi narrowed his eyes.
“…then stop.”
Giyuu considered that.
Actually considered it.
Then—
“…no,” he said simply.
Sanemi stared at him.
“…the hell do you mean, no?”
“I don’t want to stop talking,” Giyuu said, quieter now, but firm.
Sanemi’s jaw tightened.
“…you’re gonna get us noticed.”
“We already are noticed,” Giyuu pointed out calmly. “They’re watching us.”
“…not like this.”
Giyuu didn’t argue.
But he didn’t stop talking either.
Just—
Lowered his voice.
Shifted closer.
“…you’re taller,” he said again.
Sanemi groaned.
“…why are you stuck on that—”
“It’s different,” Giyuu said, almost fascinated. “We were the same height before.”
“…we were not the same height.”
“…close enough.”
Sanemi huffed.
But—
He couldn’t ignore it.
He was taller.
Noticeably.
A full head, maybe.
Looking down at Giyuu felt—
Wrong.
Everything felt wrong.
His body—
This body—
Too strong in places it shouldn’t be.
Too light.
Too fast.
Too—
He flexed his fingers again.
And then looked ahead.
At the others.
Bright.
Loud.
Colorful.
Hair in shades that didn’t exist naturally.
Blonde like explosions.
Pink.
Green.
Blue.
“…why is everyone so damn colorful,” he muttered.
Giyuu followed his gaze.
“…they are.”
Sanemi squinted.
“…this is insane.”
“…Mitsuri had pink hair.”
“…yeah, but she was—” he cut himself off, scowling. “That was different.”
“And Rengoku’s was red and yellow.”
“…don’t bring him into this.”
Giyuu hummed again.
Then—
He smiled.
Just a little.
“…it’s not that strange.”
Sanemi stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
“…you are way too calm about this.”
“I’m not calm,” Giyuu said.
“…you’re smiling.”
“…I am talking.”
“…yeah, and that’s the problem.”
Giyuu opened his mouth—
To continue—
Of course he did—
And Sanemi, already bracing himself to snap again—
Grabbed him tighter.
“…just—keep it contained,” he grumbled.
Giyuu nodded.
For once.
Actually nodded.
And inhaled—
And then—
Everything went wrong.
Again.
It started small.
A flicker.
Sanemi barely caught it—
A shimmer of heat along Giyuu’s right side—
A creeping frost along his left—
And then—
WHOOM—
Fire burst to life.
Ice followed.
Not metaphorical.
Not imagined.
Real.
Actual flames licking up one side of Giyuu’s body, blue-white frost spreading along the other in jagged, blooming patterns.
Both of them froze.
Completely.
“…what,” Giyuu whispered.
Then louder—
“—what is that—what is that—”
His voice pitched up.
Panicked.
“What is happening—”
“Don’t move,” Sanemi snapped, grabbing him tighter—
“—it’s hot—no it’s cold—both—it’s both—” Giyuu’s breathing spiked, eyes wide as he stared down at himself, “—I don’t know how to stop it—this isn’t—this isn’t breathing—this isn’t—”
“Shut up—just—hold still—”
“I don’t know how to turn it off—”
“Then don’t touch it—”
“I’m not touching it—”
“Then stop panicking—”
“I am not panicking—”
“You’re literally panicking—”
“I am raising my voice—”
“THAT’S PANICKING—”
The flames flared.
The ice spread.
Giyuu made a small, strained noise.
“…I don’t like this.”
“Yeah, no shit—”
Sanemi slapped at the flames instinctively—
Then immediately jerked his hand back.
“…fuck—”
It didn’t burn like normal fire.
It wasn’t right.
None of this was right—
“—just—just breathe,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “Control it—like breathing—just—focus—”
“I am focusing—”
“Then focus harder—”
“I don’t know what I’m focusing on—”
Sanemi swore under his breath.
Glanced up.
The others were still ahead.
Still talking.
Still not looking.
“…we can’t let them see this,” he muttered.
“I am aware,” Giyuu said tightly, staring at the flames like they might consume him.
“Then stop it.”
“I don’t know how—”
“Figure it out—”
“I am trying—”
The ice cracked outward slightly.
Giyuu flinched.
“…this is not how this works.”
“No, really?”
Before either of them could say anything else—
Something else sparked.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Sanemi jerked.
“…what—”
His hand—
His palm—
Crackled.
A sharp, snapping pop of heat and pressure—
And then—
A small explosion burst from his skin.
“—what the fuck—” he hissed, shaking his hand—
Another crack—
Another pop—
Heat building fast—
“…no—no—no—”
Giyuu whipped his head toward him.
“Sanemi—”
“Don’t—don’t call me that right now—what is this—”
His other hand sparked.
Sweat beading—
Crackling—
Igniting—
“—this is not wind—this is not—what is this—”
Another explosion snapped out—
Louder this time—
Sanemi flinched hard.
“…shit—”
Giyuu stared.
Wide-eyed.
“…you’re exploding.”
“I can see that—”
“Why are you exploding—”
“I don’t know—”
“Should you be exploding—”
“NO—”
Another crack—
Sanemi clenched his fists—
Trying to stop it—
Trying to control it—
“…this body is wrong,” he growled.
“This one is on fire,” Giyuu shot back, voice still tight with panic.
“Yeah, I can see that—”
“I don’t know how to turn it off—”
“I don’t know how to stop this either—”
They both froze.
Breathing uneven.
Bodies reacting in ways they didn’t understand.
Powers that weren’t theirs—
Not like breathing.
Not like anything they knew—
Real.
Raw.
Uncontrolled.
Ahead—
Laughter.
Voices.
Oblivious.
Behind—
Fire.
Ice.
Explosions.
And two warriors—
Reborn into a world that made no sense—
Trying not to burn it down before they even understood it.
Giyuu’s breath hitched.
The fire licked higher.
The ice spread sharper.
Too much—
Too fast—
Too real.
“I don’t—” his voice broke, rising despite himself, “—I don’t know how to—”
And then instinct took over.
Not logic.
Not training.
Not anything learned in years of fighting demons—
Just—
Panic.
He dropped.
Straight to the ground.
“—what are you doing—” Sanemi started—
Giyuu rolled.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
“—what the hell are you doing—” Sanemi stopped completely, staring down at him.
Giyuu made a strained, almost desperate noise as he rolled again, pressing his shoulder into the ground like he was trying to smother the flames that weren’t quite burning him but felt like they might.
“I am extinguishing it—” he muttered, voice tight, rolling again.
Sanemi blinked.
“…you’re what?”
“I am putting it out—”
“By—rolling?”
“Yes.”
Sanemi stared.
Then—
A sound escaped him.
Sharp.
Unexpected.
A snort.
He clamped a hand over his mouth instinctively—
Too late.
It turned into a huff.
Then—
A low, incredulous chuckle.
“…you look like an idiot,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his mouth despite everything.
Giyuu rolled again.
Stopped.
Looked up at him from the ground, hair already a mess, soot smudged faintly along his sleeve.
“I am on fire.”
“You’re barely on fire.”
“It is still fire.”
“You’re not even burning.”
“That is not the point.”
Sanemi huffed, shaking his head.
“…you’ve fought demons for how long and this is your strategy?”
“It is effective.”
“You look like a dying fish.”
Giyuu frowned faintly.
“…that is inaccurate.”
Sanemi snorted again.
Another small laugh slipping out—
And he didn’t notice.
Didn’t notice that his hands had gone still.
That the crackling had stopped.
That the heat had faded.
Because he was too busy staring down at Giyuu—
Rolling.
Whining.
Looking deeply, profoundly done with existence.
“…you’re unbelievable,” Sanemi muttered, but there was something lighter in it now.
Something almost—
Familiar.
Giyuu huffed softly.
Rolled one last time.
And then—
The fire flickered.
Dimmed.
Went out.
Just like that.
The ice melted into harmless frost.
Gone.
Giyuu stilled.
Then slowly—
Carefully—
Flopped onto his stomach.
Face pressed against the ground.
“…it worked,” he murmured.
Sanemi snorted again.
“…yeah, sure, that’s what did it.”
Giyuu didn’t argue.
Just stayed there for a second.
Breathing.
Letting the panic settle.
Then—
A hand grabbed the back of his uniform.
“Get up,” Sanemi muttered.
He hauled him up with more force than necessary.
Giyuu stumbled slightly, but didn’t resist.
Sanemi immediately started brushing him off—
Rough.
Practical.
Hands moving automatically.
“—you’ve got soot all over you—hold still—”
“I am holding still.”
“You’re swaying.”
“I am not—”
“You are—”
Sanemi swiped at his shoulder, then his sleeve, knocking off bits of frost that still clung stubbornly.
“…this is ridiculous,” he grumbled.
Giyuu watched him.
Quiet now.
Still.
Sanemi reached up—
Without thinking—
And fixed his hair.
The split strands—white and red—had fallen messily across his face.
He pushed them back.
Carefully.
Fingers brushing along his temple—
And then—
He froze.
Completely.
His hand stilled against Giyuu’s face.
His eyes locked onto something—
Sharp.
Wrong.
“…what—”
His other hand came up instinctively.
Cupping Giyuu’s face.
Turning it slightly toward the light.
