What if Deku was married to Ryuko Matoi and they were both Pro Heroes in the My Hero Academia Universe

 

 

The concrete sky of downtown Musutafu was raining glass and rebar.

 

Sirens wailed in a discordant symphony of panic, their shrill cries echoing off the shattered facades of skyscrapers. A thick, suffocating plume of pulverized asphalt and smoke choked the afternoon air, turning the bright midday sun into a hazy, apocalyptic crimson disc.

 

In the center of the devastated intersection of Ward 4, three rookie Pro Heroes were learning the harsh, unforgiving reality of the mantle they had chosen to bear.

 

"Get back! Keep him contained within the perimeter!" shouted Vanguard, a young hero whose armor was already half-crushed, his visor spider-webbed with cracks. He thrust his hands forward, manifesting a shimmering barrier of hard-light, but his knees buckled under the immense, crushing weight pressing against it.

 

"I can't hold the flanks!" cried out Gale-Force, a heroine in a tattered aerodynamic suit. She swept her arms in frantic arcs, sending blades of compressed wind into the swirling dust, but the attacks deflected off their target with hollow, metallic clangs. "My wind is barely scratching him! Where is the backup? The dispatch said backup was three minutes away!"

 

"That was four minutes ago!" roared the third rookie, a subterranean-quirk user named Tremor, who was currently clutching a broken arm.

 

Rising from the epicenter of the cratered street was a villain who had dubbed himself 'The Monolith'. It was a fitting, if terrifying, moniker. The villain’s Quirk allowed him to seamlessly absorb and assimilate urban inorganic matter—concrete, steel girders, asphalt, and shattered glass—into his own body. He had started the rampage as a petty bank robber standing six feet tall. Now, after gorging himself on two city blocks, he was a towering, asymmetrical abomination of jagged architecture and twisted metal, standing nearly forty feet high. His eyes were burning neon-yellow behind a makeshift helmet of a crumpled city bus.

 

“HEROES,” Monolith’s voice boomed, a grinding sound like tectonic plates shifting. “YOU’RE JUST INSECTS CRAWLING ON MY PAVEMENT! I AM THE CITY NOW!”

 

Monolith raised a massive arm composed of concrete slabs and braided steel cables. He brought it down with the force of a meteor toward Vanguard’s flickering hard-light shield.

 

Vanguard squeezed his eyes shut. He poured every ounce of his stamina into his Quirk, but he knew the math. He knew the physics. The shield was going to break, and he was going to be flattened beneath a hundred tons of urban debris. He braced for the end.

 

TH-THOOM!

 

The impact never came.

 

Instead, a shockwave of displaced air exploded outward, so violent and absolute that it cleared the choking dust from the intersection in a single, perfectly spherical burst. Vanguard opened his eyes, gasping for breath, to see the villain’s massive arm halted in mid-air, suspended just feet above his head.

 

Standing between the rookie and the towering behemoth was a figure cloaked in vibrant, crackling emerald lightning.

 

The air itself seemed to hum with immense, pressurized energy. The figure's back was turned to Vanguard, but the silhouette was unmistakable. The dark green bodysuit. The iron-soled boots. The tattered, faded yellow cape billowing dramatically in the localized storm of his own power.

 

Izuku Midoriya. Deku. The Number One Pro Hero in the World.

 

With one arm raised, Deku had caught the forty-foot villain’s downward strike. He wasn't straining. He wasn't shaking. He was holding back a hundred tons of concrete with a calm, focused serenity.

 

"Sorry we're late," Deku said, his voice carrying clearly over the roar of the destruction, warm and unshakeably confident. "Traffic was a little heavy, and someone insisted on stopping for a crepe on the way."

 

“Who are you calling ‘someone’, you damn nerd?!”

 

A voice, sharp as a razor and laced with pure, unapologetic adrenaline, tore through the sky above them.

 

Vanguard and the other rookies snapped their heads up. Plummeting from the rooftops, descending like a crimson comet, was a second figure.

 

She was a streak of black and red, moving with an impossible, fluid ferocity. Ryuko Matoi. The Number Four Pro Hero in the world.

 

She wore a hero costume that was as infamous as she was—a striking, heavily modified sailor-uniform motif composed of a sentient, obsidian-black fabric with crimson accents. The suit, known as Senketsu, clung tightly to her athletic frame, its surface rippling with a strange, biological texture. A red, mechanical eye rested across her chest, glowing with its own fierce sentience. In her right hand, she gripped a massive, devastatingly sharp weapon that looked like half of a giant pair of crimson scissors.

 

"I told you," Ryuko yelled as she fell, her wild, spiky black hair with its signature red highlight whipping in the wind, "the crepe stand was about to be crushed anyway! I was saving the vendor's livelihood!"

 

"By eating his inventory?" Deku chuckled, his emerald eyes never leaving the villain.

 

“Less talking, more smashing, Izuku!” a deep, gruff voice echoed from the very fabric of Ryuko’s suit. Senketsu.

 

“YOU?!” Monolith roared, his neon eyes flaring with sudden, panicked recognition. “THE MIDORIYA AGENCY?!”

 

"Switching to offense," Deku announced.

 

In a fraction of a second, the green lightning surrounding Deku surged from a low hum to a blinding crescendo. One For All: Full Cowling - 45%. He tightened his grip on the villain’s massive concrete hand. With a roar of exertion, Deku planted his feet and swung.

 

The physics of the maneuver defied all logic, but to Deku, it was simply Tuesday. The sheer kinetic force of his swing lifted the forty-foot behemoth off the ground, ripping the villain’s rooted legs from the asphalt. Deku hurled the massive creature upward, tossing him into the open air above the intersection to minimize collateral damage.

 

"Ryuko! He’s all yours! Pin him!" Deku called out.

 

"Don't gotta tell me twice!" Ryuko grinned, a feral, beautiful expression of pure combat ecstasy.

 

As she plummeted toward the airborne villain, her Quirk activated in full. Ryuko's Quirk, 'Life Fibers', allowed her body to produce and weaponize a symbiotic, alien-like thread. Senketsu, a masterwork of support gear created by her late father, drank in a small amount of her blood to synchronize with her nervous system, amplifying her Quirk exponentially.

 

“Life Fiber Synchronize: Kamui Senketsu!” Ryuko chanted.

 

The fabric of her suit shifted, hardening into tactical armored plating while maintaining absolute flexibility. She became a blur of motion. She hit the airborne villain like a buzzsaw. Her Scissor Blade ignited with a glowing red aura as she cleaved through the villain’s left arm, severing tons of concrete as easily as cutting through wet paper.

 

Monolith screamed in a mixture of pain and fury. “I’LL CRUSH YOU, YOU BRAT!” He swung his remaining arm at her mid-air.

 

"Izuku! Maneuver!" Ryuko barked, not even looking at her husband.

 

Deku was already in motion. Six thick, tendril-like whips of pure, dark energy erupted from his shoulders and arms—Blackwhip. The tendrils lashed out, snapping through the air with pinpoint precision. They wrapped securely around Ryuko’s waist and ankles.

 

Using his immense strength, Deku pulled his wife out of the path of the villain's punch a split second before impact, using Blackwhip to slingshot her around the villain's back. The synergy was flawless. It was a dance they had practiced a thousand times, a violent, beautiful ballet forged by years of partnership, love, and absolute trust. They didn't need to communicate their moves; their battle rhythms were intrinsically woven together.

 

"Gotcha!" Ryuko laughed, riding the momentum of Deku's Blackwhip. She spun like a top, her Scissor Blade extended. “Decapitation Mode!”

 

The blade extended, growing in length and lethality. With a sweeping, devastating horizontal slash, she carved through the thick, steel-reinforced concrete protecting the villain's core, exposing the terrified, human-sized body of the criminal hidden within the giant mech-like structure.

 

"Deku! He's open!" Ryuko shouted, landing gracefully on the side of a glass skyscraper, her boots digging into the masonry to anchor herself.

 

Deku didn't hesitate. He crouched low, his leg muscles bulging as the energy of One For All pooled into his calves. Fa Jin: Release.

 

He launched himself into the sky. The sonic boom of his takeoff shattered the remaining glass in a two-block radius. He moved faster than the human eye could track, appearing directly in front of the exposed villain in the center of the crumbling debris.

 

"Texas..." Deku pulled his arm back. The pressure in the air dropped significantly as all the surrounding oxygen seemed to be sucked into his fist. "...SMASH!"

 

He didn't hit the villain directly—that would have killed the man instantly. Instead, Deku struck the air mere inches from the villain's chest. The resulting shockwave of compressed wind was catastrophic. It blew away the remaining hundreds of tons of assimilated concrete and steel, disintegrating the villain's armor into fine, harmless dust, and sent the true body of the villain plummeting toward the earth, unconscious before he even began to fall.

 

Before the villain could hit the pavement, Deku's Blackwhip gently caught him, lowering him securely to the ground, bound and subdued.

 

The battle, from the moment Deku and Ryuko arrived, had lasted exactly forty-two seconds.

 

Silence descended upon the intersection, broken only by the gentle patter of raining pebbles and the settling of dust.

 

Vanguard, Gale-Force, and Tremor stood frozen, their mouths agape. They had watched footage of the Number One and Number Four heroes before, of course. Everyone had. But seeing it in person was something entirely different. It wasn't just power. It was an overwhelming, awe-inspiring display of absolute competence.

 

Deku landed softly on the pavement, the green lightning fading from his skin. He stood up straight, dusting off his shoulders, and immediately jogged over to the three rookies. The terrifying, god-like entity of power from a moment ago was instantly replaced by a warm, freckled young man with a look of deep concern.

 

"Are you three alright?" Deku asked, his eyes scanning them for injuries. He immediately noticed Tremor's arm. "You've got a radius fracture. Gale, your breathing is shallow, minor rib contusions? Vanguard, you overused your Quirk, your retinas are strained."

 

Vanguard blinked, stunned. "H-How did you..."

 

"I analyze Quirks," Deku smiled kindly, pulling a roll of specialized medical tape from his utility belt. "Here, let me stabilize that arm until the paramedics arrive. You three did incredible work today."

 

"Incredible?" Gale-Force scoffed bitterly, looking down at her scuffed boots. "We barely survived. We couldn't even scratch him. We were just... in the way."

 

"Hey."

 

The rookies jumped as Ryuko dropped down from the skyscraper, landing with a heavy, metallic thud beside Deku. Her Kamui had retracted its armored plating, settling back into a more relaxed, form-fitting sailor-suit configuration. She slung her massive red Scissor Blade over her shoulder, popping a fresh piece of bright pink bubblegum into her mouth.

