#knownoevil

Trying to focus, you pushed yourself off the plush bed, tiny legs unsteady and weak on the plush carpet. Drawn by an instinct you didn't understand, you stumbled towards a small, ornate vanity tucked away in a corner.

BOOM!

Another flash illuminated the room, and for a fleeting moment, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. A face stared back, long, coily red-tinged auburn hair, framed a face unfamiliar and innocent.

However, it was your eyes that truly terrified you.

Golden irises stared back, hypnotic in the flickering light. But it was the crimson rings within them, swirling like miniature storms, that sent a cold dread spiraling down your spine.

These eyes, alien and unsettling, were the only familiar thing in this sea of confusion.

Where are you? Why did everything feel so wrong?

BOOM!

Tears welled up, blurring the vibrant clash of pink and lightning in the reflection. But even the tears felt alien—a betrayal of a body you didn't recognize.

You were adrift in a sea of your own flesh, a puppet with severed strings.

No memories, no identity, just a throbbing head, a strange pain in your body, and fear—a cold, suffocating fear that had no name.

Collapsing onto the plush carpet, you reached for the cool vanity for some semblance of comfort. But instead of finding solace, your hand brushed against a soft, frilly nightgown, another alien entity on your unfamiliar skin.

You were lost, a terrified child in a body that felt wrong, with eyes that held a secret you desperately wanted to remember.

A frantic voice cut through the cacophony of fear in your head. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

An instinct you didn't understand made you shrink back.

The voice belonged to a woman who rushed to your side, her brow furrowed in worry. Her face, etched with lines of concern, was unfamiliar, yet there was a warmth in her eyes that practically swallowed you whole—you were a star in her desolate sky.

You wanted to ask who she was, who you were, but the moment you tried to form a question, a searing pain lanced through your head. It was easier, for now, to just let the confusion wash over you.

"Come to Mommy~" she reached out, her voice gentle but laced with urgency.

The woman—your apparent mother—sighed, her worry deepening. "Oh, sweetie, you must have been scared with that awful storm. Were you having another bad dream?"

Another dream? The term triggered a flicker of unease.  Dreams?  What dreams?

You clenched your fists, the throbbing in your head intensifying with every attempt to pull a memory from the void.

Nothing.

Frustration welled within you, a surge of anger replacing the fear. "I... I don't remember," you admitted, the words falling flat in the face of your growing anxiety.

Your mother, whoever she was, wrapped her arms around you, a gesture that felt foreign yet strangely comforting.  You didn't know how to react, your body stiff and unyielding in her embrace.

"It's alright, ____~" she soothed, her voice tinged with sadness. "Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and ready for breakfast."

The name "____" hung in the air, a word that felt foreign on your tongue—a borrowed coat ill-fitting your shoulders.

As your short and chubby mother, led you away from the unsettling reflection in the mirror, you stole a glance at her. Her burnt orange hair, once vibrant and full of life, was now streaked with silver, a testament to the years that had passed.

The curls, once perpetually escaping from any attempt at control, were now pulled back in a loose, lopsided bun, seemed to vibrate with nervous energy.

Her honey-tan skin was dusted with a constellation of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose—boring the etchings of time in the form of wrinkles crinkling around her warm, honey-colored eyes. 

Even now, a flicker of worry, a worry that seemed to have become a permanent resident, danced within their depths.

Her name, you vaguely recalled from the panicked jumble in your head, was Mei.

The house itself mirrored Mei—functional, lacking any personal touches.  It spoke of a life lived by routine, devoid of the chaos you once thrived in. The lack of toys or childish decorations was another jarring note.

Breakfast was a quiet affair.  Your 'father'—Wino, a stoic man with a perpetual peppered five o'clock shadow—presented a stark contrast.

Tall and lanky, he grunted a greeting before disappearing behind a newspaper. His electric green eyes, usually crinkled at the corners from a lifetime of suppressed smiles, were hidden behind thick wire-rimmed glasses.

His hair, once a vibrant auburn, had surrendered to the relentless march of time, turning a stark white that seemed to hold the secrets of countless unspoken words; both he and your mother appeared older than their mid-forties.

As Mei fussed over you, you picked at your food—the unfamiliar taste of fluffy pancakes, a bland echo of the delicacies you once indulged in.

Mei, oblivious to the storm brewing within you, hummed along to a children's show playing on the TV. It depicted brightly colored superheroes battling a giant, fire-breathing lizard.

You watched the scene detachedly; it was both whimsical and confusing.

"Welcome back, young heroes-in-training! Today, we're going to learn all about quirks—those amazing abilities that make our world so unique!"

A flurry of images flashed across the screen: a boy with stretchy limbs, a girl who could manipulate fire, a man who could zoom through the air.  Your brow furrowed in concentration.  This was unlike anything you'd ever known.

"Quirks can be anything from super strength to creating illusions!" the cheerful announcer continued, "It's what makes our society so exciting!"

The show droned on, explaining quirk training, hero schools, and the intricate classifications of these bizarre abilities.  You listened intently, a spark of curiosity igniting within you.

What the hell are these "quirks" they kept droning on about?

Suddenly, a booming voice jolted you from your thoughts.

"Mei, change the channel. Not much point in letting her watch that mess. She won't be developing any quirks soon," Wino sighed behind his newspaper, lowering it down with a grimace. "No use in getting her hopes up."

Your mother bit her lip, a flicker of sadness crossing her features. "But she's only five," she began, her voice tinged with defiance, "we don't know if she's actually quirkless, there's always a chance..." Her words trailed off as Wino stood up and left the room without a glance, leaving behind a lingering scent of pipe tobacco in his wake.

You watched him go, your eyes narrowing a bit. Quirkless? The word itself felt foreign, a label you didn't understand but instinctively disliked.

As if on cue, the monotonous ringing of the house phone cut through the tense silence.  Mei gave you a strained smile before hurrying to answer it.  Left alone, you wandered back to the television, the cartoon announcer's overly enthusiastic voice now droning on about the "Quirkless Woes."

"And remember kids," the announcer chirped in a condescending tone, "if you're unfortunate enough to be born without a Quirk, just remember, there are plenty of perfectly ordinary jobs you can take up! Like... janitorial services! Or... grocery bagging!" His patronizing tone made you huff in annoyance; a strange feeling, a mix of anger and confusion, began to nestle in your chest.

Being Quirkless sounded... boring.

Limited.

Unfair.

Suddenly, the cheerful theme song was drowned out by a breaking news alert flashing across the screen.

A stern-faced woman with a microphone reported on a villain attack downtown. Live footage showed a hulking man with glowing red eyes causing havoc, his bare fists shattering concrete pillars with ease.

"This is villain Catastrophe causing a rampage in the Musutafu financial district," the newscaster explained. "Heroes are on the scene, but the situation seems critical. We'll continue to bring you updates..."

Your gaze flicked between the cartoon heroes and the real-life devastation; a strange mix of curiosity and... envy? flickered within you.

These people, these heroes, could manipulate reality—defy the laws of physics with the flick of a wrist.

You, on the other hand, were utterly and seemingly ordinary.

The frustration bubbled up again, a familiar feeling you couldn't quite place. Was it the powerlessness? The lack of control? Or perhaps a deeper longing for something more, something you couldn't even articulate?

As the news droned on, Mei switched the TV off, a bright etching itself onto her face. "Come on, sweetie, let's finish your breakfast~" she said gently, "Today's an exciting day, we're learning the alphabet!"

☆

☆

Later that night, as the rain tapped a gentle rhythm against your window, you lay tucked under the covers, Mei having just left after her nightly goodnight kiss.

Staring out at the slick streets, you tried, in vain, to push past the blank canvas of your memories.

A dull ache throbbed behind your eyes, intensifying with each frustrated attempt.  Your body trembled, a cold sweat slicking your skin.

Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through your head, and a gasp escaped your lips.

Involuntarily, your eyes flared open, an unsettling yellow glow emanating from them for a fleeting moment.  A metallic tang filled your mouth, and you reached up to your nose, feeling a warm trickle of blood.

Through the ringing in your ears, a voice, faint and distorted, seemed to whisper a name. "...Ma...ki...ma..." it repeated, the syllables blurring together before fading entirely. Each whisper senting a jolt through you, a flicker of a vision erupting behind your closed eyelids.

"...Ma...ki...ma..." The first whisper brought a flash of a pale, porcelain face, a chilling smile stretched impossibly wide across blood-red lips.

Then, darkness.

"...Ma...ki...ma..." The voice pleaded, a touch more insistent this time; and with it, it ignited a vision of slender, crimson-stained fingers wrapped around a length of barbed wire, a look of perverse pleasure contorting the unfamiliar face.

Darkness again.

"...Ma...ki...ma..." The vision that followed this plea was a kaleidoscope of horrors—a city in flames, screams swallowed by the roar of an unseen beast, and that same face, eyes blazing with a cold, predatory hunger.

A wave of nausea washed over you, and you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, willing the visions away.

The whispers began to quicken, a desperate urgency seeping into their tone. "Ma...ki...ma...Ma...ki...ma!" Each utterance felt like a physical blow, a sledgehammer pounding against the fortress of your mind.

With each beat, the visions intensified, a torrent of violence and depravity flooding your senses.

A cackle, laced with madness, echoed in the darkness. You saw twisted shadows writhe on the ground, heard the sickening crunch of bones, felt the heat of searing flames licking at your skin.

And then, her face, crystal clear this time, filled your vision.

The pale girl, the crimson smile—Makima.

Her eyes, once a mesmerizing crimson, were now a bottomless void, devoid of any humanity.

"Makima!" The final whisper arrived in a shout of despair, resonating with horrifying clarity, shattering the last vestiges of your resistance.

Your pupils dilated, a single word echoing in the vast emptiness—Makima.

It was a name, a fragment of who you were, but it offered no explanation for your current existence.

Slowly, the tremor subsided, the yellow glow in your eyes receding, leaving behind a chilling emptiness.  Fear melted into a strange sense of clarity.

You were Makima, but you were also ____.

Calming your ragged breaths, you tested the name on your tongue in a low, raspy whisper. "Makima..."

It held power—a chilling familiarity—but it felt distant, alien.

____, the name your mother called you, felt more comfortable, more like your own.

Yes, you decided; you were ____.

You didn't know who Makima was, but you would find out. And in the meantime, you would carve your own path in this world, as ____.

A determined glint flickered in your eyes, a spark of defiance against the unknown future.

A/N: EECKKK!! I'm so hyped for this, lol. Just get ready for all the fan-service cuz y'all know i love being delusional, lololo

Leaning down even closer, you brushed the tip of your nose along the side of his wounded face, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the adrenaline thrumming in the air. The contrast of your smooth skin against his rough, blood-stained flesh sent a spark of something dark through you.

❝Oh, you haven't seen a real issue yet~❞you purred, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper, the sound sending shivers down his weakened spine.

Slowly, you trailed your nose along the contours of his jawline, stopping just a hair's breadth away from his own. ❝Not by a long shot,❞ you breathed, your voice barely above a murmur. Then, with a final, teasing touch, your nose bumped against his.

With a final smirk, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his temple. Before Aizawa could react, you took control. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, flickered once before glossing over completely. His jaw slackened, his body a puppet on a string.

You had seized the reins.

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

Humans.

Oh, how you despised them.

As the Control Devil, you couldn't help but see them for what they truly were: inferior pests that belong beneath your thumb.

So imagine your surprise that you found yourself dying at the hands of one and waking up in a world where 'Quirks' define one's worth, with no recollection of who you were.

But as whispers of your past life soon began seeping through the cracks of your new reality, you decided that a life without your reverend Pochita wasn't a life worth living.

So the question remains: What's left for you to do? ..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

╭─↬ ❗𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆❗ ↫─╮ There will be mentions/descriptive scenes of the following:

╭ ⁞ ❏ Strong Language ┊ ⁞ ❏ Stalker-Like Tendencies ┊ ⁞ ❏ Toxic and Manipulative Behavior ┊ ⁞ ❏ Graphic Gore and Violence ┊ ⁞ ❏ Apathetic/Antisocial Behavior ┊ ⁞ ❏ Minor and Major Character Deaths ┊ ⁞ ❏ Yandere Tendencies

🔺 Reader Discretion Advised.

Lol, I don't know if I got them all, so if you see anything I didn't list, come back and comment right here so I can add them to the list later ➡

Enjoy (•͈˽•͈)

𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐬𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Though this may be a various!bnha fic, MC will most likely be with 1-2 people; may the best yanderes win 😈

Wino remained a distant figure in all this, keeping his interactions with you brief and impersonal. Sometimes, you'd catch him stealing a glance your way—a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he quickly retreated behind a curtain of newspaper.

Despite, or perhaps because of, your sheltered life, a fierce independence bloomed within you. You devoured the lessons Mei presented, your mind a sponge soaking up knowledge.

You craved understanding, a way to make sense of the world beyond the four walls of your home.

One afternoon, as you were diligently building a tower with colorful blocks, the sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on your focused face.

The air was thick with the aroma of baking cookies, courtesy of Mei, who was humming cheerfully in the kitchen.

Suddenly, the gentle hum was replaced by the familiar blaring voice of a cartoon announcer on the television.

You glanced up, the frown furrowing your brow mirroring the one now etched on the face of the overly enthusiastic cartoon hero plastered across the television screen.

The hero, clad in a flamboyant costume that seemed more of a hindrance than a help, was pummeling a villain whose entire power seemed to be an unfortunate case of bad hair.

"And that, my friends," the announcer boomed, his voice dripping with condescension, "is how a proper hero uses their Quirk! Now, let's talk about those unfortunate souls who weren't blessed with such amazing abilities."

A familiar heat pooled in your chest, a simmering resentment fueled by the announcer's patronizing tone.You weren't 'unfortunate'—you were ____.

And you wouldn't be belittled like some charity case.

The announcer, completely oblivious to your internal dilemma, continued his spiel. "Being Quirkless doesn't mean you can't contribute to society," he chirped, his voice laced with a saccharine sweetness that made your teeth itch.

You rolled your eyes, grumbling under your breath, "Yeah, contribute by being a glorified dog walker."

You spent the next few moments trying to drown out the annoying voice, focusing on meticulously placing the final block atop your ever-growing castle.

You stacked them with an almost obsessive focus, each piece a silent rebuttal to the announcer's words. But you couldn't drown him out forever.

"And remember, kids," the announcer declared, his voice adopting a sinister edge, "if you're Quirkless, no point in attempting to do the impossible. You're better off understanding your role as a citizen in society. Don't become a burden!"

Slowly, you raised your head; your eyes narrowed to pinpoints as the last line echoed in your head.

Burden? A scowl thundered across your face, erasing any trace of childish amusement. A low growl, more animalistic than human, rumbled from your chest.

Everything went silent around you, the only sound being the frantic drumming of your heart.

Unbeknownst to you, your eyes once again began to glow an unsettling yellow.

A blinding flash of static suddenly erupted from the television, scrambling the image on the screen into a distorted mess.

You were so engrossed in glaring at the screen—your mind running miles a minute with internal arguments about how you weren't average and wouldn't be belittled—that you didn't notice your mother rushing in.

The static intensified, morphing into a horrifying, demonic screech that sent shivers down your spine. The air crackled with unseen energy, and the hairs on your arms stood on end.

Suddenly, with a deafening pop, the television went completely black. The room plunged into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

You blinked, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Slowly, you turned your head to find Mei standing frozen in the doorway, her face etched with a mixture of concern and confusion.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy. Mei, finally breaking free from her shock, ventured towards the lifeless television.

"Well, I guess that means it's time for an upgrade?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as much a question to herself as to you.

☆

☆

Warm bubbles tickled your skin as you leaned back in the tub, tilting your head to allow Mei to lather your hair with shampoo. Her gentle hands worked the suds in, a soft smile lighting her face.

"You're unbelievable, sweetie~ You managed to finish all the multiplication flash cards in record time!" she chirped, her voice tinged with a touch of awe. "Honestly, ____, you're learning so fast, I'll have to find some more challenging material soon!"

Her praises usually fill you with a sense of accomplishment, a validation of your efforts. Today, however, it triggered a different thought.

She was right...you weren't like the other children—like the ones in the grainy television shows you occasionally glimpsed at or the ones you saw playing from your window.

They were carefree, giggling as they chased each other down the street, their quirks a vibrant kaleidoscope of color and powers.

Mei continued, blissfully unaware of your internal turmoil. "Maybe we could even tackle some basic science concepts next! Wouldn't that be exciting?"

Exciting wasn't the word you'd use to describe your current mood.