“…what the hell is this—”
The burn scar.
Angry.
Jagged.
Spreading across the left side of his face.
Not fresh.
Not new.
Healed.
Old.
Years old.
Sanemi’s grip tightened—just slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground himself.
“…you didn’t get this just now,” he said, voice low, tense.
Giyuu blinked.
“…what?”
“This—” Sanemi’s thumb hovered near the edge of the scar, not quite touching, like he didn’t know if he should— “—this is old.”
Giyuu stilled.
“…I didn’t notice it before.”
“How the hell did you not notice—”
“I was focused on the fire.”
“…of course you were.”
Sanemi swallowed.
Hard.
His mind racing.
This body—
Not theirs.
History—
Not theirs.
“…this happened to him,” he muttered.
“To who?” Giyuu asked.
Sanemi’s jaw clenched.
“…to the person you are now.”
Giyuu frowned faintly.
“…I don’t remember it.”
“Yeah, no shit, it’s not your memory—”
Sanemi cut himself off.
His grip shifted slightly.
Still holding his face.
Still staring at the scar like it might tell him something.
“…it looks bad,” he muttered.
“It does not hurt,” Giyuu said.
“That’s not the point.”
Giyuu tilted his head slightly.
“…what is the point?”
Sanemi didn’t answer immediately.
Just—
Looked at him.
At the unfamiliar face.
The unfamiliar body.
The scar that didn’t belong to him—
But did now.
“…this isn’t just us,” he said finally.
Giyuu watched him.
“…no.”
“…we’re in someone else’s lives.”
“…yes.”
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
Then dropped his hands.
Stepping back just slightly.
“…great,” he muttered.
Giyuu glanced down briefly.
Then back up.
“…your hands stopped exploding.”
Sanemi blinked.
Looked down.
Flexed his fingers.
Nothing.
No heat.
No crackling.
“…huh.”
A pause.
“…did you do something?” Giyuu asked.
“No.”
“…I did not do anything either.”
“…so it just stopped.”
“…yes.”
Sanemi frowned.
“…I don’t like that.”
“…I do not understand it,” Giyuu said.
“…same difference.”
They stood there for a second.
Quiet.
Processing.
Adjusting.
Then—
From ahead—
“HEY!”
Kirishima again.
Louder this time.
“Seriously, what are you doing back there?!”
“Are they fighting?!” Kaminari added.
“They are not fighting,” Iida said immediately. “Their body language does not indicate—”
“They’re definitely doing something,” Mina cut in.
Giyuu blinked.
Sanemi clicked his tongue.
“…we should go.”
“…yes.”
They stepped forward again.
Falling back into place.
Walking toward people who thought they knew them—
Toward a world that wasn’t theirs—
Carrying voices that didn’t belong to them—
And bodies that came with scars they didn’t remember earning.
They didn’t make it three steps back into the group before it went wrong.
“Finally,” Kirishima said, half relieved, half suspicious, slowing his pace so they could catch up. “You guys good? You were seriously lagging.”
“We noticed,” Jiro added, eyes narrowing slightly.
Midoriya was already hovering, green eyes darting between them, taking in everything—posture, breathing, distance, expression.
“Todoroki, you were—um—talking a lot,” he said carefully. “Are you feeling okay? And Kacchan, you’re—”
He stopped.
Because Bakugo wasn’t saying anything.
Still.
Not even a snarl.
Not even a grunt.
Just—
That same tight, controlled silence.
And Todoroki—
“…I am fine,” Giyuu said immediately, voice steady but too quick, too eager. “I am functioning within acceptable parameters, there is no immediate threat—”
Sanemi’s hand clamped over his mouth.
Hard.
Mid-sentence.
Giyuu’s words cut off into a muffled sound.
Sanemi forced his expression into something sharp.
Familiar.
Angry.
“…he’s fine,” he snapped, voice rough, irritated, clipped—each word short, like he was rationing them. “Shut up about it.”
Kaminari blinked.
“…okay, that sounded like you, but also—what the hell?”
“Why are you holding him like that?” Mina asked, tilting her head.
Because he was.
Sanemi had Giyuu pulled in tight against his side, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, hand still firmly covering his mouth, fingers pressing just enough to keep him quiet.
Giyuu didn’t struggle.
Didn’t push him away.
Just blinked at the others calmly over Sanemi’s hand.
Completely unbothered.
Which—
Was worse.
“…you’re acting weird,” Sero said.
“Yeah,” Uraraka added. “Both of you.”
“I concur,” Iida said, stepping closer, posture rigid. “This behavior is highly irregular and—”
“—back off,” Sanemi growled, glare sharp.
Iida actually stopped.
Not because he was convinced.
But because—
That felt familiar.
That tone.
That edge.
That was Bakugo.
Just—
Wrong.
Twisted slightly.
Like something underneath it had shifted.
Midoriya’s brows furrowed deeper.
“Kacchan…” he started.
Sanemi’s eye twitched.
“…don’t call me that,” he snapped automatically.
The words slipped out.
Reflex.
Habit that wasn’t his.
He froze for half a second.
Then scowled harder.
“…just—shut up and walk.”
Giyuu made a soft noise behind his hand.
Sanemi tightened his grip slightly.
“…you too.”
Giyuu nodded.
Obedient.
Which—
Also wrong.
Very wrong.
Todoroki did not nod obediently.
Jiro leaned closer to Kaminari.
“…I don’t like this,” she muttered.
“Yeah, same,” Kaminari whispered back.
“Should we… tell Aizawa?” Tsuyu said quietly.
“He’s already watching,” Yaoyorozu murmured, glancing back.
At the rear—
Aizawa’s gaze was fixed on them.
Sharp.
Unblinking.
Calculating.
Sanemi felt it.
Ignored it.
Focused on the problem in his arms.
Which—
Was currently trying to speak again.
“…mm—”
Sanemi pressed his hand tighter.
“…don’t.”
Giyuu blinked.
Then went still again.
Processing.
Adjusting.
Sanemi exhaled through his nose.
“…good.”
They walked.
Three steps.
Four.
Five.
“Okay but seriously—” Mina started again, circling slightly to face them as they moved, “—why are you holding Todoroki like he’s gonna run away?”
Sanemi didn’t answer.
Because he couldn’t.
Because if he did—
He’d hear it.
Again.
So instead—
He stopped.
Abruptly.
Shifted his grip.
And before anyone could react—
He grabbed Giyuu properly.
“—hey—” Kirishima started—
Too late.
Sanemi hoisted him up.
Straight over his shoulder.
Like it was nothing.
Like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Giyuu didn’t resist.
Didn’t protest.
Didn’t even flinch.
He just—
Went limp.
Relaxed instantly into the position, arms hanging loosely, head tilting slightly.
“…oh,” he said quietly, upside down. “This is familiar.”
Sanemi blinked.
“…what?”
“My sister used to do this,” Giyuu added, voice calm despite the situation. “When I was younger.”
Sanemi’s grip tightened slightly.
Something flickered across his expression—
Gone just as fast.
“…shut up,” he muttered.
And then—
He moved.
Fast.
“HEY—!” Kirishima shouted.
“Bakugo, what are you doing?!” Iida snapped.
“Put him down!” Yaoyorozu called.
Midoriya lunged forward. “Kacchan—!”
Sanemi didn’t stop.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t slow down.
He ran.
Boots hitting pavement hard, body moving on instinct, speed kicking in before he even realized how fast this body could go.
Giyuu bounced slightly with the motion.
“…you are running,” he observed.
“Yeah,” Sanemi grunted.
“…where are we going?”
“No idea.”
“…that seems inefficient.”
“Shut up.”
Giyuu went quiet.
For about three seconds.
Then—
“…your grip is secure.”
“I know.”
“…you have done this before.”
Sanemi didn’t answer.
Because he had.
Different bodies.
Different time.
Different—
He pushed it down.
Focused forward.
On distance.
On escape.
Behind them—
Shouting.
Footsteps.
“—they’re running—!”
“Go go go—!”
“Midoriya, don’t trip—!”
“I am NOT going to trip—!”
Aizawa’s voice cut through it all.
“Enough.”
And just like that—
The chase slowed.
Stopped.
But Sanemi didn’t.
He kept going.
Turning corners at random.
Cutting through empty streets.
Until—
Finally—
There was no one behind them.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Just—
Silence.
He stopped.
Breathing steady.
Not even winded.
“…huh,” he muttered.
Giyuu shifted slightly over his shoulder.
“…you are very fast.”
“…yeah.”
“…this body is strong.”
“…yeah.”
A pause.
“…can you put me down now?”
Sanemi snorted.
“…yeah.”
He lowered him.
Carefully.
More carefully than he needed to.
Giyuu landed on his feet.
Straightened.
Smoothed his uniform.
Like being carried off at full speed was completely normal.
Then looked at him.
“…that was effective.”
“…yeah.”
“…we are alone now.”
“…yeah.”
Silence settled again.
Different this time.
Heavier.
Safer.
Sanemi exhaled.
Ran a hand through his hair.
“…we need to figure out where the hell we are,” he muttered.
Giyuu nodded.
“…and who we are supposed to be.”
“…yeah.”
A beat.