 

She fixed the rookies with a sharp, intimidating glare, her blue eyes piercing right through them. "Don't talk stupid."

 

"Ryuko," Deku chided gently, wrapping Tremor's arm. "Be nice."

 

"I am being nice," Ryuko shot back, though the corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk. She turned back to the rookies. "You think being a hero is about who punches the hardest? I looked at the drone feeds on the way over here. You three held this guy at this intersection for seven minutes. If you hadn't boxed him in, he would have reached the financial center. You saved thousands of lives today by just holding the damn line."

 

She blew a bubble, letting it pop loudly. "You didn't win the fight, but you won the battle. Hold your heads up, rookies. You did good."

 

Vanguard felt a lump form in his throat. Coming from All Might's successor, praise was one thing. But coming from Ryuko Matoi—the fierce, uncompromising, unyielding brawler of the Top Ten—it meant the world. "T-Thank you, Matoi-sensei!"

 

"Don't call me sensei, makes me feel old," Ryuko grumbled, though she playfully ruffled Vanguard's dusty hair.

 

"Midoriya! Matoi! Over here! Please, just a few questions!"

 

The idyllic moment was shattered by the screeching of news vans pulling up to the police barricades. A swarm of reporters, cameramen, and journalists descended upon the scene like a flock of ravenous vultures. Microphones were thrust forward like spears, camera flashes strobing aggressively in the dimming afternoon light.

 

Deku sighed internally, though his face immediately adopted the bright, reassuring smile that the public adored. The "Symbol of Peace" smile. He stepped in front of the rookies, shielding them from the cameras.

 

"Good afternoon, everyone," Deku said clearly, his voice projecting easily. "The situation is contained. The villain has been subdued and is awaiting police transport. Casualties are zero, and injuries are minimal thanks to the heroic efforts of Vanguard, Gale-Force, and Tremor here."

 

"Deku! Is it true that the villain was linked to the underground Quirk-trafficking rings in the south ward?!" a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone aggressively forward.

 

"We are currently investigating all avenues alongside the police. I cannot comment on ongoing investigations," Deku answered smoothly.

 

"Matoi! Number Four Hero!" Another reporter, a tall man with a predatory look, practically shoved his camera into Ryuko's face. "Your property damage ratings have skyrocketed this quarter! Some critics say your aggressive tactics are a danger to the public! Do you have a comment?"

 

Deku's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes flashing with a protective glint, but before he could speak, Ryuko stepped up.

 

She didn't smile. She didn't put on a PR-friendly face. She leaned heavily against Izuku's shoulder, throwing one arm casually around her husband's neck. She chewed her gum loudly, her gaze deadpanned, staring a hole straight through the reporter.

 

"My comment," Ryuko said, her voice dangerously quiet, "is that if I hadn't cut that building in half last week, the terrorist cell hiding inside would have detonated a dirty bomb in a hospital. So, your critics can take my property damage ratings and shove them up their ass."

 

A collective gasp rippled through the press corps. Deku just chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He loved her fearlessness, even if it gave his PR team weekly aneurysms.

 

"M-Matoi, please! Language!" a smaller reporter squeaked. "And what about the rumors of a rift between you and the Hero Commission? Are you two planning to start your own independent agency completely?!"

 

Ryuko's eyes narrowed. She recognized the reporter who had just shoved the camera a little too close to Izuku's face. Her arm tightened around Izuku's neck, a territorial, deeply protective gesture. "Listen closely, pal. I don't care about the Commission's politics. I care about saving people, and I care about my husband. And if you shove that lens any closer to his face, I'm going to feed it to you."

 

“Ryuko! You cannot eat camera equipment! It has no nutritional value!” Senketsu's voice boomed from the collar of her suit, attempting to be the voice of reason.

 

The press corps jumped back entirely, thoroughly unsettled by the talking, intimidating uniform.

 

Izuku couldn't help it. He burst into genuine laughter. It was a warm, infectious sound that seemed to ease the tension in the air. He reached up, gently resting his hand over Ryuko's where it draped over his collarbone. He squeezed her fingers affectionately.

 

"What my wife means to say," Izuku smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at her, "is that we are focused on our duties on the streets right now, not boardroom politics. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have reports to file and rookies to commend."

 

Without waiting for another volley of questions, Deku wrapped his arm around Ryuko's waist. Green lightning flared around them once more. Float.

 

They lifted off the ground, ascending rapidly into the sky, leaving the baffled press and awestruck rookies far below.

 

 

 

The commute back to their shared penthouse in the upper wards of Musutafu was their sanctuary. It was the liminal space between the chaos of their professional lives and the quiet sanctuary of their personal one.

 

They didn't take a car. Izuku preferred to carry her, soaring high above the city skyline using the Float Quirk combined with short bursts of Air Force to propel them forward. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sprawling metropolis in a warm, golden glow.

 

Ryuko had her arms wrapped securely around Izuku's neck, her face buried in the crook of his shoulder. Up here, away from the cameras, the villains, and the expectations, the fierce, aggressive Number Four hero melted. She sighed, her breath warm against his skin, the tension of the battle draining from her muscles.

 

"You okay?" Izuku asked softly over the rush of the wind.

 

"Yeah," Ryuko murmured, closing her eyes. "Just tired. Asshole made me use a lot of iron. I'm craving a steak. A really big, bloody steak."

 

“You drew precisely point-four liters of blood, Ryuko. It was a necessary expenditure for the Kamui synchronization, but you must replenish your reserves,” Senketsu chimed in, his eye glowing dimly.

 

"I know, I know, Senketsu," she grumbled fondly. She looked up at Izuku's jawline, watching the wind whip his messy green curls. "You showed off back there."

 

Izuku looked down, offering a small, sheepish smile. "I was just providing support."

 

"Bullshit," Ryuko smirked, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to his cheek. "You hit that guy with a shockwave so hard it rattled my teeth. You're a show-off, Midoriya Izuku."

 

"I learned from the best, Midoriya Ryuko," he teased back, using her married name.

 

Ryuko's cheeks flushed slightly. Even after three years of marriage, hearing him say her full legal name still sent a jolt of butterflies through her stomach. She would never admit it to anyone else, but she loved being a Midoriya. It grounded her. For a girl who had spent her entire adolescence fighting, bleeding, and running from a horribly complicated past, Izuku was her anchor. He was the one pure, unwavering constant in her chaotic life.

 

They approached a sleek, modern high-rise building that stood apart from the commercial district. The top two floors belonged exclusively to them—a perk of being the highest-earning heroes in the country, though Izuku had initially protested the extravagance. Ryuko had insisted, arguing that if they were going to get shot at every day, they deserved a nice bathtub.

 

Izuku decelerated, touching down gracefully on their massive private balcony. The glass doors slid open automatically, welcoming them into the expansive, sunlit penthouse.

 

The apartment was a perfect, chaotic reflection of their combined personalities.

 

The living room was dominated by a massive, plush sectional sofa. The walls were adorned with a tasteful, yet undeniable, collection of vintage All Might posters and framed, mint-condition hero memorabilia—Izuku's prized possessions. However, contrasting the pristine hero merch was Ryuko's influence: an electric guitar leaning against a Marshall amp in the corner, a vintage motorcycle engine she was currently rebuilding resting on newspapers over the coffee table, and an assortment of heavy, studded leather jackets draped carelessly over the dining chairs.

 

"Home sweet home," Ryuko groaned, immediately kicking off her heavy combat boots. They hit the hardwood floor with a loud thud.

 

She reached up to the collar of her suit. With a mental command and a sharp exhale, the Life Fibers un-synchronized. The armored plating dissolved, the suit shifting back into its dormant, fabric state. It felt like shedding a second skin. Ryuko stretched her arms high above her head, her spine popping in a satisfying cascade. Underneath, she wore a simple black sports bra and athletic shorts.

 

She carefully slipped Senketsu off her shoulders. To anyone else, it was just an article of clothing, but to Ryuko, he was family. She walked over to the corner of the room where a specialized, heated mannequin torso stood. She draped Senketsu over it carefully.

 

“Ah, much better,” Senketsu sighed, the red eye on his chest closing in contentment as the internal heaters of the mannequin activated. “The ambient humidity today was playing havoc with my threading.”

 

"You're a high-maintenance piece of laundry, you know that?" Ryuko teased, walking toward the kitchen.

 

“I am a sophisticated biological construct, Ryuko! Have some respect!”

 

"Yeah, yeah." Ryuko opened the massive stainless steel refrigerator. "Izuku, we're out of milk. And eggs. Did you eat all the eggs?"

 

Izuku was currently by the entryway, methodically taking off his own gear. His iron-soled boots were placed perfectly on the rack. His utility belt was unclasped and hung on its designated hook. He was already slipping into a pair of comfortable, worn-out sweatpants.

 

"I made an omelet this morning!" Izuku called out defensively, walking into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around Ryuko from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I'll go to the store tomorrow. For tonight... how about katsudon? I can make it with the leftover pork cutlets."

 

Ryuko leaned back into his chest, her hands resting over his on her stomach. "You know the way to a girl's heart, Deku."

 

"It's just logic. Protein for the blood loss, carbs for the energy," Izuku mumbled happily, already shifting into his analytical mindset. He let go of her and moved to the pantry, pulling out rice and a cutting board. "Besides, I noticed you were favoring your left leg during the landing. You didn't pull a hamstring during the Decapitation maneuver, did you? The torque generated by the sudden stop..."

 

Ryuko watched him fondly as he began to ramble, pulling out a knife and rapidly chopping green onions. It was the same mumbling habit he'd had since they were teenagers at UA. Back then, she had found it annoying. Now, it was the most comforting sound in the world. It meant he was home, he was safe, and he was thinking about her.

 

She walked over, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter beside where he was cooking. She swung her legs idly. "I'm fine, Izuku. Just a little stiff. Nothing a hot shower won't fix."

 

Izuku stopped chopping. He looked up at her, his emerald eyes soft. He reached out with a slightly flour-dusted hand, gently brushing a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. His thumb traced the faint, white scar on her cheekbone—a remnant from their war against Shigaraki years ago.

 

"You were incredible today, you know," Izuku said, his voice dropping to a quiet, intimate register. "The way you adapted to the mid-air grapple... your reaction time has improved by at least fifteen percent since our last sparring session."

 

Ryuko smirked, leaning into his touch. "Are you trying to talk dirty to me with combat statistics, hero?"

 

"Is it working?" Izuku smiled back, his cheeks dusting with a faint pink.