You tilted your head back, allowing Mei to rinse out the soap. As the cool water cascaded down your face, you squeezed your eyes shut, picturing those same children once again.

You weren't like them.

They interacted with ease; their world filled with laughter and adventure.

You, on the other hand, were a mystery, even to yourself. The yellow glow in your eyes, the distorted television, the demonic screech—these weren't normal occurrences.

A shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn't entirely from the cool water rinsing down your face. A chilling realization settled in—the world you inhabited felt small and stifling.

A question, heavy with unspoken fear and a strange, exhilarating thrill, began to form in your mind: What exactly were you?

Dinner had been subdued, the air heavy with a quiet tension Mei couldn't quite shake. Her thoughts repeatedly drifted to you, her daughter, as they often did when you weren't home. She'd caught herself checking her phone several times during the meal, as if willing an update to come through, but it remained silent.

She told herself not to worry—it was just a training camp, after all. But the gnawing unease in her chest was persistent, a quiet voice whispering, "What if something happens?"

Wino, noticing her distant gaze earlier, had grumbled for her to relax, calling her overprotective. But Mei simply smiled and waved off his comment, masking the bubbling worry that lurked beneath the surface. It wasn't the first time she'd felt this way, and she doubted it would be the last.

The quiet moments without you at home always felt too loud, too empty.

She sighed as she rinsed the last plate, her hands lingering in the warm water as her mind wandered. Were you eating enough? Were you staying warm? Was the camp safe? Mei found herself imagining you surrounded by your classmates, smiling, thriving—but the image was fragile, fleeting, easily replaced by her darker thoughts.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of the telephone cut through the calm.

Mei jumped, nearly dropping the plate in her hand. "Could you get that, dear?" she called over her shoulder, trying to steady her breath as she nodded toward the phone. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed the plate in the drying rack, her heart already beating faster.

Wino grumbled under his breath but heaved himself off the couch and shuffled to the phone. He picked up the receiver with a resigned sigh, "Hello?"

There was a moment of silence as he listened, and then—"What?" he barked into the phone, his voice harsh, demanding an explanation.

Mei froze, her heart stopping mid-beat as she turned to watch her husband's expression shift. His body tensed, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone tighter. Whatever was being said, it wasn't good.

After a tense moment, his voice faltered, his stern demeanor cracking as he muttered a resigned, "Alright," before slamming the phone back onto its cradle.

The clatter of the receiver echoed in the small space, and Mei's humming stopped abruptly. She quickly rinsed her hands and turned off the tap, the warmth of the water forgotten as a cold dread settled over her. She turned to Wino, her heart racing with sudden worry. "What's wrong, Winnie?" she asked, her voice thin, trembling as she struggled to keep calm.

Seconds later, Wino stormed into the kitchen, his face grim. Without a word, he grabbed Mei's jacket from the hook by the door and thrust it into her hands.

"The school called," he said, his voice flat but heavy with urgency.

Mei's heart skipped a beat, her thoughts immediately jumping to the worst-case scenarios. Her hands clutched the jacket tightly as she stared up at him, seeking answers in his troubled eyes. "What happened? Is she okay?" she asked, her voice cracking as the questions tumbled out.

Wino shook his head, his usual stoic composure nowhere to be seen. "There's been an incident at the camp. They didn't give much detail over the phone; they just said we need to come to the school right away," he said, his tone clipped, as if forcing the words out.

The world seemed to tilt under Mei's feet.

Images of you hurt or in danger flooded her thoughts, and she felt a wave of nausea at the mere idea. Her fingers fumbled as she slipped into her jacket, her movements robotic, almost automatic, as she tried to process the information.

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt hard to breathe. "An incident?" she echoed weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. "What kind of incident?"

But Wino had already opened the door, the cool evening air rushing in. He turned back to her, his expression grim but resolute. "We'll find out soon enough. Let's go."

.☆.       .✩.             .☆.

In the U.A. staff conference room, Kan stood slightly to the side where Aizawa was currently speaking to a room full of anxious parents from Classes 1-A and 1-B, their faces etched with concern and confusion.

Principal Nezu, perched atop a nearby podium, was engaged in a low, serious discussion with another staff member, occasionally glancing over the crowd with a discerning eye. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension; the worried murmurs of parents mingled with the shuffle of papers and the soft clicking of pens.

Kan observed the scene, his stance firm yet his eyes betraying the concern he felt for his students and their families. As a teacher, it was his duty not only to educate but to protect, and the weight of this responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders in moments like these.

Suddenly, the doors to the conference room burst open, causing a few startled gasps as heads turned towards the noise.

Mei stepped into the room, her appearance slightly disheveled from what was clearly a rush to get here. Her greyed burnt orange hair was pulled back in a hurried ponytail, some strands escaping to frame her worried face. Her honey-tan skin seemed paler under the fluorescent lights of the room, and her eyes, usually warm and inviting, were wide with apprehension.

Wino followed closely behind, his expression grim. He wore his usual attire of a simple button-up shirt and slacks, but the lines of his face were drawn tight, the set of his mouth hard.

As the couple made their way into the room, several other parents quieted, their own conversations pausing as they took in the sight of the frazzled woman. Some offered sympathetic looks; others shared glances of mutual understanding, their own fears reflected in their eyes.

Mei's gaze swept through the room, skipping over the other parents and landing directly on Kan. Without hesitation, her steps quickened as she made her way through the crowd, her focus laser-sharp.

"Mr. Vlad!" she called out, her voice carrying a sharp edge of panic as she approached; the room fell into a deeper silence, all eyes now.

Kan met her halfway, his expression softening slightly in understanding. "Mrs. and Mr. Akuma," he greeted. "Thank you for coming so quickly. We're just about to go over everything we know about the issue."

"I-Is ____ okay? Is everything fine?" Mei's voice wavered, trembling as she gripped her jacket tightly, her knuckles white against the fabric. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Kan with an urgency that made the seasoned hero falter for just a moment.

Kan opened his mouth to respond, his features set in a grim line, but before he could speak, Aizawa stepped forward. His usual tired demeanor was replaced with a firm resolve, though the faint clenching of his jaw betrayed the tension he was holding back. "All the students are currently being seen at the hospital," he explained, his tone grave yet laced with a practiced calm. "We're making sure everyone gets the care they need."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Aizawa's words hanging heavy in the air. The quiet, punctuated only by the soft shuffling of uneasy parents, seemed almost deafening. Aizawa glanced briefly at Kan, as if silently bracing himself for what was to come. His voice lowered slightly, a grim note slipping through as he continued."Unfortunately," he continued, his gaze flickering between Mei and Wino, "we must inform you that ____ and Bakugo were the only ones unaccounted for—taken."

The words hit like a thunderclap. Mei gasped audibly, her face draining of color as her legs faltered beneath her. She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a broken cry of disbelief. Wino, for all his usual aloofness, moved swiftly to her side. His hands found her shoulders, steadying her trembling frame even as his own face twisted in a rare display of raw emotion.

Murmurs erupted from the other parents, their voices a chaotic mix of fear and confusion. "Taken? What does that mean?" a mother from Class 1-B whispered sharply, her hands gripping her husband's arm. Another father leaned forward in his chair, his face pale as he muttered, "This isn't supposed to happen... not at U.A." The room felt smaller, the collective fear of the parents closing in like a suffocating wave.

From the cacophony of voices, Mitsuki's sharp tone cut through, rising above the subdued chaos. "What? Katsuki's gone?" Her voice cracked under the strain, her face paling as the reality of her son's situation settled in. She shot up from her seat, her fists trembling at her sides. Beside her, Masaru shook visibly, gripping his wife's hand tightly, seeking comfort in her touch even as his own fear threatened to overwhelm him.

"How could this happen?" another parent blurted out, their voice tinged with anger and despair. "We trusted you to keep them safe!" Heads nodded in agreement, the murmurs swelling again as anxiety rippled through the crowd.

Kan's shoulders fell slightly, a flash of guilt darting across his face before he composed himself again. The tension in the room seemed to close in, wrapping itself around him as he struggled to maintain his professional demeanor. He glanced at Aizawa, silently passing the baton.

As if sensing the burden Kan carried, Aizawa stepped forward again. He addressed the room with a tone meant to instill confidence, though his clenched fists betrayed the weight of his words. "We're working tirelessly to get them back," he assured Mei directly. "We've already mobilized our top heroes and are coordinating with local authorities. We won't stop until they're found—"

But Mei cut him off sharply, her voice louder and more commanding than anyone had ever heard from the usually soft-spoken woman. "I don't care. Where is my daughter?" she demanded, her honey-brown eyes blazing with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the room. Her usually warm, freckled face was etched with desperation, her trembling frame barely able to contain the fire in her words.

The room stilled. Aizawa met her gaze, his expression unreadable, though a subtle, slow exhale escaped his lips as if absorbing the brunt of her pain. He took a measured breath before speaking, his tone calm yet solemn. "Mrs. Akuma, we are doing everything we can," he said firmly. "This is an unprecedented situation, and we are responding with all available resources. I assure you, no stone is being left unturned."

Her lips thinned into a tight line, her body trembling as she hissed through clenched teeth, "I trusted her in your custody." The accusation hung heavily in the air, sharp and potent, cutting through the silent room like a knife.

Kan shifted uncomfortably, his gaze briefly dropping to the floor as though the weight of her words had struck him physically. Beside him, Aizawa's hands tightened at his sides, his usually composed expression cracking ever so slightly under the pressure.

Wino, typically stoic and detached, now showed a rare vulnerability. His eyes, usually dulled with indifference, mirrored the depth of Mei's worry as he cautiously reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. But Mei, wrapped in her turmoil, shrugged him off with a swift, dismissive motion.

Taking a single step forward, her voice rose, her fear transforming into a sharp, erratic edge. "You need to fix this," she demanded, her voice cracking with emotion as unshed tears glistened in her eyes. "I refuse to lose another child."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. Wino's hand faltered mid-air before falling to his side. His expression darkened, the weight of past wounds dragging his gaze downward. Mei's trembling frame and blazing eyes seemed to burn a hole through the room, her desperation tangible and raw.

Everyone present could feel the weight of her fear, the depth of her desperation, the impact of her words leaving her audience speechless.

Suddenly, Mei's demeanor shifted; her voice softened, though the steel in her tone remained as she coldly spat, "You are responsible for bringing her back. Do whatever it takes. But bring her back safe." With that, she turned sharply on her heel, her steps quick and resolute as she stormed out of the room.

Wino lingered for a moment, staring after his wife with a heavy, solemn expression. The rapid departure left a tangible void in the room, the tension thick and suffocating. He cleared his throat, a subtle sound that barely rose above the soft murmurings of the other parents.

Slowly, he bowed deeply toward the teachers and staff, his voice gravelly as he muttered a heartfelt apology. "I... I'm sorry."

When he rose, there were soft tears glistening in his eyes, betraying his usual detached demeanor. The lines on his face, often hidden behind a mask of indifference or irritation, now seemed deeper, more pronounced. He looked every bit his age, the weight of years marked by worry and fear now visibly etched into his features.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Wino glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the faces of other concerned parents before settling on the teachers. "You may not know this," he began, his voice strong despite the emotional strain, "but there's a reason Mei is... the way she is."

His eyes shifted downward, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he delved into a part of their past that was rarely spoken about. "Years ago, before ____ was born, we had another child. A son." The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his revelation hanging heavily in the air.

Wino's voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if the memory itself was painful to voice. "He was kidnapped. Taken right from under our noses when he was just four years old." His words hung heavy in the room, like a storm cloud threatening to burst. The memory clawed its way through the years, vivid and sharp, refusing to dull with time.

"We were at the mall, just a normal day out," he continued, his voice distant, as though he were speaking from the depths of that very moment. "It was sunny—perfect weather. Laughter filled the air as people wandered in and out of stores, and our little boy..." He paused, his throat tightening. "He darted between us, clutching at a new toy he'd begged us to buy. He was so happy, his face lit up like it was the best day of his life."

Mei's laughter rang clear in his memory, a sound full of joy and life. Wino closed his eyes for a brief second, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. "She'd been laughing at something silly he'd said, holding his hand one moment, and then—" His voice cracked, the weight of the memory pressing against him. "Then, we looked away. Just for a moment. One moment." His hands curled into tight fists at his sides. "And when we looked back... he was gone."

The ensuing panic was seared into his mind, an endless loop of chaos and desperation. Mei's cries, frantic and terrified, echoed through the mall, cutting through the chatter of the crowd. Her voice rose above the din, raw and unrelenting, as she screamed his name over and over again. It was a stark contrast to the carefree laughter that had filled their day moments before.

"I can still hear her," Wino admitted, his voice barely audible, the tremor of unresolved grief threading through his words. "The way she screamed for him, begged strangers for help. Security came, the police arrived, but... it was too late. Too late for us to find him." He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making his next words feel heavier. "Our son... our little boy was nowhere to be found."

He fell silent for a moment, his green eyes staring blankly at the floor. The pain of that day etched deep lines into his face, making him appear older than his years. "We searched for hours, for days, for months—every alley, every abandoned building, every wooded area nearby." His hands tightened further, knuckles white, as though clenching the memory itself. "Every time we heard a knock on the door, we thought maybe—just maybe—it was him. But it never was."

When he finally looked up, his gaze was fixed and glassy. "We never found him," he said quietly, his voice trembling with the weight of that truth. "And then," he continued, his voice lowering to almost a whisper,  "after months of relentless searching—after the police had already called it off, said there was nothing more to be done—it became a cold case."

The room seemed to hold its collective breath, the silence so thick it pressed against the walls.

"But we didn't stop," Wino muttered, his voice trembling as if the memories themselves were dragging him back to that hopeless time. "We couldn't. While everyone else moved on, Mei and I kept looking, chasing any shred of hope, no matter how faint. We didn't eat. We didn't sleep. We handed out flyers, begged anyone we came across for information, chased down every lead, no matter how slim." He paused, his jaw tightening as if speaking the next words would take every ounce of strength he had left. "Until one day, in the woods—just beyond the edge of the city, after a year of hell—"

His voice cracked, and he had to stop, his throat working to suppress the lump that had formed. Mei's cries echoed in his mind, sharp and piercing, as if he were back in that moment. "We found... something," he rasped, his voice barely audible, weighted with grief.

"It was his," he choked out after a long pause, his hands trembling. "Tattered, bloody clothes. His favorite little shirt with the red dinosaur on it—torn to shreds. Stained." His words hung in the air like a heavy fog, sinking into the hearts of everyone listening.

Wino's voice faltered again, his hands coming up to press against his face for a brief moment. When he lowered them, tears shimmered in his green eyes, sliding down his weathered cheeks. "And there was more," he choked out, his voice breaking entirely. "A small... hand. Or what was left of it. Just two bony fingers—pinky and ring—like the flesh had rotted away ages ago. Clean, like they'd been placed there on purpose. Like someone was laughing at us."

Gasps rippled through the room, and Wino's hands trembled as he wiped furiously at his face. "We knew it was him. We knew," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "There wasn't anything left after that. No trail. No ransom note. Just those clothes. Just those pieces."

He paused, his gaze flickering toward the ground as if he couldn't bear to meet anyone's eyes. His shoulders shook slightly, and his voice dropped even further. "I had to pick them up," he admitted, his breath hitching. "Those tiny fingers... I had to gather them in my hands and pretend that somehow, this was all going to be okay. That Mei wouldn't break completely when she saw what I had found."

A strained silence followed his words, his pain palpable, raw, and unfiltered. "That's why Mei is the way she is," Wino continued after a long pause, his voice hoarse. "That's why she's always been so protective of ____. We can't go through that again. We won't."

His eyes lifted, locking onto Aizawa with an intensity that belied the cracks in his voice. "And can you blame us? Can you honestly blame her? She lost her baby boy, and now we're here again, standing on the edge of losing another."

He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his grief and fear. "So, please," he pleaded, his tone wavering but insistent, "bring her back. Bring her back safe. Don't let us bury another child."

With another bow, this one filled with a desperate hope, Wino turned and followed in the path Mei had taken, his steps slow and heavy. As he left the room, the silent support of the other parents followed him, their own fears momentarily calmed by the shared understanding of his plea.

The door closed softly behind him, leaving the room in a reflective silence, each person grappling with the gravity of the situation and the heartfelt plea of a father scared to relive his past.

☆

☆

Midoriya sat in the sterile hospital room, his body aching, but the pain barely registered compared to the turmoil in his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly in several layers of gauze, evidence of the injuries he had sustained during the chaos. Both arms rested absently on his lap, fingertips grazing over the hospital blanket, but his thoughts were miles away—replaying the moment over and over.

