What if deku was never born

 

 

 

The final bell of Aldera Junior High rang out, a shrill, metallic sound that sliced through the heavy, stagnant air of the classroom. It was a humid spring afternoon, the kind that left the students drowsy and irritable, their white uniform shirts sticking to the backs of their necks.

 

Katsuki Bakugo sat at his desk near the back, his posture a picture of bored arrogance. He leaned back, his feet propped up on the scratched wooden surface of his desk, his ruby-red eyes staring out the window. Below, the cherry blossoms were beginning to fall, drifting like useless pink confetti onto the concrete courtyard.

 

He hated the spring. He hated the heat. But most of all, he hated the overwhelming, suffocating sense of boredom that seemed to trail him like a shadow.

 

"Since you're all third years, it's time for you to think seriously about your futures," the homeroom teacher announced, standing at the front of the room with a thick stack of printed papers. He was a balding man with a tired voice, a man who had long ago given up on any grand ambitions. "I'll pass out handouts for your future plans now, but..."

 

The teacher paused, a wry smile creeping onto his face. He suddenly threw the stack of papers into the air, letting the sheets scatter like snow across the front row. "But you're all pretty much planning to go into the hero course, right?!"

 

The classroom erupted. A chorus of cheers, shouts, and the sudden activation of two dozen minor, flashy, and utterly useless quirks filled the room. A boy in the front stretched his fingers out like rubber bands. A girl near the window levitated a pencil. The boy next to Katsuki sprouted a pair of small, leathery wings.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful quirks," the teacher chuckled, waving a hand to settle them down. "But using your powers in school is against the rules!"

 

"Sensei!"

 

Katsuki’s voice cut through the noise like a gunshot. The chatter died instantly. All eyes turned toward the back of the room. Katsuki didn't move his feet from the desk. He just offered a lazy, predatory smirk, his eyes half-lidded.

 

"Don't lump me in with these losers," Katsuki drawled, his voice thick with unearned confidence. "I'm not gonna be stuck at the bottom with the rest of this pathetic crowd."

 

A beat of silence. Then, the predictable outrage.

 

"Hey! That's uncalled for, Katsuki!"

"Who do you think you are?!"

"You calling us losers?!"

 

"Shut up, extras! You should all act like the stepping stones you are!" Katsuki barked back, a small explosion popping in the palm of his right hand, the crackle of caramel-scented sweat silencing the room once more.

 

"Ah, Bakugo," the teacher said, adjusting his glasses and looking down at a clipboard. "You're aiming for U.A. High School, aren't you?"

 

The students gasped, murmuring among themselves.

U.A.? The national school?

The acceptance rate is less than point-two percent this year!

That's impossible!

 

Katsuki finally swung his feet off the desk and stood up, jumping onto the flat surface of the wood. He threw his arms out, basking in the spotlight. "That's exactly why you guys are just extras! I aced the mock tests! I'm the only one at this entire garbage middle school who has the stuff to get in. I'll surpass All Might himself and become the top hero! My name will be carved into the list of the highest earners in the world!"

 

The class stared at him. There was awe, yes. There was jealousy. But there was no challenge.

 

Katsuki looked down at the twenty-something faces staring back at him. And for a fleeting, imperceptible moment, his triumphant smile faltered.

 

Is this it? he thought.

 

He looked at the empty desk two rows ahead of him. It was just a desk. It belonged to some kid named Suzuki who was out sick with a cold. But Katsuki’s eyes lingered on the empty space, a strange, phantom itch in the back of his mind. A feeling like he was missing something. Like he was playing a game of tennis against a brick wall.

 

He was Katsuki Bakugo. He had the perfect quirk. He had the perfect grades. He was strong, fast, and ruthless. He was the undisputed king of Aldera Junior High. There was no one to challenge him. No one to look at him with wide, defiant eyes. No one to mutter annoyingly under their breath. No one to follow him around, making him feel both infinitely superior and inexplicably threatened.

 

He was entirely alone at the top.

 

And it was incredibly, numbingly boring.

 

"Yeah, yeah, you're the best, Bakugo," one of the winged kids muttered, breaking the silence. The class offered a smattering of applause, moving on from the outburst.

 

Katsuki clicked his tongue, hopping down from the desk. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He had won. He always won. So why did it feel so incredibly hollow?

 

 

 

The walk home was no better. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long, bruised shadows across the pavement of the Musutafu shopping district. Katsuki walked in silence, his two self-proclaimed lackeys trailing behind him like stray dogs.

 

"Man, you really told them off today, Bakugo," the kid with the elongated fingers laughed, kicking a stone. "U.A. High. That's insane. But if anyone can do it, it's you."

 

"Yeah," the winged boy chimed in. "When you're a famous Pro Hero, you gotta remember us, okay? Give us an autograph or something."

 

Katsuki scowled, his crimson eyes narrowing. The sycophancy was grating on his nerves today more than usual. He didn't want blind worship from weaklings. He wanted... he didn't know what he wanted.

 

"Shut up. You're giving me a headache," Katsuki snapped, not bothering to look back at them. "Go home. I'm taking a detour."

 

"Oh. Uh, sure thing, Bakugo! See you tomorrow!"

 

They scurried off like frightened mice. Katsuki huffed a breath of annoyance, kicking a discarded plastic bottle into a nearby brick wall. It bounced off with a hollow thwack and clattered into a dark, narrow alleyway underneath a concrete overpass.

 

"Worthless," Katsuki muttered to himself. "The whole lot of them. Nobody in this damn city has any spine."

 

He turned the corner, walking into the cool shade of the underpass. It was a shortcut he often took, away from the bustling crowds of the main street. The air here smelled faintly of mildew and old rain. The silence was a welcome reprieve from the constant chatter of his classmates.

 

Gurgle.

 

Katsuki stopped. He blinked, the sound registering a fraction of a second before the smell hit him. It was a vile, putrid stench, like raw sewage mixed with rotten eggs and swamp water. It burned the inside of his nose.

 

He turned around, his hands instinctively coming out of his pockets, sweat already beading on his palms.

 

From the metal grate of the sewer drain behind him, a massive, shifting mass of dark green sludge was pouring out. It didn't move like water; it moved like muscle, thick and viscous, rising into the air to form a towering, bulbous shape. Two massive, bulbous eyes, wide and crazed with desperation, snapped open within the muck, followed by a jagged maw of crooked, yellowing teeth.

 

"A medium-sized invisibility cloak..." the creature rasped, its voice sounding like thick mud slapping against pavement.

 

Katsuki’s heart hammered against his ribs. His fight-or-flight response triggered instantly, and there was only ever one option for Katsuki Bakugo. He grinned, baring his teeth, raising his right hand.

 

"You picked the wrong guy to mess with, you pile of shit!" Katsuki roared, igniting the nitroglycerin-like sweat on his palm.

 

BOOM!

 

A brilliant flash of orange and red illuminated the dark underpass. The explosion was perfectly aimed, a concentrated blast of heat and kinetic force that struck the Sludge Villain dead center.

 

But the smoke cleared in an instant. The villain hadn't been blown away. Instead, the force of the explosion had simply rippled through its fluid body, causing it to wobble before immediately reforming.

 

Katsuki’s crimson eyes widened. Physical attacks... they don't work?

 

Before he could pull his arm back to fire another blast, the slime lunged. It was impossibly fast. A thick tendril of sludge wrapped around Katsuki’s wrist, yanking him off his feet.

 

"Nice quirk!" the villain cackled, the sound vibrating in Katsuki’s ears as a massive wave of slime crashed over his body. "This'll do perfectly! You've got power, kid! We're gonna make a great team!"

 

Katsuki thrashed, his legs kicking wildly, but there was nothing solid to push against. It was like drowning in a swamp. The sludge enveloped his torso, his arms, and then, horrifyingly, it surged upward toward his face.

 

"Don't worry," the villain whispered, the sludge forcing its way past Katsuki’s lips, sliding down his throat like a living, suffocating snake. "I'm just taking over your body. It'll only hurt for about 45 seconds... then it'll all be over."

 

Panic.

 

Cold, absolute, blinding panic.

 

It was a sensation Katsuki Bakugo had never known. He was the strongest. He was untouchable. But now, he couldn't breathe. The sludge was expanding in his windpipe, blocking his airway. His lungs burned, screaming for oxygen. Tears sprang to his eyes involuntarily as he clawed at his own throat, trying to rip the slime away, but his fingers only slid uselessly through the muck.

 

No... Katsuki thought, his vision beginning to blur at the edges. I can't... I can't die here... not like this!

 

Desperation overtook him. He ignited his palms, setting off explosion after explosion. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The blasts tore through the underpass, shattering the concrete, setting nearby trash ablaze, and sending shockwaves out into the nearby street. But he couldn't aim. He couldn't control it. He was just a hostage, a battery for this monster.

 

The force of the explosions propelled the villain forward, dragging Katsuki out of the underpass and into the middle of the Tatooine Shopping District.

 

Civilians screamed. Glass shattered as Katsuki’s blind explosions blew out the windows of a nearby bakery and a clothing store. Flames licked up the sides of the buildings. Black smoke billowed into the afternoon sky.

 

"Stop fighting it, kid!" the villain roared, using Katsuki’s own quirk to blast away a streetlamp that came crashing down onto a parked car. "You're mine!"

 

Katsuki’s eyes rolled frantically. Through the shifting green muck covering his face, he could see the gathering crowd. He could see the flames he had created. And, finally, he saw them.

 

Pro Heroes.

 

Death Arms, the man with superhuman strength, stood at the edge of the police tape that had been hastily set up. Kamui Woods, the rising star with his wooden quirk, was crouching on a rooftop. Mt. Lady, the giantess, was standing at the end of the street. Backdraft, the rescue hero, was directing water hoses at the burning buildings.

 

Heroes... Katsuki thought, a desperate spark of hope flaring in his oxygen-starved brain. They're here. They'll save me. I'm Katsuki Bakugo. I have a great quirk. They have to save me.

 

He waited for the blur of motion. He waited for Death Arms to charge in and rip the villain apart. He waited for Kamui Woods to bind the monster.

 

But nobody moved.

 

"It's no good!" Death Arms shouted, slamming his fist against a brick wall in frustration. "There's nothing to grab onto! I can't punch fluid! And this kid's quirk is going off like crazy, I can't get close!"