“…and how to stop catching on fire,” Giyuu added.
“…and exploding,” Sanemi muttered.
Another pause.
They looked at each other.
Strangers.
Not strangers.
Alive.
Not supposed to be.
“…this is a mess,” Sanemi said.
“…yes.”
“…stay close.”
“…I will.”
And for the first time since they’d opened their eyes—
They stood still.
Together.
In a world that wasn’t theirs—
Trying to make sense of lives they’d been dropped into without warning.
The city did not ease into existence.
It rose.
Glass and steel cutting into the sky in impossible lines, structures stacked atop each other in ways that felt… unnatural, like they were daring gravity to argue. Lights pulsed even though the sun hadn’t set, colors flickering across surfaces that weren’t paper, weren’t paint—moving, shifting, alive.
Sanemi stopped dead at the edge of it.
“…what the hell,” he muttered.
Giyuu didn’t stop.
Of course he didn’t.
“…it’s large,” he said, already stepping forward, gaze tilted upward, tracking a screen the size of a building as it shifted through images too fast to fully register.
Sanemi grabbed the back of his shirt.
Yanked.
Hard.
“—stay,” he snapped.
Giyuu rocked back with the motion, then blinked at him.
“…I was going to walk forward.”
“Yeah, and get lost,” Sanemi shot back.
“…I would not get lost.”
“You would absolutely get lost.”
Giyuu considered that.
“…possibly.”
“Stay. Here.”
Sanemi kept his grip.
Didn’t trust him not to drift.
Didn’t trust anything not to drift in this place.
Because everything—
Everything—
Was wrong.
The writing—
Still Japanese.
But sharper.
Cleaner.
Symbols he recognized twisted into forms he didn’t.
Signs glowing instead of painted.
Words moving.
“…what is that,” Giyuu said, already leaning slightly toward a nearby storefront where a screen flickered with bright, looping images.
Sanemi yanked him back again.
“—stop that.”
“I am observing.”
“You’re wandering.”
“I am not wandering.”
“You are literally being pulled away by your own curiosity.”
“…that is not inaccurate.”
Sanemi groaned.
“…you weren’t like this.”
Giyuu blinked.
“…like what.”
“Like—this,” Sanemi gestured vaguely with his free hand, as if that explained anything. “Distracted. Talking. Looking at everything like it’s—”
He cut himself off.
Because he didn’t have a word for it.
Giyuu did.
“…interesting,” he supplied.
“…annoying,” Sanemi corrected.
Giyuu tilted his head.
“…there are no demons here.”
Sanemi paused.
Just for a second.
“…what.”
“There are no demons,” Giyuu repeated calmly, gaze drifting again—this time to a passing vehicle that hummed instead of clattered, gliding along the road like it barely touched the ground. “There is no immediate threat. No reason to remain constantly vigilant.”
Sanemi’s grip tightened.
Then loosened.
Slightly.
“…so you’re just gonna act like a kid?” he muttered.
“…I am observing my surroundings,” Giyuu said.
“…you’re staring at a wall.”
“It is not a wall.”
Sanemi followed his gaze.
It looked like a wall.
Until—
The surface flickered.
Shifted.
Turned into something else entirely—bright colors, people moving inside it, sound faintly spilling out.
Sanemi stiffened.
“…what the hell—”
Giyuu stepped forward again.
Of course he did.
Sanemi caught him immediately.
“…stay,” he repeated, sharper this time.
Giyuu stopped.
But his eyes stayed on it.
Wide.
Focused.
“…it’s moving,” he said.
“I can see that.”
“…how.”
“I don’t know.”
“…it is contained within a flat surface.”
“Yeah.”
“…that should not be possible.”
“No shit.”
Giyuu leaned slightly to the side, like changing the angle would make it make more sense.
It didn’t.
If anything, it made it worse.
“…I like it,” he said.
Sanemi stared at him.
“…you what.”
“I like it,” Giyuu repeated, quieter now, but certain.
Sanemi looked back at the screen.
At the colors.
The motion.
The noise.
Then back at Giyuu.
“…you’re insane.”
“…possibly.”
Giyuu’s gaze shifted again.
Upward this time.
To a massive structure covered in glowing signs—symbols and images layered over each other, flickering, shifting, bright enough to hurt if you looked too long.
“…there are many of them,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“…they are everywhere.”
“Yeah.”
“…this place is loud.”
“…yeah.”
A pause.
“…but there is no blood,” Giyuu added.
Sanemi stilled.
“…no.”
“No demons.”
“…no.”
“No wisteria.”
“…no.”
Silence settled between them.
Different.
Heavier.
Not tense.
Not quite.
Just—
Strange.
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
Ran a hand through his hair.
“…we’re really not there anymore,” he muttered.
“…no,” Giyuu agreed.
Another screen flickered nearby.
Giyuu’s attention snapped to it instantly.
Sanemi saw it coming this time.
Grabbed his shirt.
Held him in place.
“…don’t even think about it.”
“I was going to look.”
“I know.”
“…you are preventing me.”
“Yeah.”
Giyuu looked at him.
“…why.”
Sanemi gestured vaguely at the city.
“At this,” he said. “You don’t know what anything is. You don’t know where anything goes. You don’t know what’ll happen if you just wander off.”
Giyuu considered that.
Then nodded.
“…that is reasonable.”
“…yeah.”
A pause.
“…but I would still like to look.”
Sanemi groaned.
“…you can look from here.”
Giyuu accepted that.
For now.
Standing still—
But his eyes moved constantly.
Tracking lights.
Screens.
People.
Everything.
Sanemi kept his grip.
Didn’t loosen it.
Not even a little.
Because every time he did—
Giyuu drifted.
Like a current pulling him toward something new.
Something bright.
Something unknown.
“…stay,” Sanemi muttered again.
Giyuu didn’t argue.
Just kept looking.
Quiet now.
But still—
Curious.
And Sanemi—
Stood beside him.
Holding on.
In a city that made no sense—
Watching someone who had spent his entire life in survival finally have nothing trying to kill him—
And not quite knowing what to do with that.
Sanemi stood there a moment longer.
Watching.
Thinking.
Trying to force his mind to catch up with a world that refused to slow down.
Then he exhaled, sharp and tired, and tugged the back of Giyuu’s shirt again.
“—come on.”
Giyuu followed immediately this time.
Not resisting.
Just… looking.
Still looking.
Every direction at once.
“…there are more of them,” he murmured.
Sanemi grunted.
“…yeah.”
People passed them in steady streams.
Too many.
Too close.
Too strange.
Hair that defied sense. Skin that didn’t look entirely human. Someone walked past with horns curling from their head. Another with skin tinted faintly blue. A man whose arms seemed… longer than they should be.
Sanemi’s body reacted before his mind did.
He moved.
Fast.
Stepping in front of Giyuu, arm coming up instinctively to block him.
“—stay behind me,” he muttered.
Giyuu didn’t argue.
Didn’t question.
He stepped in close—closer than before—fingers catching lightly at the back of Sanemi’s shirt as he leaned just slightly to peek over his shoulder.
“…they look different,” Giyuu said quietly.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed.
Tracking.
Watching.
Every movement.
Every shift.
Waiting—
For that feeling.
That instinct.
That wrongness that always came with demons.
But—
Nothing.
No scent.
No blood.
No hunger.
No—
“…they’re not demons,” he muttered after a moment.
Giyuu blinked.
“…you’re sure.”
“Yeah.”
“…you hesitated.”
“…I don’t like this place.”
“That is fair.”
Sanemi huffed.
Lowered his arm.
But didn’t step away.
Still kept himself slightly in front.
Just in case.
“…they’ve got weird shit going on,” he added, glancing at a woman whose fingers sparked faintly with electricity as she scrolled through something on a glowing device. “But it’s not the same.”
“…no,” Giyuu agreed. “It feels different.”
Another pause.
“…less dangerous.”
Sanemi didn’t answer that.
Because—
He wasn’t convinced.
Not yet.
Not when everything else was already this wrong.
Giyuu shifted behind him.
Leaned slightly to the side again.
Sanemi felt it.
Didn’t even look back this time—
Just reached behind him and grabbed his shirt again.
“—stay.”
“I am staying.”
“You were about to wander.”
“I was adjusting my angle.”
“You were wandering.”
“…possibly.”
Sanemi groaned.
“…I’m not dealing with this all day.”
Giyuu blinked.
“…what are you going to do.”
Sanemi didn’t answer.
He just moved.
Stepping forward, then crouching slightly—
“—get on.”
Giyuu paused.
“…what.”
“Get on,” Sanemi repeated, jerking his head slightly.
Giyuu looked at him.
Then—
Without hesitation—
Climbed on.
Arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders, settling into place like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“…this is efficient,” he said.
“Yeah,” Sanemi muttered, adjusting his grip under Giyuu’s legs as he stood back up.
“…you have done this before.”
“…yeah.”
“…with your siblings.”
Sanemi didn’t answer.
Just started walking.
Faster now.
Longer strides.
Less stopping.
Giyuu shifted slightly with the motion, but didn’t fidget.
Didn’t try to get down.
Just—
Looked.
From higher up now.
“…there are more screens,” he murmured.
“I can see them.”
“…and signs.”