 

"Maybe a little," she admitted, grabbing him by the collar of his t-shirt and pulling him in for a slow, lingering kiss. It tasted like adrenaline, mint gum, and the profound, deep-seated relief of surviving another day. Izuku's hands moved to her waist, lifting her slightly off the counter to pull her closer.

 

“Ahem.”

 

The sharp clearing of a throat echoed from the living room.

 

Izuku and Ryuko pulled apart, both looking over to the heated mannequin.

 

“Far be it from me to interrupt human courtship rituals,” Senketsu said dryly, his single red eye glowing brightly in the dimming room, “But Midoriya Izuku, I must address a grievance.”

 

Izuku sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. "What is it, Senketsu?"

 

“When you handled the laundry two days ago,” the suit began, its voice taking on a deeply offended, aristocratic tone, “you placed me in the washing machine on the 'Heavy Duty' cycle. With the towels.”

 

Ryuko burst out laughing, slapping her knee. "Oh, Izuku, you didn't!"

 

"I didn't know!" Izuku defended himself, raising his hands in surrender. "You had concrete dust all over you from the bridge collapse! I thought you needed a deep clean!"

 

“I am a Kamui woven from prime Life Fibers! I require the 'Delicates' cycle! Cold water only! And for the love of all that is holy, no fabric softener! Do you know what fabric softener does to my synaptic linkages? It makes me sluggish! I felt like I was drunk for two days!”

 

"I apologize, Senketsu," Izuku bowed his head respectfully, genuinely feeling bad. "I will be more careful with your maintenance next time."

 

“See that you do. The Number One hero should know how to read a care label,” Senketsu huffed, closing his eye and powering down for the evening.

 

Ryuko was still giggling, hopping down from the counter. She walked over and poked Izuku in the ribs. "You heard the man, nerd. Cold water only."

 

Izuku chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her tight against his side. "I'll write it down in my notebook. 'Hero Gear Analysis: Do not tumble dry the sentient sailor suit.'"

 

"Damn right." Ryuko leaned her head against his shoulder as they stood in the kitchen, watching the city lights begin to flicker on through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Millions of lights, millions of lives, continuing on peacefully because of what they did.

 

"Dinner first," Ryuko said softly. "Then, shower. Then, you're giving me a massage. I earned it after listening to that reporter."

 

Izuku kissed the top of her head. "Deal."

 

As the smell of frying pork cutlets filled the penthouse, replacing the scent of smoke and dust, Izuku felt a profound sense of peace. The world out there was dangerous. Villains were getting stronger. The politics of hero society were becoming more convoluted by the day.

 

But in here, with the smell of katsudon, the hum of the city below, and the fierce, unyielding warmth of his wife beside him, Izuku knew there was nothing they couldn't handle. They were the Emerald and the Crimson. They were a team.

 

And they were ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.

 

 

 

Little did they know, deep beneath the surface of Tokyo, in a forgotten sub-level of the defunct Tartarus prison, a dark web was spinning.

 

In a sterile, white laboratory hidden from the eyes of the Hero Commission, a vat of bioluminescent red fluid bubbled. Suspended within the fluid was a single, perfect, obsidian-black thread. It pulsed with a heartbeat of its own.

 

A figure in a sharp, pristine white suit stood before the glass, observing the thread. The figure raised a hand, tapping long, manicured nails against the glass. The thread reacted, twitching and multiplying, weaving itself into a microscopic, parasitic knot.

 

"Grow, my beautiful little monsters," a woman's voice echoed through the cold chamber, smooth as silk and cold as a razor blade. She stepped into the dim light, revealing a cascade of impossibly vibrant, multi-colored hair that seemed to generate its own ethereal glow.

 

Ragyo Kiryuin smiled.

 

"Soon, we will show this hero society the true fabric of reality. And my dear, sweet daughter... will be the first to wear it."

 

 

The office of the Number One Hero was not the pristine, gold-plated shrine that the public might have imagined. Located on the top floor of the Midoriya Hero Agency in central Musutafu, it was, quite frankly, a mess of organized chaos.

 

Stacks of manila folders towered on the edge of the mahogany desk like precarious skyscrapers. Whiteboards lined the walls, covered in dense, frantic scribbles of green marker—quirk analyses, patrol routes, criminal syndicate hierarchies, and logistical supply chain theories. In the center of the storm sat Izuku Midoriya, illuminated only by the harsh, blue light of three oversized computer monitors.

 

It was 2:00 AM. Outside, a steady, rhythmic rain drummed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, distorting the neon lights of the sleepless city below into blurry streaks of electric blue and magenta.

 

Izuku rubbed his tired eyes, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the bridge of his nose. He had been staring at the same police autopsy reports for four hours, and the knot of dread in his stomach was only pulling tighter.

 

"Still at it, nerd?"

 

Izuku blinked, looking up. Standing in the doorway was Ryuko. She was wearing one of his oversized, faded UA t-shirts—it swallowed her athletic frame and hung down to her mid-thigh—and a pair of loose pajama bottoms. Her wild, dark hair was damp and tousled from sleep, the signature crimson streak falling lazily across her forehead. She held two steaming mugs of black coffee, kicking the heavy oak door shut behind her with a bare foot.

 

"I couldn't sleep," Izuku admitted, offering her a tired, apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to wake you."

 

"You didn't wake me. Your side of the bed got cold, and Senketsu was snoring," Ryuko grumbled, walking over and setting a mug down dangerously close to a stack of sensitive police files. She hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs and taking a sip from her own mug. Her sharp blue eyes studied his face, immediately reading the deep lines of stress bracketing his mouth. "Talk to me, Izuku. What's got the great Symbol of Peace brooding in the dark like Batman?"

 

Izuku sighed, leaning back in his ergonomic chair. He turned one of the monitors so she could see it.

 

"There’s a new narcotic hitting the underground markets," Izuku began, his voice dropping into its serious, analytical register. "The street level thugs are calling it 'Banshee'. At first, the police thought it was just another variant of Trigger—the Quirk-enhancing drug from the Shie Hassaikai days. But the pathology... Ryuko, the pathology is completely wrong."

 

Ryuko leaned closer, her brow furrowing as she looked at the photographs on the screen. They were grim. The images showed the bodies of three low-level villains who had been brought into the morgue over the past week.

 

"Look at the cellular breakdown," Izuku pointed a pen at the screen. "Trigger forces the Quirk factor in the DNA to temporarily mutate and over-produce. It causes physical exhaustion, sure, but Banshee... Banshee doesn't just enhance the Quirk. It hijacks the host's entire nervous system. The coroners found strange, microscopic anomalies in their bloodstreams. Like synthetic fibers."

 

Ryuko froze. The mug in her hand halted halfway to her mouth.

 

"Fibers?" she asked. Her voice was suddenly very quiet. The casual, sleepy warmth in her tone vanished, replaced by an icy, razor-thin edge.

 

Izuku, hyper-observant of everything regarding his wife, instantly noticed the shift. He watched her knuckles turn white around the ceramic handle of the mug.

 

"Yes," Izuku continued carefully, bringing up a magnified slide of a blood sample. "Black, thread-like structures. They latch onto the brain stem and weave themselves through the central nervous system. When the user activates their Quirk, these fibers forcibly draw out 200% of their biological limit, completely bypassing the brain's pain receptors and safety limiters. It turns the user into a near-mindless, hyper-lethal puppet. The power output is terrifying, but it burns out the host's organs in a matter of hours. The users literally rip themselves apart from the inside out."

 

Ryuko stared at the screen. Her breathing hitched, a sharp, ragged sound in the quiet office. She wasn't looking at the autopsy photos anymore. She was staring at the magnified image of the black threads.

 

“Ryuko...” Senketsu’s voice echoed faintly from down the hall in their bedroom, a psychic resonance that Izuku could just barely pick up on. The Kamui sounded disturbed.

 

"Ryuko?" Izuku stood up immediately, the chair rolling back against the wall. He rounded the desk, gently placing his hands on her knees. "Hey. What is it? You've gone completely pale."

 

The morning after the broadcast, the sky above Musutafu was the color of bruised iron.

 

A heavy, oppressive rain relentlessly assaulted the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Midoriya penthouse, the water streaking down the glass like tears. The city below, usually a vibrant tapestry of neon and motion, was muted, drowned in the gray downpour and the suffocating realization that a ghost had returned to haunt them.

 

In the kitchen, the coffee machine hissed and sputtered, the only sound breaking the suffocating silence of the apartment.

 

Izuku Midoriya stood leaning against the marble island counter, staring blankly at two steaming mugs. He hadn't slept. Not really. He had spent the remaining hours of the night holding Ryuko, feeling the rigid, unnatural tension in her muscles, listening to the shallow, erratic cadence of her breathing until the sun crept over the horizon.

 

Ragyo Kiryuin was alive. The CEO of REVOCS. The architect of the Life Fibers. Ryuko’s mother.

 

Izuku closed his eyes, a phantom ache pulsing in his right hand. He remembered the stories Ryuko had told him in the quiet, vulnerable dark of their UA dorm rooms years ago. Stories of a mother who didn't see a child, but an experiment. A monster wrapped in haute couture and blinding, iridescent light, who had ripped Ryuko's world apart before vanishing into the ashes of a collapsed empire.

 

"Izuku."

 

He opened his eyes and turned. Ryuko stood in the archway of the kitchen. She was already in her hero uniform, though Senketsu was currently dormant, appearing as a standard, albeit sharply tailored, black sailor uniform with a red neckerchief. Her combat boots were laced tight. Her massive, crimson Scissor Blade was strapped securely to her back.

 

But it was her face that made Izuku's chest tighten. The fierce, unyielding fire that usually danced in her cerulean eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, hollow frost. Her jaw was set so tightly Izuku half-feared her teeth would crack.

 

"You're dressed early," Izuku noted softly, picking up the two mugs and walking over to hand her one. Black, two sugars—exactly how she needed it on bad days.

 

"The secure line on my agency terminal went off ten minutes ago," Ryuko said, her voice entirely devoid of its usual brash inflection. She took the mug, wrapping both of her hands around the hot ceramic, though she didn't drink. "Level Zero Summons. Mandatory attendance for the Top Ten. The Hero Public Safety Commission called an emergency tribunal at headquarters."

 

Izuku’s brow furrowed. He hadn't checked his own terminal yet. A Level Zero summons was practically unheard of. It bypassed all agency protocols and demanded immediate compliance. The last time a Level Zero was issued, Shigaraki Tomura had awakened in Jaku City.

 

"They move fast," Izuku muttered, his analytical mind instantly spinning up to speed. "They must have already verified the broadcast from last night. They know it wasn't a deepfake."