 

"My wood will catch fire if I go in there!" Kamui Woods yelled over the roar of the flames, shielding his face from the heat. "I'm incompatible!"

 

"I need at least two lanes to maneuver!" Mt. Lady groaned, looking down at the narrow shopping street. "I can't fit down there without crushing the civilians!"

 

"I've got my hands full stopping these fires from spreading!" Backdraft called out. "Someone else needs to subdue the villain!"

 

Katsuki heard them. Even through the blood rushing in his ears, even through the gurgling of the slime in his throat, he heard every single excuse.

 

Incompatible?

Can't fit?

Hands full?

 

What are you talking about?! Katsuki screamed in his mind, his lungs convulsing in agony. I'M DYING! DO SOMETHING!

 

He met Death Arms' eyes. The Pro Hero looked away, gritting his teeth.

 

"We just have to wait for someone with a suitable quirk!" Death Arms shouted to the police officers. "Hold the perimeter! Don't let the villain escape! When someone with a telekinesis or wind quirk arrives, we'll make a move!"

 

Wait?

 

Katsuki’s struggles began to weaken. His arms felt like lead. The edges of his vision were turning black. The fires around him raged, fueled by his own power, but his core felt freezing cold.

 

He was suffocating. He was actually going to die. Here, in this filthy street, surrounded by people who were just... watching.

 

The crowd of civilians murmured among themselves. They pointed their phones. They whispered.

Wow, that villain is terrifying.

Look at that kid's quirk, it's amazing.

Where are the other heroes?

Hold on, they'll save him. The pros always win.

 

They're not coming, Katsuki realized, a profound, shattering horror settling over his soul.

 

In a different world, in a different timeline, a boy with messy green hair and no power at all would have broken the police line. He would have sprinted forward, throwing his yellow backpack in a desperate, foolish, beautiful act of defiance. He would have clawed at the slime, sobbing, screaming that his childhood friend looked like he was asking for help. That single, reckless action would have shamed the greatest hero in the world into moving past his limits.

 

But in this world, that boy was never born.

 

In this world, the crowd simply watched. The heroes simply waited.

 

And Katsuki Bakugo, the boy who thought he was a god, learned what it felt like to be completely, utterly helpless.

 

The humiliation was worse than the lack of oxygen. He was a spectacle. A pathetic victim on display. His massive ego, the carefully constructed fortress of superiority he had built over fourteen years, cracked and shattered into a million irreparable pieces. He wasn't special. He wasn't strong. He was just a kid choking to death in the gutter while adults made excuses.

 

Tears, hot and bitter, streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the foul slime. His explosions dwindled to pathetic, wet pops. He couldn't fight anymore. He surrendered. He closed his eyes, waiting for the dark.

 

 

 

In the back of the crowd, a skeletal man with hollow eyes and unkempt blonde hair clutched his side.

 

Toshinori Yagi, the man known to the world as All Might, the Symbol of Peace, was trembling. Beneath his oversized white t-shirt, a horrific, jagged scar pulsed with agonizing pain. He had pushed himself too hard earlier that day. His time limit was up. If he transformed now, he risked tearing his internal organs apart. He risked exposing his true, pathetic form to the world.

 

He gripped a grocery bag tightly in his left hand, his knuckles white.

 

Pathetic, Toshinori thought, watching the young boy with the ash-blonde hair thrash and slowly go limp in the villain's grasp. I'm pathetic. I reprimanded that villain earlier, and I dropped him. This is my fault.

 

He looked at the other heroes. Death Arms. Kamui Woods. They were doing their best to manage the disaster, but they weren't saving the boy. They were waiting. They were being rational.

 

Heroism, true heroism, was never rational. It was the instinct to move when logic dictated you should stay still.

 

Toshinori waited. He waited for a spark. He waited for one of the pros to find their courage, to risk the burns, to dive in. He watched the crowd, hoping, praying to see that spirit of self-sacrifice manifest in someone, anyone.

 

But the seconds ticked by like hours. Thirty seconds. A minute. A minute and a half.

 

The boy's struggles ceased entirely. His eyes rolled back into his head. The explosions stopped.

 

He's dying, Toshinori realized, a cold dread washing over him. If I don't act right now, that boy is dead. And I will have killed him with my cowardice.

 

Blood bubbled up in Toshinori's throat. He swallowed it down. The pain in his missing stomach was blinding, a searing white-hot agony that made him want to collapse. But the guilt was worse.

 

I am the Symbol of Peace, he thought, stepping forward, pushing past a police officer. Even if it breaks me. Even if it kills me.

 

Steam began to radiate from his skeletal frame. His muscles expanded, tearing at the fabric of his clothes, his spine straightening as immense, unnatural power flooded his broken vessel.

 

"Hey! Mister, get back!" a police officer yelled, reaching for him.

 

But Toshinori was no longer there.

 

A shockwave ripped through the crowd, blowing hats off heads and shattering the remaining windows on the street.

 

Katsuki’s consciousness was slipping away into a peaceful, dark void. The burning in his lungs had stopped, replaced by a numb, heavy sleepiness.

 

Then, a massive hand gripped his arm.

 

Katsuki’s eyes fluttered open, just a fraction. Through the veil of slime and tears, he saw him. The towering, muscular figure. The bright yellow suit. The impossibly wide, shadowed smile.

 

"I am pathetic," All Might's voice boomed, though there was a ragged, strained edge to it that the public had never heard before. Blood dripped from the corner of the hero's mouth, hidden by the shadows of his face. "I told myself I was at my limit. I stood by and watched you suffer. A pro should always be ready to risk his life!"

 

All Might pulled his right fist back. The air around him seemed to warp and scream, the sheer atmospheric pressure condensing around his knuckles.

 

"TEXAS..."

 

The Sludge Villain shrieked in terror, trying to pull away, trying to use Katsuki as a shield, but the hero's grip was like a vice.

 

"...SMASH!"

 

All Might threw the punch. He didn't make contact with the villain's liquid body. He didn't need to. The wind pressure generated by the sheer physical force of the strike was like a localized hurricane.

 

The air erupted. The slime was ripped away from Katsuki’s body instantly, atomized by the gale-force winds. The villain was blasted backward, splattering into a thousand inert puddles against the brick walls of the alleyway. The flames burning the buildings were snuffed out in a single second, the oxygen entirely displaced by the punch.

 

And then, as the civilians and heroes stared in stunned silence, a shadow fell over the street.

 

Katsuki, lying on his hands and knees, gasping violently for air, looked up. Drops of water began to fall, hitting the pavement, sizzling against the residual heat. The drops turned into a downpour.

 

"Rain?" Kamui Woods whispered, looking up at the sky.

 

"He changed the weather..." Death Arms muttered, falling to his knees in awe. "With a single punch..."

 

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers. "ALL MIGHT! ALL MIGHT! ALL MIGHT!"

 

Katsuki didn't cheer. He knelt on the wet pavement, his hands clutching his own throat, violently coughing up thick strands of foul-tasting slime. His chest heaved, every breath feeling like swallowing broken glass.

 

All Might stood above him, breathing heavily, the rain washing the blood from his chin. The hero gave a thumbs-up to the crowd, his smile unwavering, but Katsuki, looking up from the gutter, saw the slight tremble in the hero's massive legs.

 

Within minutes, the police had collected the villain in plastic bottles. The paramedics arrived, rushing to check on Katsuki. The Pro Heroes—the ones who had stood by and watched him die—now crowded around him.

 

"Kid, that was incredible!" Death Arms said, kneeling beside the stretcher Katsuki was sitting on. "You held out for so long! And that quirk of yours! You generated so much firepower, you could easily be a top pro one day!"

 

"Yeah," Kamui Woods added, nodding respectfully. "Your endurance is amazing. Once you learn to control that power, you'll be a force to be reckoned with."

 

Katsuki sat wrapped in a silver thermal blanket. He stared at the pavement between his feet.

 

Incredible?

Held out?

Endurance?

 

He gripped the edges of the blanket, his knuckles turning white. His jaw trembled, but not from the cold rain. A dark, ugly emotion was boiling in his gut. A mixture of profound shame, disgust, and pure, unadulterated rage.

 

They were praising him. They were patting him on the back for surviving. But Katsuki knew the truth. He hadn't survived. He had been a victim. He had been completely powerless. He had cried. He had given up.

 

And these heroes, these supposed protectors of society, were trying to cover up their own incompetence by flattering him. They hadn't saved him. They had watched him choke. If All Might hadn't happened to be walking by, he would be a corpse.

 

You're all fakes, Katsuki thought, his ruby eyes narrowing into a glare so venomous it made Death Arms take a step back. You're weak. I'm weak. This whole damn world is weak.

 

He didn't scream at them. He didn't activate his quirk. He just stood up, shrugging off the thermal blanket, and walked away from the paramedics, ignoring their protests. He walked through the rain, his head down, his shadow stretching long and fractured under the flickering streetlights.

 

The boy who walked into that underpass was an arrogant, unchallenged king. The boy who walked out was something else entirely. The illusion of his invincibility was dead, murdered in the gutter by a sludge monster and a crowd of bystanders. In its place, a cold, ruthless resolve began to harden.

 

He would never, ever be weak again. He would never rely on a hero again. And he would never, ever let anyone see him bleed.

 

 

 

A few miles away, in a secluded, garbage-strewn alleyway, a horrific coughing fit echoed off the brick walls.

 

Toshinori Yagi, reverted to his skeletal, emaciated form, was on his hands and knees. Blood poured from his mouth, pooling on the wet asphalt. He clutched his left side, his fingers digging into his own flesh as if trying to hold his broken body together by sheer force of will.

 

The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced. It felt as though his internal organs were on fire, tearing themselves apart from the inside out. He had pushed himself far beyond his limit today. He had forced One For All through channels in his body that were already irreparably damaged.

 

He gasped for air, his vision swimming with dark spots.

 

He leaned back against the brick wall, sliding down until he was sitting in the grime. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of a trembling hand.

 

I was too late, he thought, closing his eyes, the image of the blonde boy's despairing, half-dead face burned into his retinas. I saved him, but I was too late. I let him suffer because I was afraid of my own weakness.

 

He looked down at his right hand. The hand that had held the power to change the weather, to level cities, to bring hope to millions. It was shaking violently.