The portal had opened. He could still see the way your face had looked, the moment you and Bakugo were pulled in, that fleeting expression of surprise before everything went dark.

He should've stepped in. He should've been the first to try and help Bakugo. He had hesitated, frozen in the moment. The more he replayed it in his head, the more he realized just how long it had taken him to react. The bitter taste of regret lingered, something heavy in his throat.

He wasn't supposed to freeze when it mattered most.

His hand trembled slightly as he clenched it into a fist, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of guilt was suffocating. How had he let this happen? The scene kept replaying in his mind—the way Bakugo had struggled against the pull, his voice shouting, full of anger and fear. And you, you had been dragged in too, helpless. I should've done something... anything.

His stomach twisted. He should have done more. He should have been faster. His hands twitched against the sheets, but what good was that now? What did it matter how much he regretted it? It wouldn't bring you back. It wouldn't change the fact that he had failed.

The sterile scent of the hospital room felt suffocating. The dull beep of the machines, the hushed voices outside the door—they barely registered. Everything inside him felt hollow, like the fight had been drained right out of him.

What if he never saw you again?

What if—?

A loud knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He barely had time to process it before the door swung open, and suddenly, the room wasn't empty anymore.

His classmates filtered in one by one, their expressions ranging from exhausted to grim. Kirishima was in front, his usual bright energy replaced with something sharper—something determined. His red eyes burned with something fierce as he stepped forward, fists clenched.

"We have to do something," he said, looking directly at Midoriya.

Midoriya blinked, sluggishly dragging himself from the fog of his mind. He could see the others behind Kirishima—Todoroki standing stiffly by his bedside, Iida with his arms crossed. Momo stood near the back with Uraraka and Asui, her hands clasped together with worry. Sato, Ashido, Shoji, Tokoyami, Kaminari, Sero, Ojiro, Mineta, even Aoyama—they were all here, all looking at him like they expected something.

Kirishima's fists tightened, his voice carrying a weight that sent a ripple through the room. "We can't just sit around and wait. Bakugo and ____ are out there, and we don't know what those villains are planning." He turned, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. "I say we go after them. We can't leave them to whatever the hell the League has in store."

Midoriya's breath caught in his throat. Go after them? His mind stuttered, gears grinding as he tried to make sense of what Kirishima was suggesting.

Iida reacted first, stepping forward, his hands gripping his sides tightly. "Absolutely not," he snapped, his voice almost desperate. "I understand how you feel, Kirishima-kun, but this is reckless. We can't go after them ourselves!"

His voice cut through the room, carrying an urgency that forced everyone to listen. His stance was stiff, as if he was barely holding himself together.

Midoriya could see it—the conflict behind Iida's eyes. He wasn't just saying this because it was the logical course of action; he was saying it because he was afraid. Afraid of losing more people. Afraid of making the same mistakes he had once made.

Kirishima scowled, his frustration evident as he turned toward him. "But we don't know if they'll make it in time!" His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. "We don't even know where they are! How long are we supposed to just sit here and hope for the best?"

His voice wavered slightly, but it didn't break. He was determined. He had already made up his mind.

Iida bristled, adjusting his glasses as he exhaled sharply. "That's exactly why we have to leave this to the Pro-Heroes. We don't have enough information, and running in blindly will only put more people in danger."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Huh? Just wait?" Kirishima snapped, his voice rising. "They don't have time for us to just sit around twiddling our thumbs while the League of Villains does who knows what to them! I'm not just going to stand around when we can do something! Momo, you already have a way for us to track them, don't you?"

Momo hesitated, glancing away. "I... I do," she admitted.

Iida inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That doesn't change the fact that we're students. We can't fight villains! We're already lucky we weren't expelled after our last incident—" His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to continue, his posture stiff. "What do you think All Might would say if he knew we were planning this?"

Todoroki, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. "If it were me," he said, his voice cool but deliberate, "I'd want my friends to come for me."

"Oui, mon ami," Aoyama cut in, shaking his head, his usual flair subdued. "I do not mean to be cowardly, but we have been strictly warned not to engage in combat. The Pro-Heroes are already working on it. Do you really think they would allow us to interfere?"

His words hung in the air, logical yet heavy.

Tokoyami, who had been quiet until now, exhaled through his nose. He shifted slightly, the fabric of his uniform crinkling with the motion. "...Aoyama is correct," he admitted after a long moment. His voice was low, almost reluctant, but steady nonetheless. "We have been warned against reckless actions, and as one who has been saved multiple times during this ordeal, I am in no position to dictate what should or should not be done."

He said no more after that, retreating into silence. He had already spoken his piece, and now, he would leave the decision to the others.

Kirishima's frustration simmered just beneath the surface, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looked around the room, searching for something—someone—to back him up.

Midoriya swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. He understood both sides. He knew what was at stake, knew the risks. But he also knew what it felt like to sit still, waiting, hoping—and watching helplessly as people slipped through his fingers.

Bakugo.

You.

Gone.

The word echoed in Midoriya's mind, rattling against the fragile control he had left. It wasn't just a thought—it was a gaping void, an unbearable silence where you and Bakugo should have been.

He wanted to do something—anything—to fix this.

But before he could even form the words, Asui stepped forward. "Todoroki-kun. Kirishima-kun." Her wide, unblinking eyes flickered between the two, her webbed fingers curling slightly as she chose her words carefully. "I understand that you're upset. We all are. But if we act only on our feelings, then what makes us any different from villains?"

The room went eerily silent.

Midoriya felt the weight of her words settle over them, a heavy, undeniable truth that none of them could argue against.

Kirishima's expression faltered, his shoulders drooping as his fists curled harder at his sides. Todoroki's mismatched eyes flickered downward, his normally impassive face unreadable, his arms crossed stiffly over his chest.

No one spoke. No one dared to.

Because Asui was right.

They were training to be heroes, and yet here they were, thinking of breaking the rules, of sneaking out and fighting without backup, without a plan—out of pure desperation. It was the kind of thing villains did, acting on impulse, taking what they wanted without thinking of the consequences.

The weight of it pressed down on Midoriya's chest, making it harder to breathe. But all he could do was sit there, trapped in this sterile room while the clock ticked forward, every second slipping away, taking you and Bakugo further and further from him.

Then, the door creaked open, slicing through the heavy silence.

A doctor entered, dressed in light blue scrubs with a clipboard tucked beneath his arm. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze swept over the gathered students with quiet authority. "I need to speak with Midoriya Izuku privately," he said before stepping back out.

A few of them hesitated, reluctant to leave. The tension in the room thickened, a silent battle of emotions flashing across each of their faces.

Kirishima's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. He looked like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to say just one more thing, but in the end, he only let out a sharp exhale and stepped back. The others followed suit, moving toward the door with heavy steps.

Todoroki lingered, his gaze flickering toward Midoriya, unreadable but heavy with something unspoken. Asui gave him a small nod—whether it was reassurance or caution, he couldn't tell. Iida didn't say anything, but his rigid stance and the deep frown on his face said enough.

One by one, they filed out, leaving Midoriya alone with his thoughts.

Except for Kirishima.

The redhead paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. His face was set with determination, but his voice was quieter now, more serious. "We talked to Yaoyorozu-chan yesterday." He hesitated for only a moment before pushing forward. "We decided... we're going tonight. We're going after them."

Midoriya's breath caught in his throat.

Kirishima's grip tightened on the doorframe, his shoulders tense. "I know you're hurt, man. I know you've been through a lot. So I'm not asking you to come," he admitted, his tone careful, deliberate. "But if you want to—if you feel like you need to—we'll be waiting outside the hospital. Just before we leave."

For a moment, Midoriya didn't respond. He just stared, his heart pounding, his thoughts racing too fast to catch.

Then, with one last nod, Kirishima turned and stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.

The room was silent once more.

Midoriya swallowed hard, his gaze locked onto the spot where Kirishima had stood.

They're going after them.

The words echoed in his mind, setting his nerves alight, the frustration bubbling back to the surface.

The question wasn't if he was going.

It was how fast he could move.

Midoriya's pulse pounded in his ears, his mind already working through possibilities, through the logistics of sneaking past the hospital staff, of pushing through the pain, of making it to Kirishima and the others before they left. He had to do something. Sitting here wasn't an option—not when you and Bakugo were still out there, somewhere, trapped in the hands of villains.

Before he could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.

The doctor from before reentered the room, his expression calm but unreadable as he stepped inside. Midoriya forced himself to straighten, his body tensing instinctively, trying to mask the restlessness buzzing in his limbs.

"I have an update on your condition," the doctor said, flipping through his clipboard as he approached the hospital bed. "Thanks to Recovery Girl's efforts, we were able to heal most of the damage. Your bones and muscles are in stable condition now."

Midoriya exhaled softly, his hands twitching in his lap as he tested his movement. His fingers curled stiffly, but they responded. He could move them. He could still fight.

But the doctor wasn't finished; he shifted closer and began unwrapping the bandages around Midoriya's arms.

Midoriya watched as the bandages loosened around his arms, his skin still raw and irritated from the previous injuries. His heart pounded harder with each layer of gauze removed. The reality of the situation was more painful than any of his physical injuries.

"However," he continued, his voice dipping into something more serious, more final, "because of the extreme stress you put your body through during the fight against Muscular, your ligaments have started to deteriorate."

Midoriya stilled, his breath catching in his throat.

When the last of the bandages were unwound, the doctor gently set them aside, his eyes scanning Midoriya's arms. The doctor's face remained neutral, but there was a hint of pity in his eyes that Midoriya didn't miss.

The doctor then met his eyes, his expression grave. "If you continue sustaining injuries of this magnitude, especially to your arms, the damage may become irreversible. One day, you may lose the ability to use them entirely."

The words struck him harder than any punch he had ever taken.

His hands, the very things that carried his strength, that held his dreams, that fought for the people he cared about—gone?

His mind reeled. He had known his fighting style was dangerous, that his recklessness came at a cost, but this? The thought of never being able to use his arms again, of being permanently sidelined, of losing his ability to protect the people he cared about—it was a weight he hadn't been prepared to bear.

But then his thoughts snapped back to you.

To Bakugo.

To the helplessness he had felt watching you both disappear, his body too broken to stop it.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palms as his breathing steadied. The doctor's words pressed heavy against him, a warning of what lay ahead. But it didn't matter.

It couldn't matter. Not right now.

Not when there were lives still hanging in the balance.

Midoriya lifted his gaze, determination hardening behind his exhaustion. "I... I understand."

The doctor studied him for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he could see the storm brewing behind Midoriya's resolve. But he only sighed, nodding slightly as he stepped back. "Make sure you do," he murmured before turning toward the door.

But just as he reached the threshold, he hesitated.

"Oh, right," the doctor said, reaching into the pocket of his scrubs. "This came for you earlier." He pulled out a small, slightly crumpled envelope and held it out. "It's from a Izumi Kota."

Midoriya's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering through the fog of exhaustion and turmoil clouding his thoughts. He slowly took the envelope with careful fingers. The paper was rough against his fingertips, the edges bent from hurried folds, as if the sender had wrestled with whether or not to give it at all.

"You must've made quite the impression on the kid," the doctor continued, a small but knowing smile crossing his face. "He asked me to make sure you got it before he left."

Midoriya swallowed, his throat tight, and nodded in thanks. The doctor didn't linger any longer, simply giving him one last glance before stepping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, Midoriya just sat there, staring down at the letter in his hands. His fingers traced the uneven creases, feeling the weight of something far more significant than just ink and paper. Kota, the boy who had once stared at him with nothing but resentment and distrust, had gone out of his way to write to him.

Slowly, carefully, he peeled the envelope open, unfolding the letter inside.

The handwriting was uneven, shaky, like the writer wasn't used to putting his feelings into words.

"Midoriya-kun, thank you for saving me."

The words were simple, but they hit harder than any punch.

"I didn't know if I wanted to say it before, but you were really cool. I get why everyone looks up to heroes now."

Midoriya's chest tightened, his vision blurring slightly as he continued reading.

"I hope you get better soon so I can thank you in person. Don't do anything stupid and hurt yourself again."

There was no sign-off, no formal goodbye—just a single, tiny, scrawled doodle of a hat-wearing child with his arms crossed, his expression serious.

Midoriya let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the edges of his lips twitching upward despite everything weighing down on him.

The ache in his arms, the warning from the doctor, the heavy frustration of being unable to act—it all felt a little lighter for just a second.

He carefully folded the letter back up, holding it tightly in his hands. He couldn't afford to dwell on his pain, not when there were people still relying on him.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and the same doctor poked his head back in. "Almost forgot—Recovery Girl signed off on your discharge. You're free to leave today."

Midoriya blinked, surprised by how quickly everything was moving.

Discharged today. Free to leave.

His grip tightened around Kota's letter.

Free to go—just in time.

Midoriya sat in silence, the weight of the doctor's words settling over him like a heavy blanket. The sterile smell of the hospital room clung to the air, the quiet hum of machines a steady backdrop to his spiraling thoughts.

Free to go.

His hands clenched slightly around Kota's letter, the edges of the paper crinkling under his grip. He had been given clearance to leave, to step back into the world outside this room, but that didn't change the gnawing feeling in his chest—the deep, unrelenting ache of helplessness.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to Bakugo.

The image of his childhood friend—his rival, his tormentor, his... friend—burned itself into his thoughts. Midoriya could still see the way Bakugo had looked at him before he was taken, his eyes burning with rage and something deeper, something even he didn't seem to understand.

Frustration clawed at Midoriya's throat.

Bakugo was strong. He wasn't supposed to need saving. He was the one who fought his way out of anything. But Midoriya wasn't blind—he saw the cracks forming beneath that explosive exterior, the weight pressing down harder than Bakugo would ever admit.

Everyone else saw Bakugo as one thing—angry, violent, untouchable. But Midoriya knew better.

He saw the way Bakugo pushed himself, never allowing weakness, never letting up. Pride and pain twisting together, turning into something sharp and reckless. And most of all, Midoriya saw how alone he must have felt, even when surrounded by people who admired him.

He had spent his life watching Bakugo, and while time had shifted their dynamic—while they were no longer just a scared kid and the boy who towered over him, demanding to be the strongest—Midoriya still felt that same pull.

That same responsibility.

Bakugo would never ask for help. He would fight, struggle, claw his way out—even if it destroyed him. But Midoriya had seen it. The brief flickers of doubt. The moments when his eyes flashed with something other than unrelenting determination.

Bakugo was drowning, and no one else seemed to notice.

And you—

Midoriya's fingers twitched against the thin hospital sheets. His thoughts shifted, settling on you like they always did when he wasn't paying attention. It was embarrassing, really—how easily you slipped into his mind, how natural it felt for you to be there.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the warmth creeping up his neck. Now wasn't the time. Not when everything was falling apart. Not when Bakugo was still out there—when you were still out there.

But he couldn't stop himself.

You had always been there—ahead of him, making everything seem possible in ways he never really understood. What was it about you that made him feel both challenged and cared for? That made him want to be better, not just for himself but for you?

Even now, he could picture your smile, the way your head tilted slightly when teasing him, the quiet focus when lost in thought. He remembered your laugh—soft and full, something real in a world that constantly felt like it was crumbling.

And yet, that warmth felt just out of reach, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Why was it that whenever he saw you with Bakugo, his chest tightened?

He should've been happy. You were getting stronger, keeping up, carving a space between the chaos of Bakugo's fire and his own determination.

But something about it made him feel... left out.

Midoriya squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't know what to call this feeling.

Jealousy? That didn't seem right. Bakugo wasn't the enemy—he wasn't trying to take you away from him. And yet, Midoriya couldn't ignore that he hated the idea that Bakugo might be the one you turn to, while also admiring the strength between you two.

The way Bakugo's eyes followed you. The way his hands clenched when you weren't looking. The way his rage burned just a little hotter whenever you were involved.

And now, you were both gone.

His throat tightened as he thought back to your last conversation, the words lingering like ghosts in the air.

It hadn't been long ago—just hours, maybe. But the memory felt distant, like it belonged to another life, another version of himself.

The forest had been cold that night, the moonlight casting sharp shadows between the trees. And yet, all he could focus on was the way you had looked at him—steady, unreadable, as if weighing him in your mind and finding him lacking.

"Why is Kacchan so obsessed with you?"

His own voice echoed in his head, low, hesitant, searching. He remembered how your posture had shifted, how the air around you had thickened as if you were bracing for impact. And then, how you had turned it back on him, cutting through his words like a blade.

"And what? You feel bad for him?"