“Yeah.”
“…and people carrying small glowing rectangles.”
Sanemi glanced briefly at someone walking past, head down, thumb flicking across a bright screen.
“…yeah.”
“…what are those.”
“No idea.”
“…I would like one.”
“…no.”
“…why.”
“Because you’ll break it.”
“…that is unlikely.”
“Everything about you right now is unlikely.”
Giyuu hummed.
Accepted that.
For now.
They moved deeper into the city.
Noise building.
Movement increasing.
Sanemi’s eyes kept scanning.
Constant.
Measuring.
Looking for—
Anything familiar.
Anything useful.
“…we need information,” he muttered.
“…yes.”
“…where would that be.”
Giyuu tilted his head slightly.
Thinking.
“…there are signs everywhere.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“…some of them have symbols repeated.”
“…and?”
“…they might indicate places of importance.”
Sanemi slowed slightly.
Actually considering that.
“…like what.”
“…I don’t know,” Giyuu admitted. “But repetition usually means relevance.”
“…huh.”
Sanemi’s gaze shifted.
More focused now.
Looking not just at people—
But at patterns.
Signs.
Buildings.
Places that drew more attention than others.
“…we need somewhere with records,” he muttered.
“…history,” Giyuu added.
“…yeah.”
“…or people who know things.”
“…yeah.”
A pause.
“…or both.”
“…yeah.”
They walked.
Past more screens.
More lights.
More things that didn’t make sense.
Sanemi adjusted his grip slightly as Giyuu leaned just a fraction too far to the side again—
“—stay.”
“I am staying.”
“You’re leaning.”
“I am observing.”
“You’re gonna fall.”
“I will not fall.”
“…I will drop you.”
“…I will remain still.”
Sanemi huffed.
“…good.”
Another pause.
“…Sanemi.”
“…what.”
“…this place is very advanced.”
“…yeah.”
“…if we are here—”
“…don’t.”
Giyuu went quiet.
For a second.
Then—
“…we might be far in the future.”
Sanemi’s jaw tightened.
“…yeah.”
“…that means everything we knew—”
“…I know.”
Silence settled again.
Heavier this time.
Not panic.
Not confusion.
Just—
The weight of it.
“…we’ll figure it out,” Sanemi said finally.
Giyuu nodded against his shoulder.
“…yes.”
Sanemi’s eyes scanned ahead.
Searching.
Calculating.
Looking for anything that felt—
Structured.
Informational.
Stable.
“…just need to find the right place,” he muttered.
And with Giyuu steady on his back—
Curious eyes still tracking every flicker of light—
Sanemi kept walking.
Into a world that had moved on without them—
Trying to find a way to understand it before it swallowed them whole.
It took longer than Sanemi liked.
Too much walking.
Too many turns.
Too many distractions.
Too many times he had to physically grab Giyuu to stop him from drifting toward something glowing or moving or new.
But eventually—
Something changed.
The buildings shifted.
Less noise.
Less chaos.
And then—
“…there,” Giyuu said quietly.
Sanemi followed his gaze.
And stopped.
The building rose wide and open, its front almost entirely glass, the inside laid bare like it wasn’t trying to hide anything at all. Rows upon rows—stacked, ordered, endless—lined the interior.
Shelves.
Books.
So many books.
Giyuu leaned forward slightly on his back, eyes widening.
“…is that—”
“Yeah,” Sanemi muttered.
“…a library?”
“…looks like it.”
Giyuu tilted his head.
“…it is different.”
“No shit.”
“…there are no scrolls.”
“…yeah.”
“…or storage chests.”
“…yeah.”
“…everything is exposed.”
Sanemi shifted his grip slightly.
“…easier to grab, I guess.”
Giyuu hummed softly.
“…there are many books.”
“…that’s kind of the point.”
“…we should go inside.”
Sanemi didn’t move immediately.
He watched.
People walking in.
Walking out.
No guards.
No barriers.
No one stopping anyone.
“…doesn’t look restricted,” he muttered.
“…no.”
“…still—stay close.”
“…I will.”
Sanemi stepped forward.
Pushed through the doors.
And—
Nothing happened.
No one stopped them.
No one even looked twice.
Just quiet.
Calm.
The air inside felt… still.
Different from outside.
Rows stretched out in neat order, books arranged in ways that made sense even if the system behind them didn’t.
Giyuu slid off his back as soon as they were inside.
Sanemi let him.
But didn’t let go completely—
Fingers catching the back of his sleeve now instead of his shirt.
Just in case.
Giyuu stepped forward slowly.
Carefully.
Like he was walking into something sacred.
“…there are so many,” he murmured.
Sanemi glanced around.
“…yeah.”
“…all organized.”
“…looks like it.”
“…this is useful.”
“…that’s the idea.”
They moved deeper.
Scanning shelves.
Titles they couldn’t fully understand at a glance.
Words that felt familiar but… evolved.
Shifted.
“…we need history,” Sanemi muttered.
“…yes.”
“…recent history.”
“…yes.”
“…whatever the hell this is.”
Giyuu nodded.
Then paused.
“…someone is approaching.”
Sanemi stiffened immediately.
Turned slightly—
Positioning himself just a fraction in front again—
But—
It wasn’t a threat.
Just a woman.
Calm.
Smiling.
Approaching at a normal pace.
No tension.
No hostility.
“…you’re fine,” she said warmly. “No need to look so serious.”
Sanemi didn’t relax.
Not fully.
Giyuu blinked.
“…we are not serious,” he said.
Sanemi’s hand twitched.
Resisted the urge to cover his mouth again.
The woman smiled wider.
“UA students, right?” she said, glancing at their uniforms. “You don’t usually come this far out for study.”
Sanemi and Giyuu both paused.
UA.
Students.
They didn’t know what that meant.
But—
They exchanged the smallest glance.
Then—
Sanemi nodded.
Short.
“…yeah.”
The woman didn’t question it.
Just smiled.
“Well, welcome anyway. Do you need help finding something?”
Sanemi hesitated.
Words catching in his throat.
Not because he didn’t know what to say—
But because saying too much—
Risked hearing too much.
Giyuu stepped in.
“…we are looking for history books,” he said, voice calm but careful now, measured. “For a project.”
Sanemi glanced at him.
That was—
Good.
Simple.
Safe.
The woman lit up.
“Oh, that’s easy,” she said. “What kind of history?”
Sanemi answered this time.
Clipped.
Controlled.
“…everything.”
She blinked.
Then laughed lightly.
“Ambitious.”
“…yeah.”
She gestured for them to follow.
“This way,” she said, already turning. “I’ll show you where to start.”
They followed.
Quiet.
Watching.
Listening.
The shelves shifted as they moved deeper, sections changing, labels appearing that meant more the closer they got.
The woman glanced back at them once.
Then again.
Smiling slightly.
“…you two are cute,” she said casually.
They both stopped.
Simultaneously.
“…what,” Sanemi said.
Giyuu blinked.
“…we are not small animals.”
The woman laughed.
“No, I mean—” she waved a hand lightly, amused, “—you’re obviously together, right? It’s sweet.”
Silence.
Absolute.
Sanemi stared at her.
Giyuu stared at her.
“…together,” Giyuu repeated.
“…yeah?” she said, still smiling. “You’ve got the whole ‘one of you talks too much, the other keeps him in line’ thing going on.”
Sanemi’s eye twitched.
“…we’re not—”
He stopped.
Because—
What were they?
Giyuu tilted his head slightly.
“…that is not incorrect,” he said.
Sanemi whipped his head toward him.
“…don’t—”
Giyuu blinked.
“…what.”
The woman laughed again.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, clearly entertained. “History section’s right here. Let me know if you need anything else.”
And just like that—
She walked away.
Leaving them standing there.
Between shelves.
In a world they didn’t understand.
With a statement neither of them knew how to process.
Sanemi scowled.
“…the hell was that.”
Giyuu considered it.
“…she believes we are in a relationship.”
Sanemi’s face twisted.
“…we are not.”
“…no.”
“…that’s—”
“…incorrect.”
“…yeah.”
A pause.
“…but she was not hostile,” Giyuu added.
“…that’s not the point.”
“…it is relevant.”
Sanemi groaned.
Ran a hand over his face.
“…forget it.”
Giyuu nodded.
Accepted that.
Then—
Turned back to the shelves.
Focus snapping back instantly.
“…history,” he murmured.
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
Forced himself to refocus too.
“…yeah.”
Because whatever that was—
Whatever this was—
Didn’t matter right now.
What mattered—
Was finding answers.
And for the first time since waking up—
They were somewhere that might actually have them.
They found a table tucked between two long shelves.
Quiet.
Out of the way.
Close enough to the history section that they didn’t have to wander far.
Sanemi dropped into the chair first, dragging a stack of books with him like he was preparing for a fight.
Giyuu sat beside him.
Close.
Not touching—
At first.
Sanemi cracked open the first book.
Stared at it.
“…this is annoying,” he muttered.
The words were familiar.
Japanese.
But—
Wrong.
Shifted.
The characters tighter, cleaner, more condensed. Lines where there hadn’t been lines before. Symbols layered in ways that made his eyes drag across them unevenly.
He squinted.
Tilted his head.