 

He had felt it when he threw the Smash. The well was running dry. The embers of One For All, the sacred torch passed down through eight generations, were flickering out.

 

"Two hours," Toshinori whispered to the empty alleyway, his voice cracking. "No... after today... maybe an hour. Maybe less."

 

He couldn't lie to himself anymore. He couldn't keep up the facade. Society believed that the Symbol of Peace was an immovable pillar, an immortal god who would always be there to catch them when they fell. But the pillar was cracked. It was crumbling into dust. And when it finally collapsed, the villains hiding in the shadows would tear the world apart.

 

He needed a successor. He had come to Musutafu hoping to find a spark, hoping that destiny would place the right person in his path. But today had proven that relying on destiny was a fool's errand. The world didn't have time for him to wander aimlessly, looking for a miracle.

 

With agonizing slowness, Toshinori reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone. His bloodstained fingers fumbled with the screen, bringing up his contacts. He stared at a name he hadn't called in years. A man he had parted ways with on bitter terms, a man who had seen this day coming long before Toshinori had the courage to admit it.

 

He pressed call.

 

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

 

"Hello?" a sharp, analytical voice answered. "Toshinori?"

 

Toshinori let out a ragged breath, closing his eyes. "Mirai..."

 

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Sir Nighteye's voice softened, just a fraction. "You sound terrible. You pushed yourself again, didn't you? I saw the news report about the Sludge Villain."

 

"I had to," Toshinori rasped. "But... I almost didn't. I hesitated, Mirai. I watched a boy almost die because I was afraid of my limit. The flame... it's almost gone."

 

Silence hung heavy on the line. The sound of the rain hitting the alleyway pavement seemed deafening to Toshinori.

 

"I'm sorry," Toshinori whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "You were right. You were right about everything. I can't do this alone anymore. If I don't pass it on soon, the power will die with me, and the world will fall into chaos."

 

"Toshinori..." Nighteye said gently.

 

"The boy," Toshinori interrupted, his grip on the phone tightening. "The third-year student at U.A. you told me about last year. The one with the phasing quirk. The one you said had the heart of a true hero."

 

"Mirio Togata," Nighteye supplied, a note of quiet triumph, tinged with deep sorrow, entering his voice. "Yes. I still believe he is the only logical choice to bear your burden. He has the strength, the charisma, and the unbreakable spirit required to become the next pillar."

 

Toshinori looked up at the dark, crying sky. He thought of his master, Nana Shimura. He thought of the promise he had made to hold the world on his shoulders.

 

He was passing the crushing weight of that promise onto a child he hadn't even met yet.

 

"Set up a meeting," Toshinori said, his voice firming with finality. "Bring him to me, Mirai. I want to meet the Ninth."

 

 

The gates of U.A. High School loomed against the crisp, azure expanse of the late February sky. Massive, imposing, and wrought from gleaming steel, they were less like the entrance to a high school and more like the gates to a fortress. For generations, they had served as the physical threshold separating the ordinary from the extraordinary.

 

Ochaco Uraraka stood at the bottom of the grand stone steps, her breath pluming in the frigid morning air. She hugged her winter coat tightly against her chest, her stomach doing frantic, nauseating somersaults.

 

This is it, she thought, her brown eyes wide as she took in the sheer scale of the main building. The top hero school in the entire country. If I can just get in here... if I can just pass this one exam... everything will change.

 

She thought of her parents back in Mie Prefecture. She thought of their calloused hands, their tired smiles, and the heavy machinery of their construction company sitting idle in a dusty lot because they couldn't secure any contracts. She thought of the nights she had lain awake, listening to the muffled sounds of her father stressing over bills at the kitchen table.

 

She tightened her hands into fists, the pads of her fingers pressing into her palms. She wasn't here for glory. She wasn't here to be a celebrity. She was here for money, stability, and the chance to give her parents the easy life they deserved. It was a heavy burden for a fifteen-year-old girl, but Ochaco wore it with a stubborn, desperate pride.

 

"Okay," she whispered to herself, slapping her cheeks with both hands to banish the nerves. "You can do this, Ochaco. Just focus. Breathe. And whatever you do, don't trip."

 

She took her first step toward the gates.

 

Suddenly, a harsh shoulder slammed into hers.

 

"Out of my way, round face."

 

Ochaco stumbled, nearly losing her footing on the concrete steps. She gasped, her arms windmilling for a moment before she managed to catch her balance. She spun around, a startled apology on her lips, but the words died in her throat.

 

A boy with spiky, ash-blonde hair was already walking past her. He didn't look back. He didn't offer a hand. He just kept walking, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black uniform trousers. He radiated an aura of pure, concentrated hostility. His shoulders were tense, his stride predatory, and his crimson eyes stared straight ahead with a terrifying, unblinking intensity.

 

There was no green-haired boy nervously trailing behind him to break the tension. There was no clumsy fall for Ochaco to intercept with her Zero Gravity. There was only the cold morning air, and the back of a boy who looked like he was walking into a war zone rather than a school entrance exam.

 

Ochaco swallowed hard, a shiver running down her spine that had nothing to do with the winter chill. What an intense guy... U.A. is full of scary people.

 

She took a deep breath, adjusted her scarf, and hurried inside.

 

 

 

Katsuki Bakugo took his seat in the massive auditorium. The room was cavernous, designed to hold hundreds of hopeful applicants, yet Katsuki felt suffocated.

 

He crossed his arms, slouching into the plush seat. Ten months had passed since the incident with the Sludge Villain. Ten months since he had been reduced to a pathetic, weeping hostage on national television. Ten months since he had realized that the heroes of this world were nothing but cowards in brightly colored spandex.

 

He hadn't spoken to his middle school classmates since that day. He hadn't smiled. He had spent every waking hour pushing his body to the absolute brink of destruction. He ran until he vomited. He blasted concrete in abandoned lots until his palms blistered, bled, and calloused over into thick, hardened leather. He studied combat tactics, urban warfare, and quirk application with a maniacal obsession.

 

I will never be weak again, he reminded himself, the mantra echoing in his skull like a tolling bell. I will never be at the mercy of another living soul. I will crush every single extra in this room, take the top spot, and prove that I am the only real hero in this miserable city.

 

Down on the stage, the Voice Hero: Present Mic stepped up to the podium.

 

"For all you examinee listeners tuning in, welcome to my show today!" Present Mic’s voice boomed through the state-of-the-art sound system, loud enough to rattle the fillings in Katsuki’s teeth. "Everybody say 'hey'!"

 

Silence. Dead, absolute silence gripped the auditorium. Katsuki scowled. Idiot.

 

"What a refined response," Present Mic recovered flawlessly. "Then I'll quickly present to you the rundown on the practical exam! Are you ready?!"

 

More silence.

 

Present Mic explained the mechanics: a mock urban setting, three types of robotic villains worth different point values. Destroy them, rack up points, pass the exam. Simple. Brutal. Exactly Katsuki's style.

 

"May I ask a question?!"

 

A tall, broad-shouldered boy with glasses and neatly combed blue hair suddenly stood up in the middle of the auditorium, his arm raised straight into the air like a flagpole. A spotlight hit him instantly.

 

"On the printout, there are four types of villains! If this is a misprint, then U.A., the top school in Japan, should be ashamed of that foolish mistake!" The boy's voice was loud, imperious, and dripping with righteous indignation. He turned around, pointing an accusatory finger. "In addition, you over there with the curly hair! You've been muttering this entire time... no, wait."

 

The boy paused, looking at the seat where he had intended to point. It was empty. He blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his rigid features, before he quickly recovered, adjusting his glasses.

 

"Ahem. Regardless, if anyone is here on a pleasure trip, they should leave immediately!"

 

Katsuki glared at the blue-haired boy. Pretentious, stuck-up elite garbage, Katsuki thought, a spark popping in his palm. I'm going to blow his glasses straight through his skull once we get out there.

 

"Okay, okay, Examinee Number 7111," Present Mic soothed, waving his hands. "Thanks for the great message. The fourth type of villain is worth zero points. That guy's an obstacle, so to speak. There's one in every battle center. An obstacle that will go crazy in narrow spaces. It's not impossible to defeat, but there's no reason to defeat it, either. I recommend that you listeners try to avoid it."

 

Avoid it, Katsuki scoffed internally. If it gets in my way, I'll melt it into slag.

 

"That's all from me!" Present Mic shouted, striking a dramatic pose. "Finally, I'll give you listeners a present—our school motto! The hero Napoleon Bonaparte once said: 'A true hero is one who overcomes life's misfortunes.' Go beyond. Plus Ultra! Now, everyone, good luck suffering!"

 

 

 

High above the mock urban battlegrounds, hidden away in an observation deck lined with monitors, a young man with bright blue eyes and blonde hair styled in a prominent cowlick stood perfectly still.

 

Mirio Togata wore the standard U.A. gym uniform, but underneath the fabric, his muscles were coiled tighter than a steel spring. He was sweating, a cold, unnatural sheen of perspiration coating his forehead despite the climate-controlled room.

 

"Are you feeling alright, Togata?"

 

Mirio jumped slightly, turning to face his mentor. Sir Nighteye, impeccably dressed in his sharp grey suit, stood behind him, adjusting his glasses. Nighteye’s gaze was piercing, analytical, and heavy with an expectation that Mirio found increasingly difficult to bear.

 

"Yes, Sir!" Mirio said, flashing a bright, wide smile. He struck a confident pose, flexing his biceps. "Just a hundred percent ready to go! The power is thrumming!"

 

Nighteye didn't smile back. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "Do not take this lightly, Mirio. You have held the sacred torch for exactly six months. Today is the first time you will utilize it in a live-fire environment. You are to act as a secret proctor. If an examinee is in mortal peril and the automated safety measures fail, you will intervene. But you must be discreet. The world is not yet ready to know that the Symbol of Peace has passed on his quirk."

 

"Understood, Sir," Mirio said, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second.

 

He turned his gaze back to the monitors, watching the hundreds of middle school students gathering at the massive gates of the various battle centers. His chest ached. A deep, phantom throbbing radiated from the core of his being, a constant reminder of the alien power now residing within his cells.

 

Six months, Mirio thought, memories flooding his mind unbidden.