 

"They know who she is," Ryuko corrected, looking down into her dark coffee. Her reflection stared back at her—a reflection she despised on days like this. She looked too much like her. The same sharp chin. The same intense eyes. "They know about REVOCS. They know about the Life Fibers. And they know she’s my mother. They aren't calling us in to plan a strategy, Izuku. They're calling us in to do damage control."

 

“Ryuko, your heart rate is elevated. Your cortisol levels are spiking. Please, you must breathe,” Senketsu’s deep voice vibrated from the red neckerchief, his single mechanical eye opening to look up at her chin with deep concern.

 

"I'm fine, Senketsu," she lied through her teeth.

 

Izuku set his mug down on the counter. He closed the distance between them, gently wrapping his scarred, calloused hands around her wrists. He didn't pull her into a hug—he knew her body language too well right now. She was an exposed live wire. A single misstep, and she would lash out, not out of anger, but out of pure, defensive instinct.

 

"Listen to me," Izuku said, catching her gaze and holding it with the unwavering, grounding weight of One For All. "We are going to go into that building, and we are going to listen to what they have to say. But you are not walking into a firing squad, Ryuko. You are the Number Four Hero. You have saved thousands of lives. You are my wife. I am right beside you, and I am not leaving your side for a single second. Do you understand?"

 

Ryuko stared into his emerald eyes. They were the same eyes that had looked at her with awe when she was a delinquent transfer student, the same eyes that had cried at their wedding, the same eyes that stared down gods and monsters without blinking.

 

Slowly, the frost in her gaze thawed, just a fraction. She swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. I know, nerd."

 

"Good." Izuku stepped back, his demeanor shifting instantly from a comforting husband to the Number One Pro Hero. The air around him seemed to hum, a subtle shift in atmospheric pressure. "Let me get my suit on. We have a meeting to catch."

 

 

 

The Hero Public Safety Commission Headquarters in Tokyo was a towering monolith of steel, reinforced glass, and bureaucratic intimidation. It was designed to make those who approached it feel small, a physical representation of the government's oversight of the gods walking among them.

 

Izuku and Ryuko arrived via an encrypted underground transport tunnel, bypassing the absolute media circus that had already swarmed the building's front plaza. The moment they stepped out of the transport vehicle, the oppressive, sterile atmosphere of the HPSC draped over them.

 

"Midoriya. Matoi."

 

A voice, rough as sandpaper and punctuated by the crackle of tiny explosions, echoed through the cavernous subterranean lobby.

 

Leaning against a polished concrete pillar was Katsuki Bakugo—Dynamight, the Number Two Hero. He was in full winter gear, his massive grenade gauntlets resting heavily by his sides, his spiked blonde hair dripping slightly from the rain outside. Beside him, radiating a quiet, chilling calm, stood Shoto Todoroki, the Number Three Hero, wearing his sleek blue tunic and combat vest. Hovering a few feet above them, lazily twirling a scarlet feather between his fingers, was Hawks.

 

"Kacchan. Todoroki. Hawks," Izuku greeted, nodding to each of his old classmates and comrades.

 

Bakugo didn't offer a pleasantry. His crimson eyes instantly locked onto Ryuko. He took in her rigid posture, the white-knuckle grip she had on the strap of her Scissor Blade, and the way her eyes darted toward the elevator banks like she was anticipating an ambush.

 

Bakugo scoffed, pushing himself off the pillar. He stomped over to them, stopping just a foot away from Ryuko.

 

"You look like you're about to hurl, Kill-la-Kill," Bakugo grunted, using the aggressive nickname he had given her years ago.

 

Ryuko’s eyes narrowed, her Quirk humming faintly beneath her skin. "Bite me, Pomeranian. I'm not in the mood for your barking today."

 

Instead of exploding as he usually would, Bakugo just snorted, a surprising glimmer of genuine respect flashing in his eyes. "Good. Keep that attitude. The suits upstairs are going to try and rattle your cage. Don't let them see you sweat. You're a hero, not whatever that glowing freakshow on the TV is."

 

Ryuko blinked, caught entirely off guard by Bakugo’s rough, backhanded attempt at encouragement.

 

"Bakugo is correct," Shoto added smoothly, walking over with his hands tucked into his pockets. His mismatched eyes—one gray, one piercing blue—were soft as he looked at Izuku and Ryuko. "The Commission has been looking for an excuse to exert more control over the Top Ten. They view our generation as too independent. Madame Fujiwara, the new President, is a pragmatist to a fault. She will use this connection to Ragyo to put pressure on us."

 

"Man, you guys are gloomy this morning," Hawks chuckled, dropping down to the floor, his massive red wings folding neatly behind his back. He offered Ryuko a sharp, knowing grin. "Don't sweat it, Matoi. So what if your mom's a supervillain? My dad was a serial killer, and Todoroki's old man was a flaming garbage can for the first twenty years of his life. Shitty parents are practically a prerequisite for the Top Ten these days."

 

Todoroki nodded solemnly. "It is a statistically sound observation."

 

Izuku couldn't help but let out a short, breathy laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He looked at the three men around them. They were rivals, absolutely. They fought for the top spot on the billboards constantly. But standing here, in the cold basement of the government that tried to leash them, they were an impenetrable phalanx.

 

"Thanks, guys," Izuku said, his voice ringing with absolute sincerity.

 

"Save the waterworks, nerd," Bakugo sneered, turning on his heel and marching toward the VIP elevators. "Let's go see what these bureaucratic parasites want."

 

 

 

The boardroom on the 80th floor was expansive, circular, and utterly devoid of warmth. The walls were lined with sound-dampening panels and glowing tactical screens. A massive, U-shaped mahogany table dominated the center of the room.

 

Seated on the outside of the U were twenty of the highest-ranking executives of the Hero Public Safety Commission. At the head of the table sat President Fujiwara. She was an older woman with iron-gray hair pulled back into a severe bun, wearing a pristine white suit that looked uncomfortably immaculate. Her eyes were like chips of flint behind wire-rimmed glasses.

 

Izuku, Ryuko, Bakugo, Todoroki, and Hawks took their seats on the inside of the U, facing the firing squad.

 

"Thank you all for arriving so promptly," President Fujiwara began, her voice devoid of any inflection. It sounded like an automated recording. She didn't wait for responses. She tapped a tablet on her desk, and the lights in the room dimmed.

 

A massive holographic projection hummed to life in the center of the U. It displayed the paused frame of last night’s broadcast: Ragyo Kiryuin, wrapped in garments that literally radiated blinding, prismatic light, smiling with a terrifying, saintly serenity.

 

"At 2300 hours last night, this broadcast intercepted all major network frequencies across the Japanese archipelago, as well as several international satellites," Fujiwara stated coldly. "Facial recognition, voice analysis, and Quirk-signature matching have confirmed the identity. Ragyo Kiryuin. Former CEO of the REVOCS Corporation. Believed to have perished in a localized structural collapse offshore of Honshu six years ago."

 

Fujiwara tapped her screen again. The image shifted to gruesome, sanitized morgue photos of villains wrapped in black threads—the victims of the Banshee drug. Izuku felt Ryuko stiffen beside him, her thigh pressing firmly against his beneath the table.

 

"For the past three months, a new narcotic-support gear hybrid codenamed 'Banshee' has flooded the underground," Fujiwara continued. "Our analysts have confirmed that the substance is biological. Specifically, synthetic iterations of a parasitic alien organism known as 'Life Fibers'—the proprietary technology of REVOCS. Kiryuin has allied herself with the scattered remnants of the Paranormal Liberation Front. She provides them with the Life Fibers, essentially turning bottom-tier thugs into Class-S threats overnight."

 

"So we raid her," Bakugo interrupted, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, completely unimpressed. "Find out where the old hag is hiding, kick the door down, and blow her to kingdom come. What's the problem? Why the Level Zero summons?"

 

"The problem, Dynamight," a portly executive to Fujiwara's left sneered, "is that Kiryuin’s base of operations is untraceable. The Banshee distributors have kill-switches woven into their brain stems. The moment they attempt to reveal her location, the fibers snap their cervical vertebrae."

 

"Furthermore," Fujiwara said, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel, "Kiryuin’s broadcast was not merely a declaration of war. It was a targeted message."

 

She tapped her tablet a third time. The hologram shifted to play a specific clip of the broadcast.

 

Ragyo’s face filled the room, her multicolored hair drifting as if underwater. Her eyes, filled with a sickening, toxic maternal love, seemed to stare right through the camera.

 

"To the heroes who believe they maintain order... your peace is an illusion woven from fragile threads," Ragyo’s voice echoed, sending a violent shiver down Izuku’s spine. "And to my beloved, wayward daughter... Ryuko. You have played dress-up with the apes long enough. It is time to come home. It is time to take your rightful place by my side, and wash this world in the primordial cloth."

 

The hologram blinked out. The room was plunged back into the stark, fluorescent lighting.

 

Silence hung over the boardroom like a guillotine blade waiting to drop. Every single executive's eyes shifted from the empty hologram space to focus squarely on Ryuko.

 

Izuku felt a surge of protective adrenaline flood his system. He sat up straighter, shifting his shoulders to subtly interpose his body between Ryuko and the executives' gazes.

 

"Matoi," Fujiwara said, steepling her fingers beneath her chin. "For the past six years, your official HPSC file has listed your mother as deceased, and your connection to REVOCS as a finalized, closed chapter of your pre-UA history. It appears that was a lie."

 

Ryuko slammed her hands flat onto the mahogany table. The wood groaned under the pressure. “I didn't lie!” she snarled, her voice vibrating with suppressed fury. "I watched her stronghold collapse! I watched her go down with it! As far as I knew, the crazy bitch was dead!"

 

"Mind your tone, Number Four," the portly executive snapped.

 

"Or what?" Ryuko shot back, her blue eyes flashing with genuine, dangerous intent. “You’ll fire me? Go ahead! See how the crime rates in Ward 4 handle my absence!”

 

"Peace, Ryuko," Izuku murmured, his voice incredibly soft, but carrying an unmistakable weight. He placed his hand gently over hers, pressing her palm down against the table. The warmth of his skin grounded her, pulling her back from the edge. She took a ragged breath and fell silent, though she glared daggers at Fujiwara.

 

"We are not here to terminate your hero license, Matoi," Fujiwara said coolly, completely unfazed by the outburst. "We are here to discuss risk management. You are the Number Four Hero. You have access to national defense grid codes. You know the patrol routes of the top hundred agencies. And, most concerningly, your Quirk—and your very biology—is intrinsically linked to the enemy's primary weapon."