Tried again.
“…why is it written like this,” he growled.
Giyuu glanced over.
“…it is legible.”
“Not like this it’s not.”
Sanemi dragged a hand down his face.
Tried again.
Forced himself to focus.
The letters swam.
Rearranged.
Refused to sit still long enough for him to make sense of them.
“…this is stupid,” he snapped under his breath, glare fixing on the page like it had personally offended him.
Giyuu watched him for a moment.
Quiet.
Observing.
Then—
Without a word—
He shifted closer.
Just slightly.
Leaned in.
“…I can read it,” he said.
Sanemi huffed.
“…good for you.”
“I can read it to you.”
Sanemi paused.
Glanced at him.
“…I don’t need—”
The words caught.
Because—
He did.
And they both knew it.
Sanemi clicked his tongue.
Looked away.
“…fine.”
Giyuu didn’t comment.
He just adjusted.
Moved a little closer—
Close enough that their shoulders touched.
And started reading.
Calm.
Even.
Steady.
“The development of modern society began with the emergence of quirks…”
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
The tension in his shoulders easing—
Just a fraction.
He leaned in.
Closer.
Trying to follow along on the page as Giyuu read.
It was easier.
Hearing it.
Letting the words form in sound instead of fighting them on the page.
“…quirks are superhuman abilities that manifest in individuals, typically during early childhood…”
Sanemi frowned.
“…abilities.”
“…yes,” Giyuu said softly, not stopping. “It appears to be a natural phenomenon in this era.”
“…that explains the weird shit.”
“…yes.”
Sanemi shifted.
His arm came up—
Without thinking—
Resting around Giyuu’s shoulders.
Pulling him just a little closer.
Giyuu didn’t react.
Just adjusted slightly to accommodate it.
Kept reading.
“…initially, quirks caused widespread fear and societal collapse…”
Sanemi leaned in further.
Chin resting lightly against Giyuu’s shoulder now.
Eyes tracking the page as best he could.
“…people were afraid,” he muttered.
“…yes,” Giyuu said. “That is consistent.”
“…then what.”
Giyuu turned the page.
Continued.
“…over time, society adapted. Systems were created to regulate quirk usage…”
Sanemi huffed softly.
“…figures.”
“…the emergence of ‘heroes’ as a profession—”
Sanemi stilled slightly.
“…heroes.”
“…yes.”
“…not like ours.”
“…no.”
Giyuu kept going.
Explaining.
Reading.
Piece by piece—
The world unfolded.
Quirks.
A new normal.
Abilities that weren’t breathing techniques.
Not learned.
Not earned through pain and discipline—
But born.
Natural.
Common.
Sanemi’s brow furrowed deeper with each explanation.
“…that’s insane.”
“…yes.”
“…everyone just—has them?”
“…most people.”
“…that’s—”
He didn’t have a word for it.
Didn’t need one.
Giyuu turned another page.
“…technology also advanced significantly following the stabilization of society…”
Sanemi glanced up briefly.
At the lights.
The screens.
The world outside.
“…yeah,” he muttered.
“…transportation, communication, medicine—”
Sanemi’s jaw tightened.
“…medicine.”
“…yes.”
“…people survive more.”
“…yes.”
A pause.
Sanemi’s grip on Giyuu’s shoulder shifted.
Tightened slightly.
Then relaxed.
Giyuu didn’t comment.
Just kept reading.
“…UA High School—”
Sanemi’s head tilted slightly.
“…that name again.”
“…yes.”
“…the woman said it.”
“…it appears to be an academy for training heroes.”
Sanemi huffed.
“…so that’s what we are.”
“…students,” Giyuu said.
“…great.”
Another page turned.
Another piece of the world laid bare.
“…societal norms have also evolved—”
Sanemi half-listened.
Until—
“…relationships between individuals of the same sex are widely accepted—”
He froze.
“…what.”
Giyuu paused.
Read it again.
Just to be sure.
“…it says it is legal,” he said.
Sanemi blinked.
“…legal.”
“…yes.”
“…as in—”
“…not prohibited.”
Sanemi leaned back slightly.
Processing.
“…that’s—”
He stopped.
Because—
Back then—
That wasn’t—
It wasn’t something spoken about.
Not openly.
Not safely.
Not without—
“…that’s different,” he muttered.
“…yes.”
Giyuu tilted his head slightly.
“…that explains the woman.”
Sanemi’s face twisted.
“…don’t remind me.”
“…she was not hostile.”
“…I know.”
“…she was…kind.”
Sanemi didn’t answer.
Just exhaled slowly.
Giyuu went back to reading.
More changes.
More differences.
Time stretching forward in ways neither of them had ever imagined.
Everything—
Everything—
Had moved on.
Shifted.
Evolved.
Their world—
Gone.
Replaced.
“…most things are different,” Giyuu said quietly after a while, closing the book.
Sanemi didn’t move.
Still leaning against him.
Still staring at the pages like they might change if he looked long enough.
“…yeah.”
A pause.
“…we’re really not going back, are we,” he muttered.
Giyuu didn’t answer immediately.
Then—
“…no.”
Sanemi exhaled.
Long.
Slow.
His grip on Giyuu shifted again.
Not pulling him closer this time.
Just—
Holding.
Grounding.
“…fine,” he said.
Not really fine.
But—
Accepting.
Or trying to.
Giyuu leaned slightly into him.
Quiet.
Present.
“…we know more now,” he said.
“…yeah.”
“…that is good.”
“…yeah.”
Sanemi closed the book.
Set it down.
Looked ahead.
At shelves full of answers—
And a world that still didn’t feel like theirs.
“…we’ll figure the rest out,” he muttered.
Giyuu nodded.
“…yes.”
And this time—
When the silence settled—
It wasn’t empty.
It was full.
Of understanding.
Of change.
Of something new—
Neither of them had asked for—
But both of them would have to learn to live with.
The books stayed open.
Neither of them read anymore.
The noise of the library—soft footsteps, pages turning, distant voices—felt far away, like it belonged to someone else’s life.
Sanemi leaned back in his chair, head tipping against the shelf behind him with a dull thud.
“…this is bullshit,” he muttered.
Giyuu didn’t disagree.
“…yes.”
Sanemi dragged a hand over his face.
“…we did all that—” his voice tightened, frustration threading through it, “—everything. Training. Missions. Killing demons. Muzan.”
Giyuu’s gaze dropped slightly.
Quiet.
Still.
“…and now we’re here,” Sanemi continued, irritation building. “Back at the start. Again.”
“…not the same start,” Giyuu said.
“…close enough.”
Sanemi leaned forward again, elbows braced on his knees, fingers threading into his hair.
“…we’re kids,” he said, like the word itself offended him.
“…teenagers,” Giyuu corrected.
“…same thing.”
“…not entirely.”
Sanemi shot him a look.
“…don’t start.”
Giyuu tilted his head slightly.
“…we are physically younger.”
“…I know.”
“…we do not know our exact ages.”
“…I know.”
“…our bodies are still developing.”
“…I know.”
“…we may be treated differently because of that.”
Sanemi groaned.
“…that’s the problem.”
Silence stretched for a second.
Then—
“…we have to go to school,” Giyuu added.
Sanemi’s head dropped forward.
“…don’t remind me.”
“…UA.”
“…yeah.”
“…a hero school.”
Sanemi scoffed.
“…we’re already heroes.”
“…yes.”
“…we’ve been doing that job since we were kids.”
“…yes.”
“…and now we have to learn how to do it.”
“…yes.”
Sanemi slammed his palm lightly against the table.
Not loud enough to draw attention—
But enough to release something.
“…that’s ridiculous.”
“…it is inefficient,” Giyuu agreed.
“…we didn’t have this before.”
“…no.”
“…we trained. We fought. We learned by doing.”
“…yes.”
“…we didn’t sit in classrooms.”
“…no.”
Sanemi leaned back again, scowling at nothing.
“…all that work,” he muttered. “All that time. And now we’re back to being treated like we don’t know anything.”
Giyuu was quiet for a moment.
Then—
“…they do not know,” he said.
Sanemi stilled.
“…what.”
“…they do not know what we have done.”
Sanemi huffed.
“…yeah.”
“…to them, we are just students.”
“…yeah.”
“…so they treat us like students.”
Sanemi clicked his tongue.
Didn’t like that.
Didn’t like any of it.
“…still stupid.”
“…yes.”
A pause.
Then—
“…we could learn something new,” Giyuu added.
Sanemi’s head snapped toward him.
“…what.”
“…this world is different,” Giyuu said calmly. “Their methods are different. Their abilities are different.”
“…we don’t need it.”
“…we might.”
Sanemi frowned.
“…why.”
“…because we do not understand our abilities yet.”
Sanemi went still.
His hands.
The explosions.
The heat.
“…tch.”
“…and I cannot control the fire,” Giyuu added.
Sanemi exhaled sharply.
“…yeah.”
“…so learning how they do it may be useful.”
Sanemi leaned back again.
Thinking.
Grumbling.
“…still annoying.”
“…yes.”
Another pause.
Then—
“…we also have a problem,” Giyuu said.
Sanemi glanced at him.
“…what now.”
“…we do not know where we are.”
“…we’re in a city.”