 

He remembered the day Nighteye had brought him to a secluded office in Tokyo. He remembered seeing Toshinori Yagi—All Might—not as a towering god of muscle, but as a skeletal, broken man coughing up blood into a handkerchief. The shock had nearly brought Mirio to his knees. The invulnerable titan of their society was dying.

 

“I have failed, young Togata,” All Might had said, his sunken blue eyes filled with a profound, soul-crushing regret. “I allowed my pride to blind me to my own limits. I have run out of time. My friend Mirai tells me you are the sun that this world needs. Will you inherit my power? Will you become the next pillar to hold up the sky?”

 

Mirio had agreed. He hadn't hesitated. He was a hero course student; it was his dream to save a million people. How could he say no?

 

But the reality of One For All was a nightmare.

 

The transference—eating a strand of All Might's hair—had been bizarre, but the awakening of the quirk had been pure agony. Mirio’s body, already honed to perfection to handle his Permeation quirk, was completely unprepared for the sheer, apocalyptic kinetic energy of One For All.

 

The first time he tried to activate it, channeling just five percent of the power into his right arm, the bones in his forearm had splintered into dozens of microscopic fractures. He had screamed, collapsing in the training yard.

 

But physical pain wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the quirk incompatibility.

 

Permeation required Mirio to constantly monitor his mass, making specific molecules of his body intangible to pass through matter. It required supreme, razor-sharp focus. One For All was like trying to hold a roaring hurricane inside a paper cup. When he activated One For All, the chaotic energy completely scrambled his concentration. If he tried to phase through a wall while holding One For All, the energy would violently reject the intangibility, causing his cells to physically tear themselves apart.

 

He couldn't use them together. Not yet. He was attempting to master a volatile, bone-shattering power while simultaneously trying to suppress the muscle memory of the quirk he had trained his entire life to use.

 

"Remember the stakes," Nighteye said, breaking Mirio out of his reverie. "Toshinori’s active limit is now less than thirty minutes a day. The crime rate has already spiked by four percent in the last quarter. The villains sense blood in the water. You must master this power, Mirio. You must become the Symbol of Peace faster than Toshinori did. There is no margin for error."

 

The words felt like physical weights being stacked onto Mirio's shoulders. Faster than All Might. No margin for error.

 

"I will, Sir," Mirio said, forcing his signature smile back onto his face. "I won't let you or All Might down. I'll save a million people."

 

But as he looked at the screens, watching the gates to the battle centers slowly begin to open, Mirio felt a cold knot of dread form in his stomach. He wasn't All Might. He was just a teenager with a broken body and a borrowed power.

 

 

 

"Right, let's start!" Present Mic's voice echoed across Battle Center B. "Get moving! There are no countdowns in real battles! Run, run, run, listeners! You're wasting time!"

 

The massive doors had barely parted when Katsuki Bakugo exploded forward.

 

He didn't run; he flew. He ignited rapid-fire blasts from his palms, propelling himself through the air like a human missile, leaving a trail of black smoke and the sharp, acrid scent of burnt sugar in his wake.

 

The other examinees were left standing at the starting line, staring in shock as Katsuki vanished into the faux cityscape.

 

"What the hell?!"

"He's got a head start!"

"Come on, move!"

 

By the time the rest of the applicants crossed the threshold, Katsuki was already three blocks deep, surrounded by the mechanical wreckage of three One-Pointer robots.

 

A Two-Pointer, shaped like a massive metallic scorpion, rounded a corner, its optical sensors locking onto him. "Target acquired," it synthesized in a robotic drone.

 

"Die!" Katsuki roared.

 

He didn't hesitate. He didn't dodge. He launched himself directly at the machine, spinning in mid-air to build centrifugal force. He slammed his right palm squarely against the robot's optical sensor. The explosion was deafening. The shockwave shattered the windows of the fake buildings lining the street. The Two-Pointer’s head detonated, shrapnel raining down as the decapitated chassis crumpled to the concrete.

 

"Two points," Katsuki muttered, landing gracefully in a crouch.

 

He took off again. He was a force of nature. His movements were terrifyingly precise, a violent dance of fire and kinetic energy. He didn't just destroy the robots; he annihilated them. He sought them out with predatory instinct, tracking the sounds of servos whining and metal clanking.

 

A Three-Pointer emerged from an alleyway, aiming a barrage of rubber missiles at him. Katsuki blasted himself upward, dodging the projectiles by a hair's breadth, before vaulting over the machine's chassis. He placed both hands on the robot's exposed battery pack on its back.

 

"Boom," he whispered.

 

The explosion tore the robot in half, sending a pillar of fire fifty feet into the air.

 

Thirty-two points, Katsuki tallied in his head, wiping a smudge of soot from his cheek.

 

He paused on a rooftop, looking down at the street below. Other examinees were fighting. He saw a boy shooting tape from his elbows, struggling to tie up a single One-Pointer. He saw a girl creating acid, melting the leg of a Two-Pointer but crying out as another robot snuck up behind her.

 

Katsuki sneered. Weak.

 

He watched as the acid girl stumbled, about to be crushed by a robot's pincer. Katsuki had a clear shot. He could have blasted the robot from his vantage point, saving her and claiming the points.

 

But he didn't.

 

If she can't handle a toy robot, she has no business being here, Katsuki thought coldly, turning away. Let her fail. I'm not here to play babysitter.

 

He blasted off to another sector, entirely consumed by his own pursuit of dominance. He was a one-man army, racking up points at an unprecedented rate, leaving nothing but scorched concrete and twisted metal in his wake.

 

But in his relentless, solitary crusade, he completely ignored the fundamental principle that made a true hero. He saved no one.

 

 

 

Two sectors away, Ochaco Uraraka was gasping for air, her lungs burning, her vision swimming.

 

"Release!" she cried out, pressing her fingertips together.

 

Three One-Pointer robots, floating helplessly twenty feet in the air, suddenly succumbed to the laws of physics. They plummeted to the earth, smashing into a chorus of screeching metal and shattering gears.

 

Ochaco fell to her knees, slapping her hand over her mouth. Her stomach rebelled, churning violently. The overuse of her Zero Gravity quirk always resulted in severe motion sickness, and she had been using it non-stop for the past eight minutes.

 

Twenty-eight points, she thought, fighting back a wave of bile. Is it enough? The passing grade has to be at least forty, right? I need more. I have to keep going.

 

She forced herself to stand on trembling legs. The battle center was a war zone. Smoke choked the air, and the cacophony of explosions, shouting teenagers, and dying machinery was overwhelming.

 

She jogged down the street, searching for any remaining targets. But the area had been picked clean.

 

"Hey, watch out!" someone yelled.

 

Ochaco turned just in time to see the blue-haired boy with glasses—the one who had interrupted Present Mic—sprint past her at blinding speed, blue flames exhaust venting from his calves. He delivered a flawless, devastating kick to a Three-Pointer that had been hiding behind a bus stop.

 

"That makes forty-five points!" the boy declared, pushing his glasses up his nose before sprinting off down another alleyway.

 

Ochaco watched him go, a heavy weight settling in her chest. Everyone is so strong, she thought, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. They have these amazing, combat-ready quirks. And I just make things float. How am I supposed to compete with that?

 

She thought of her parents' tired faces again. She bit her lip until it bled, forcing the nausea down. No. I can't give up. I just need a few more points.

 

She started to run toward the center of the mock city, hoping to find a cluster of high-value targets.

 

Then, the ground beneath her feet vanished.

 

It wasn't a sinkhole. It was an earthquake. The asphalt buckled and cracked, entire chunks of the street tilting at violent angles. The faux glass windows of the surrounding buildings shattered simultaneously, showering the street in crystalline rain.

 

Ochaco was thrown to the ground, scraping her hands and knees raw on the concrete. She looked up, the air suddenly thick with dust and the terrifying groan of grinding metal.

 

At the end of the avenue, towering over the four-story buildings, a shadow blocked out the sun.

 

It was the Zero Pointer.

 

It wasn't just an obstacle; it was a behemoth, a mechanical titan the size of a skyscraper. Its massive, tank-like treads crushed buildings into powder as it advanced. Its single, glowing red eye swept across the street, illuminating the terrified examinees in a blood-red glare.

 

"Less than two minutes remaining!" Present Mic's voice announced cheerfully over the PA system.

 

Panic erupted. The remaining students in the street took one look at the colossal machine and broke. They didn't retreat; they routed.

 

"Run!"

"That thing is massive!"

"It's just an obstacle! We don't get points for it! Get out of here!"

 

Ochaco tried to scramble to her feet, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She needed to run. She needed to follow the crowd.

 

But as she pushed herself up, a massive slab of concrete from a crumbling facade slid down, pinning her right leg to the asphalt.

 

Pain flared, sharp and blinding. Ochaco cried out, desperately clawing at the rubble. "No! Move! Please, move!"

 

She activated her quirk, tapping the concrete, trying to make it weightless. But she had pushed herself too far. Her nausea peaked, and she dry-heaved violently. The quirk flickered and died. The concrete remained heavy, immovable.

 

The Zero Pointer advanced, its massive tread raising into the air, preparing to crush the street—and Ochaco—into dust.

 

"Help!" Ochaco screamed, her voice tearing. She looked toward the retreating crowd. "Someone! Please! I'm stuck!"

 

 

 

Tenya Iida, Examinee Number 7111, was sprinting away from the Zero Pointer. His engine quirk propelled him at top speed, his mind calculating his points and his remaining stamina.

 

He heard the scream.

 

He skidded to a halt, the exhausts on his legs whining in protest. He turned back. Through the billowing dust, he saw her. The girl with the round face. She was trapped under debris, directly in the path of the colossal machine.

 

Tenya took a step forward, his instincts as a hero screaming at him to run back, to pull her out, to save her.

 

But then, logic took over.

 

Wait, he thought, his analytical mind racing. This is an entrance exam for U.A. The teachers are monitoring everything. They wouldn't put an examinee in genuine mortal danger. There must be an automated safety mechanism. Or... or this is a test to see if we can follow instructions. Present Mic specifically told us to avoid the Zero Pointer. Running back there would be a violation of the recommended parameters. It's suicide.

 

He looked at the machine. He looked at the girl.

 

If I go back, I might get caught in the blast radius. I have forty-five points. I have passed. If I risk my life for a safety hazard that the teachers are already managing... I might fail.