Midoriya exhaled shakily, gripping the sheets. That had been his moment. His chance to say what he really meant. To tell you that no, it wasn't about pity. That it wasn't just about Bakugo at all.

It had been about you.

It had always been about you.

But instead of saying that, he had hesitated. He had let the moment slip through his fingers, let you turn away from him, let you walk off into the night without another word.

And now, you were gone.

His breath stuttered. He pressed his fingers to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. That couldn't be the last time. That couldn't be the last conversation. Not when all he had left was a question—one he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.

"You let him treat you like nothing—and yet, you still followed him."

Your words struck just as hard now as they had then, rattling inside his chest like a locked door shaking on its hinges. Because you were right.

He had always followed Bakugo. Even when it hurt. Even when it didn't make sense. Even when it meant standing in the shadows, watching, waiting, never saying what he really felt.

But this time, he refused to stand by.

This time, he wasn't going to let Bakugo be the only one chasing after you.

He wasn't going to let this be the last conversation, the last moment, the last memory.

Midoriya sat up, heart pounding against his ribs with a new kind of urgency. He had wasted too much time already. Every second that passed was another second you were still out there. Another second the villains had you.

Another second he refused to lose.

He wasn't too late.

Not this time.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

Midoriya pretended his mother was waiting for him when the doctor came to check on him one last time before discharge. It wasn't far from the truth; he knew Inko was probably pacing in their apartment, worrying herself sick over him.

If she had been at the hospital, she would've hugged him so tight that his injuries might have reopened. But he couldn't afford to go home, to see the fear in her eyes and let her convince him to stay put.

No, he had somewhere else to be.

The doctor didn't push when Midoriya told him his mother would pick him up at the entrance. Instead, he nodded, gave him a final warning about his arms, and signed off on his release papers. Recovery Girl had done everything she could, but the damage to his ligaments had been severe.

Another serious injury, and he might never be able to use his arms again.

Midoriya barely reacted to the warning. What were his arms compared to you and Bakugo? He could still move. He could still fight. That was enough.

The hospital halls were eerily quiet as he stepped outside, the cool night air biting at his skin. He hadn't realized how chilly it had gotten. The sky was a deep navy, speckled with stars, but Midoriya had no time to admire it. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and made his way toward the meeting spot.

Todoroki and Kirishima were already there, standing in the dimly lit parking lot near the hospital entrance. Kirishima had his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet, while Todoroki leaned against a lamppost, his expression unreadable.

The moment they spotted him, Kirishima's posture straightened, a small but relieved smile flickering across his face. "You made it."

Midoriya nodded, his eyes sharp with determination. "Of course."

A moment later, Yayarozu approached, her steps careful but purposeful. She carried herself with the same air of responsibility she always did, but there was tension in her shoulders, an unease she hadn't shaken since she first agreed to help them.

She barely had a chance to speak before another voice cut through the night air, sharp and furious.

"I won't allow this."

The group turned just in time to see Iida storming toward them, his usually composed features twisted in frustration.

His glasses reflected the glow of the hospital lights, obscuring his eyes for a moment before he came to a stop in front of them, his hands balled into tight fists. His breathing was heavy, the rise and fall of his chest quick and uneven, and when he finally spoke, his voice cracked under the weight of his emotions.

"You're about to make the same mistake I made at Hosu," he snapped, his voice laced with anger—but beneath that, there was fear. "And I won't let you."

The cold night air felt heavier between them, the silence stretching far too long. Kirishima's smile had faded entirely, his jaw tight, while Yayarozu's lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Todoroki stood still, unreadable, but his fingers twitched at his sides.

Midoriya met Iida's glare with calm determination, though he could feel the weight of his friend's words settle in his chest. He knew exactly what Iida was saying. That this was wrong. That they were going against everything they stood for as heroes-in-training. That this wasn't what they had fought so hard for.

And yet—

"You know we can't just sit here and do nothing," Kirishima argued, stepping forward, his voice firm but lacking its usual warmth. "We don't even know where they are, Iida. We don't know if the pros will make it in time. We have to do something."

Iida's breath hitched, his fists shaking at his sides. "That's exactly what I thought when I ran off after Stain," he said, his voice rising. "And you know what happened? I nearly died. And Midoriya and Todoroki—they nearly died too." His head snapped toward Midoriya, his expression pained, voice raw as he pointed directly at him. "Do you think I've forgotten? You should've never been in that situation, but you came anyway. And you—" he swallowed hard, his words tightening—"you got hurt because of me."

Midoriya's stomach twisted, but he didn't look away.

"Iida-kun, that was different," Yayarozu tried, stepping forward, but Iida shook his head violently.

"No, it wasn't!" he shouted. "It was reckless! It was emotional! And now you're all doing the same thing, acting on impulse instead of thinking! The same mistake I did!"

"We won't be running into this without a plan," Midoriya argued.

Iida scoffed, his hands trembling as he clenched his fists even tighter. "A plan? You think that matters?! If you go, you'll be breaking the law. You'll be interfering with a hero mission and putting yourselves at risk." His voice dropped lower, a slight shake threading through it. "You could die."

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Unshakable.

Midoriya met Iida's gaze, his face pale but resolute. He could feel his heart pounding, a mix of anger and frustration swelling inside him.

"I know it's reckless," Midoriya said quietly, but with certainty. "But this—this is worth it. You think I don't know the risks? That I don't understand what we're about to do? But she—" his voice faltered for a moment, then he steadied himself again, "They need us."

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, despite the protests of his arms, the pain flooding his muscles. His tone hardened. "I don't care if I have to break every rule to get them back—they're worth it."

The words hit like a bullet, raw and unfiltered, before he could stop himself. And that feeling, that desperation in his gut, it overpowered everything else.

Iida's eyes widened as he stared at Midoriya, but before anyone could speak, the silence broke, and then—

Iida moved.

Fast.

Before Midoriya could react, before anyone could process what was happening, Iida's fist connected with his face.

CRACK.

Midoriya's head snapped to the side, the force knocking him off balance for a split second. A sharp sting bloomed across his cheekbone, the faint copper tang of blood pooling where his lip had split.

No one spoke.

Kirishima froze, his eyes wide with shock. Yayarozu let out a tiny gasp, her hands clasping over her mouth. Todoroki, ever composed, narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze flickering between Midoriya and Iida.

Iida was shaking.

His breath came out in harsh, uneven gasps, his entire body trembling as his fist remained clenched at his side. He wasn't even looking at Midoriya. His head was bowed, his chest rising and falling too quickly, too sharply.

"Iida—" Kirishima started, stepping forward, but Iida's voice broke through the silence, loud and ragged.

"Why aren't you listening to me?!"

Midoriya blinked, slowly lifting his head, his cheek still stinging from the punch.

Iida's shoulders heaved with every breath. His eyes, usually filled with determination and logic, were wild with emotion.

"Do you think I want to see any of you hurt?!" he snapped, his voice shaking. "Do you think I want to see you in a hospital bed again, barely able to move, Midoriya?! Do you think I want to stand at another crime scene and wonder if I could've done something to stop it?"

His hands curled into his blazer, gripping it tight. "I don't want to lose you," he admitted, his voice softer now, but just as strained. "Not again. Not any of you."

Midoriya stared at him, his thoughts racing.

Iida wasn't wrong.

This was dangerous. It was reckless. It was exactly what had nearly cost them everything before.

But still—

Midoriya wiped his lip with the back of his hand, his gaze steady.

"I know," he said quietly. "Iida, I know."

Iida's eyes widened slightly, but Midoriya didn't stop.

"I know this is reckless. I know this is breaking the rules." His fingers curled slightly, his chest tightening. "But if we sit here and do nothing... if we just wait—what if we're too late?"

Iida swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

Midoriya took a deep breath, his eyes sharp, filled with something unshakable.

"I won't let this be like before," he said, voice firm. Certain. "I won't let them face this alone."

Silence.

The weight of Iida's words still hung heavy in the air, pressing down on everyone like an immovable force.

Then—

Todoroki, silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was even, carrying none of the tension that crackled around them, but there was a quiet certainty in his words.

"We won't engage the villains in combat."

His calm declaration cut through the tension like a blade.

Iida turned slightly, his posture stiff, but he said nothing as if processing Todoroki's words.

"We're not storming in to fight," Kirishima added, stepping up beside Midoriya. "This is a rescue, plain and simple. Get in, get them out, and leave before they even know we were there."

Midoriya watched as Iida's jaw clenched. He was still struggling, still wrestling with the weight of his own emotions, but he wasn't stopping them anymore.

Yayarozu, who had been quiet in the exchange, let out a small sigh before straightening her posture. "That's why I came along as well," she said, her tone measured, carefully composed. "Not just to support, but to make sure we don't engage in unnecessary combat. If things go wrong, my focus will be on getting everyone out safely."

Her words were gentle but firm, a reminder that they weren't just acting on reckless emotions—they had thought this through. They had planned for this.

Still, Iida didn't move.

Midoriya swallowed hard as he forced himself to speak. "Iida... after everything, after failing to save Kacchan at the training camp..."

He hesitated, his breath catching as your face flickered into his mind—the last time he saw you, the last conversation, the way you had to step in because he couldn't. Because he had frozen, because he had hesitated, because in the moment that counted he wasn't enough.

His hands curled into fists. "And now ____ is gone too." His voice faltered, quieter, strained. "I couldn't save either of them."

The words cut through the air like a confession, filled with raw frustration and guilt. He took a shuddering breath, his chest tight with emotions he could barely contain. "My gut is telling me I have to do something," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "I have to save you both."

Iida's fists trembled at his sides, like he was still fighting the urge to stop them. But when he looked at Midoriya—really looked—he saw something unshakable in his expression. Determination. Resolve.

There was no hesitation anymore, no second-guessing, no doubt. This wasn't some impulsive, reckless decision. Midoriya had thought this through, had felt the weight of failure before, and refused to let it happen again.

He wasn't just running on emotions—he was standing on them, using them to move forward.

Iida let out a sharp breath, his shoulders rising before he slowly exhaled, his rigid posture softening just slightly. "...If you're truly set on this," he started, adjusting his glasses, "then I won't let you go without me."

Midoriya's breath caught as he blinked at him in surprise. "Iida..."

"I still don't agree with this," Iida admitted, his voice hard but lacking the edge it carried before. "But like Yayarozu said, if you're going, someone has to make sure you guys don't take things too far. I'll be there to assist her and help to pull you back if you do."

Kirishima grinned. "That's what I'm talking about! We could use someone like you, man."

Todoroki nodded in approval, while Yayarozu, though still tense, seemed relieved to have another voice of reason among them.

Just as they turned to leave, another voice called out from the shadows.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't a band of heroic rule-breakers."

They all froze.

The voice was dripping with amusement, laced with that all-too-familiar smugness that sent a wave of irritation through Midoriya before he even turned to look. Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the alley beside the hospital entrance, where two figures emerged from the dim glow of the streetlights.

Monoma.

And Kendo.

Monoma's smirk was already in place, his arms crossed, his posture screaming confidence. He stepped forward leisurely, his gaze flicking over the group like he had just stumbled upon something mildly entertaining.

"Should've known better than to think Class 1-A could pull something like this off without getting caught," he mused, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in them. "You lot don't exactly have a reputation for subtlety."

Iida was the first to react, stepping forward with a sharp glare. "You two need to go home. This has nothing to do with you."

Monoma scoffed. "Nothing to do with us? Really?" His smirk twisted, his tone laced with mockery. "Let's not forget, Akuma-san is our class president. Not yours."

Midoriya stiffened.

The reminder sent a dull pang through his chest. He hadn't even thought about that. Of course, they'd want to help.

"We have just as much reason to go as you do," Monoma continued, stepping forward, his periwinkle eyes sharp with something more serious than his usual taunts. "If you think we're going to just sit around and wait while the person we care about are in enemy hands, then you clearly don't know us at all."

Kendo, standing beside him, didn't have Monoma's smirk or cocky posture. She was calm, steady, her gaze unwavering as she met Iida's glare. "Like Monoma-kun said, we can help," she said simply. "You know we can. We're not here to argue."

Iida shook his head immediately. "No. Absolutely not." His voice was sharper now, edged with frustration. "It's already dangerous enough—bringing more people into this only increases the risk."

Monoma clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk. And here I thought you were supposed to be the level-headed one, Iida." He leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. "But if you're really so against it... I could just tell Vlad-sensei about your little plan." His voice was sing-song, almost gleeful at the thought. "And wouldn't that be a shame? All this effort... wasted."

Iida's jaw clenched, his fists curling tightly at his sides.

"He's got a point," Kirishima admitted with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head. "We don't have time to argue about this. If we don't bring them along, Monoma will snitch."

Monoma placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. "Oh, please. Like I'm the bad guy here."

"You are," Todoroki deadpanned.

Kendo ignored them both, instead focusing on Iida. "If this is really about safety, then wouldn't it make more sense to have extra hands?" she asked, her tone careful. "We're not here to get in the way. We're here to support you. To support our class president."

Midoriya looked between them, seeing the same determination in Kendo's eyes that he saw in Kirishima's. They weren't just saying it to be difficult—they meant it.

And... they were right.

Midoriya let out a slow breath before turning to Iida. "They should come."

Iida's head snapped toward him, disbelief flashing across his face. "Midoriya—"

"They're right," Midoriya said, voice steady. "We need all the help we can get."

There was a beat of silence. Iida's gaze flickered between Midoriya, Kendo, and Monoma. His glasses reflected the hospital lights, obscuring his eyes for a moment before he exhaled sharply, closing them for a brief second.

Then, finally, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he muttered. "But if any of you even think about engaging the enemy, I will personally drag you back myself."

Monoma smirked, victorious. "Deal."

Kendo just nodded.

Midoriya felt the tension in his chest loosen just slightly. It was time.

Just as you were about to turn the corner leading to the cafeteria, a deep, gravelly voice boomed from behind. "Akuma-san, a word please."

You whirled around, spotting Kan, his imposing figure filling the doorway, holding something to the side of him. A flicker of surprise danced across your features before settling into a mask of polite neutrality. "Kan-sensei," you greeted with a respectful nod.

"There's been a slight change in your schedule," he began, his crimson eyes studying you with an intensity that could make lesser students squirm. "Principal Nezu, with the unanimous support of the faculty, has extended an invitation for you to join Class 1-A at U.S.J. today."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. The Unforeseen Simulation Joint arc you'd devoured in textbooks? You couldn't help but be curious. "U.S.J.?" you echoed, allowing a touch of confusion to lace your voice.

Kan grunted in response. "Given your exceptional performance during class activities and your consistent lead over your peers, it's been deemed beneficial for you to observe Class 1-A during their training exercise. Consider it a... crash course in advanced hero work."

A slow smile spread across your face. Observing Class 1-A, the cream of the crop students at U.A.? This wasn't just an observation session; it was a golden opportunity to glean valuable intel on their strengths, weaknesses, and, most importantly, their Quirks.

Information you could then use to your advantage—to elevate your position within U.A.

"I understand, Kan-sensei. Thank you for informing me."

Kan gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. He lifted up the object he held—it was a sleek black suitcase. "Here," he rumbled, tossing the suitcase towards you with surprising agility. "Your hero costume. Get changed and report to the class. There, someone from 1-A should take you to the others, where Aizawa-sensei will brief you further."

You caught the suitcase effortlessly, the weight reassuring in your hand. "Understood," you responded, a single, clipped word that held a promise of silent understanding.

With a final, assessing glance, Kan turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with the weight of unexpected opportunity and the promise of a thrilling afternoon at U.S.J.

You tucked the hero costume case under your arm and decided to swing back by the classroom to drop off your uneaten lunch before heading to change. As you approached the classroom door, the murmur of hushed conversation filtered through the thin barrier.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by the sight of nine of your classmates, a mix of familiar and less familiar faces, clustered around your usual desk.

Monoma shot up like a rocket the second his eyes landed on you. His wide, cheesy grin could rival All Might's in its enthusiasm. "President!" he crowed, his voice cutting through the hushed conversations.

The other eight turned towards you, their surprise mirroring Monoma's initial reaction. Tetsutetsu, gave a hearty laugh. "Akuma-san! Is everything fine from your... um... feminine emergencies? You nearly missed lunch! Good thing we waited for you," he boomed, his voice lacking any real malice.

"I appreciate you all's generosity, Tetsu-kun," you replied smoothly, keeping your voice vague as you internally tsked.

You knew someone—or rather, several someones—would be lingering for you despite dipping out of class ten minutes prior with the well-worn excuse of feminine issues. You just hadn't expected quite so many, or for them to be so persistent and actually wait for your return.