 

Fujiwara pulled up a glowing medical file on her terminal. "Your Quirk registry notes that you do not merely secrete Life Fibers. You are them. Your DNA is heavily spliced with the organism. Kamui Senketsu, your support item, is entirely composed of them."

 

“I am sitting right here, bureaucrat!” Senketsu’s voice boomed from the collar of Ryuko’s uniform, the red eye flaring indignantly. “And my loyalty lies solely with Ryuko, not that iridescent tyrant!”

 

Several executives flinched at the talking uniform, but Fujiwara merely adjusted her glasses. "Fascinating. A sentient parasite. All the more reason for our concern. Matoi, Ragyo Kiryuin’s Quirk allows her absolute mind-control over any entity possessing Life Fibers. She refers to it as 'Mind Stitching'. What guarantee do we have that if you face her on the battlefield, she won't simply snap her fingers and turn you against us?"

 

Ryuko opened her mouth, a fierce denial on her tongue, but Fujiwara cut her off, her voice raising in volume.

 

"What guarantee do we have that she hasn't already compromised you?!" Fujiwara demanded. "You are emotionally volatile, incredibly destructive, and biologically susceptible to the greatest threat this country has faced since All For One. Blood tells, Matoi. The Commission cannot, in good conscience, allow you to operate in the field while Kiryuin is active."

 

The words dropped like lead weights.

 

Ryuko sat frozen. The anger that had been boiling in her veins suddenly vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow terror. They were right. That was the worst part. Every insecurity, every nightmare she had ever had about her mother, Fujiwara had just laid bare on the mahogany table. What if Ragyo could control her? What if she turned into a puppet? What if she was forced to hurt...

 

She looked sideways at Izuku.

 

Her heart shattered. She couldn't do it. She couldn't risk him. If Ragyo took control of her, the first thing she would do was use her to assassinate the Number One Hero.

 

"I..." Ryuko’s voice trembled, a sound so small and broken that it made Bakugo visibly flinch. She pulled her hand out from under Izuku’s. "I understand. I'll... I'll hand over my license. I'll suspend my agency's operations."

 

"Ryuko, no." Izuku’s voice was sharp.

 

"Izuku, they're right," she whispered, staring down at her lap, her eyes burning with unshed tears of profound humiliation and fear. "I'm a liability. I'm a monster made of the same stuff that's killing people out there. If she takes control of me... I could kill you. I have to step down."

 

A smug, satisfied smirk touched the corner of the portly executive's mouth. "A wise decision, Matoi. We will draft the press release stating you are taking a leave of absence for health reasons—"

 

CRACK.

 

The sound echoed like a gunshot.

 

The entire boardroom jumped. Shoto’s ice flared instinctively over his left arm. Hawks dropped his feather.

 

Izuku Midoriya had not yelled. He had not stood up. He had merely tapped his index finger against the mahogany table. But the force of the tap, laced with a fraction of a percent of One For All, had sent a spider-web fissure cracking straight down the center of the massive, reinforced wooden table, stopping exactly an inch from President Fujiwara’s tablet.

 

The temperature in the room plummeted.

 

The air grew heavy, thick with static electricity. Brilliant, emerald-green lightning began to arc lazily off Izuku’s shoulders, crackling and hissing against the leather of his chair.

 

Izuku slowly stood up.

 

He didn't look like the friendly, smiling neighborhood hero the media loved. He looked exactly like the man who had torn the sky apart to defeat Shigaraki Tomura. His emerald eyes, usually wide and warm, were narrowed into glowing slits of absolute, terrifying authority. The sheer, suffocating pressure of his aura pressed down on the executives, making several of them gasp for breath.

 

"President Fujiwara," Izuku said. His voice was perfectly calm. It wasn't raised. It was a quiet, deep rumble that vibrated in the chests of everyone in the room. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding regarding the hierarchy of this situation."

 

Fujiwara maintained her composure, though a bead of sweat rolled down her temple. "Midoriya. Control your Quirk. This is an official Commission meeting."

 

"And I am the Number One Pro Hero of Japan," Izuku replied softly, the green lightning flaring brighter, casting harsh shadows across his scarred face. "I hold a ninety-eight percent approval rating. I command the largest hero network on the globe. When cities fall, you call me. When gods rise from the dirt, you call me."

 

He stepped away from his chair, walking slowly around the table, his heavy iron soles clicking against the floor.

 

"You do not dictate the deployment of my vanguard," Izuku continued, his eyes locked onto Fujiwara. "And you do not ever, ever speak to my wife as if she is a weapon waiting to misfire."

 

"Midoriya, be reasonable," the portly executive stammered, shrinking back into his chair as Izuku passed him. "The biological risks are undeniable! She is Ragyo Kiryuin’s daughter!"

 

Izuku stopped. He turned his head slowly, fixing the executive with a stare so utterly devoid of warmth that the man choked on his next words.

 

"Shigaraki Tomura was the grandson of Nana Shimura, the greatest hero of her generation," Izuku stated, his voice ringing with absolute conviction. "Blood does not dictate destiny. Choices do. And Ryuko Matoi has bled for this city, for this country, and for all of you in this room, more times than you have had hot meals."

 

Izuku walked back to Ryuko’s side. He reached down, ignoring the crackling green lightning that danced across his skin, and took her hand. He interlaced their fingers tightly, pulling her to her feet beside him.

 

"You want guarantees?" Izuku looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every executive. "Here is your guarantee. Ryuko Matoi does not fight alone. She is my partner. Where she goes, I go. If Ragyo Kiryuin attempts to take her mind, she will have to break through mine first. And I promise you, Madame President, my mind is not easily broken."

 

He squeezed Ryuko's hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

 

"If the Commission benches the Number Four Hero," Izuku delivered his ultimatum, his voice echoing in the silent room, "the Number One Hero resigns. Effective immediately. I will take my agency, my network, and my resources, and we will handle Ragyo Kiryuin as private citizens. How do you think the media will spin the HPSC losing the Symbol of Peace over a bureaucratic panic attack?"

 

The silence that followed was deafening. It was a checkmate, brutal and absolute. Izuku had just taken all the political capital he had built over a decade and slammed it onto the table for her.

 

Ryuko stared at the side of his face, her breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a violent, chaotic rhythm of absolute awe and overwhelming love. He was defending her. Not just as a hero, but as her husband. He was willing to burn his own empire down to keep her from being pushed into the dark.

 

"You're out of your damn mind, Deku," Bakugo suddenly barked, breaking the silence.

 

The executives looked toward the Number Two hero with desperate hope, thinking he was about to side with them.

 

Instead, Bakugo kicked his feet off the table and stood up, popping his neck loudly. Sparks crackled from his palms. "But if the nerd walks, I walk. My agency absorbs twenty percent of his overflow traffic. I'm not dealing with that paperwork. I'll quit too."

 

"My father's legacy is tied to the Commission, but my loyalty is to my friends," Todoroki added evenly, standing up beside Bakugo. "The Todoroki Agency stands with Midoriya and Matoi."

 

Hawks sighed dramatically, floating up to the ceiling. "Well, shoot. If the top three are gone, I'll actually have to work for a living to hold the Number One spot. No thanks. I'm out too."

 

President Fujiwara looked at the four young men standing united behind the woman she had just tried to excommunicate. The foundation of the entire Japanese hero society was threatening to walk out the door over a single hero.

 

Fujiwara closed her eyes, letting out a long, slow exhale. She was a pragmatist. She knew when a battle was lost.

 

"Very well," Fujiwara said, opening her eyes. The coldness was still there, but there was a begrudging respect layered beneath it. "Your resignation is rejected, Midoriya. The Commission cannot afford to lose its pillars in a time of crisis."

 

She tapped her tablet, bringing the holographic map back up.

 

"A specialized Task Force is officially sanctioned as of this moment," Fujiwara announced formally. "Target: Ragyo Kiryuin and REVOCS. Commander: Izuku Midoriya. Vice-Commander: Ryuko Matoi. You will be given full jurisdictional clearance and unlimited access to the Commission's intelligence division. But Midoriya..."

 

Fujiwara met his glowing green eyes. "...if she loses control in the field, if Kiryuin’s Quirk overrides her, the collateral damage falls entirely on your head. You will have to be the one to put your wife down."

 

"She won't lose control," Izuku stated, his voice a promise forged in iron. "Because she is stronger than her mother. Meeting adjourned."

 

Without waiting for dismissal, Izuku turned, keeping Ryuko's hand firmly in his, and led her out of the boardroom. The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind them, echoing through the corridor.

 

 

 

The rain had finally stopped by the time they returned to the Midoriya Agency, though the sky remained a bruised, sullen purple as evening approached.

 

Izuku didn't take them to their office. He bypassed the lower floors, ignoring the frantic questions of their sidekicks, and took the private elevator straight to the roof.

 

The rooftop of the agency was a sprawling, open space, dotted with communication towers and a small, meticulously cared-for rooftop garden Izuku had planted. Puddles of rainwater reflected the flickering neon signs of the city below. The air was cool and crisp, smelling of ozone and wet asphalt.

 

The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, the adrenaline left Ryuko's body in a violent rush.

 

Her knees buckled.

 

Izuku caught her instantly, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, lowering them both to the damp concrete of the roof. He sat cross-legged, pulling her into his lap.

 

Ryuko buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hands, still clad in the black fabric of Senketsu, gripped the fabric of his hero suit so tightly her knuckles bruised. And then, for the first time in years, the fierce, unbreakable Number Four Hero began to cry.

 

It wasn't a delicate weeping. It was harsh, ragged, gasping sobs that tore from her chest, a dam breaking after six years of suppressed trauma.

 

"I'm sorry," Ryuko choked out, her voice muffled against his skin, her tears burning hot against his collarbone. "Izuku, I'm so sorry."

 

Izuku didn't say anything at first. He just held her. He wrapped his arms around her back, his large hand resting on the back of her head, gently stroking her damp, wild hair. He let her cry. He let her purge the terror and the humiliation that the Commission had forced onto her.

 

"What are you sorry for, Ryuko?" Izuku asked softly, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

 

"I'm a liability," she sobbed, her whole body shaking. "You heard them. I'm made of the same poison that monster uses. She's my mother, Izuku! Her blood is in my veins! What if she's right? What if she snaps her fingers and I... I turn on you? What if I hurt you?"

 

She pulled her head back, looking at him with bloodshot, devastated eyes. "You shouldn't have done that in there. You shouldn't have threatened your career for me. You're the Symbol of Peace! You have to be perfect! And I'm... I'm a mess! I'm dragging you down into my family's filth!"