 

Tenya Iida, the heir to the prestigious Ingenium hero family, gritted his teeth, turned his back on the trapped girl, and ran away.

 

It's a test, he told himself, burying his guilt under a thick layer of rationalization. The school will save her.

 

But in the dust and the chaos, there was no one left. There was no boy with a heart too big for his body, willing to shatter his own limbs for a stranger. There was only the looming tread of the Zero Pointer, descending like a guillotine.

 

Ochaco looked up at the metal treads blotting out the sky. The shadow engulfed her. The roar of the machine drowned out her sobs.

 

I'm sorry, Mom, Dad, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut, bracing for the end. I couldn't do it.

 

 

 

In the observation room, Mirio Togata saw the monitor feed.

 

He saw the girl trapped. He saw the blue-haired boy stop, hesitate, and run away. He saw the other examinees fleeing in blind panic.

 

"Sir!" Mirio yelled, panic lacing his voice. "The safety mechanisms! The Zero Pointer is going to crush her!"

 

Nighteye furiously typed at a console. "The remote kill switch is jamming! The machine's treads are caught on a subterranean power cable, overriding the safety lockdown! It's not stopping!"

 

Mirio didn't wait for another word.

 

He triggered his quirk.

 

He phased through the floor of the observation deck, dropping like a stone. He fell through three stories of U.A.'s main building in a matter of seconds, his vision going completely dark, the sensation of falling through solid matter still deeply unnatural. He un-phased just as he hit the ground floor, his momentum carrying him into a dead sprint.

 

Battle Center B, Mirio thought, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm. It's a mile away. I won't make it in time. Not by running.

 

He had to use it.

 

Mirio stopped in the empty courtyard. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He reached deep into the core of his being, finding that chaotic, roaring hurricane of power that All Might had passed down to him.

 

Five percent, Mirio commanded his body. Just five percent. Distribute it evenly.

 

Red, vein-like lines flared to life beneath his skin, glowing with fierce kinetic energy. Green lightning sparked and crackled around his body. The sheer pressure of the quirk felt like his muscles were being submerged in boiling water. He ground his teeth together, suppressing a scream.

 

He bent his knees.

 

BOOM.

 

Mirio launched himself into the sky, the concrete beneath his feet shattering into a crater. He flew over the walls of the Battle Center like a human cannonball. The wind roared in his ears. The power was intoxicating, terrifying, and overwhelmingly destructive.

 

He spotted the Zero Pointer. He saw the massive tread descending toward the trapped girl.

 

I have to phase to get to her in time without losing momentum, but if I phase while holding One For All...

 

Mirio made his choice. He was a hero. His pain didn't matter.

 

As he plummeted toward the street, still coursing with the green lightning of One For All, Mirio activated his Permeation quirk on his legs to bypass a falling chunk of a building.

 

The reaction was instantaneous and catastrophic.

 

The raw energy of One For All violently rejected the sudden lack of physical mass. A sickening CRACK echoed through Mirio's body. His right femur fractured, the bone splintering under the conflicting metaphysical rules of his two quirks.

 

Mirio screamed, blood spraying from his lips, but he didn't stop. He cut off the Permeation, relying purely on the kinetic momentum.

 

He landed on the street with the force of a meteor, right next to the trapped girl. The impact blew away the dust and debris in a massive shockwave.

 

Ochaco Uraraka, eyes squeezed shut, felt the wind blast over her. She opened her eyes, expecting to see death.

 

Instead, she saw a broad back. A young man with blonde hair, wearing a U.A. gym uniform, was standing over her. Green lightning arced off his body. His right leg was bent at a horrifying, unnatural angle, but he stood tall, supporting his weight entirely on his left leg.

 

"Do not fear!" Mirio shouted, forcing his voice to boom over the roar of the machine, forcing a massive, bloodstained smile onto his face.

 

He reached down with his left hand, gripping the massive slab of concrete pinning Ochaco’s leg. With a single, explosive heave fueled by One For All, he hurled the multi-ton slab away like it was a piece of cardboard.

 

He scooped Ochaco into his arms. She was too stunned to speak, staring up at his bruised, bleeding face.

 

The Zero Pointer's tread slammed down, crushing the space where they had been a millisecond prior.

 

Mirio didn't retreat. He leapt upward, carrying Ochaco with his left arm, his broken right leg dangling uselessly. He propelled himself straight up, until he was eye-level with the Zero Pointer's massive head.

 

"You're a bully!" Mirio roared, his blue eyes flashing with golden light. He pulled back his right fist, funneling ten percent of One For All into his knuckles. The bones in his arm groaned in protest.

 

"DETROIT... SMASH!"

 

He drove his fist into the armor plating of the Zero Pointer's face.

 

The resulting shockwave was apocalyptic. The air pressure alone flattened the remaining faux buildings in a two-block radius. The heavy armor of the colossal machine buckled, warped, and then violently exploded inward. The mechanical titan’s head was completely obliterated, its massive body tilting backward before crashing to the earth with a seismic thud that rattled the entire city.

 

Mirio began to fall back to the ground. He clutched Ochaco tightly to his chest, twisting his body to take the brunt of the impact. He landed heavily on his back, sliding across the ruined asphalt, his vision fading to black.

 

"Time's up!" Present Mic's voice blared over the PA, signaling the end of the exam.

 

Ochaco laid on the ground, trembling uncontrollably. She looked at the boy who had saved her. He was unconscious, his limbs bruised and broken, his breathing shallow.

 

"Are you... are you okay?" she whispered, tears streaming down her dirty face. She tried to reach out to him, but exhaustion finally claimed her, and she slipped into unconsciousness beside him.

 

 

 

A week later, Katsuki Bakugo sat in his bedroom at home, staring at the holographic projection emanating from a small metal disc on his desk.

 

"Katsuki Bakugo," All Might's recorded voice played, the hero looking strangely stiff and exhausted in his yellow suit. "You scored an astonishing seventy-four villain points. A remarkable display of combat prowess. You passed the exam with flying colors, placing first in the practical!"

 

Katsuki's expression remained entirely blank. He didn't smile. He didn't cheer.

 

"However," All Might continued, his tone shifting slightly. "The hero course is not just about destroying villains. It is about saving people. You scored zero rescue points. A hero who only fights, but never protects, is missing the core of what it means to be a savior. Still, your combat score alone was enough to secure your place. Welcome, Bakugo. This is your hero academia."

 

The projection fizzled out.

 

Katsuki stared at the empty space on his desk. Zero rescue points.

 

He scowled, sweeping the metal disc off his desk. It clattered against the wall.

 

"I don't need rescue points," Katsuki muttered to the empty room, looking down at his scarred palms. "I don't need to save anyone. I just need to be the strongest. The rest is just noise."

 

He had achieved his goal. He was going to U.A. He was the top scorer. But as he looked out his window at the sprawling city, that same, persistent hollow feeling gnawed at his chest. He was alone at the top, and the view was remarkably bleak.

 

 

 

Miles away, in a small, cramped apartment, Ochaco Uraraka sat at her kitchen table, clutching a U.A. envelope. Her parents stood nervously behind her, their hands resting on her shoulders.

 

She took a deep breath and broke the seal. A small metal disc slid out, projecting a hologram.

 

Present Mic appeared, looking uncharacteristically subdued. "Ochaco Uraraka," he said. "Your practical exam results. Twenty-eight villain points. A solid effort, but unfortunately, it falls below the threshold for the Hero Course."

 

Ochaco’s heart plummeted into her stomach. Tears immediately welled in her eyes. Her mother squeezed her shoulder tightly.

 

"However," Present Mic continued. "You displayed a decent grasp of your quirk under pressure. While you did not score any rescue points, and thus did not qualify for a hidden boost, your written exam scores were exemplary. Therefore, U.A. High School is pleased to offer you a place in Class 1-C, the General Education Department!"

 

The hologram vanished.

 

Silence hung in the small kitchen. General Education. It wasn't the Hero Course. It wouldn't lead to a pro license. It wouldn't bring in the money her parents so desperately needed. She would be an ordinary high school student, watching the heroes from the sidelines.

 

"Oh, Ochaco," her mother whispered, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. "We are so proud of you. U.A. is an amazing school, no matter what department you're in."

 

"Yeah, kiddo," her father added, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't you worry about us. You just focus on your studies. You did great."

 

Ochaco buried her face in her mother's chest, sobbing quietly. She had failed. She had let fear paralyze her when it mattered most. She thought of the blonde boy who had fallen from the sky, shattering his own body to save her when no one else would. That was a hero. And compared to him, she was nothing.

 

I'll just have to work harder, she thought, her tears soaking her mother's shirt. I'll get transferred. Somehow. Someday.

 

But deep down, the dream felt broken, irreparably fractured by the harsh reality of her own limitations.

 

 

 

In the sterile, white confines of a U.A. infirmary room, Mirio Togata lay in a hospital bed, his right leg encased in a thick cast, his right arm heavily bandaged. Recovery Girl had done what she could, but the nature of his injuries—caused by the conflicting cellular commands of two quirks—required immense stamina to heal, stamina his body simply didn't possess right now.

 

The door opened. Toshinori Yagi, in his skeletal form, walked in, followed closely by Sir Nighteye.

 

"Mirio," Toshinori said softly, taking a seat beside the bed. His sunken eyes were filled with immense guilt. "I saw the footage. You were reckless. You could have been killed."

 

"I had to, All Might," Mirio rasped, his throat dry. He offered a weak, pain-tightened smile. "The safety failed. The girl was going to die. I couldn't just watch."

 

"You did the right thing," Nighteye said smoothly, standing at the foot of the bed. "Your heroic instinct is flawless. However, your quirk application was disastrous. Attempting to phase while channeling One For All nearly tore your leg off. You are treating the two quirks as separate tools. They are not. You must find a way to integrate them, or you will destroy yourself before you ever debut."

 

"Mirai, the boy is injured. Now is not the time for a lecture," Toshinori sighed, rubbing his temples.

 

"Time is a luxury we do not possess, Toshinori," Nighteye countered, his voice sharp. He looked at Mirio, his eyes burning with relentless intensity. "The entrance exams are over. The new term begins in a month. You are a third year. You are the Big Three. And you are the Ninth. The pressure is only going to increase from here."