Monoma, ever the pest, was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, his persistent grin plastered on his face. "Whoa, what's that?" he blurted out, pointing an accusing finger at the hero costume case you held.

Tetsu's earlier question about your extended restroom break was clearly forgotten.

Kendo, your fiery-haired vice president, shot him a withering look. "Monoma, manners," she hissed under her breath, teal eyes blazing in irritation.

You, however, didn't mind the interruption. This was a perfect opportunity to further cultivate your air of mystery. A slight smile played on your lips as you lifted the case a few inches, the sleek black surface catching the light. "It's my hero outfit," you replied nonchalantly. 

The moment the case left your side, the classroom erupted in a flurry of excited chatter. Tsuburaba whistled appreciatively. "Whoa, looks intense, Akuma-san! What'd you get, a jetpack with it or something?"

A chorus of questions and comments filled the air. "How'd you get it so soon?" chirped Tsunotori, the girl with tall, pale tan horns, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Maybe it's super cute!" squealed Tokage, the dark, moss-green-haired student, bouncing on her toes.

Monoma scoffed. "Nah, definitely not cute. Probably something hot, right? Like a high-tech bodysuit that hugs and enhances her bo—"

Kendo, clearly exasperated, reached over and smacked Monoma on the back of the neck with a resounding thwack. "Monoma! Manners!" she hissed through gritted teeth once again.

Monoma yelped, rubbing his sore neck with a pout. "Jeez, Kendo, what was that for?"

Ignoring him completely, Kendo bowed towards you in apology. "I'm terribly sorry about Monoma, Akuma-san. He can be a bit too much sometimes."

You raised a hand, silencing the classroom with a single gesture. A satisfied smirk played on your lips as the chatter died down instantly. You liked it; they obeyed your command without you even needing to resort to your 'Quirk'. It spoke volumes about the hierarchy you'd established in Class 1-B.

"Thank you, Kendo-san," you replied politely, acknowledging her apology. "It's quite alright. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a hero costume to change into." You gave a curt nod and turned towards the door, a thrill coursing through you.

This unexpected invitation to U.S.J. was shaping up to be far more interesting than you could have ever anticipated.

With a quick stride, you made your way to the nearest restroom, eager to slip into your hero costume. Inside a private stall, you carefully removed your school uniform, anticipation building with each rustle of fabric.

Unzipping the sleek black case, you revealed your hero costume in all its glory. Quickly donning it, you stood back to a moment to admire your outfit in the mirror.

Your blouse, a pale aqua, was crisp and neatly buttoned, giving you a professional yet relaxed vibe. The black tie knotted firmly around your collar added a touch of seriousness to your look. Over your blouse, a fitted black blazer hugged your form, its sharp lines mirroring your newfound determination.

You'd paired this with classic black trousers, which complemented your frame with a comfortable, tailored fit. The pants ended just above brown leather shoes, polished to a high shine.

With your hands casually tucked into your pockets, you exuded a confident, ready-for-business air, softened by the whimsical hint of the forest green backdrop that adorned the inside of the blazer. It wasn't camouflage, exactly, but rather a subtle artistic flourish that hinted at a hidden power lurking beneath the surface.

Satisfied, you exited the restroom, ready to rejoin your classmates. As you walked back into your classroom, the murmurs started again. This time, however, they weren't filled with questions about your absence, but with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

A blur of movement zipped towards you. It was Fukidashi, the boy with the comic book head, bouncing excitedly. With a burst of energy, his head transformed into a flashing white speech bubble that read "Whoop! Whoop!" in bold letters, accompanied by a pair of clapping hands.

Behind Fukidashi shuffled Komori, a short girl with honey-brown hair curved inwards in a mushroom-shaped bob. Her usual shy demeanor was amplified by the situation, her cheeks dusted a soft pink.

She nervously twirled an end of her bob as she approached you, her voice barely a whisper. "A-Akuma-san," she stammered, "it... it looks really good on you. Very well-suited." She couldn't quite meet your gaze, quickly rushing off to hide behind Tetsutetsu, her face burning red.

Monoma attempted to maintain his usual bravado, his gaze, however, lingered a beat too long on your figure, a faint blush creeping up his neck despite his crossed arms. He cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "Alright, alright," he scoffed, "So you got your hero costume early. Big deal. Why'd they give it to you anyway?"

You tilted your head slightly, casting a playful glance up at him through your lashes. A slow, teasing smile played on your plump lips as they stretched into a half-smirk. "Do you really want to know, Monoma-kun?~" you purred, your voice dripping with a deliberate sweetness.

The effect was instantaneous. Monoma's blush deepened several shades, and a flustered look crossed his face. It wasn't just him; several other classmates found themselves inexplicably flustered by your sudden display of playful charm. You couldn't help but internally smirk.

With a playful lilt in your voice, you replied, "Well, let's just say I wanted something practical. Something that wouldn't attract undue attention while working undercover amongst civilians."

This, of course, was a carefully constructed lie.

The truth was, the familiar lines of the suit were a subtle comfort, a reminder of your past life at Public Safety. But that was a secret you found no use in revealing.

"Now, as for the gadgets and upgrades," you gestured towards the subtle metallic accents lining the blazer, "there's extreme heat resistance for those sonic-based Quirks, and..." you trailed off dramatically, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "Let's just say there are a few other surprises built in. Let's keep them under wraps for now, shall we?" The implication of hidden power was clear, and your classmates leaned in, captivated.

Tetsutestu let out a whistle, rushing over with eyes sparkling. "Whoa, that's sounds so manly, Akuma-san! Always gotta be prepared!"

Even Monoma, despite his embarrassment, managed to grumble a begrudging compliment, "I guess, you do look good. Not that I care or anything..." A faint blush still lingered on his cheeks, betraying his attempt at indifference.

The rest of the class chimed in, showering you with compliments on both the practicality and sleek design of your costume.

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door startled everyone into silence.

The door creaked open to reveal a young man standing impeccably in the doorway. He was relatively tall and muscular, with a wide frame and short dark blue hair neatly flattened and parted on the right. His most striking features, however, were his calves.

Incredibly thick and shaped like automobile engines, six silver exhaust pipes protruded from each leg in columns of three. This, you knew from Bakugo, was the Quirk 'Engine' that granted him incredible speed and kicking power. 

"Excuse me," the young man began, his voice polite and formal. "My name is Iida, and I'm here from 1-A to escort an 'Akuma ____' to the U.S.J. meet-up-point. The bus is preparing to leave shortly."

An awkward silence filled the room. Your classmates exchanged glances, unsure how to react to the sudden arrival of a student from the prestigious Class 1-A.

Monoma, never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot, took a step closer to you, his usual sneer plastered on his face. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who it is. A fancy 1-A student here grace us with his presence. Think you can just waltz in here and snatch our precious president away, huh?"

You cut him off before he could unleash another tirade. A gentle giggle escaped your lips, the sound light and carefree. "Monoma-kun," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful reprimand, "that's no way to treat a guest, especially a hero-to-be like Iida-kun." 

Mentally, you silently applauded Iida for his stoicism. Despite the tense atmosphere and Monoma's childish behavior, he remained calm and collected, a true mark of a leader.

Kendo, sensing the potential for escalation, wasted no time in delivering her own brand of justice. With a swift movement, she karate-chopped Monoma in the back of the neck. The blow, though not malicious, was more effective than the last two. Monoma yelped and crumpled to the floor, instantly silenced.

"Monoma deserved that," Kendo muttered under her breath, sending a reassuring smile your way. "Please excuse him once again, Akuma-san."

You waved her off. "No worries at all, Kendo-san. It seems we all have a bit of fire in us, wouldn't you agree?" With a final flourish, you rose to your feet, smoothing down the non-existent wrinkles of your blazer. Turning to your gathered classmates, you gave a small bow. "I'll be back shortly, everyone. Until then, keep up the excellent work."

Your gaze then settled on Kendo, your fiery-haired vice president. You placed a soft smile onto your lips as you met her eyes, tilting your head in a gesture of quiet confidence.

Walking forward, you reached out and gently grasped both of her hands between yours. Your touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool exterior you often presented.

"Kendo-san," you began, your voice dropping to a low murmur, "I'm counting on you to keep everyone in line while I'm gone. You're the voice of reason here, and I know they'll listen to you." A playful glint entered your eyes. "Especially Monoma-kun. See if you can keep him from causing too much trouble."

Kendo's eyes widened momentarily, a harsh blush creeping up her cheeks. You couldn't help but find her flustered expression humorous.

Once again, here was someone reduced to a blushing mess by you from merely a simple touch and a few honeyed words.

"O-of course, Akuma-san," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I, uh... I won't let you down." Her long orange hair, usually tied back in a high ponytail, seemed to frizz slightly at the ends, betraying her underlying anxiety.

"I know you won't." Turning your attention back to Iida, you offered a polite smile. "Thank you for coming to fetch me, Iida-kun. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

As you began walking side-by-side with Iida, a memory flickered in the back of your mind. You recalled seeing him a few times around U.A., his distinctive blue hair and engine calves making him hard to miss, especially since he'd always hung Midoriya and some rosy-cheeked girl.

Filing that information away for later, you decided it would be beneficial to have a rule-follower like Iida on your good side. With a casual smile, you turned to him. "By the way, Iida-kun," you began casually, offering your hand for a shake, "allow me to formally introduce myself. Akuma ____, Class 1-B president, at your service."

Iida seemed momentarily surprised. Perhaps he'd expected you to maintain the same aloof demeanor your other classmates had displayed earlier. But as you offered your hand and a friendly smile, you could visibly see his demeanor relax a bit.

A hint of blush crept up his cheeks as he let out a short, embarrassed chuckle. "Ah, well, yes," he stammered, taking your hand with a light shake. "Of course I know who you are. Midoriya and, well, Bakugo-kun, have mentioned you a few times. It's a pleasure to properly meet you, Akuma-san. Iida Tenya, Class 1-A president, at your service as well."

You chuckled, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Also, please forgive the... enthusiasm of my classmates earlier. They tend to get a little carried away, especially when it comes to showing off Class B's best." You flashed him a wry smile. "Being class president isn't always sunshine and rainbows, is it?"

The dam broke. Iida, a wellspring of pent-up frustration finally unleashed, launched into a tirade about the struggles of student leadership. He spoke of overzealous classmates, mountains of hero-work on top of general education, and the constant pressure to maintain perfection.

You listened patiently, interjecting with understanding nods and sympathetic sighs. It wasn't hard to play the part of the eager listener, and Iida, starved for an outlet, poured out his woes.

As the conversation flowed, your eyes subtly began to glow a soft yellow. A faint, almost imperceptible sheen flickered over his eyes behind the glasses. He was under your subtle influence.

With this control in mind, you skillfully shifted the conversation. "Speaking of pressure," you began, your voice laced with feigned curiosity, "I can only imagine the expectations placed on Class 1-A. All those top heroes coming out of your class..." You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Iida, caught in your gentle manipulation, readily took the bait. His frustration momentarily forgotten, he puffed out his chest slightly, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. "Yes, well, the pressure is immense," he declared, his voice taking on a more animated tone. "We have to constantly strive for excellence, to uphold the legacy of our predecessors. It's not for the faint of heart, that's for sure."

You leaned in slightly, feigning intense interest. "Tell me more," you urged, your voice barely a whisper. "What are some of the challenges you face? The unspoken expectations? Perhaps some of the Quirks your classmates possess..." You planted the seed of information-sharing subtly, watering it with your carefully constructed persona.

Iida, basking in your newfound attentiveness, readily complied. He launched into a detailed explanation of Class 1-A's rigorous training regimen, the immense pressure to succeed, and even dropped a few names of his classmates and their Quirks; his info a little more detailed than Bakugo's recount from the first day a couple of weeks ago.

You absorbed this information eagerly, filing it away for future use.

Just as you both rounded the corner to the bus, the yellow glow in your eyes faded away. With an innocent smile, you ended the connection, confident that you'd gleaned all you needed for now.

Pushing your control too hard could backfire; a dazed and confused Iida would be a red flag in a school crawling with heroes. No, subtlety was key.

You had taken the first bite out of the apple of Class 1-A's secrets, and you were hungry for more.

"[Alright, heroes and future pros, feast your eyes on the scoreboard! Here are the lucky contestants moving on to the One-on-One Fighting Tournament! Drum roll, please!]"

With a dramatic flourish, the large video screen above the stadium flickered to life, displaying the names and faces of the fourteen students who had qualified for the tournament. The names were listed in order of their team rankings from the Cavalry Battle.

_Scoreboard_

1st Place ~ Team Todoroki: 1.Todoroki Shoto 2.Kaminari Denki 3.Yaoyorozu Momo 4.Iida Tenya

2nd Place ~ Team Bakugo: 5.Bakugo Katsuki 6.Ashido Mina 7.Sero Hanta 8.Kirishima Eijiro

3rd Place ~ Team Shinso: 9.Shinso Hitoshi 10.Akuma ____

4th Place ~ Team Midoriya: 11.Midoriya Izuku 12.Tokoyami Fumikage 13.Uraraka Ochaco 14.Hatsume Mei

Present Mic leaned forward, peering dramatically at the screen before spinning around to face the audience, slamming both hands down on the announcer's desk, causing a loud thud that echoed through the stadium. "[Wait a minute, folks! I'm counting fourteen contestants! That's...hold on...14!? That's not quite enough for a full bracket! Does this mean we'll have to pit the two strongest fighters against each other for double the action? Double the elimination?! What ever shall we do??]" The man gasped into the mic before turning his attention to his colleague. "[Hey Midnight! Is there any way we can we add more fire to this showdown?? Maybe get more contenders in here? I want this tournament to last longer, and I know you all do too!]"

The camera panned to Midnight, who stood near the center of the field. With a sly smile, she cracked her whip, the sharp crack reverberating through the arena. "I see no reason why we shouldn't spice things up a bit. Let's allow the next two highest-scoring students to join the fray and make this a sweet sixteen!"

The screen updated, adding two new names to the list of contestants:

15.Shiozaki Ibara 16.Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

You exhaled deeply as you left the restroom, relieved to finally be out of the cheerleading outfit and back into the Sports' Festival unfirm. As you walked back towards the stadium, the muffled cheers and Present Mic's amplified voice filtered through the walls, growing louder with each step.

"[And there you have it, folks! Welcome Shiozaki Ibara and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu to the tournament! Now that's what I call a proper lineup! Are you ready to see these heroes-in-training throw down? This is gonna be EPIC! Grab your popcorn, your soda, and get comfy, because we're about to witness some serious action!]"

You paused at the entrance to the seating area, glancing up at the large screen that displayed the newly updated tournament bracket. The addition of Shiozaki and Tetsutetsu brought the total number of contestants to sixteen, ensuring a full and balanced competition.

Just as you were about to head to your class's designated section, a familiar voice called out to you.

"Hey, Akuma-san!" You turned to see Kirishima jogging towards you, his face lighting up with excitement as he caught up. "Did you hear? Midoriya's up next!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with anticipation.

You forced a polite smile, concealing your growing annoyance.  Biting back the urge to snap. Instead, you nodded, your tone measured. "Oh? Well, can't miss that, can we? If you'll excuse—" Before you could finish excusing yourself to your class's section, Ashido's high-pitched squeal reached your ears. "Akuma-san, over here!" She bounded over, her eyes sparkling with excitement, followed closely by Sero and Kaminari.

Ashido, grabbing your hand, "C'mon, you can sit with us to watch! It'll be so much fun!" She began pulling you towards their section before you could utter a word of protest.

Sero chimed in, a playful grin on his face: "Yeah, Akuma-san, it'll be way more interesting with you there."

"Besides, who wouldn't want to watch a match with such a captivating view?" Kaminari adds with a wink, causing Ashido to roll her eyes.

Despite your mild annoyance, you allowed yourself to be guided to the stands, settling into a seat between Ashido and Ojiro. You glanced around, noting the large screen displayed the details of the upcoming fight.

Midoriya and Shinso stood at opposite ends of the arena, their expressions a mix of determination and focus. The crowd's murmurs hushed as the anticipation built, all eyes on the two contestants.

"[Welcome to the first match of the finals tournament! It's Midoriya Izuku from the hero course versus Shinso Hitoshi from general studies! The rules are simple: immobilize your opponent or force them outta the ring! You can also win by getting the other person to cry uncle. Let's get ready to rumble!]"

The crowd erupted in cheers as Midnight raised her whip, signaling the start of the match.

"[Ready? Begin!]"