“…yes.”
“…so?”
“…we do not know how to return to the school.”
Sanemi froze.
Then slowly—
“…shit.”
Giyuu nodded.
“…we left without direction.”
“…yeah, I noticed.”
“…we do not know the route back.”
“…yeah.”
“…we do not know where the school is located.”
“…yeah.”
“…we may be lost.”
Sanemi dragged both hands down his face.
“…great.”
He leaned forward again, elbows on the table, staring at nothing.
“…we just ran.”
“…yes.”
“…didn’t think.”
“…no.”
“…just ran.”
“…yes.”
Sanemi groaned.
“…this is a mess.”
“…yes.”
Another pause.
Then—
“…we could ask someone,” Giyuu suggested.
Sanemi immediately shook his head.
“…no.”
“…why.”
“…we don’t know what we’re supposed to know,” he said. “If we ask the wrong thing, we look suspicious.”
“…we are already acting strange.”
“…yeah, and I’d like to limit that.”
Giyuu considered that.
Then nodded.
“…that is reasonable.”
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
Forced himself to think.
“…we need something with the school name on it,” he muttered. “A map. A sign. Anything.”
“…we could look for it in the books.”
“…yeah, maybe.”
“…or outside.”
“…yeah.”
Silence settled again.
Then—
“…Sanemi.”
“…what.”
“…we will have to go back.”
Sanemi’s jaw tightened.
“…I know.”
“…we cannot avoid it.”
“…I know.”
“…we will have to attend.”
“…I know.”
A pause.
“…and sit in lessons.”
Sanemi groaned again.
“…stop.”
“…and be taught.”
“Giyuu.”
“…and follow instructions.”
“Giyuu.”
“…and be evaluated.”
“Giyuu—”
“…by people who are likely less experienced than us.”
Sanemi snapped his head toward him.
“…okay, now you’re just doing that on purpose.”
Giyuu blinked.
“…I am stating facts.”
“…you’re being annoying.”
“…that is possible.”
Sanemi huffed.
But—
There was something lighter in it now.
Still irritated.
Still frustrated.
But not as sharp.
Not as heavy.
“…we’ll deal with it,” he muttered.
“…yes.”
“…figure out how to use whatever the hell these powers are.”
“…yes.”
“…get through the school thing.”
“…yes.”
“…and then—”
He stopped.
Because—
Then what?
Giyuu didn’t answer.
Just watched him.
Waiting.
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
“…we’ll figure it out,” he finished.
Giyuu nodded.
“…yes.”
Because that was all they could do.
In a world that had moved on without them—
In bodies that weren’t theirs—
With lives already in motion—
They didn’t understand—
They would learn.
Adapt.
Survive.
Just like they always had.
Even if this time—
The enemy wasn’t something they could cut down.
But a future they had to live in.
The map wasn’t paper.
That alone nearly started another argument.
It lit up when Giyuu touched it—lines sharpening, streets shifting into clarity, symbols appearing in clean, precise marks that made more sense the longer he stared at them.
“…it moves,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Sanemi muttered, leaning over his shoulder.
“…it is very efficient.”
“…don’t get attached.”
Giyuu hummed softly, already focused.
“…I know where we are.”
“…good.”
“…I know where we need to go.”
“…better.”
They left the library.
The doors slid open too easily.
The city swallowed them again.
This time—
They had direction.
Giyuu walked ahead.
Map held in both hands.
Eyes locked on it.
Not looking up.
Not watching where he was going.
Sanemi stayed right beside him—
Arm wrapped firmly around his waist.
Guiding.
Steering.
Physically moving him left, right, forward, stopping him before he walked straight into people.
“—left,” Giyuu said, not looking up.
Sanemi tugged him left.
“—forward.”
Sanemi nudged him ahead.
Someone passed too close—
Sanemi shifted, pulling Giyuu tighter against his side to avoid the collision.
“…watch it,” he muttered under his breath.
“I am watching it,” Giyuu said calmly.
“You’re watching the map.”
“…yes.”
“…not the people.”
“…you are watching the people.”
“…that’s not the point.”
“…it is efficient.”
Sanemi huffed.
But didn’t let go.
Didn’t loosen his grip.
Because Giyuu would absolutely walk straight into a wall if he did.
“…this is ridiculous,” he muttered.
“…it is effective,” Giyuu replied.
Sanemi snorted.
“…you’re like a damn crow.”
Giyuu paused slightly.
“…what.”
“Giving directions. Not looking where you’re going. Just—talking.”
Giyuu went quiet.
Just for a moment.
Then—
“…Kanzaburo did that,” he said softly.
Sanemi’s grip shifted slightly.
“…yeah.”
“…he was very reliable.”
“…yeah.”
“…I miss him.”
Sanemi didn’t answer immediately.
Giyuu’s voice dipped just slightly.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just—
Honest.
“…I liked having him with me.”
Sanemi exhaled through his nose.
Rough.
Then—
His free hand came up.
Ruffled Giyuu’s hair.
Messing up the split strands without much care.
“—don’t start,” he muttered.
Giyuu blinked.
“…I was not starting.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“…I was making an observation.”
“Yeah, and I’m telling you not to.”
Giyuu hummed softly.
Didn’t argue.
Just—
Leaned into the contact for half a second.
Then went back to the map.
“…right,” he said.
Sanemi guided him right.
“…then straight.”
They moved.
Together.
In rhythm.
One watching.
One navigating.
Like something they’d done before—
Just different.
Then—
“SHOTO!”
The voice cut through the street.
Loud.
Sharp.
Commanding.
Both of them kept walking.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t even look up.
Because that name—
Wasn’t theirs.
“SHOTO!”
Closer this time.
Sanemi’s grip tightened slightly.
But he didn’t stop.
“…ignore it,” he muttered.
“…yes.”
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Fast.
“SHOTO!”
A hand grabbed Giyuu’s arm.
Hard.
Yanking him back.
Giyuu stumbled, the map tilting in his hands—
Sanemi moved instantly.
“—don’t touch him—”
He shoved Giyuu behind him.
Body snapping forward.
Protective.
Sharp.
Explosive—
His hands crackled.
Heat building fast—
Tiny sparks snapping against his skin as he glared up at the man in front of them.
Tall.
Broad.
Flames licking off his body like they belonged there.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed.
“…the hell are you supposed to be,” he snapped.
Endeavor stared down at them.
Anger already simmering.
“What are you doing out here?” he demanded, voice like a strike of thunder. “You’re supposed to be at school.”
Sanemi’s lip curled.
“…what.”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Endeavor growled, stepping forward. “You left UA in the middle of the day? Without permission?”
Sanemi didn’t move.
Didn’t back down.
If anything—
He stepped forward.
Just slightly.
Blocking more of Giyuu from view.
“…back off,” he said, low and dangerous.
Endeavor’s eyes sharpened.
“…what did you just say.”
“I said—” Sanemi’s hands sparked again, louder this time, “—back. off.”
Behind him—
Giyuu blinked.
Peeking slightly over his shoulder.
“…he has fire,” he observed quietly.
“…yeah, I can see that,” Sanemi muttered.
“…it is similar to mine.”
“…not helping.”
Endeavor’s expression darkened.
“Shoto,” he said, voice tightening, “what is wrong with you.”
Giyuu tilted his head.
“…he is addressing me.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“…why.”
“Don’t answer that.”
Endeavor stepped closer.
Heat rising with him.
“You’re skipping training now?” he demanded. “After everything we’ve worked for?”
Sanemi’s eyes flashed.
“…we didn’t work for anything with you,” he snapped.
Endeavor froze.
Just for a second.
Then—
“What.”
Sanemi didn’t repeat himself.
Didn’t need to.
The air between them tightened.
Tense.
Sharp.
Ready to snap.
Endeavor’s gaze shifted slightly.
Taking in Bakugo—
Then back to “Shoto.”
Something about this—
Was wrong.
Very wrong.
“…what happened to you,” he said, lower now, more controlled—but no less intense.
Sanemi’s hands crackled again.
Not quite exploding—
But close.
“…I said back off,” he repeated.
Behind him—
Giyuu shifted slightly.
Closer.
Quiet.
But present.
And for the first time since they’d stepped into the city—
They weren’t just confused.
They were cornered.
And neither of them—
Handled that well.
The tension snapped.
Endeavor moved first.
Fast.
A sharp shove—
Sanemi staggered back a step, boots scraping against the pavement as the force hit harder than expected.
Not weak.
Not careless.
Strong.
Really strong.
His eyes flashed instantly.
“…the hell—”
Before he could finish—
Endeavor had already reached past him.
Grabbing Giyuu.
Firm.
Unyielding.
“Enough of this,” he snapped, already turning, already pulling. “You’re coming with me.”
Giyuu stumbled.
The map slipped from his hands, flickering as it hit the ground.
“—wait—” he yelped, caught off guard as he was dragged forward, feet barely catching up with the pace.
Sanemi’s head snapped up.
“…HEY—”
Endeavor didn’t slow.
Didn’t look back.
“You think you can just walk out of training?” he barked, voice sharp with anger. “After everything you’ve been given?”
“I—” Giyuu tried, stumbling again as the grip on his arm tightened. “I do not understand—”
“You don’t need to understand,” Endeavor snapped. “You need to listen.”