 

Mirio looked at his bandaged hands. His body ached. His bones throbbed with a deep, echoing pain. He thought of the terrified girl beneath the rubble. He thought of the millions of people who relied on All Might's smile to feel safe in the dark.

 

"I understand, Sir," Mirio said, his voice quiet but resolute. He looked up at Toshinori, meeting the dying man's gaze. "I won't break. I'll bear the weight."

 

Toshinori offered a sad, lingering smile, patting Mirio's uninjured hand. "I know you will, my boy. I know you will."

 

But as the two men left the room, leaving Mirio alone in the silence of the infirmary, the golden successor stared at the ceiling, wondering just how much of his own humanity he would have to sacrifice to become the god they needed him to be.

 

 

 

The bus ride to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint was supposed to be an exciting milestone. For Class 1-A, it was their first excursion outside the fortified walls of U.A. High School, a chance to flex their quirks in specialized environments and practice the noble art of rescue.

 

But inside the bus, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.

 

Shota Aizawa, their homeroom teacher, was zipped up in his yellow sleeping bag at the front, his bloodshot eyes closed as he tried to catch a few fleeting minutes of rest. He had assessed this class over the past few weeks, and his conclusion was grim: they were undeniably powerful, but they were a fractured, chaotic mess. There was no cohesion. No unifying heart.

 

Near the front, Tenya Iida sat rigidly, reviewing the class schedule on a clipboard, still trying to enforce rules on a group that blatantly ignored him. In the middle, Eijiro Kirishima and Denki Kaminari were trying to maintain a lighthearted conversation, but their voices sounded loud and forced over the underlying hum of the engine.

 

And at the back sat Katsuki Bakugo.

 

He had his arms crossed, his boots propped up on the seat in front of him, staring out the window with an expression of permanent, simmering fury. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone since they boarded. He didn't need to. His posture radiated a lethal warning to stay away.

 

"You know," Tsuyu Asui began, her blunt, amphibious gaze turning toward the back of the bus. She placed a finger to her chin. "I generally say whatever comes to mind. Bakugo."

 

Katsuki’s crimson eyes snapped toward her, narrowing into hostile slits. "What?"

 

"Your quirk is really flashy and strong," Tsuyu observed calmly, completely unfazed by his glare. "But with your temper being so bad, it's clear you'll never be a popular hero. You act more like a villain."

 

The bus went dead silent. Kaminari winced, slowly sliding lower in his seat.

 

Katsuki’s eye twitched. The memory of the Sludge Villain incident—the helplessness, the pitying looks of the pros, the humiliation—flashed behind his eyes like a strobe light. His pride, already brittle, flared into an inferno.

 

He leapt out of his seat, grabbing the railing above him, sparks detonating from his free hand. "What the hell did you just say to me, frog-face?! I’ll kill you! I’ll be the number one hero, you hear me?! You’re all just stepping stones!"

 

"See?" Tsuyu pointed out, turning back to the front. "Point proven."

 

"You little—!"

 

"Settle down," Aizawa’s voice cut through the noise, flat and exhausted. He unzipped his sleeping bag and stood up, looking at them with a glare that instantly activated his Erasure quirk, his hair floating menacingly. "We're here. Stop acting like children and focus. This isn't a playground."

 

Katsuki ground his teeth, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and collapsing back into his seat. He glared at the back of Tsuyu's head. I don't need any of them, he reminded himself, the dark resolve from the alleyway hardening his heart. They're weak. If they get in my way, I'll crush them too.

 

Across the aisle, Shoto Todoroki watched the exchange with cold, mismatched eyes. He felt nothing but apathy for Bakugo's outburst and Tsuyu's provocation. He looked down at his left hand, feeling the latent heat humming beneath his skin, and forcefully suppressed it. He was here to do a job. He was here to spite his father. The rest of this class meant absolutely nothing to him.

 

 

 

The Unforeseen Simulation Joint was a marvel of modern hero engineering. Underneath a massive, geodesic glass dome lay several distinct disaster zones: a sprawling cityscape in ruins, a massive central lake with a sinking ship, a jagged mountain range, and a roaring fire zone.

 

Standing before them was Thirteen, the Space Hero, clad in an astronaut-like suit.

 

"Welcome, students!" Thirteen’s voice was warm and gentle, a stark contrast to Aizawa's gloomy demeanor. "Today, you will learn how to use your quirks to save lives. You see, a quirk is a weapon. In the wrong hands, or even with a slight miscalculation, it can easily kill. Today, we step away from combat and focus on the true essence of heroism: rescue."

 

Katsuki scoffed quietly. Rescue. He had scored zero rescue points on the entrance exam and still took first place. Power was the only thing that mattered.

 

"Now then," Thirteen continued, bowing slightly, "let's begin—"

 

BZZZT.

 

The lights lining the perimeter of the dome suddenly flickered and died. The massive central fountain, which had been spraying water into the air, sputtered and stopped.

 

A heavy, unnatural chill swept through the massive facility.

 

Aizawa stiffened. His lazy demeanor vanished in a microsecond. He turned toward the central plaza, his hand dropping to the thick capture scarf coiled around his neck.

 

Down in the plaza, the air itself began to warp. A pinpoint of purple and black energy expanded rapidly, tearing a jagged hole in reality. It grew into a massive, swirling gate of dark fog.

 

"What is that?" Kirishima asked, leaning forward, squinting. "Is this like the entrance exam? Has the lesson started already?"

 

From the purple mist, a pale, disembodied hand reached out. It gripped the edge of the portal, pulling a man through. He was lean, covered in severed hands that gripped his face, arms, and torso. Behind him, dozens of grotesque, heavily armed figures began pouring out of the gate. Mutants, thugs, and criminals, all wielding weapons and brandishing dangerous quirks.

 

And finally, stepping out from the fog behind the man with hands, came a nightmare. It was a massive, hulking beast, easily nine feet tall, with skin the color of bruised purple flesh. Its brain was exposed, protruding from its skull, and its eyes were dead, vacant, and bulbous.

 

Aizawa’s blood ran cold. "Thirteen. Protect the students. Do not let them engage."

 

"Wait, what's going on?" Kaminari panicked, stepping back.

 

"Those aren't robots," Aizawa growled, pulling his goggles down over his eyes. "Those are real villains."

 

The word hit the class like a physical blow. Villains. They were kids. They hadn't even picked their hero names yet. They were expecting a field trip, not a war zone.

 

Down in the plaza, Tomura Shigaraki scratched his neck, his red eyes peering through the fingers of the hand on his face. "Where is he? We went through all the trouble of bringing this whole crowd... and All Might isn't here? Maybe if we kill a few kids, the Symbol of Peace will show up to play."

 

"We need to evacuate," Iida declared, his voice trembling but loud. "Thirteen, we must get back to the bus!"

 

"Everyone, move toward the exit!" Thirteen ordered, extending a hand to guide them.

 

But the purple mist that had formed the gate suddenly condensed and shot into the air, swirling like a localized tornado before slamming down right in front of the U.A. students, blocking the heavy steel doors. The mist coalesced into a tall figure with glowing yellow eyes.

 

"I am afraid I cannot allow that," Kurogiri, the warp villain, spoke with a smooth, terrifyingly polite voice. "We are the League of Villains. We have come to extinguish the Symbol of Peace. And unfortunately, you children are in our way."

 

Katsuki’s instincts kicked in. This was it. A real fight. A chance to prove he wasn't the helpless victim from the sludge incident.

 

"Move, extras!" Katsuki roared.

 

"Wait, Bakugo!" Kirishima yelled, activating his Hardening quirk and lunging forward to back him up.

 

But Katsuki didn't want backup. He didn't want to share the glory. As Kirishima stepped up beside him, Katsuki threw his elbow out, violently shoving Kirishima back into Kaminari to clear his own line of sight.

 

"I said stay out of my way!" Katsuki bellowed, leaping into the air. He ignited a massive explosion point-blank into Kurogiri's foggy body.

 

"Did you get him?!" Kaminari yelled, shielding his eyes from the blast.

 

The smoke cleared. Katsuki landed, a feral grin on his face, but the grin faltered when he saw Kurogiri completely unharmed. The physical blast had simply passed through the warp gate.

 

"How foolish," Kurogiri said calmly.

 

Because Katsuki had broken formation and shoved Kirishima, the class was disorganized. Thirteen hadn't been able to use their Black Hole quirk for fear of sucking Katsuki in.

 

Kurogiri expanded his mist, throwing it over the panicked students like a massive, suffocating net.

 

"My job is to scatter you, and torture you to death."

 

The world turned purple and black. The feeling of falling consumed them. In an instant, the unified front of Class 1-A was shattered, thrown to the winds to face the slaughter alone.

 

 

 

The air was bitterly cold.

 

Tsuyu Asui plummeted through the darkness, her stomach dropping. When the purple mist faded, she found herself free-falling over the massive artificial lake of the Shipwreck Zone.

 

Water, she thought, her amphibious instincts taking over. I have the advantage here.

 

She contorted her body mid-air, preparing to dive. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small, purple figure flailing wildly. Minoru Mineta, screaming at the top of his lungs, was hurtling toward the water a few yards away.

 

Below them, the surface of the water was boiling. Not with heat, but with movement. Dozens of villains, equipped with aquatic mutations—gills, fins, webbed hands, and scales—were waiting.

 

"Look what fell from the sky!" a villain with a shark-like jaw laughed, brandishing a rusted spear. "Fresh meat!"

 

Tsuyu hit the water smoothly, her powerful legs propelling her downward. Mineta, however, hit the surface with a painful smack, thrashing helplessly.

 

A villain with an eel-like body lunged for the small boy. Tsuyu moved faster. She shot her long tongue out, wrapping it tightly around Mineta’s waist, and yanked him backward, pulling him out of the villain's jaws. With a powerful kick, she breached the surface, soaring through the air and landing heavily on the deck of the sinking cruise ship anchored in the center of the lake.

 

She spat Mineta onto the deck. He rolled over, coughing up water, his face pale with terror.

 

"We're alive..." Mineta whimpered, curling into a ball. "Oh my god, we're actually going to die today. Did you see them?! They have weapons!"

 

Tsuyu crouched against the railing, peering over the edge. The villains were circling the ship like sharks, waiting. The boat itself was groaning, water slowly pouring into the lower decks.