You watched intently as Midoriya and Shinso faced each other. Then, Midoriya's body suddenly went rigid, his eyes widening in shock as he froze in place.

Ojiro, beside you, leaned in, whispering urgently, "I warned him not to say anything!"

"[The fight has just begun and Midoriya Izuku is... completely frozen? He's not moving a muscle! What's with that look on his face? Could this be a Quirk at work? Shinso seems to have Midoriya completely stunned! He didn't stand out in the first rounds at all, but it's possible Hitoshi's crazy powerful! Who could've imagined this turn of events? That's the Festival for ya! Ha-ha!]"

You narrowed your eyes, focusing on Shinso's calm, almost smug expression as he began to circle the frozen Midoriya, a smirk playing on his lips, "You're lucky to have been so blessed, Midoriya Izuku. Now turn around and walk out of bounds like the good little hero you are."

Midoriya's body obeyed, his movements robotic as he began to walk towards the edge of the ring. The crowd gasped, and you could feel the tension in the air as everyone watched in disbelief.

"[Uh—What?! Ah! Midoriya's obeying him! And there you have it! Shinso Hitoshi! His Quirk: Brainwashing! When an opponent answers his question, it flips a switch in their minds, forcing them to do whatever he says. Not every question does it, though. He only brainwashes when he wants to. Not very flashy...]"

Aizawa's calm, analytical voice cut through Present Mic's excitement. "[This is a perfect example of why the entrance exam isn't rational.]"

"[Huh? Why's that, Eraser?]"

"[Since we're on to the individual matches, I had some information compiled about our final competitors. Shinso failed the practical exam to get into the hero course. Since he also applied for general studies, he probably figured that would happen. His Quirk is incredibly strong, but that entrance test consisted of fighting faux villains. Robots. It gave a huge advantage to those who had physical superpowers they could show off.]" Aizawa continued, his tone measured: "[Despite his abilities, Shinso never stood a chance at passing.]"

You watched as Midoriya's feet edged closer to the boundary, his eyes wide with panic. His internal struggle was evident, and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to resist.

.☆.          .✩.                   .☆.

Midoriya's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and frustration as he struggled against the invisible chains binding his will.

What's happening? My body's moving on its own. I feel like my brain is full of fog. I can't concentrate. No! Not like this. Gotta stop! Dammit!

Desperation clawed at him, and he fought to recall Ojiro's warning about Shinsou's Quirk. The memory was hazy, slipping through his grasp like sand, but the urgency of the situation sharpened his focus.

I fell for it, even after Ojiro warned me about his power. I'm an idiot. This is all my fault!

🇫‌🇱‌🇦‌🇸‌🇭‌🇧‌🇦‌🇨‌🇰‌:

In the bustling halls of the Sports Festival's recreational area, Ojiro leaned closer to Midoriya, his expression serious as he recounted his experience with Shinso. "His Quirk is that he can control other people. It's powerful, but he can't use it unless you answer his questions. He didn't get into my head until I responded to something he said."

Midoriya's eyes wide with concern. "So I have to be careful not to say anything, or I'll lose for sure."

Ojiro nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Well, not exactly. Even if he gets you, there's still a chance. At the beginning of the cavalry battle, after he approached me, I don't remember anything until I bumped into another person. It was like I woke up, and suddenly I could think clearly."

"So that bump broke his hold?"

"Maybe. It's only a guess, but it's something to keep in mind."

Midoriya's eyes darted around, searching for anything that could jolt his body back under his own control. His feet continued their march towards the edge, each step bringing him closer to disqualification.

Even in the faced of disqualification, Midoriya couldn't help but analyze his situation: Still... I don't know how much of a shock it would take to break his spell. And in a one-on-one match, I can't count on an outside force intervening to help me.

The only part of his body under his control were his eyes, and he scanned the crowd, his gaze lingering on familiar faces. Each person he saw, each pair of worried eyes, felt like a weight pressing down on him. He was letting them down. He was letting everyone down.

I can't stop it. I'm going to lose. It's all over. Even though... so many people are counting on me... Everyone is watching... Everyone!

As despair gripped his heart, his eyes finally landed on you. Your gaze met his, and for a brief, electric moment, everything else faded away. Your lips moved, forming a single, commanding word: "Move."

A jolt of clarity shot through him, igniting a spark of defiance in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears, and the fog clouding his mind seemed to lift, replaced by the fierce determination in your eyes.

What... is... that? Wait.

Shinso paced behind Midoriya, his voice dripping with mockery. He watched Midoriya's struggle with a cold satisfaction, convinced of his impending victory. "Even with a Quirk like this, I have my own dreams of becoming a great hero. So, lose for me."

The edge of the platform loomed closer, the boundary line a stark reminder of his precarious situation. Just as his foot hovered above the line, Midoriya's eyes widened in sudden clarity. In a desperate act of defiance, he summoned all his strength and snapped his own fingers, the sharp crack resonating through the arena.

Present Mic's voice rose in excitement at the spectacle. "[What's this? Midoriya stopped just in time!]"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their relief and exhilaration echoing through the stadium.

Aizawa, his eyes narrowing with interest, saying. "[His finger. He broke one in order to stop Shinso.]"

Pain seared through Midoriya's hand, but his mind was clear, his resolve unwavering. He flexed his finger, the agony grounding him in reality.

Shinso's smug expression dissolved into shock and disbelief. His eyes widened as he took a step back, the confidence in his stance faltering. "No. Impossible. You're not supposed to be able to fight back! What did you do?"

Midoriya's gaze locked onto Shinso, his eyes blazing with determination. Though instead of answering vocally, all he did was raise a brow.

Internally, Midoriya didn't have an answer for the purplenette—noy yet anyways. All he knows is that something extraordinary just happened. I'm certain I'm the one who used One For All. But I'm not the one who moved my fingers just now. It was like someone I didn't know came into my mind. And for a second, it was clear. Could it be—Later. I don't have time to figure things out right now. I have to focus.

Panic flickered in Shinso's eyes as he glanced towards the crowd. His gaze landed on you, and he saw the bored, almost dismissive expression on your face. A flicker of panic crossed his features, desperation clawing at him. He won't answer. Did he figure it out? No. He's known. That damn dog-monkey must have told him. I have to get him to talk again.

Desperation tinged his voice as he tried to provoke a response from Midoriya. "Come on, say something. I didn't know you had so much power in your fingers. I'm kind of jealous of you."

Midoriya's resolve hardened, his thoughts a whirlwind of determination and empathy. I know what that jealousy feels like. I've been there.

Shinso scoffs at the lack of an answer, his voice bitter. "Thanks to the way my Quirk works, I've always been at a big disadvantage. But someone as blessed as you wouldn't understand that."

I get it. Even though he's right. I have been blessed.

Shinso's frustration mounted, his voice laced with bitterness and desperation. "You're lucky enough to have a heroic Quirk! It'll be so easy for you to reach your goal!"

Midoriya's eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of understanding passing over his face. I've been blessed by others. That's why I'm here!

Shinso's voice rose to a shout, his desperation evident. "Say something, dammit!"

Midoriya's  resolve crystallized, eyes blazing with determination. Still...I can't lose this. I'll do it for her...for them!

Shinsou's frustration boiled over, his voice cracking with anger. "You've gotta be kidding me! Get out of this ring, you lucky brat!"

With a fierce cry, Midoriya surged forward, his fist connecting with Shinso's chest in a powerful punch. The impact sent Shinso sprawling out of bounds, his body hitting the ground with a thud.

Midnight's voice rings out over the cheers of the crowd. "Shinso is out of bounds! Midoriya advances to the next match!"

"[And with that expertly performed throw, we have our first victor of the finals! Class -A's Midoriya Izuku!]"

The stadium erupted in cheers, the roar of the crowd a thunderous wave of excitement. Midoriya stood at the center of the ring, his chest heaving with exertion, but his eyes were bright with triumph. He glanced around, taking in the overwhelming support from the audience, a mix of relief and exhilaration washing over him.

He looked up at the stands, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment. You gave a small, approving nod, acknowledging his victory before quickly scurrying to sit with your classmates before Ashido and the others noticed.

"[He focused his power like he did in the fitness test and used the throw from combat training. It's not just that he's learning from his experiences: he's using every trick he's picked up to improve his odds.]" Aizawa noted with a professional flare.

Present Mic nodded enthusiastically, his grin wide as he continued his commentary. "[Oh, yeah! That was actually kind of a boring first match, kids. But both of you fought bravely. Let's show them some love, everyone!]"

The applause swelled, a sea of clapping hands and cheering voices celebrating the efforts of both competitors. Midoriya's gaze flickered towards Shinso, who was still on the ground, a mix of defeat and frustration etched across his features. Shinso slowly got to his feet, his eyes downcast, but he squared his shoulders, accepting his defeat with a grim determination.

As Midoriya walked back towards the waiting area, the crowd's cheers continued to resonate, the excitement of the tournament reaching new heights. The first battle had set the tone for the intense and unpredictable matches to come, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation for what lay ahead.

☆

☆

Seated amongst your classmates—with you strategically seated between Kendo and Monoma—because, according to the blonde, it's to ensure safety from the "fake 1-A heroes from stealing you away," you watched as the seats around you buzzed with energy, your classmates' excitement palpable as they eagerly awaited the next match.

Suddenly, Present Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, drawing everyone's attention back to the arena. "[Enough standing around. Now welcome to the ring, our next players!]"

The spotlight swung to the center of the arena, illuminating Todoroki Shoto and Sero Hanta as they stepped onto the platform. The contrast between their expressions was stark—Sero's nervous determination clashed with Todoroki's cool, impassive demeanor.

"[He's got skills! But at the expense of some really creepy-looking elbows. From the Hero Course, it's Sero Hanta!]"

"That was uncalled for," Sero muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a wry grin.

"[Versus an early frontrunner in the competition who's way too strong for his own good! Someone who rightfully got into the Hero Course based on recommendations! It's Todoroki Shoto!]"

The crowd's cheers swelled as Todoroki's name was announced, a mixture of awe and anticipation rippling through the spectators. You leaned forward slightly, your eyes narrowing as you focused on the two competitors.

"[And now, for the second match of the finals. Ready?]"

Sero scratched the back of his neck, staring back at Todoroki's blank face. "Well, I don't really feel—"

Present Mic cut the teen off, shouting, "[Begin!]"

"—like I can win this fight. But, man—" Sero didn't waste a second, launching into his attack with a swift, decisive movement. His tape shot out, wrapping around Todoroki with a practiced precision, his face set in a determined grimace. "—I don't feel like losing, either!"

"[That attack could throw his opponent out of bounds! A brilliant, surprise opening from the underdog! Way to start off strong, Sero!]" Present Mic announces.

The tape wrapped tightly around Todoroki, and tried Sero pulling with all his might. For a moment, it seemed like his strategy might succeed, but with a sudden, precise movement, Todoroki used his feet to freeze the ground beneath him.

The ice spread rapidly, creating a shockwave that sent a burst of cold air rippling through the arena. Sero's eyes widened as he struggled to maintain his grip, the ice forming faster than he could react.

"Is that... an earthquake? What the heck is goin' on?" Monoma muttered beside you with wide eyes.

The ice attack created a massive wave, quickly encompassing Sero. The cold bit into his skin, freezing him in place as the ice continued to spread, leaving half the entire festival arena encased in a shimmering, frozen expanse.

"Holy crap." Sero's voice was muffled by the ice, a mixture of frustration and resignation evident as he managed a weak response. "Um... Don't you think you went overboard?"

Midnight, standing on the edge of the frozen section, raised her whip to get the crowd's attention. "Tell the truth, Sero. Can you move at all?"

"Are you kidding? Obviously not. My body is freezing!"

The crowd gasped, the magnitude of Todoroki's ice attack sinking in. The spectacle left the audience in awe, their cheers mingling with murmurs of astonishment.

Midnight swung her whip in the air with a resounding whack. "It's official. Sero has been immobilized! Todoroki advances to the second round!"

The announcement echoed through the stadium, the cheers intensifying as the reality of Todoroki's power set in. The audience erupted into applause, a chorus of "Nice try!" reverberating through the stands.

Todoroki turned to walk away, but not before throwing Sero a quick apology over his shoulder. "Sorry about that. It was a bit much. I was angry, is all."

You watched Todoroki as he left the arena, his expression unchanged despite the overwhelming display of power. The intensity of his attack and the ease with which he had executed it left a lasting impression, a clear testament to his capabilities.

Sometime after Todoroki's icy aftermath melted away, Present Mic's booming voice echoed across the stadium, rallying the crowd for the next battle. "[And now, let's welcome our next competitors! This match promises to be a real shocker!]"

The spotlight shifted, illuminating the next contenders as they stepped onto the stage. On one side was Kaminari Denki, a confident grin plastered across his face. Opposite him stood Shiozaki Ibara, her calm demeanor contrasting with the electricity crackling in the air around Kaminari.

"[Ready for a jolt? From the Hero Course, it's Kaminari Denki! And his opponent, bringing the power of nature itself, it's Shiozaki Ibara from Class 1-B!]"

Kaminari shot a cocky smile at Shiozaki, his confidence almost palpable. "Hey, Shiozaki! How about we grab a bite to eat after this match? You know, to comfort you after your inevitable loss." He chuckled, his eyes sparking with mischief. "This match is gonna be over in seconds."

Shiozaki's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression serene but resolute. She turned away from Kaminari, her hair coiling around her like a protective shield.

"[Oooh~, someone's got confidence! Let's see if Kaminari's got what it takes!]"

The starting signal blared, and Kaminari wasted no time, electricity surging through him as he prepared to unleash his attack. "Indiscriminate Shock: 1.3 Million Volts!"

Electricity crackled and surged from Kaminari, the air around him shimmering with the raw power of his Quirk. The crowd gasped, the sheer magnitude of his attack electrifying the atmosphere. The bolts of lightning arced towards Ibara, threatening to engulf her.

However, Shiozaki remained unfazed. With a fluid, almost graceful movement, she commanded her vine-like hair to form a protective barrier around her. "Shield!" The vines wove together, creating a thick shield that absorbed the brunt of Kaminari's attack.

The electricity sizzled and sparked against the vines, but Shiozaki's shield held strong. Kaminari's confident grin faltered as he watched his attack dissipate harmlessly.

"[Whoa! Shiozaki's not going down without a fight! Look at that defense!]"

As the last of Kaminari's electricity fizzled out, he stumbled, his usual cocky expression replaced by a vacant, dopey grin. His attack had backfired, leaving him in his infamous 'dumb state.' "Heh, I think I overdid it..."

Shiozaki seized the opportunity, her vines snapping forward with swift precision. They coiled around Kaminari, lifting him off the ground and suspending him in mid-air. His arms and legs were bound, rendering him completely immobile.

Shiozakis voice was calm, almost gentle as she addressed her opponent. "May the Lord forgive your sins, Kaminari-san."

With a flick of her wrist, the vines tightened, securing Kaminari in place. He dangled helplessly, a bewildered smile plastered on his face as he struggled against the restraints.

"[And there you have it! Shiozaki's defense and counterattack have Kaminari wrapped up—literally!]"

Midnight, still chilled from the lingering effects of Todoroki's earlier attack, stepped forward, her whip cracking sharply in the air. "Kaminari Denki is immobilized! Shiozaki Ibara wins!"

The crowd erupted in applause, cheers mingling with laughter at the unexpected outcome. In the stands, Tetsutetsu leaped to his feet, pumping his fists in the air. "Yeah! That's how you do it, Shiozaki! Show them what Class 1-B is made of!"

Monoma, not missing a beat, leaned over the railing, his voice dripping with mockery as he taunted the Hero Course students. "See that, 1-A? That's how a real hero fights! Too bad your electric wonder boy couldn't keep up!"

You glanced at Kendo out of the corner of your eye. Seeing this, your Vice-President's hand shot out and delivered a swift chop to the back of his neck.

Monoma yelped, holding the sore spot. "Hey, what was—"

"Enough, Monoma. Let's show some class," Kendo hissed with narrowed eyes before falling silent.

Monoma grumbled, rubbing his neck, but reluctantly fell silent. You couldn't help but smirk at the exchange, finding it amusing no matter how often it occurs.

The excitement in the stadium didn't wane as the next match was announced. "[Alright, folks, let's keep this momentum going! Up next, we've got a match that's sure to be full of surprises!]"

The spotlight shifted once more, illuminating Iida Tenya and Hatsume Mei as they took their positions on the stage. Iida stood tall, his posture rigid with determination, while Hatsume's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.