Sanemi moved.
Fast.
Closing the distance in a second—
“—let him go—”
His hand shot forward—
Endeavor didn’t even look.
Just kept walking.
Dragging Giyuu with him like it was nothing.
Sanemi’s hands sparked—
Louder this time—
Heat snapping sharp across his palms—
“—I said let him go—!”
Giyuu twisted slightly, trying to keep his footing.
“…Sanemi—”
“Don’t—” Sanemi snapped, already moving again, circling, trying to get between them—
Endeavor stopped.
Abruptly.
Turned.
And his voice—
Dropped.
Heavy.
Final.
“I am your father,” he said, each word landing like a strike. “And you will follow my rules.”
Silence.
It hit like a wall.
Giyuu froze.
Completely.
Sanemi stopped mid-step.
“…what.”
Endeavor’s grip didn’t loosen.
If anything—
It tightened.
“You don’t get to run off,” he continued, glare fixed, unyielding. “You don’t get to ignore your responsibilities. Not anymore.”
Giyuu stared at him.
Really stared.
Something shifting behind his eyes.
Slow.
Processing.
“…father,” he repeated quietly.
Sanemi’s gaze flicked between them.
Sharp.
Suspicious.
And then—
He saw it.
The eyes.
One side—
The same color.
That exact shade—
That exact intensity—
Reflected in Giyuu’s own.
And the hair—
Red.
Burning.
Mirrored in half of Giyuu’s.
Sanemi’s expression darkened.
“…you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.
Giyuu blinked again.
“…that is… accurate,” he said slowly. “There is a resemblance.”
Endeavor’s jaw tightened.
“This isn’t a discussion.”
Giyuu tilted his head slightly, even as he was still being held.
“…I do not remember you.”
That—
That made Endeavor pause.
Just for a second.
“…what.”
“I do not recall having a father,” Giyuu continued calmly. “Or—this one.”
Sanemi snorted.
“…yeah, no shit.”
Endeavor’s eyes snapped toward him.
“…Bakugo, stay out of this.”
Sanemi’s lip curled.
“…don’t tell me what to do.”
His hands sparked again.
Brighter now.
Louder.
Unstable.
“You think I won’t drag you both back?” Endeavor growled.
Sanemi stepped forward.
“…try it.”
The air shifted.
Heat rising.
Pressure building.
Giyuu glanced between them.
Then—
“…this is inefficient,” he said quietly.
Neither of them listened.
Endeavor’s grip tightened again, already pulling him forward.
“We’re leaving.”
Giyuu stumbled again.
“…I am still unclear on the situation—”
“You will be when we get back.”
Sanemi moved with them this time.
Right beside them.
Close.
Too close.
Not letting them get distance.
“…I’m not letting you just take him,” he snapped.
Endeavor didn’t respond.
Just kept walking.
Dragging.
Leading.
Like it was already decided.
Sanemi’s jaw clenched.
Hard.
His hands crackled again—
But he didn’t strike.
Not yet.
Because—
They needed answers.
And right now—
This man—
This father—
Was the closest thing they had.
Even if everything about it—
Felt wrong.
Giyuu stumbled again.
The grip on his arm didn’t loosen.
Didn’t even shift.
Endeavor’s stride was relentless—each step purposeful, dragging him forward like resistance wasn’t even a factor.
The city blurred around them.
Noise.
Movement.
Heat.
Too much.
Giyuu steadied himself as best he could—
And reached back.
Blindly.
Searching—
Until his fingers caught something familiar.
Sanemi’s hand.
He grabbed it.
Tight.
Sanemi’s head snapped toward him instantly.
Their fingers locked.
Firm.
Grounding.
Sanemi’s grip tightened in return without hesitation.
Not letting go.
Not even for a second.
Giyuu leaned slightly closer as they were pulled along, voice dropping low—just enough to keep it between them.
“…we should stay together.”
“…obviously,” Sanemi muttered.
Giyuu glanced down briefly.
“…I lost the device.”
Sanemi’s brow furrowed.
“…the map thing?”
“…yes.”
“…tch.”
Giyuu’s grip tightened slightly.
“…it was useful.”
“…we’ll find another one.”
“…I liked that one.”
“…you’ll survive.”
A pause.
Then—
“…should we let him take us,” Giyuu asked quietly.
Sanemi stilled.
Just slightly.
Eyes flicking ahead—
To the man dragging them.
Massive.
Broad.
Flames rolling off him like they were part of his body.
Not like Giyuu’s.
Not unstable.
Not accidental.
Controlled.
Intentional.
Sanemi’s jaw tightened.
“…don’t know.”
“…he said he is my father.”
“…yeah, I heard.”
“…the resemblance is consistent.”
“…yeah.”
“…and he is taking us to the school.”
Sanemi’s grip shifted slightly.
Thinking.
Calculating.
“…we don’t know him,” he muttered.
“…no.”
“…don’t know if he’s telling the truth.”
“…no.”
“…don’t know where he’s taking us.”
“…no.”
Giyuu nodded.
“…but we do not know how to return on our own.”
Sanemi exhaled sharply.
“…yeah.”
“…and we need to go back.”
“…yeah.”
“…so this may be the fastest option.”
Sanemi glanced at him.
“…you’re way too calm about this.”
“…I am evaluating.”
“…you’re letting yourself get dragged.”
“…I am conserving energy.”
Sanemi snorted.
Despite everything.
“…unbelievable.”
Giyuu blinked.
“…is that incorrect.”
“…no.”
A pause.
Then—
Sanemi looked forward again.
At the man.
At the flames.
At the sheer size difference.
He could feel it.
Even without testing it.
They weren’t strong enough.
Not like this.
Not yet.
Not with bodies they didn’t understand.
Abilities they couldn’t control.
“…we can’t take him,” he muttered.
“…no.”
“…not right now.”
“…no.”
Sanemi’s grip tightened around Giyuu’s hand.
Firm.
Decisive.
“…fine,” he said finally.
Giyuu glanced at him.
“…fine.”
“…we go with him.”
“…yes.”
“…for now.”
“…yes.”
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“…but if anything feels off—”
“…we leave.”
“…fast.”
“…yes.”
Giyuu nodded.
Simple.
Certain.
Then—
“…he is very loud,” he added quietly.
Sanemi huffed.
“…yeah.”
“…and aggressive.”
“…yeah.”
“…I do not like him.”
“…yeah.”
A beat.
“…you sound like me.”
“…I am learning.”
Sanemi almost smirked.
Almost.
Then his expression hardened again.
Eyes forward.
Watching.
Measuring.
Endeavor’s grip didn’t loosen.
Didn’t falter.
He dragged them through the city like it was already decided—
Like they were already going back—
Like there was no other outcome.
Behind him—
Two warriors walked willingly.
For now.
Hands locked together.
Silent agreement settling between them.
They would follow.
They would watch.
They would learn.
And if this man—
This father—
Turned out to be something else—
Something wrong—
They would run.
Or fight.
Or both.
Just like they always had.
But for now—
They let him lead.
The gates were impossible to miss.
Tall.
Reinforced.
Marked with symbols they had only just learned to recognize—
UA.
Sanemi slowed slightly as they approached.
Eyes narrowing.
Taking it in.
“…this is it,” he muttered.
“…yes,” Giyuu said quietly beside him.
Endeavor didn’t slow.
Didn’t hesitate.
He pulled them straight through the entrance like they belonged there—
Like they had no choice but to follow.
And then—
Voices.
A lot of them.
Loud.
Sharp.
Overlapping.
A crowd gathered just beyond the gates—
Adults.
Teachers.
Sanemi felt it immediately.
Authority.
Strength.
Awareness.
Not like demon slayers.
Not like Hashira.
But—
Close.
Different.
Strange.
“…there,” Giyuu murmured.
Sanemi followed his gaze.
Recognition flickered.
“…him.”
The man from earlier.
The one who had stopped the exercise.
Watching.
Sharp-eyed.
Unblinking.
He didn’t know his name.
Didn’t know any of them.
But—
He remembered that gaze.
Before Sanemi could say anything—
They were surrounded.
“WHERE HAVE YOU TWO BEEN?!” a loud voice boomed.
Sanemi flinched instinctively, eyes snapping toward the source.
A man with sunglasses and a grin too wide—
Too loud—
Too much.
“We’ve been looking everywhere!” another voice cut in, sharper, annoyed.
“You left in the middle of training!” someone else added.
“This is completely unacceptable!” another snapped.
It came all at once.
Voices.
Questions.
Scolding.
Concern.
Too close.
Too fast.
Sanemi’s shoulders tensed.
His grip on Giyuu’s hand tightened.
Giyuu leaned slightly closer.
Not speaking.
Just—
There.
Endeavor finally let go.
His grip releasing Giyuu’s arm without ceremony.
Giyuu stumbled half a step—
Sanemi caught him instantly.
“…you good?” he muttered.
“…yes,” Giyuu said softly.
Sanemi’s eyes dropped.
Caught on something—
His expression darkened.
“…he bruised you.”
Giyuu blinked.
Looked down.
Faint marks already forming where Endeavor had gripped him.