 

"They intend to sink the ship and force us into the water," Tsuyu analyzed, keeping her voice as steady as possible, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "They have the territorial advantage down there."

 

"So what do we do?!" Mineta shrieked, pulling at the purple spheres on his head. "We have to fight back! Do you have a super strong attack? Can you spit poison?! Can you summon a giant frog?!"

 

"No," Tsuyu said flatly. "I can jump far, swim fast, and stick to walls. My tongue is strong, but against thirty villains with blades, I can't take them all."

 

She looked at Mineta. "What about your quirk? Can you attack?"

 

"They're just sticky!" Mineta sobbed, holding up a purple sphere. "I throw them and they stick! That's it! It's not a fighting quirk! I shouldn't even be here! I just wanted to be popular with girls!"

 

Tsuyu felt a cold knot of dread tighten in her stomach.

 

In another reality, an analytical boy with green hair would have been pacing the deck. He would have broken down the villains' psychology, realized they didn't know the students' quirks, and devised a brilliant, self-sacrificing plan to create a whirlpool and trap them all.

 

But there was no strategist here. There was only a terrified pervert and a rational girl realizing that logic was useless when you lacked firepower.

 

"The boat is sinking faster," Tsuyu noted, the deck tilting beneath her boots. "If we stay here, we drown or get stabbed. We have to jump for the shoreline."

 

"It's too far!" Mineta screamed. "And they're waiting for us!"

 

"I'll carry you," Tsuyu said, her voice brokering no argument. "I'll use my maximum leg strength to clear the water. Hold onto my back."

 

Mineta didn't argue. He scrambled onto her back, wrapping his arms tightly around her neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

 

Tsuyu backed up to the edge of the sloping deck. She took a deep breath, crouching low, feeling the latent power in her thighs.

 

If I miscalculate, we're dead, she thought.

 

The ship gave a violent lurch, slipping deeper into the lake. It was now or never.

 

Tsuyu sprang.

 

She launched herself off the deck like a bullet, soaring high into the air over the water. The wind rushed past her ears. For a second, she thought they were going to make it. The rocky shoreline of the central plaza was approaching fast.

 

But the villains weren't stupid.

 

"They're trying to fly away!" a villain with a massive, hydro-pump mutation on his chest yelled from the water below. "Shoot them down!"

 

A high-pressure blast of water erupted from the lake, moving with the speed and force of a cannonball.

 

Tsuyu saw it coming, but mid-air, she had no leverage to dodge. The blast clipped her right side, spinning her violently. She cried out in pain, her grip faltering.

 

Mineta screamed as the rotational force ripped him off her back. He plummeted toward the shallow water near the shore.

 

"Mineta!" Tsuyu yelled, firing her tongue to catch him.

 

But as she did, a villain with mantis-like scythes for arms lunged from the shallows. He didn't aim for Tsuyu; he aimed for the falling, screaming boy.

 

The sound that followed was something Tsuyu Asui would never, ever forget. It was a sickening, wet shuck, followed by a shriek of pure, agonizing horror.

 

Mineta hit the rocky shore, rolling into the shallows. His cries were gargled. Blood—bright, stark red—began to pool in the water around him, spreading like a horrific ink stain. The mantis villain stood over him, raising his scythe for a finishing blow.

 

Tsuyu hit the shore hard, scraping her arms, but adrenaline flooded her system. She didn't think. She fired her tongue, wrapping it around the mantis villain's leg, and yanked with all her might, throwing him off balance before he could deliver the fatal strike.

 

She scrambled over the wet rocks, diving toward Mineta.

 

He was a mess. A deep, jagged laceration ran diagonally across his chest and stomach. He was pale, his eyes wide and unseeing, his hands weakly pawing at the horrific wound.

 

"Mineta, stay with me," Tsuyu pleaded, her usual calm demeanor completely shattered. Her hands shook violently as she pressed them against his chest, trying to stem the torrential bleeding. It was useless. The blood slipped through her fingers.

 

The villains from the lake were dragging themselves onto the shore, laughing, brandishing their weapons.

 

Tsuyu scooped Mineta’s limp, bleeding body into her arms. She couldn't fight. She could only run. She sprinted away from the Shipwreck Zone, toward the central plaza, tears streaming down her face, the warm, sticky blood of her classmate soaking into her hero costume.

 

 

 

In the Ruin Zone, a chaotic symphony of explosions echoed through the crumbling buildings.

 

Katsuki Bakugo was a demon unleashed. He blasted through the thugs with ruthless efficiency, breaking jaws, shattering ribs, and leaving a trail of groaning bodies in his wake.

 

Eijiro Kirishima fought alongside him, his hardened skin deflecting knives and pipes. He delivered a brutal uppercut to a villain, knocking him unconscious, before turning to Katsuki.

 

"Bakugo, we've cleared this area!" Kirishima yelled, breathing heavily. "We need to get to the others! I'm worried about the guys with less combat-oriented quirks!"

 

"I don't care about the extras!" Katsuki snarled, wiping sweat from his forehead. He pointed a smoking finger toward the central plaza. "Did you see that mist guy? The portal? He's the key to their escape. If we take him down, we trap them all here. I'm going for the head."

 

"Are you crazy?!" Kirishima argued, grabbing Katsuki’s shoulder. "That's a suicide mission! Aizawa-sensei is fighting down there by himself! We have to prioritize our classmates!"

 

Katsuki violently slapped Kirishima’s hand away. "Don't touch me! If you want to go play nurse with the weaklings, go do it! I'm going to prove that I'm better than all of these garbage villains!"

 

"This isn't about proving yourself, man! This is life or death!"

 

"Exactly!" Katsuki roared, his eyes wild with the manic desperation he had harbored since the Sludge Villain. "And I'm not going to be the one dying! I'm the one who wins!"

 

He didn't wait for Kirishima to respond. He fired off a dual-handed explosion, launching himself out of a broken window and rocketing toward the central plaza.

 

Kirishima watched him go, a profound sense of disappointment washing over him. He hardened his fists, looking around at the ruined buildings. He was alone. He sighed, turning in the opposite direction.

 

"I'm coming, guys," Kirishima muttered to himself, running to find his classmates.

 

Katsuki flew toward the plaza, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He was going to take down the warp gate. He was going to take down the hand guy. He was going to show All Might, Aizawa, and the entire world that Katsuki Bakugo was the only hero they ever needed.

 

But as he crested the stairs overlooking the central plaza, the victorious roar died in his throat.

 

 

 

Down in the plaza, Shota Aizawa was losing.

 

He had fought brilliantly. For ten straight minutes, he had engaged in a terrifying, close-quarters dance of death with over forty villains, erasing their quirks and breaking their bones with his capture scarf.

 

But he was a stealth hero. Prolonged, multi-target combat in broad daylight was his worst-case scenario. And Tomura Shigaraki had been watching.

 

"Your hair drops when you blink," Shigaraki observed, stepping forward, his raspy voice carrying over the groans of the defeated thugs. "Your intervals are getting shorter. You're exhausted, Eraserhead."

 

Aizawa gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with excruciating dryness. He whipped his scarf out, wrapping it around Shigaraki’s arm and pulling him close, driving a vicious elbow into the villain's stomach.

 

Shigaraki didn't flinch. In the fraction of a second that Aizawa blinked from the impact, Shigaraki’s hand shot out, all five fingers clamping onto Aizawa’s right elbow.

 

"Decay," Shigaraki whispered.

 

Aizawa’s eyes shot open, activating his quirk, but the damage was already done. The fabric of his sleeve crumbled to dust. The skin beneath it grayed, cracking and flaking away like dry earth. The muscle tissue beneath rapidly deteriorated, exposing bone.

 

Aizawa let out a strangled cry of agony, dropping to one knee, clutching his ruined arm.

 

"You're cool, Eraserhead," Shigaraki said, stepping back. "But you're not the final boss. Nomu."

 

The massive, purple beast with the exposed brain didn't roar. It didn't make a sound. It simply moved.

 

To Aizawa, it was as if reality skipped a frame. One moment, the Nomu was twenty feet away. The next, a shadow engulfed him, and an unbearable pressure crushed his back.

 

The Nomu slammed Aizawa face-first into the concrete pavement. The shockwave fractured the ground in a ten-foot radius. Aizawa’s nose shattered. His goggles splintered, glass digging into his cheeks.

 

He tried to look up, to erase the monster's quirk, but the Nomu grabbed his left arm. With a sickening, effortless snap, it broke the limb like a dry twig.

 

Aizawa screamed, a harrowing sound of pure agony that echoed through the entire USJ.

 

The Nomu raised a massive fist and brought it down on Aizawa’s back. CRUNCH. Ribs shattered. Aizawa coughed up a geyser of blood, his body going limp.

 

"He's tough," Shigaraki mused, watching the hero bleed out. "But against Nomu's Shock Absorption and Super Regeneration, he's just a bug."

 

At the edge of the plaza, Tsuyu arrived, carrying the bleeding, unresponsive body of Minoru Mineta. She dropped to her knees, hiding behind a large piece of debris. She watched in paralyzing horror as her teacher was dismantled.

 

He's going to die, Tsuyu thought, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. Aizawa-sensei is going to die.

 

Shigaraki turned his head. His red eyes locked onto the debris where Tsuyu was hiding.

 

"Oh," Shigaraki said, his lips curling into a sadistic smile beneath the severed hand on his face. "A stray."

 

He moved with terrifying speed, closing the distance in three strides. Tsuyu froze. The instinct to run was entirely overridden by the predatory aura radiating from the villain.

 

Shigaraki reached through the debris, his hand shooting toward Tsuyu’s face.

 

I'm sorry, Mom, Dad, Tsuyu thought, closing her eyes.

 

But the decay never came.

 

Shigaraki gasped in frustration, looking at his hand. He turned his head.

 

Aizawa, lying in a pool of his own blood, his arms broken, his skull fractured, had lifted his head just an inch. His bloodshot, burning eyes were locked onto Shigaraki. Through sheer, unimaginable force of will, the hero was erasing the villain's quirk.

 

"You really are cool... Eraserhead," Shigaraki grumbled.

 

He raised his foot and stomped viciously on Aizawa’s head, smashing his face back into the concrete. Aizawa’s eyes rolled back. His quirk deactivated.

 

"Die," Shigaraki said, turning back to Tsuyu, reaching out again.