"[From the Hero Course, it's the speedster himself, Iida Tenya! And his opponent, ready to dazzle us with her gadgets, from the Support Course, it's Hatsume Mei!]"

The signal to start blared, and Iida immediately launched into action, his engines roaring to life as he sprinted towards Hatsume with impressive speed. "Prepare yourself, Hatsume-san! I will not hold back!"

Hatsume, however, seemed completely unfazed by Iida's aggressive approach. She activated her microphone, her voice cheerful and informative as she addressed the crowd. "Hello, everyone! Check this out—these leg braces I designed for Iida-kun here improve his mobility by 25%! Watch how he moves!"

Iida, taken aback by her casual demeanor, stumbled slightly but quickly regained his composure. He pressed forward, determined to close the distance between them. "What are you—?"

Before he could finish, Hatsume's backpack whirred to life, hydraulic attachments propelling her out of his reach with a smooth, mechanical efficiency.

"[Whoa! Did you see that, Eraser!? Hatsume's got some tricks up her sleeves!]"

As Iida attempted to adapt, Hatsume's voice continued, her excitement infectious as she demonstrated her gadgets. "And that's not all! These hydraulic attachments allow me to maneuver with ease! Oh, and let's not forget the Auto Balancers—watch how they keep Iida-kun from falling!"

Iida tried to use her distraction to his advantage, but Hatsume's backpack sensors detected his approach, activating the hydraulic attachments once more to evade him. He stumbled over the devices, but the Auto Balancers kicked in, preventing him from falling and redirecting him back towards her.

"[Looks like Hatsume's turned this match into a full-on gadget showcase!]"

"[This isn't a commercial, Hatsume-san,]" Aizawa grumbled, a complete 180 from his co-host's attitude.

Frustration etched across Iida's face as he charged again, demanding a fair fight. "Hatsume-san! Stop using your gadgets as distractions and fight me properly!" 

Hatsume, her enthusiasm undeterred, evaded him once more, using her Electromagnetic Soles to glide smoothly across the stage. "But I am fighting! I'm showcasing my inventions! Look at these Electromagnetic Soles—they allow me to evade with precision!"

Iida's patience was wearing thin as he made another attempt to close the gap, but Hatsume was ready. She pulled out a Capture Gun, firing a net that ensnared Iida, immobilizing him.

"[Iida's caught in a net! What a turn of events!]"

Hatsume turned her attention to the support companies in the crowd, introducing herself with a confident smile. "I'm Hatsume Mei, and I hope you're impressed with my babies! There's more where these came from!"

For the next ten minutes, Hatsume continued to demonstrate her gadgets, much to the chagrin of Iida, who struggled futilely against the net. The crowd, initially baffled, soon found themselves entertained by her relentless enthusiasm.

Eventually, Hatsume walked out of the ring, her objective clearly met.

Midnight's whip cracked in the air, bringing the match to a close. "Hatsume Mei has stepped out of bounds! Iida Tenya is the winner!"

The audience's applause was a mix of confusion and amusement. Iida, despite his victory, looked thoroughly exasperated. "Hatsume-san! You used me as a prop!"

"I'm sorry, Iida-kun! But it worked, didn't it?" Hatsume giggled with a shrug of her shoulders.

Iida's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "I hate you."

Hatsume's apology, while technically present, lacked any real remorse, her attention already shifting to her next invention. "Oh~ I can totally create an 'I-hate-you-inator'! It'll track and detect levels of dislike/hatred surrounding the chosen subject..." As you watched Hatsume leave the ring, her nonchalant acceptance of her own defeat and eagerness to advertise her gadgets leaving the crowd in a mix of awe and confusion, you knew your turn was coming up.

You brushed off your uniform as you stood, smoothing out any wrinkles as you prepared yourself mentally.

Your classmates were abuzz with excitement, their voices blending into a harmonious cheer of encouragement.

"Akuma-san, knock 'em dead!"

"Yeah! You got this!"

"Show them 1-B's no second choice!"

Kendo's eyes sparkled with pride, and she gave you a thumbs-up. Tsuburaba and Shiozaki exchanged nods of support. Monoma, always the dramatic one, quickly grasped one of your hands just before you walked away.

"You got this, President!" he said, his voice filled with earnest admiration and a touch of nervous energy. His grip was firm but comforting, a tangible reminder of your classmates' support.

You hummed softly, your lips twitching in disgust at his bold actions. "Thank you, Monoma-kun," you replied, bowing your head in acknowledgment.

The walk to the arena felt like stepping into a different world. The stadium lights bore down on you, their brightness creating stark contrasts and sharp shadows on the ground. The camera flashes were relentless, capturing every moment, every expression, adding to the almost surreal atmosphere. The roar of the crowd was a constant backdrop, a symphony of cheers and excitement that filled the air with palpable energy.

Stepping into the battle ring, you felt the coolness of the arena floor beneath your feet. The space seemed to expand around you, the vastness of the stadium a stark reminder of the scale of the event.

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself amidst the sensory overload. The anticipation was electric, charging the air with a tangible tension as the crowd awaited the start of the match.

Across from you, Ashido bounced on her feet, her eyes alight with excitement. Her pink skin glistened under the stadium lights, and her smile was infectious. She seemed more like a cheerleader than a combatant, her enthusiasm almost childlike in its intensity.

"I can't wait to see your fighting style, Akuma-san!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with eagerness. "Is it like hand-to-hand combat? Or do you have some cool surprise moves up your sleeve? I'm so excited! I trained with my classmates during the Battle Trial, so I know some of their weaknesses, but I have no idea what to expect from you!"

Her questions came in a rapid stream, each one layered with genuine curiosity and a dash of anticipation. You could see the light in her eyes, a sparkle that made her excitement almost contagious.

Present Mic's voice boomed overhead, adding a humorous commentary to the situation. "[Wow, she's not taking this seriously at all!]"

"[Ashido admittedly does have a major issue with her attention span,]" Aizawa sighed.

The contrast between her playful energy and the serious tone of the match was almost comical.

Without a word, you began to walk towards her, your steps measured and deliberate. Ashido's eyes widened as she watched you approach, her questions spilling out even faster. "Oh my gods, what are you going to do? Is this some secret technique? Are you going to—"

You reached out, gently but firmly placing your hands on her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and a hint of surprise.

With a steady, unyielding push, you guided her backwards. Each step you took brought her closer to the edge of the ring, her surprise morphing into confusion and then realization.

Quickly, Ashido managed to drop and roll away from your push, her reflexes sharp despite the playful demeanor she had displayed moments before. Springing to her feet, she grinned, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Whoops! Almost let you get me!"

Her eyes gleamed with a newfound intensity, the playful spark replaced by a keen focus. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and Ashido's entire demeanor shifted from bubbly excitement to concentrated determination.

With a swift, fluid motion, she squatted down and secreted acid from her feet. The corrosive substance sizzled as it hit the ground, and she used it to propel herself forward, sliding across the stage with surprising speed. Her movement was almost serpentine, a blend of agility and precision that cut through the air with grace.

For a moment, you considered dodging her attack, calculating the trajectory and speed at which she was approaching. But then, in a split-second decision, you chose not to evade. You let her come closer, her approach like a tidal wave of energy and intent.

As Ashido reached you, you executed a half-hearted roundhouse kick, your movements precise yet deliberately leaving yourself open. To anyone else, it would have looked like a full attempt to strike, but you knew better. It was a calculated risk, a feint meant to draw her in.

Ashido, her instincts sharp, ducked just in time, her eyes widening as she saw the opening. She lunged forward, aiming a strong uppercut at your side. Her fist brushed past your face, the force of the strike just grazing your skin.

You turned with the motion, making her miss entirely, and quickly grasped both of her arms in a firm hold. The action was fluid, almost too smooth, and before she could react, you had effectively locked her in place. Your grip was steady but not overly harsh, a testament to your control over the situation.

Ashido blinked, her concentration breaking for a brief moment. Her eyes sparkled with genuine admiration as she squealed, "No way, that was so cool! How did you dodge that!? I spent weeks perfecting this move..." Her words tumbled out in a rapid stream, her excitement and curiosity spilling over. She seemed almost oblivious to her current predicament, more fascinated by the mechanics of the fight than by the fact that she was restrained.

You sighed inwardly, recognizing that this conversation would likely continue unless you intervened. You glanced over her shoulder, assessing your position in the ring. To your advantage, you noticed that you were right on the edge of the platform. The realization sparked a quick plan in your mind.

Taking advantage of her distraction, you pushed her gently but firmly over the edge. Ashido, still caught up in her enthusiastic rambling, barely registered the movement until it was too late. She stumbled backward, her eyes widening in surprise as she tumbled off the platform.

Midnight's whip cracked through the air, the sound sharp and commanding. "Ashido Mina is out of bounds! Akuma ____ is the winner!"

The crowd erupted in a mixture of laughter and applause, the unexpected simplicity of your victory catching them off guard once again. Present Mic's voice echoed overhead, his tone a blend of amusement and commentary. "[And with Ashido going down embarrassingly easy, that's one win for Akuma!]"

You stood at the edge of the ring, watching as Ashido picked herself up, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. Her enthusiasm was undiminished, and she waved cheerfully at you. "Good job, Akuma-san! That was really clever!"

You nodded politely, acknowledging her words with a small smile. The lights of the arena glinted off the metal rails, and the cheers of the crowd formed a backdrop of noise and excitement. The thrill of the fight, coupled with the simplicity of your victory, left a sense of satisfaction bubbling within you.

As you walked back towards the waiting area, you could feel the energy of the stadium humming around you, a tangible reminder of the intensity and spectacle of the U.A. Sports Festival.

Instead of heading directly to the stands, you decided to make a detour. A thought had been simmering in the back of your mind, urging you to check in on someone else preparing for his battle.

Turning down a quieter corridor, you made your way towards Bakugo's waiting room. The muffled sounds of the ongoing fight between Tokoyami and Yaoyorozu filtered through the walls, a reminder of the relentless pace of the tournament.

You reached the door, noticing a small TV mounted on the wall inside, showcasing the current fight. Without hesitation, you pushed it open slightly, causing the door to creak. Bakugo's head snapped up, a snarl already forming on his lips. "I said I didn't want anyone bothering me—" His sentence abruptly cut off as he saw it was you standing there.

A brow arched, you let a smile tug at your lips. "Oh? Should I return later?"

For a moment, Bakugo's expression softened, and he quickly stood, a mix of surprise and something else flickering across his features. "____," he said softly, your name a contrast to his usual gruff tone.

You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you. "I was just stopping by to see how you were faring so far," you said, your gaze steady on his.

Bakugo's jaw tightened, and he was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I'm gonna win," he finally said, his voice low but resolute. "But I want you to advance to the final round."

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I wanna fight you," he blurted out, the words hanging in the air between you. The proclamation seemed to take both of you by surprise, and your brows raised in unison.

"Who knew you had it out for me," you replied, your tone light but your eyes searching his face for deeper meaning.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, a grunt of frustration escaping him. "It's not that," he muttered, his gaze darting away. "It's just..."

You leaned forward slightly, prompting him. "Just what?"

For a moment, Bakugo's eyes met yours, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within them. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts tumbling over each other. Internally, he struggled with the desire to prove his strength to you, to show that he could be someone you could rely on, someone strong enough to protect you. But the words tangled in his throat, refusing to form.

Instead, he scoffed, the sound more of a deflection than an answer. "Just wanna see how strong you really are," he grumbled, the excuse hanging weakly between you.

Before you could respond, the small TV in the upper corner caught your attention. Present Mic's voice boomed from the screen, announcing the end of the current match. "[Tokoyami Fumikage takes the win! Up next, it's the battle of steel vs. stone: Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu versus Kirishima Eijiro! Stay tuned, folks!]"

The fight on the screen transitioned to show Tetsutetsu and Kirishima entering the arena, their faces set with determination.

Realizing the conversation had run its course, you turned towards the door. "Good luck with your match," you said over your shoulder.

Bakugo scoffed again, his bravado slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. "Not worried about Round-Face," he muttered, his tone dismissive.

You paused at the doorway, casting a glance back at him. "You should be," you said, your voice carrying a quiet warning. With that, you slipped out, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

As you left Bakugo's room, the air seemed to crackle with the anticipation of the upcoming battles. The faint sounds of the stadium crowd echoed through the hallways, a constant reminder of the spectacle unfolding just outside.

Your steps were steady as you made your way back to your class section, a mixture of determination and contemplation playing across your mind.

You were only a few steps away from the arena entrance when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. "Akuma-san," Todoroki called out, his tone calm yet insistent. You turned to find him standing a short distance away, his expression serious.

"Yes?" you replied, arching an eyebrow. His demeanor was different, more introspective than usual.

"Could we speak for a moment?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of objection.

Intrigued, you nodded and followed him as he led you to a large glass window that overlooked a portion of the stadium-lobby. Below, hundreds of citizens milled about, buying merchandise and food, their faces lit up with excitement.

Yet you stared down at the crowd, a dark cloud of disdain crept into your thoughts. They looked like tiny, insignificant ants. 

The stark difference between these humans and those you encountered in your previous life struck you with a jarring clarity.

In that world, power and control were everything. Manipulations, grandiose battles, and the constant struggle for dominance defined your existence.

Every interaction held weight, every move was a calculated step in a larger game. Here, in contrast, the crowd's self-righteousness and superficial concerns disgusted you.

They believed in their own moral superiority, convinced that their small acts of kindness or their adherence to social norms made them good, just, worthy. They viewed themselves as heroes in their own right, clinging to a superficial sense of morality and justice.

Yet, in their simplicity, they fail to see how their so-called righteousness are nothing more than a fragile façade, easily shattered by the cold, hard truths of power and influence.

Your musings were interrupted by Todoroki's voice, soft yet clear. "Akuma-san, I like to think of myself as an intelligent person," he began, his gaze fixed on the crowd below. "But it seems that everything becomes unintelligible when it comes to you."

You turned your head, curiosity piqued. "Pardon?" you asked, unsure of where he was leading.

Todoroki took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotions. "I've been thinking about what I told Midoriya earlier," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of bitterness and resignation. "About my past, about my father... the hero... Endeavor. It's something I feel you should know too."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. "My father... he's not just unpleasant. He's driven by a relentless obsession to surpass All Might and  views me as nothing but a tool to achieve that goal. My siblings—they're nothing but failures to him because they don't measure up to his standards. It's all been about grooming me to achieve what he couldn't."

Todoroki's eyes darkened as he continued, his hand unconsciously touching the scar on his left eye. "And my mother? She suffered greatly under his ambitions. The pressure, the constant demands and abuse—she couldn't handle it...and it broke her. I look like him, you see. Every time she saw the left side of my face—the fire I inherited from him—it reminded her of him...of everything she hated. One day, she snapped. She threw boiling water at me...said it was unsightly. That's how I got this scar."

He paused, the raw emotion in his voice a stark contrast to the stoic façade he usually maintained. "My father had her institutionalized. To him, she was just another obstacle. I grew up hating him, despising the fire side of my Quirk because it was his. I've spent my entire life trying to prove that I could be a hero without becoming him."

As Todoroki finished his story, you felt a hollow emptiness where empathy should have been. His words, dripping with a mix of self-pity and bitterness, left you cold. The tale of his troubled upbringing, designed perhaps to elicit sympathy, only reinforced your disdain for him.

Todoroki, with his tragic backstory and internal turmoil, seemed to you one of the most pathetic individuals you had ever encountered.

A soft hum escaped your lips, and a sardonic smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You turned to face him, your eyes gleaming with a harsh light. "For someone so intelligent," you began, your tone laced with mockery, "you have an awfully bad habit of oversharing personal and horrifyingly useful information one would think to keep private. It's a wonder you've managed to maintain such a mysterious persona." You could almost hear the echo of your peers' admiration for him, their awe and reverence for the troubled hero. If only they knew the full extent of his pitiful reality.

Todoroki's eyes widened slightly at your words, a flicker of confusion mingling with the anger already etched on his face. 

Your lips dropped from the semblance of a smile into a disgusted snarl. "Although you had such an unsavory upbringing, Midoriya was right about one thing," you continued, your voice sharp and unyielding. "It's an absolutely pitiful sight to see you allowing your father to win and have power over something that's yours. Your life, your choices—they belong to you. Yet here you are, shackled by his shadow, letting him dictate who you become."

Todoroki's gaze faltered, his expression a mix of shame and defensiveness, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, his composure cracking under the weight of your unrelenting critique.

His anger, however, was not just from the truth of your words but from the familiarity of their tone.