 

Izuku looked at her. He saw the tears streaking down her cheeks, the way her bottom lip trembled, the absolute, raw vulnerability she only ever showed him.

 

He lifted his hands, cupping her face gently, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

 

"Ryuko. Look at me," Izuku said, his voice a low, steady hum of absolute devotion.

 

She sniffled, forcing her eyes to meet his.

 

"Do you remember the day I proposed to you?" Izuku asked softly.

 

Ryuko let out a wet, shaky breath, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You tripped over a trash can in the park and dropped the ring down a storm drain. We had to spend three hours fishing it out with Blackwhip."

 

"I was nervous," Izuku chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But do you remember what I said to you when I finally got the ring on your finger?"

 

Ryuko nodded slowly, her breath hitching. "You said... you said you didn't just want the hero. You wanted the girl underneath."

 

"I meant it," Izuku whispered, leaning in until their foreheads rested against each other. "I know who your mother is. I know what the Life Fibers are. I knew all of that when I married you. I didn't marry you because it was good for my PR, Ryuko. I married you because I love you. All of you. Your anger, your scars, your past."

 

He moved his hands down, resting them over her heart, feeling the rapid, frantic beat against his palms.

 

"You are not your mother," Izuku said fiercely, the green lightning flickering briefly in the depths of his eyes. "You are Ryuko Matoi. You are the woman who stood between a forty-foot villain and three rookies yesterday just to prove a point. You are the woman who rebuilds motorcycle engines on my coffee table. You are the woman I love."

 

Ryuko closed her eyes, fresh tears spilling over her lashes, but these were different. They weren't born of fear; they were born of overwhelming relief. The heavy, suffocating weight that Fujiwara had placed on her shoulders shattered under the sheer force of Izuku's unconditional love.

 

"If Ragyo tries to take your mind," Izuku murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, "we will fight her. Together. We'll upgrade Senketsu. We'll train until our synchronization is flawless. But I am never, ever letting you go into the dark alone. That is my vow to you. For better or worse. In sickness and in villain attacks."

 

Ryuko let out a shaky laugh, a genuine sound that warmed the cool rooftop air. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face back into his shoulder, but this time, the tension was gone. She melted against him, secure in his hold.

 

“He is a good mate, Ryuko,” Senketsu murmured softly from her collar, his mechanical eye glowing warmly. “I approve.”

 

"Shut up, Senketsu," Ryuko mumbled playfully, though she patted the fabric affectionately. She pulled back just enough to look Izuku in the eye, the fierce, defiant spark slowly reigniting in her cerulean gaze. "You're a stubborn idiot, Izuku Midoriya."

 

"I've been told," Izuku smiled, his heart swelling.

 

"We're going to have to fight her," Ryuko said, her voice dropping to a serious, determined whisper. "She's not going to stop. She wants to unmake this world, Izuku. She wants to turn everyone into thread."

 

"Then we stop her," Izuku replied simply, as if discussing the weather. He stood up, offering his hand to her. "We're the Deku-Matoi Task Force now. We have full jurisdiction, and we have the backing of the top heroes. We find her, we break her operations, and we put her in Tartarus where she belongs."

 

Ryuko stared at his outstretched hand. The hand heavily scarred from a lifetime of breaking himself to save others. The hand that had held hers through the darkest moments of her life.

 

She took it.

 

Izuku hauled her to her feet. The wind picked up, whipping Izuku’s faded yellow cape and Ryuko’s dark, crimson-streaked hair around them. They stood on the edge of the rooftop, looking out over the sprawling, glowing city of Musutafu.

 

The storm had passed, but a war was coming.

 

"Alright, Commander," Ryuko smirked, the Number Four Hero fully returning to the surface, her Scissor Blade glinting in the neon light. "What's our first move?"

 

Izuku’s eyes hardened, his analytical mind already assembling the pieces of the puzzle. "Ragyo's using Life Fibers to augment Quirks. But the fibers are biological; they need a massive power source to incubate and synthesize with the Banshee drug on a mass scale. She needs a lab, and she needs specialized support gear to weave the threads into the narcotic."

 

"We need someone who understands support gear inside and out," Ryuko caught on instantly, her grin widening. "Someone crazy enough to analyze alien thread without blowing themselves up."

 

"Exactly," Izuku nodded, turning toward the elevator. "First thing tomorrow morning, we're taking a trip to the Support Tech District. We need to see Mei Hatsume."

 

 

The holographic map of Japan projected in the center of the Midoriya Agency’s command hub was supposed to be a calming, steady blue. A digital testament to the peace Izuku and his peers maintained.

 

At 0800 hours on a Tuesday, that peace shattered into a dozen bleeding red anomalies.

 

The command center, usually humming with the quiet efficiency of analysts and dispatchers, erupted into a cacophony of blaring alarms and frantic shouting. Izuku Midoriya stood at the center of the chaos, his eyes tracking the cascading threat alerts with terrifying speed. Beside him, Ryuko Matoi leaned over the console, her knuckles white as she gripped the steel edge of the holotable.

 

"Multiple breaches confirmed!" shouted Burnin, Izuku’s second-in-command, her fiery hair flaring intensely as she typed furiously at her terminal. "Coordinated attacks across six different prefectures! Target profiles are identical: Hero Support Agencies, Quirk-Registry Data Centers, and HPSC archival vaults!"

 

"It’s Ragyo," Ryuko snarled, her eyes locked on the spreading red dots. "She’s not just hitting random targets. She’s going after Quirk data. She wants the blueprints on how our society regulates and enhances powers to perfect her Banshee drug."

 

Izuku’s mind was a whirlwind of calculations, filtering out the noise, prioritizing the threats. "Burnin! Dispatch Team Alpha to the Kyoto registry. Have Todoroki intercept the strike force in Osaka. Bakugo is already airborne toward the Shibuya support tech sector."

 

"What about us?" Ryuko asked, turning to him, her body practically vibrating with pent-up kinetic energy. Senketsu, already active in his dormant sailor-suit form, seemed to hum in agreement.

 

Izuku zoomed in on the largest, most violent cluster of red on the map. It was the Central Quirk Database in the heart of Roppongi, a massive subterranean fortress that held the genetic Quirk blueprints of over thirty million citizens.

 

"We’re taking the main event," Izuku said, his voice dropping into the icy, focused tone that always sent a shiver of awe through his staff. "The Roppongi Database. They’ve breached the outer wall, and the local garrison is unresponsive. Whatever Ragyo sent to break that vault, it’s not standard infantry."

 

Izuku turned to his wife. He reached out, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw, a fleeting moment of tenderness amidst the sirens. "Are you ready for this?"

 

Ryuko’s eyes burned with a fierce, cerulean fire. She reached back, gripping the hilt of the massive crimson Scissor Blade strapped to her back. "Let’s go squash some bugs, nerd."

 

 

 

The Roppongi Database was a warzone.

 

The reinforced titanium blast doors, designed to withstand a direct nuclear strike, had been peeled back like the lid of a tin can. The plaza outside the facility was a cratered, smoking ruin. Cars were flipped and burning, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of ozone, melted asphalt, and copper.

 

Izuku and Ryuko dropped from the sky like meteors, landing in the center of the plaza with a simultaneous, ground-shattering impact that sent a shockwave of displaced air rippling outward.

 

As the dust cleared, they got their first look at the enemy.

 

"What the hell are those?" Ryuko breathed, her grip tightening on her blade.

 

They weren't human. They weren't standard Life-Fiber puppets either. They were grotesque amalgamations of the two darkest sciences the world had ever seen. Ragyo Kiryuin had somehow acquired the late Dr. Garaki’s Nomu research and infused it with her alien threads.

 

Standing before them were a dozen heavily muscled, multi-limbed monstrosities. Their skin was a sickly, translucent gray, but woven through their exposed musculature were thick, pulsing veins of black and neon-pink Life Fibers. Some had exposed brains encased in cages of hardened thread; others possessed blades of calcified bone and fiber protruding from their forearms. They didn't growl or roar. They simply vibrated with a sickening, unified heartbeat.

 

“They are abominations,” Senketsu’s deep voice echoed from Ryuko’s collar, laced with profound disgust. “A perversion of the threads. Ryuko, they possess immense density. Standard blunt force will be ineffective.”

 

"Good thing we don't do standard," Ryuko smirked, the adrenaline hitting her bloodstream like a lightning bolt.

 

“Life Fiber Synchronize: Kamui Senketsu!”

 

Ryuko drew blood from her specialized wrist-gauntlet, feeding it to the uniform. In a flash of blinding red light, Senketsu expanded, shifting into his heavily armored, razor-sharp combat configuration.

 

"Deku! Pin 'em down!" Ryuko shouted, launching herself forward.

 

Green lightning erupted around Izuku. One For All: Full Cowling - 45%. He didn't just run; he vanished, reappearing directly in the center of the Nomu pack.

 

Six tendrils of pitch-black energy exploded from his shoulders. Blackwhip. He lashed out, wrapping the thick, steel-like cables of energy around the limbs and necks of four of the creatures. They shrieked—a high, mechanical sound—and pulled against the tethers, their sheer physical strength enough to make Izuku grunt with exertion.

 

"Now, Ryuko!" Izuku yelled, planting his iron soles into the cracked concrete to anchor them.

 

Ryuko vaulted off a burning police cruiser, soaring thirty feet into the air. "Scissor Blade: Decapitation Mode!"

 

The crimson blade extended, glowing with volatile kinetic energy. She fell like a guillotine. As Izuku used Blackwhip to yank the four Nomus into a tight cluster, Ryuko cleaved right through their center. The blade sheared through their heavily reinforced necks with a sickening shck. Black, tar-like blood and severed threads sprayed across the pavement.

 

"Eight left," Izuku called out, retracting his whips and immediately transitioning into a sweeping low kick that shattered the kneecaps of an approaching brute.

 

They moved in perfect harmony, a devastating ballet of emerald lightning and crimson steel. Izuku was the control, using Float, Smokescreen, and Blackwhip to disorient and position the enemy. Ryuko was the executioner, using her blinding speed and the lethal cutting power of her Kamui to dismantle the creatures before their regeneration quirks could take effect.

 

Within three minutes, the plaza was silent save for the crackle of burning debris. The twelve Life-Fiber Nomus lay in pieces.

 

Izuku let out a steady breath, the green lightning fading to a low hum. "Is everyone clear? Scan the perimeter, Ryuko."

 

"I don't see any—" Ryuko started, but Senketsu suddenly clamped tight around her ribs.