 

"GET AWAY FROM HER!"

 

Katsuki Bakugo plummeted from the sky like a meteor. He aimed his hands backward, firing a massive blast that propelled him forward at supersonic speed. He didn't aim for Shigaraki; he aimed for the metal collar around Kurogiri's neck, having deduced that it was the only solid part of the warp villain.

 

Katsuki slammed into the ground, grabbing Kurogiri’s collar and pinning the misty villain to the concrete, a crackling explosion primed in his other hand.

 

"I've got your escape route pinned!" Katsuki yelled, a manic grin returning to his face. "Move and I blow him to kingdom come!"

 

Shigaraki stopped. He looked at Katsuki, then at Kurogiri. "Nomu."

 

The beast vanished from Aizawa’s broken body.

 

Katsuki didn't even have time to register the movement. The Nomu was simply suddenly there, towering over him, its massive fist already in motion.

 

Katsuki let go of Kurogiri, crossing his arms over his chest to block, igniting a defensive explosion.

 

The Nomu’s fist pushed through the explosion as if it were a gentle breeze. The blow connected with Katsuki’s crossed arms. The sheer kinetic force was akin to being hit by a freight train.

 

Katsuki’s forearms fractured. He was launched backward, tumbling end over end across the plaza, his ribs cracking as he skidded to a halt near the stairs.

 

He coughed up blood, his vision swimming. The pain was blinding, but the psychological blow was worse. He had come here to be the hero, to be the strongest. And in a single hit, he had been reduced to a broken ragdoll.

 

"Kurogiri, our exit is compromised," Shigaraki said, scratching his neck furiously. "Let's just kill the brats and leave. Game over."

 

The Nomu stepped toward Katsuki, raising its fist to deliver a lethal blow. Katsuki couldn't move. He stared up at the monster, the same helpless, suffocating terror from the sludge incident returning in full force.

 

I'm... weak... Katsuki thought, his arrogant heart finally breaking. I can't do anything.

 

BOOM.

 

The heavy steel doors at the entrance of the USJ, reinforced to withstand a missile strike, were blown completely off their hinges, hurtling through the air and crashing into the ground below.

 

The dust settled.

 

There, standing in the doorway, was a towering figure. But he was not smiling. The iconic, boisterous grin of the Symbol of Peace was completely absent, replaced by a scowl of pure, terrifying rage.

 

"It's fine now," All Might's voice boomed, completely devoid of its usual warmth. It was low, dangerous, and cold. "I am here."

 

 

 

Toshinori Yagi was dying.

 

He had pushed his limit that morning on his commute, wasting precious minutes playing the hero. When young Iida had arrived at U.A., breathless and terrified, babbling about villains at the USJ, Toshinori had known his time was up. He had maybe five minutes of muscle form left. If he pushed it, he risked total biological collapse.

 

But seeing his students—seeing young Aizawa broken on the ground, seeing the frog girl crying over a bleeding classmate, seeing young Bakugo lying helpless before a monster—the physical pain vanished, replaced by an incandescent, furious need to protect.

 

He didn't run; he teleported. In a blur of motion too fast for the human eye, he crossed the entire facility. He grabbed Aizawa. He grabbed Tsuyu and the bleeding Mineta. He grabbed Bakugo. In the span of a single heartbeat, he relocated them all to the edge of the plaza, away from danger.

 

"Aizawa... I'm sorry," All Might whispered, looking at his mangled colleague. He turned to Tsuyu. "Get them to the entrance. Now."

 

Tsuyu nodded, still sobbing, dragging Mineta's body toward the stairs. Katsuki, clutching his broken arms, forced himself to a sitting position, watching the Symbol of Peace.

 

"Ah," Shigaraki smiled, lowering his hands. "The final boss is here. Looks like the continue screen is over."

 

"Nomu," Shigaraki commanded.

 

All Might and the Nomu clashed. The sheer force of their fists meeting created a shockwave that tore the concrete of the plaza apart, sending chunks of debris flying into the air.

 

"It has Shock Absorption!" Shigaraki yelled gleefully over the roar of the wind. "Physical attacks won't work on him, All Might! He was designed to kill you!"

 

All Might gritted his teeth. Blood began to seep from his lips. Shock absorption? he thought, throwing a flurry of blindingly fast punches. Not nullification. Absorption. That means there is a limit.

 

He pushed faster. He traded blows with the monster, ignoring the agonizing pain in his left side where his organs were missing. Every time he used One For All, it felt like his veins were filling with battery acid.

 

"If he has shock absorption," All Might roared, his fists becoming a blur of yellow and red, "then I just have to hit him harder than he can absorb! Plus Ultra!"

 

All Might gathered every last drop of the power passed down to him. He didn't hold back. He channeled it all into his right arm. He grabbed the Nomu by the wrist, spinning the massive beast around, and delivered a devastating, earth-shattering uppercut to the creature's exposed stomach.

 

The shockwave tore the roof off the USJ dome.

 

The Nomu was launched into the sky, breaking the sound barrier. It flew through the shattered glass of the dome, disappearing into the clouds, completely removed from the battlefield.

 

All Might stood in the center of the crater. Steam poured off his body in thick, blinding waves. He was panting heavily, his muscles twitching violently.

 

"He... he beat it," Katsuki whispered from the stairs, his eyes wide with awe. "He actually beat it."

 

But Katsuki was wrong. All Might hadn't just beaten the Nomu. He had beaten himself.

 

Through the thick curtain of steam, Shigaraki stared in shock. But as the smoke began to clear, Shigaraki’s shock turned into a twisted, malicious grin.

 

"You're bluffing," Shigaraki whispered, noticing the severe hunch in All Might's posture, the trembling in his knees, and the way the hero's massive frame seemed to be deflating slightly at the edges.

 

"Kurogiri. We can still win. He's empty."

 

All Might tried to raise his fists, but his arms felt like lead. The embers of One For All were completely dark. He was trapped in his muscle form purely on adrenaline and willpower, and both were rapidly fading.

 

Move, Toshinori screamed at his body. Just a little more.

 

Shigaraki lunged, his hands outstretched, a manic cackle escaping his lips. Kurogiri warped behind All Might, cutting off his retreat.

 

In a different timeline, this was the exact moment Izuku Midoriya would leap from the water, breaking his own legs to cross the distance, screaming a war cry that would distract the villains just long enough for the pros to arrive. Izuku's suicidal bravery would buy All Might the fraction of a second he needed.

 

But there was no Izuku Midoriya.

 

Katsuki Bakugo was frozen on the stairs, crippled by pain and the lingering terror of the Nomu. Tsuyu was desperately trying to stop Mineta from bleeding out. The rest of the class was scattered across the facility, completely unaware of the tragedy unfolding in the center.

 

All Might stood entirely alone.

 

He tried to dodge, but his legs finally gave out. He stumbled to one knee.

 

Shigaraki’s hand shot forward. All Might managed to twist his torso, avoiding a lethal blow to his face or chest, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the strike entirely.

 

Shigaraki’s five fingers clamped down hard on All Might's right side, just above his hip—the only part of his torso not mangled by his previous battle with All For One.

 

"Checkmate," Shigaraki whispered.

 

The Decay quirk activated.

 

Toshinori Yagi didn't scream. He simply gasped, his eyes widening in pure, transcendent agony.

 

The hero suit crumbled to dust. The skin beneath turned grey and began to flake away, exposing the thick muscle. The muscle decayed instantly, turning to black ash. The decay spread rapidly, eating a massive, jagged hole into his side, dangerously close to his spine and vital organs.

 

BANG!

 

A gunshot rang out.

 

Shigaraki shrieked in pain, letting go of All Might as a bullet tore through his hand, splattering blood onto the concrete. Another bullet struck his shoulder, followed by another hitting his leg.

 

At the entrance of the USJ, Snipe, the pro hero, stood with his smoking revolvers. Behind him, Tenya Iida, panting and covered in sweat, led a small army of U.A. teachers: Midnight, Ectoplasm, Cementoss, and Principal Nezu.

 

"They're here!" Shigaraki hissed, clutching his bleeding hand. "Kurogiri, get us out!"

 

A massive glacier of ice suddenly erupted from the ruins, shooting toward the plaza. Shoto Todoroki, having casually strolled from the Landslide Zone after freezing his opponents, finally arrived, sending a wave of ice to capture the villains.

 

But Kurogiri was faster. He enveloped Shigaraki in his warp gate, the ice shattering harmlessly against the closing mist.

 

"We failed to kill him today," Shigaraki’s voice echoed from the void as he vanished. "But we hurt him. The Symbol of Peace is dying. We'll be back."

 

The portal snapped shut. The battle was over.

 

But there was no cheer. There was no sigh of relief.

 

The U.A. teachers rushed down the stairs. Cementoss threw up walls to block the students' view of the carnage.

 

Katsuki Bakugo sat on the steps, his broken arms throbbing, his mind numb. He watched as Midnight and Snipe carefully loaded Aizawa’s mangled body onto a stretcher. He watched as Recovery Girl rushed to Tsuyu, shaking her head grimly as she looked at Mineta's pale, motionless form.

 

And then, Katsuki looked at All Might.

 

The Symbol of Peace was lying on his side in a pool of his own blood. Steam was violently hissing from his body as he involuntarily reverted to his skeletal form. The right side of his torso was a horrific, blackened crater of decayed flesh.

 

"Toshinori!" Recovery Girl cried out, dropping to her knees beside him, her hands glowing as she desperately tried to use her quirk on a man who had no stamina left to heal.

 

All Might looked up at the ceiling of the USJ, his hollow, sunken eyes filled with unspeakable sorrow. He had survived, but at a terrible cost. The damage from Shigaraki's decay was permanent. He could feel it. Whatever thread had been keeping his hero form intact was severed.

 

His time limit wasn't minutes anymore. It was seconds. The Symbol of Peace was, for all intents and purposes, dead.

 

Katsuki Bakugo stared at the blood on the ground. He realized then the horrific truth of the world. It wasn't a game of points and rankings. It was a meat grinder. And his arrogant belief that he could conquer it alone had almost cost everyone their lives.

 

As the sirens wailed in the distance, echoing through the shattered dome, Class 1-A learned their first real lesson. They were children playing dress-up, and the world was infinitely darker than they had ever imagined.