“…it does not hurt.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Sanemi’s hand shifted.
Careful now.
Gentle.
Rubbing lightly over the bruised skin, thumb brushing in small, deliberate movements like he could undo it.
Giyuu watched him.
Quiet.
Still.
“…you are angry,” he observed.
“…yeah.”
“…it is not severe.”
“…I said it doesn’t matter.”
Giyuu didn’t argue.
Just let him.
Let the contact linger.
Let the moment settle—
Until—
“…what.”
Sanemi’s head snapped up.
The noise around them had changed.
Shifted.
Not gone—
But different.
Less shouting.
More—
“…aww,” someone cooed.
“…are they—” another voice started.
“No way—” someone else whispered.
Sanemi blinked.
Looked around.
The teachers—
Were staring.
Not angry.
Not exactly.
Some of them—
Looked amused.
Some—
Confused.
Some—
Very interested.
“…they’re holding hands,” one of them said.
“…I can see that,” another replied, clearly trying not to laugh.
“…that’s new,” someone else added.
“…it’s kind of adorable,” another voice chimed in.
Sanemi froze.
“…what.”
Giyuu looked down.
At their hands.
Still locked together.
Fingers intertwined.
Firm.
Unbroken.
“…we are,” he said.
“…yeah, I know that,” Sanemi snapped.
“…they are reacting to it.”
“…I can see that.”
“…why.”
Sanemi opened his mouth—
Then stopped.
Because—
Right.
The library.
The book.
“…same-sex relationships,” he muttered.
Giyuu tilted his head.
“…yes.”
“…it’s normal here.”
“…yes.”
“…they think we’re—”
He stopped.
Face twisting slightly.
“…together.”
Giyuu considered that.
“…that is what the woman said.”
“…yeah.”
“…and now they are saying it.”
“…yeah.”
A pause.
“…they seem pleased,” Giyuu added.
“…yeah.”
Sanemi looked around again.
At the teachers.
Some smirking.
Some whispering.
One outright grinning.
“…why are they so weird about it,” he muttered.
“…it is accepted,” Giyuu said.
“…yeah, I got that.”
“…so they are not reacting negatively.”
“…yeah.”
Another pause.
“…that is good.”
Sanemi huffed.
“…I guess.”
A voice cut in.
Sharp.
Grounding.
“That’s enough.”
The man from earlier stepped forward.
The one with the tired eyes.
The one who had stopped everything before.
His gaze moved between them.
Then to their hands.
Then back up.
“…you two,” he said evenly. “Explain.”
Sanemi’s grip tightened slightly.
Giyuu’s fingers shifted in response.
Neither of them let go.
“…we got lost,” Sanemi said shortly.
Not entirely a lie.
Not entirely the truth.
Giyuu nodded.
“…we required information.”
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“…and you couldn’t ask.”
“…we did not want to appear suspicious,” Giyuu said.
Sanemi glanced at him.
“…don’t say it like that.”
“…it is accurate.”
“…yeah, but it sounds bad.”
“…it is bad.”
“…Giyuu—”
“Names,” the man cut in.
Both of them stopped.
“…what.”
“Your names,” he said.
Sanemi went still.
Just for a second.
Then—
“…Bakugo.”
Giyuu blinked.
“…Todoroki.”
The names felt foreign.
Wrong.
But—
Necessary.
The man watched them.
Long.
Carefully.
Like he was seeing something they weren’t.
“…right,” he said finally.
Behind him—
The others were still watching.
Still whispering.
Still—
Smirking.
Sanemi scowled.
“…stop looking at us like that.”
“Like what?” one of them teased.
“…like we’re—”
He stopped.
Giyuu finished it.
“…together.”
Sanemi groaned.
“…don’t say it.”
“…it is what they are implying.”
“…I know what they’re implying.”
“…it is not incorrect that we are staying close.”
“…that’s not the same thing.”
“…it is similar.”
“…it is not—”
“Alright,” the man cut in again, voice firm. “That’s enough.”
Silence.
Finally.
“…you’re coming with me,” he said.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed.
“…where.”
“To talk.”
Sanemi didn’t move immediately.
Giyuu squeezed his hand slightly.
Grounding.
“…we should,” he murmured.
Sanemi exhaled.
Sharp.
Then nodded.
“…fine.”
They stepped forward.
Still close.
Still holding on—
Even as the eyes followed them.
Even as the whispers trailed behind.
Confusion.
Amusement.
Curiosity.
And something else—
Something neither of them fully understood yet.
But would.
Eventually.
They were escorted.
Not roughly.
Not gently either.
Just—firmly.
A wall of adults around them, guiding them through halls that echoed with footsteps and voices and a kind of structured order neither of them were used to.
Sanemi walked slightly ahead.
Giyuu beside him.
Still close.
Still connected.
Even when they finally let their hands slip apart—
They stayed within reach.
Always.
The building itself felt… contained.
Organized.
Rooms labeled.
Doors precise.
Everything with a purpose.
“…this is too structured,” Sanemi muttered under his breath.
“…it is a school,” Giyuu replied quietly.
“…yeah, I know that.”
“…structure is expected.”
“…doesn’t mean I like it.”
They were led into a room.
Doors closed behind them.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Heavier.
Focused.
Eyes on them.
All of them.
Teachers lined the space.
Watching.
Assessing.
Judging.
Sanemi felt it.
Every inch of it.
Giyuu did too.
He went still beside him.
Not tense—
But alert.
They were told to sit.
They did.
Chairs felt wrong.
Too still.
Too passive.
Sanemi leaned back slightly anyway, arms crossing before he caught himself and dropped them again.
Giyuu sat upright.
Hands resting neatly.
Controlled.
Quiet.
The door opened again.
Soft.
Measured.
And something else entered.
Small.
Light.
But—
Not weak.
Sanemi’s eyes snapped toward it instantly.
Giyuu’s followed.
And both of them—
Stilled.
The creature—animal—being—walked in with calm authority, eyes sharp, intelligent, observing everything at once.
Sanemi straightened automatically.
Giyuu did too.
Not consciously.
Not discussed.
Just—
Instinct.
Respect.
The same way they had once stood in front of someone who had taught them everything.
“…this one,” Giyuu murmured under his breath.
“…yeah,” Sanemi muttered.
The principal—Nezu—took his place.
Calm.
Composed.
Watching.
And suddenly—
The room felt different.
Less chaotic.
More… controlled.
Sanemi’s posture shifted.
Less defensive.
Still guarded—
But not ready to strike.
Giyuu sat a little straighter.
Hands more still.
Eyes focused.
Listening.
Nezu smiled.
Slight.
Measured.
“Let’s begin,” he said.
Silence followed.
Then—
Aizawa stepped forward.
Arms crossed.
Eyes sharp.
“Todoroki. Bakugo,” he said evenly. “Who are you.”
The question landed wrong.
Sanemi blinked.
“…what.”
Giyuu tilted his head slightly.
“…we answered that.”
“No,” Aizawa said. “You didn’t.”
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed.
“…yeah, we did.”
“Names aren’t what I asked for.”
Silence.
Giyuu opened his mouth.
“…we are—”
“Don’t.”
The word cut him off.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Both of them froze.
Because that tone—
That wasn’t confusion.
That wasn’t uncertainty.
That was certainty.
Aizawa’s gaze hardened.
“You’re not them,” he said.
The room went still.
Completely.
Every teacher.
Every eye.
Locked onto them.
Sanemi felt it hit.
Hard.
A drop in his stomach.
A tightening in his chest.
Beside him—
Giyuu went quiet.
Too quiet.
“…what,” Sanemi said, slower now.
Measured.
Aizawa didn’t move.
“Bakugo doesn’t go silent,” he said flatly. “Not like that.”
Sanemi’s jaw clenched.
“And Todoroki doesn’t ramble,” he added, eyes flicking briefly to Giyuu.
Giyuu blinked.
“…I—”
“Stop.”
Again.
Sharp.
Final.
Giyuu froze mid-word.
The realization hit both of them at the same time.
They’d been seen.
Not fully understood—
But seen enough.
Their differences.
Their behavior.
The cracks.
Sanemi’s hand twitched.
Giyuu’s fingers curled slightly against his leg.
They didn’t look at the teachers.
Not immediately.
They looked at each other.
Quick.
Brief.
But enough.
Uncertainty.
Tension.
A question neither of them said out loud—
What now.
Aizawa stepped closer.
Slow.
Controlled.
“We don’t know what happened,” he said. “We don’t know if this is a quirk, a villain, or something else.”
Sanemi’s shoulders tightened.
“But you are not our students,” he finished.
Silence pressed in.
Heavy.
Expectant.
Nezu’s voice cut through it.
Gentler.
But no less precise.
“…so,” he said, tilting his head slightly, eyes sharp with curiosity, “who are you, really?”
Giyuu’s breath caught slightly.
Sanemi exhaled slowly.
Neither of them spoke.
Not yet.
Because—
They didn’t know how to answer that.
Not in a way that would make sense.
Not in a way that wouldn’t make things worse.
And for the first time since waking up—
They weren’t just confused.
They were cornered.
Again.
But this time—
By people who were watching.
Thinking.
Waiting.
And already knew enough to be dangerous.