 

“RYUKO! ABOVE YOU!” Senketsu roared in her mind.

 

Izuku felt it too. Danger Sense exploded in the back of his skull, a spike of warning so sharp and agonizing it nearly brought him to his knees. It wasn't just danger; it was an overwhelming aura of pure, playful malice.

 

"My, my, my! What a mess you've made of Mother's new toys!"

 

A voice, sickeningly sweet and bubbling with childish giggles, drifted down from the sky.

 

Izuku and Ryuko snapped their heads up.

 

Floating gracefully down toward them, holding a frilly, pink parasol as if she were taking a stroll through a spring garden, was a nightmare dressed in haute couture.

 

She looked like a teenage girl, wearing a ruffled pink gothic-lolita dress. She had massive, twin drill-tails of blonde hair and a bright, unblinking smile. But her eyes were dead, devoid of pupils, and an unnatural, pulsing pink glow emanated from beneath her skin. Where her left arm should have been, there was a grotesque, biomechanical prosthetic entirely composed of writhing black Life Fibers, ending in a clawed hand.

 

In her right hand, casually slung over her shoulder, was a massive, purple Scissor Blade—the exact twin to Ryuko’s, save for the color.

 

Ryuko’s blood ran cold. The air left her lungs in a sharp hiss.

 

"Nui," Ryuko whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock and buried, visceral terror.

 

Nui Harime. The Grand Couturier of REVOCS. Ragyo’s personal enforcer and the architect of Ryuko’s deepest traumas. Nui was the one who had murdered Ryuko’s father. She was supposed to be dead, consumed by the original Life Fiber core six years ago.

 

Nui landed softly on the tip of an overturned car, twirling her parasol. She giggled, tilting her head at an impossible, owl-like angle.

 

"Ryuko-chan!" Nui chirped, clapping her hands together. "Look at you! All grown up and playing house! And you even brought your little green boyfriend! How adorable!"

 

Izuku stepped in front of Ryuko, his aura flaring violently to 60%. The air pressure around him dropped. "Harime. You're supposed to be dead."

 

"Oh, I was! For a little bit!" Nui pouted, dramatically putting a hand to her chest. "It was very dark and boring. But Mother is so clever! She scooped up what was left of me, mixed in some of that gooey Nomu stuff from the doctor's old lab, and stitched me right back together! I'm better than ever now! A perfect blend of science and tailoring!"

 

She raised her prosthetic Life-Fiber arm, the black threads writhing like a nest of vipers.

 

"And Mother sent me to fetch the data," Nui smiled, her dead eyes locking onto Ryuko, "and to bring my darling little sister home. Or, at least, bring her pieces home."

 

“Ryuko,” Izuku said quietly, not taking his eyes off Nui. “Do not let her bait you. We attack together. On my mark.”

 

Ryuko didn't respond. Izuku glanced back and saw her knuckles bleeding beneath the fabric of her gloves from how tightly she was gripping her blade. Her breath was coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The trauma of her past was colliding violently with the reality of the present.

 

"Ryuko. Look at me," Izuku said, his voice firm, cutting through her panic.

 

She blinked, her gaze snapping to his.

 

"She is just another villain," Izuku promised her. "And we are going to stop her. Mark."

 

Izuku exploded off the pavement. The sonic boom shattered the remaining glass in the plaza. He crossed the distance in a millisecond, his fist drawn back, crackling with dark energy and green lightning.

 

"St. Louis Smash!"

 

Izuku aimed a devastating roundhouse kick aimed squarely at Nui’s head.

 

Nui didn't dodge. She didn't block. She just giggled.

 

At the exact moment of impact, Nui’s entire body seemed to unravel. Izuku’s leg passed cleanly through her neck, striking only empty air and a flurry of pink threads.

 

"Oops! Too slow, Deku-kun!" Nui’s voice echoed from directly behind him.

 

Izuku’s eyes widened. He spun, crossing his arms defensively.

 

Nui materialized from the threads, her purple Scissor Blade swinging with terrifying velocity. The blade struck Izuku’s crossed arms. The sheer kinetic force behind the blow was astronomical. It didn't cut through his heavily armored bracers, but the impact sent him flying backward like a ragdoll. He crashed through two concrete pillars before tumbling to a halt.

 

"Izuku!" Ryuko screamed. The momentary panic vanished, replaced instantly by white-hot fury. "You bitch!"

 

Ryuko charged, a blur of red and black. She swung her crimson blade in a flurry of devastating arcs. Nui parried with her purple blade, the two massive weapons clashing in a shower of sparks that illuminated the dark plaza.

 

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

 

"You've gotten faster, Ryuko-chan!" Nui laughed, effortlessly blocking a downward strike with one hand while holding her parasol in the other. "But you're still so tense! You need to loosen up!"

 

Nui’s prosthetic arm suddenly extended, the black threads shooting forward like spears. They wrapped around Ryuko’s wrist, tightening with bone-crushing force. With a violent tug, Nui yanked Ryuko forward, driving her knee brutally into Ryuko’s stomach.

 

Ryuko coughed up blood, the breath knocked out of her, but she didn't relent. She headbutted Nui squarely in the face, the hardened visor of her Kamui shattering Nui’s nose.

 

Nui stumbled back, dropping her parasol, blood streaming down her chin. But the injury didn't faze her. In less than a second, the pink threads beneath her skin writhed, and her shattered nose snapped back into perfect place. The Nomu hyper-regeneration.

 

"Ouchie," Nui giggled, her smile widening into something truly demonic. "That wasn't very nice."

 

Before Nui could retaliate, a thick cable of Blackwhip wrapped around her ankle.

 

"Get away from her!" Izuku roared, pulling back with all his might.

 

Nui was ripped off her feet, hoisted into the air. Izuku, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, channeled Fa Jin into his legs. He launched himself up to meet her in mid-air. He unleashed a devastating barrage of punches, a blur of green light raining blows across Nui’s torso.

 

“Manchester Smash! Detroit Smash!”

 

Every hit shattered bones and ruptured organs, but Nui just kept laughing, her body regenerating as fast as Izuku could break it.

 

Realizing blunt force wasn't working, Izuku spun, hurling Nui down toward the pavement. "Ryuko! She regenerates too fast! We need to vaporize the cellular structure!"

 

"On it!" Ryuko roared. She planted her feet, holding the Scissor Blade with both hands. The eye on Senketsu’s chest flared with blinding light.

 

“Sen-i-Soshitsu!” (Fiber Lost!)

 

Ryuko swung the blade upward as Nui fell toward her. A massive, crescent-shaped wave of pure, condensed kinetic and thermal energy erupted from the blade, aimed directly at Nui’s descending form. It was a move designed to completely sever and incinerate the Life Fibers at a molecular level.

 

Nui’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. She twisted mid-air, attempting to unravel, but the blast radius was too wide. The crimson energy engulfed her right side, entirely vaporizing her right arm and a chunk of her torso.

 

Nui hit the ground hard, tumbling like a broken doll. She shrieked, no longer laughing. The energy had cauterized the wound, momentarily halting her hyper-regeneration.

 

Izuku landed softly beside Ryuko, his chest heaving, his fists raised. "Did we get her?"

 

"Don't lower your guard," Ryuko panted, wiping a trail of blood from her mouth. "She's like a cockroach."

 

Slowly, agonizingly, Nui dragged herself upright. Half of her dress was burned away. Her right arm was completely gone, leaving a smoking, charred stump. Her blonde drills were singed. She looked at the two heroes, her childish facade entirely stripped away, revealing a creature of pure, hateful spite.

 

"You... you ruined my dress," Nui hissed, her voice distorted, layering with the mechanical growl of a Nomu.

 

The black threads of her left arm began to writhe violently. They expanded, shooting into the ground, pulling chunks of concrete and steel into her body, attempting to reconstruct her missing mass.

 

"She's pulling a Monolith! Don't let her assimilate!" Izuku yelled, preparing to launch another Smash.

 

But Nui didn't attack them.

 

Her dead eyes darted past Izuku and Ryuko, locking onto something in the distance. A cruel, vindictive smile stretched across her ruined face.

 

"If I can't break your bodies..." Nui whispered, her voice echoing unnaturally. "...I'll just break your hearts."

 

Izuku’s Danger Sense screamed. It didn't just spike; it detonated in his mind like a flashbang, blinding him with sheer, unadulterated terror. He followed Nui’s gaze.

 

Sixty yards away, near the entrance of a collapsed subway station, was a civilian. A little girl, no older than six, clutching a dirty stuffed rabbit, paralyzed by fear as she stared at the carnage. She must have been trapped in the rubble and had just managed to crawl out.

 

Nui didn't hesitate.

 

She channeled all of her remaining energy into her surviving Life-Fiber arm. The black threads condensed into a single, massive, hyper-compressed spear of obsidian fiber.

 

"Die!" Nui shrieked, hurling the spear.

 

It moved faster than a sniper bullet. It tore through the air, aimed squarely at the little girl’s chest.

 

Ryuko saw it. She lunged forward, extending her Scissor Blade, trying to intercept the spear. “NO!”

 

But she was too far. The angle was wrong. She was going to miss it by a fraction of a second. She watched in slow-motion horror as the lethal projectile bypassed her guard.

 

CRACK.

 

The sound of shattering bone and tearing flesh echoed like thunder across the plaza.

 

Blood sprayed into the air, a brilliant, terrifying arc of crimson.

 

But it wasn't the little girl's blood.

 

The girl sat on the ground, whimpering, completely unharmed. Standing directly in front of her, his back to the child, was Izuku Midoriya.

 

He had pushed One For All to 100% just to cross the distance in time. He hadn't had time to attack, or to deploy his Blackwhip, or to brace himself. He had only had time to act as a human shield.

 

The black, jagged spear of Life Fibers had pierced completely through Izuku’s midsection. It entered his lower abdomen and exploded out through his back, the horrific, barbed point glistening with his blood.

 

The world seemed to stop spinning. The sirens in the distance faded to a dull, muted roar.

 

Izuku looked down at the massive spike protruding from his stomach. His eyes widened in shock. The green lightning surrounding his body flickered, sputtered, and died. He coughed, a thick surge of blood spilling over his lips, staining the collar of his hero suit.

 

He slowly turned his head, looking back at Ryuko. He offered her a weak, apologetic smile.

 

"I... caught it..." Izuku whispered, before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the concrete in a growing pool of his own blood.

 

"Izuku?"

 

Ryuko’s voice was a frail, hollow sound. It didn't sound like her. It sounded like a frightened child. She dropped her Scissor Blade. It clattered uselessly against the pavement.

 

She took a step forward. Her mind refused to process the image. Izuku, the invincible Symbol of Peace. Her husband. Her anchor. Lying broken on the ground, a hole through his chest.

 

Nui’s high-pitched, hysterical laughter pierced the silence. "Ahahaha! Bullseye! Oh, Mother is going to be so pleased! The great Deku, skewered like a pig!"

 

“Ryuko...” Senketsu’s voice was trembling, terrified. “Ryuko, your heart rate is exceeding critical limits. The Life Fibers are reacting to your adrenaline! You must calm down! Ryuko! RYUKO!”

 

She didn't hear him.

 

Something inside Ryuko Matoi snapped. It wasn't just a mental break. It was a physical, biological rupture.

 

The trauma, the grief, and the blinding, apocalyptic rage hit her nervous system all at once, overloading the delicate synchronization between her DNA and Senketsu.

 

"IZUKU!!!"

 

Her scream tore through the air, but it wasn't human. It was a guttural, demonic roar that shook the very foundations of the skyscrapers around them.

 

The blood she had fed to Senketsu began to boil. The Life Fibers making up her uniform violently rebelled. They didn't just cover her; they began to consume her.

 

“NO! RYUKO, STOP! IT BURNS! YOU’RE LOSING CONTROL!” Senketsu shrieked in agony as his consciousness was forcibly suppressed by the raw, feral instinct of the mutated threads.

 

The black fabric exploded outward, tearing into her skin, grafting itself to her musculature. Her body grew, her spine contorting and elongating. Thick, jagged plates of hardened, blood-red armor erupted from her shoulders and chest. Her jaw unhinged, revealing rows of razor-sharp, serrated teeth. The signature red highlight in her hair ignited into a literal plume of crimson fire that trailed down her back like a mane.

 

The transformation took seconds. Where the Number Four Pro Hero had stood, there was now a monster.

 

A towering, eight-foot-tall berserker of jagged armor, pulsating veins, and pure, unadulterated slaughter. The monster threw its head back and unleashed a roar that shattered the glass in a five-block radius.

 

Nui Harime stopped laughing. For the first time in her twisted, resurrected life, she felt the cold grip of absolute dread.

 

The monster didn't pick up the Scissor Blade. It didn't need it.

 

It vanished, moving at a speed that even Izuku’s 100% could barely rival.

 

Nui didn't even have time to blink. The monster materialized directly in front of her. A massive, clawed hand, dripping with superheated blood, clamped around Nui’s throat, lifting her off the ground.

 

"Wait—!" Nui choked out.

 

The monster roared directly into Nui’s face, a sound of such pure hatred that Nui’s eardrums ruptured instantly.

 

With a brutal, tearing motion, the monster ripped Nui’s remaining left arm clean out of its socket. Black threads and synthetic blood showered the plaza. Nui screamed, a horrific, gurgling sound of genuine agony.

 

The monster didn't stop. It slammed Nui face-first into the concrete, cratering the street. It raised a heavily armored foot and brought it down on Nui’s spine. The crunch of bone was sickeningly loud.

 

It was no longer a fight. It was an execution.

 

The monster grabbed Nui by her blonde hair and hurled her through the air. Nui crashed through the steel support beams of a nearby skyscraper. The monster followed, a blur of red and black, tearing through the building like a wrecking ball.

 

Concrete rained down from the sky as the monster ruthlessly pummeled the Grand Couturier through the first five floors of the high-rise. Nui tried to regenerate, tried to manifest threads to protect herself, but the monster was tearing her apart faster than her cells could knit back together.

 

Smash. Tear. Crush.

 

The monster grabbed Nui by the jaw, ripping it downward, severing her vocal cords and silencing her screams. It then channeled all of its boiling kinetic energy into its fist and drove it straight through Nui’s chest, obliterating her heart and lungs.

 

Nui’s body went entirely limp, hanging limply from the monster's arm, her hyper-regeneration finally burning out.

 

But the monster wasn't satisfied. The rage was a localized sun inside its chest, and it demanded fuel. The monster threw Nui’s shattered corpse aside, letting it fall into the burning wreckage of the lobby.

 

It turned its glowing, pupil-less white eyes toward the surrounding city. The beast roared, thrashing blindly, tearing into the structural pillars of the skyscraper. It was a mindless hurricane of destruction, unable to differentiate between friend, foe, or civilian. The building groaned, threatening to collapse entirely and crush the hundreds of people hiding in the subway station below.

 

Down in the plaza, amidst the dust and the blood, a hand twitched.

 

Izuku Midoriya gasped, his eyes snapping open. The pain was absolute, a blinding, white-hot agony radiating from his abdomen. He looked down. The black spear was still lodged in him, but it had begun to dissolve into ash with Nui's defeat.

 

He coughed, spitting up blood. He dragged his head to the side.

 

He saw the little girl, crying, huddled behind a piece of debris. He was glad she was safe. But then, he heard the roaring.

 

He looked up at the skyscraper. He saw the crimson beast tearing the building apart, howling in agony and rage.

 

Izuku’s heart broke. He knew exactly what had happened. He had studied the files on REVOCS. He had seen the theoretical models of what would happen if a Life Fiber user suffered a total psychological collapse.

 

Ryuko.

 

"No..." Izuku wheezed, his voice bubbling with blood. "Ryuko... stop..."

 

He tried to push himself up, but his arms collapsed beneath him. His body was failing. His organs were severely damaged.

 

“Ninth.”

 

The deep, resonant voice of Daigoro Banjo, the fifth user of One For All, echoed in Izuku’s mind. “Stay down, kid. You’re bleeding out. The paramedics are two minutes away. If you move, you die.”

 

“I have to... stop her...” Izuku thought back, his vision swimming with black spots. “She’s going to bring that building down... on those people. And then... she’ll never forgive herself. The guilt... will kill her.”

 

“You can’t fight a monster in that state, Midoriya!” Nana Shimura’s voice pleaded.

 

“She’s not a monster,” Izuku replied fiercely, gripping the pavement with his bloodstained gloves. “She’s my wife.”

 

Izuku screamed through clenched teeth, forcing the remnants of his power to ignite. The green lightning flared to life, though it was erratic, sputtering violently. He couldn't use 100%. He couldn't even use 20%. But he could use Blackwhip.

 

He forced himself onto his feet. Every muscle fiber tore, every nerve screamed in protest. He staggered forward, clutching his bleeding stomach with one hand.

 

He aimed his other hand toward the skyscraper.

 

A single, thick tendril of Blackwhip shot out, wrapping securely around a steel girder on the third floor. Izuku retracted the whip, pulling his battered body up through the air, crashing through the glass windows into the ruined lobby.

 

He landed heavily on his knees, sliding across the polished marble floor.

 

The monster turned. It dropped the massive chunk of concrete it was holding. It stared at Izuku, its massive, armored chest heaving. It didn't recognize him. It only saw another obstacle. Another target.

 

The beast roared, charging at Izuku with blinding speed, its claws raised to strike.

 

Izuku didn't raise his fists. He didn't activate a Smash.

 

He simply dropped his arms, exposing his chest entirely, and forced himself to stand up straight.

 

The monster swung its heavy, armored fist. It struck Izuku squarely in the ribs. The force shattered three of his ribs instantly, launching him backward. He hit the wall hard, sliding down to the floor, gasping for air.

 

"Ryuko..." Izuku rasped, blood pouring from his mouth. He looked up, his emerald eyes shining with absolute, unwavering love. "It's me. It's Izuku."

 

The monster paused, its head tilting. The sound of his voice seemed to pierce through the veil of rage, a tiny pinprick of light in the consuming dark. But the Life Fibers surged, shrieking in its mind, demanding violence.

 

The beast charged again, grabbing Izuku by the collar of his suit, hoisting him into the air, pinning him against the wall. The serrated jaw opened wide, preparing to bite down.

 

Izuku didn't struggle. He raised his trembling, blood-soaked hands.

 

He gently placed his hands on either side of the monster's horrific, armored face.

 

He channeled One For All. Not as a weapon, but as an emotion. He pushed the feeling of the Quirk—the warmth, the hope, the absolute safety of the accumulated power of the vestiges—outward, flooding the contact point.

 

"I'm here," Izuku whispered, ignoring the fact that his vision was fading to black. "I'm alive. I'm okay. You saved me, Ryuko. You can stop now. Come back to me."

 

He leaned his forehead against the hardened, jagged armor of the beast's skull.

 

"Please... come back to me."

 

For a long, agonizing second, the monster froze.

 

Then, a sound came from the beast. It wasn't a roar. It was a whimper.

 

The white, pupil-less eyes suddenly widened. The boiling heat of the armor began to cool. The massive, jagged plates of hardened blood began to crack and dissolve, turning to ash. The elongated limbs snapped back into place.

 

The transformation reversed as violently as it had begun.

 

With a sickening tear, the mutated Life Fibers retracted, pulling away from her skin. Senketsu, heavily damaged and completely exhausted, reverted to his dormant state, returning to the simple, tattered black sailor uniform.

 

Ryuko collapsed forward, her human form restored. She was entirely devoid of strength, her skin pale as death, covered in sweat and her own blood.

 

Izuku caught her, wrapping his arms securely around her, sliding down the wall until they were both sitting on the floor amidst the rubble.

 

Ryuko gasped, her blue eyes wide, staring at the massive, bleeding hole in Izuku’s stomach. Her hands hovered over the wound, shaking uncontrollably.

 

"Izuku..." she sobbed, the feral rage entirely gone, replaced by a devastating, soul-crushing despair. "Izuku, what did I do? Oh god, what did I do?"

 

"You... you won," Izuku smiled weakly, his hand coming up to gently rest on the back of her head, pressing her face against his uninjured shoulder. "You kept us safe."

 

"You're dying," she wept, her tears mixing with the blood on his chest. "You're dying, Izuku, please don't leave me, please..."

 

"I'm not going anywhere," Izuku promised, his voice barely a whisper now. His head lolled back against the wall. The adrenaline was entirely gone. The darkness was pulling him under. "Just... going to rest my eyes... for a minute..."

 

Izuku’s eyes slid shut. His breathing slowed to a faint, shallow rhythm. His hand went limp, sliding out of her hair to rest on the floor.

 

"Izuku?!" Ryuko screamed, shaking his shoulders. "IZUKU! WAKE UP! SOMEBODY HELP! PLEASE!"

 

Her screams echoed through the ruined lobby, a desperate, shattering sound that haunted the air until the flashing red and blue lights of the arriving medical helicopters finally cut through the dust.

 

The battle was over. But the war had just claimed its first casualties.