You, with your overbearing harshness and cutting remarks, reminded him too much of his father—Endeavor's relentless drive, his unyielding standards, and his crushing expectations. But you weren't done yet.

You took a step closer, your presence towering over him. "Of course," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "you can always go on this woe-is-me journey of limiting yourself. Continue rejecting your fire, the very power that makes you whole, just to spite your father. It's quite amusing, really—watching you cripple yourself for the sake of some misguided vendetta."

Todoroki's anger flared, his eyes narrowing as he tried to hold back a retort. His frustration was palpable, mingling with the pain your words inflicted. Yet he remained silent, the truth of your accusations sinking in despite his instinctive resistance.

He despised the harshness of your approach, the way you mirrored his father's brutal honesty, but he couldn't entirely dismiss the validity of your perspective.

You leaned in, your eyes locking onto his, forcing him to confront the harsh truth of your words. "Though, what's truly even more pathetic," you continued, your voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, "is how you wear this victimhood like a badge of honor. You've let him win every time you hold back, every time you refuse to use your full potential. And for what? Some semblance of moral high ground? You're a fool, Todoroki. A pitiful fool clinging to a righteous delusion."

Todoroki's face contorted further, his internal conflict evident in the tightening of his jaw and the hardening of his gaze. Before he could gather his thoughts or mount a defense, Present Mic's voice boomed through the stadium, breaking the tension. "[And we have a draw! The battle between Tetsutetsu and Kirishima ends in a tie! Up next, it's Bakugo Katsuki versus Uraraka Ochaco! Get ready for a showdown!]"

The announcement echoed around you, the festival's energy seeping back into the moment. You stepped back, a charming grin spreading across your face. "Well, that's my cue," you said, your tone suddenly light, "Must be off to support. Do try to think about what I said, Todoroki-kun. Good luck, next round." As you made your way back to your class's section, you felt a surge of anticipation for the upcoming fight between Bakugo and Uraraka.

Shadows loomed in every direction, stretching and twisting like they had a life of their own.

You kept to the trees, your movements sharp and deliberate. There wasn't room for error. The villains would likely fan out, spreading chaos wherever they could, and you weren't about to get caught up in their mess.

As you slipped past a cluster of thick bushes, the faint sound of laughter carried through the night air. Harsh, grating, and full of malicious glee, it made your skin crawl.

"Man, these hero brats are gonna be fun to break!" a voice sneered from somewhere to your right, the words accompanied by the crunch of leaves and snapping twigs.

Another voice chimed in, shrill and unhinged. "Think they'll cry for mommy? Bet some of 'em will. Hope I get one of those."

You paused, crouching low behind the cover of a fallen tree. Two figures strode through the forest ahead, their outlines barely visible in the dim light. They were clearly villains, their disjointed movements and erratic voices making it obvious they were enjoying the chaos. You stayed perfectly still, watching as they passed by, their laughter fading into the distance.

Once the coast was clear, you rose to your feet and continued forward, weaving between the trees with practiced ease. Every sound seemed amplified—the rustle of leaves, the distant crack of a branch—and your focus remained razor-sharp.

You didn't have time to waste on distractions. The forest stretched ahead like a maze, but you moved with purpose, your destination clear.

Then, a sensation washed over you—like a light touch at the back of your mind. Mandalay's voice echoed in your thoughts, calm but urgent. "All students, return to base camp immediately. Do not engage the villains. I repeat, return to base camp and avoid engaging at all costs."

Her telepathic quirk carried not only her words but the weight of her concern, but you knew the situation was bigger than just running back to camp, continuing on.

Eventually, you came upon a small clearing. The trees opened up just enough to let a faint sliver of moonlight filter through, casting an eerie glow over the space.

You slowed your pace, your eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. The quiet was unnerving, the kind that felt like it could shatter at any moment.

But before you could take another step, a voice emerged from the shadows, smooth and dripping with amusement.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the infamous Akuma ____."

Your head snapped toward the direction of the voice, your body tensing instinctively. The shadows at the edge of the clearing seemed to ripple, and a figure stepped forward, their movements deliberate and confident.

Your eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of him. He was tall and lean, his frame swathed in a dark trench coat that billowed faintly with each step. The pale, patchwork-like skin of his face stretched across sharp cheekbones, held together by jagged staples that ran in uneven lines across his features.

The man's head tilted slightly, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips as his striking turquoise eyes, rimmed by dark circles, locked onto yours. His voice, low and rough like gravel, cut through the air with an almost mocking lilt. "Long way from home, aren't we?"

The familiarity tugged at the edges of your mind like an itch you couldn't scratch. Flickers of memory—a flash of blue fire, dying screams, the smell of charred flesh—stirred in your thoughts. You'd seen him before.

Before you could fully process it, another figure emerged from behind him, their steps lighter, almost bouncy.

The second one was younger, shorter than the first but no less unsettling. His burnt-orange hair was messy and unkempt, sticking up in uneven tufts like he'd just rolled out of a fight. His eyes, a soft lavender, carried a jittery kind of energy, darting around the clearing before landing on you.

Unlike the stitched man, his grin was wide and full of teeth, his expression brimming with a cocky arrogance that felt far too comfortable for the situation. A sleeveless hoodie clung to his wiry frame, and fingerless gloves covered his hands, the leather worn down from overuse.

The way he carried himself was loose, almost playful, but there was an edge to his movements—sharp and dangerous, like a blade just barely restrained.

"Dabi," the younger man whined, his voice grating and high-pitched. "We're missing all the good stuff. How long will this take?"

The man scoffed, the sound as dry as the air around you. "No one made you follow me, Cal. 'Coulda sworn 'ya did it all outta free will," he retorted lazily. His gaze didn't waver from you, the weight of his stare pressing down like a physical force.

The words, combined with the smirk still plastered across the first figure's face, were the final puzzle piece.

Then it clicked.

Dabi.

That villain who had incinerated the other one without a shred of hesitation, leaving nothing but ashes behind during that outing weeks ago.

You could see it now—the blinding, blue flames roaring to life as his face stayed calm, almost detached, save for that stitched-together smirk. The screams of the incinerated villain had been loud, desperate, but Dabi had made no effort to stop. No hesitation. No regret

You weren't entirely sure who this Cal was, but his easy familiarity with Dabi suggested he wasn't just someone to brush off. Another thread to keep tabs on.

Dabi's smirk widened at the dawning realization flickering across your face. "Ah, so you do remember me," he said, his tone taunting as he shifted his weight, his movements loose and unbothered. "Good. That'll save me the trouble of reintroductions."

Cal, meanwhile, tilted his head at you, his grin widening as he stepped forward slightly. "So, what's it like, being the new obsession back at the League? Boss can't shut up about you, and Toga? She's practically writing love letters."

His eyes scanned you, sharp and calculating, before his smirk deepened. "Gotta say, though, you don't look like much. Kinda cute in a devil way. Guess I'll have to see for myself what makes you so special."

You didn't flinch under his scrutiny, your expression remaining unreadable as your mind turned. Dabi was already a known factor, a villain with a penchant for fire and destruction, but Cal was a new thread—one tied closely enough to warrant caution.

Still, you kept those thoughts to yourself, your gaze steady as you watched the pair. This wasn't just an encounter; it was a performance, and they were both waiting for your next move.

Dabi's smirk widened, the faintest flicker of amusement playing in his glowing turquoise eyes as he began to circle you. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one crunching softly against the forest floor. His posture was loose, but his presence was anything but.

There was something unsettling in the way he moved, like a predator toying with its prey.

"You know," he drawled, his voice cutting through the thick air, "Cal might actually be onto something." He gestured lazily in the younger man's direction without breaking stride, his smirk deepening. "You've got the League all tied up in knots over you." His laugh was dry, almost disbelieving. "It's like you've cast some kind of spell over them."

You didn't react to his words, your eyes tracking him as he circled closer, his presence radiating heat even before his flames appeared.

"Shigaraki, though? He's obsessed," Dabi continued, his tone shifting, becoming quieter, sharper, as though the admission held weight even for him. "And I don't mean 'let's make a deal' interested. I mean, the guy can't shut up about you."

He stopped abruptly, just a few feet in front of you, his smirk softening into something more curious, almost genuine. "Honestly? It's kinda why I joined up in the first place."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Dabi tilted his head, his expression unreadable as he studied you. "I wanted to see what it is about you that's got everyone so hooked. What's got the 'big bad' Shigaraki wrapped around your little finger."

He straightened slightly, his smirk returning, more sharp-edged now. "And while we're at it, I figured I'd test something out for myself."

He raised a hand slowly, his fingers curling as if beckoning you closer. Then, with a flick of his wrist, a small burst of blue flames roared to life in his palm. The eerie light bathed his face, making the staples lining his skin glint as the fire danced in his hand.

"It's kinda funny," he said, his voice lowering, almost teasing, "They're all so wrapped up in their little fantasies about you, but me? I just want to know one thing."

He took a step closer, his turquoise eyes locking onto yours, challenging, taunting. "Are you ready to try the big bad wolf, little red?"

The flames in his hand flared slightly, the heat licking at the air between you, but your expression didn't waver. If anything, you smirked back, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips that seemed to tease the very air between you.

You felt your heart race—not from fear, no. That rush was for a completely different reason. Finally, something intriguing was happening.

For a while, you'd been playing the role of the hero, sticking to the predictable script of altruism, and keeping your true nature tucked safely away. Boring.

The undercover act had worn thin, the monotony almost making you forget your purpose. Almost.

But now, as you stood here, face-to-face with this walking pyre of chaos, you felt the thrill spark to life again. This—this was what you had been waiting for. The anticipation hummed in your veins, electric and intoxicating.

With a wicked grin of your own, your voice, low and honeyed, cut through the charged air between you.

"Let's play."

The words slipped from your lips like a challenge, their edges sharp enough to match his. The glint in your eyes promised not fear, but a game—and oh, how you loved games.

Finally, the dull facade of heroics was being peeled away, piece by piece, and you were free to show just a sliver of the predator that lurked beneath your carefully crafted mask.

Your muscles tensed as the thrill of anticipation surged through you, and Dabi's grin widened as though he could feel it too.

The world around you seemed to dim, the forest fading into a backdrop for the game about to unfold. It was just the two of you now, locked in a silent challenge that promised chaos and destruction.

But just as you both seemed poised to strike, a sudden shout ripped through the tension.

"Dabiiiii!"

The voice was shrill and sing-song, cutting through the heavy air like a knife. Both of you froze for a fraction of a second, the moment shattered by the unwelcome interruption. Dabi let out a loud, annoyed scoff, his flame extinguishing with a flick of his wrist.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, turning his head toward the direction of the shout. He tsked, his sharp teeth flashing as he turned back to you, his smirk replaced by a frown. "Sorry, Red. Maybe next time. Duty calls."

And just like that, he turned on his heel, strolling away with the same infuriating calm he had entered with. His pace was lazy, unhurried, as if the confrontation had been nothing more than a passing curiosity to him.

For a moment, it was silent again, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. You stood there, your heart still thrumming with adrenaline, the fight you had prepared for slipping through your fingers before it even began.

Your face scrunched slightly, a frustrated scowl tugging at your lips. The irritation burned at the edges of your carefully maintained composure.

You had been ready, primed, and he had walked away like it was nothing. Teased for a fight you were eager to win, then denied the chance to prove yourself.

Your gaze snapped to Cal, who lingered a few feet away, watching Dabi's retreat with a smirk that hadn't faltered. His lavender eyes flickered toward you, his head tilting slightly as though trying to gauge your reaction.

For a moment, you simply stared at him, your mind turning over the possibilities. No one else was around. No witnesses. It would be so easy—quick, even. One well-placed move, one flick of power, and he'd be gone. Dabi might notice eventually, but he didn't seem like the type to care about casualties outside his immediate plans.

Your fingers twitched again, the temptation curling around you like a whispered invitation. This wasn't about morality or restraint—this was about practicality. Cal's cocky grin was begging to be wiped off his face, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter in your chest as you weighed your options.

But even as you entertained the thought, you didn't move—yet. The predator in you relished the idea of toying with him first, of letting him squirm before you made your decision. You weren't finished playing, not yet.

Cal's grin widened slightly, his teeth glinting as he finally broke the silence. "What's the matter? Not as fun without him here?"

The corner of your lips twitched, a dark amusement flickering across your face. He didn't know what kind of game he was playing—but you did. And that was all that mattered.

Your mind was made up. Without a second thought, you raised your hand to end this waste of time. But before you could act, Cal began speaking, his earlier cocky energy subdued, his grin still in place but less toothy now, his curiosity evident.

"So," he started, tilting his head slightly as he looked you up and down. "You got an attraction quirk or something? How does it work?"

You didn't answer, your gaze steady and unflinching as he continued.

"I mean, I've seen plenty of quirks that mess with people's heads, but this? This is something else." He let out a low chuckle, his tone teetering on fascination. "Even Dabi's not exempt, huh? Surprised me to learn he joined 'cause of you. Guy doesn't seem like the type to get... hooked."

His words lingered, but your silence remained unbroken. If he was hoping for an explanation, he was wasting his breath.

When you didn't respond, Cal shrugged, his grin stretching wider once again. "Guess I'll just find out for myself."

Before you could react, he lunged toward you, his movements quick and unrelenting, a blur of sharp lines and motion.

For a split second, it seemed like he would make contact, his hand reaching out toward you with dangerous precision. But at the last moment, you sidestepped, your movements fluid and precise, letting his momentum carry him past you.

Cal stumbled slightly, catching himself quickly before spinning around to face you, his expression lighting up with something between excitement and approval. He gave a low whistle. "Impressive," he said, his voice carrying an edge of admiration. "Most people get caught up by the first move."

You raised a brow, your expression unimpressed. "That's the first move?" Your tone dripped with mockery, the faintest scoff escaping your lips. "It wasn't much."

Cal laughed, the sound loud as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Fair enough," he admitted with a grin. "But it's not the move that's the problem."

His expression shifted, his grin taking on a more sinister edge as he raised his hand, his fingers flexing slightly. "It's what happens when I touch you."

The casual threat in his words sent a jolt of tension through the air. Your body tensed instinctively, your eyes narrowing as you took in the way his posture shifted, his muscles coiling as though ready to spring again.

Whatever his quirk was, it clearly relied on contact, and you weren't about to let him get that close again. But even as you felt the faint hum of adrenaline sharpen your senses, a flicker of curiosity sparked in the back of your mind.

What could Cal possibly do if he managed to touch me?

The thought wasn't rooted in fear but in a cold, calculating intrigue. He was nothing more than another piece on the board—a wild card, yes, but one you could manipulate or crush depending on how the game unfolded. And if this was his attempt to assert dominance, you were more than willing to show him the difference between power and bravado.

His smirk widened as he lunged again, his speed sharp and erratic. You sidestepped effortlessly, the leaves crunching beneath your boots as you pivoted to avoid his reach. His movements were aggressive, each strike aimed to close the distance between you, his hands clawing at the space where you'd been moments before.

You danced just out of reach, your body coiled with precision, each dodge calculated to leave him grasping at air. He laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying the chase, but you didn't miss the frustration creeping into his movements. His attacks grew sloppier as his irritation built, his overconfidence giving you a clear advantage.

Yet, despite his erratic energy, you couldn't deny his unpredictability. Cal feinted to the right before twisting at the last second, his arm outstretched in a motion meant to catch you off guard. You shifted your weight, leaning back just enough to avoid his grasp, your eyes narrowing as you analyzed his strategy.

He was relying on brute force, on wearing you down with sheer persistence. But you didn't tire easily, and his chaotic approach only highlighted your own tactical brilliance. With every dodge, every calculated movement, you forced him to expend more energy, all while keeping yourself one step ahead.

But then he shifted gears.

It happened so fast you barely had time to register it.

Cal stumbled intentionally, a low growl of frustration escaping him as he appeared to trip over a root. You didn't bite immediately, but the momentary pause in his movements was enough to force you to adjust, your focus narrowing on his next move.

That's when he struck.

With a laugh that was equal parts triumph and malice, he surged forward, his momentum catching you off guard. His hand gripped the back of your neck tightly, his other hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to force you to meet his gaze. The proximity was suffocating, his breath hot against your skin as his laughter rumbled low in his throat.

"Well, well," he drawled, his tone smug. "Looks like I got you after all." His fingers dug into your neck just enough to send a sharp twinge through your spine, his grin widening as he took in your expression.

The game had shifted, but even as the tension coiled around you, the flicker of curiosity in your chest burned brighter. This wasn't over—not even close.

You held his gaze, your breath steady despite the sharp pull of his hand at the back of your neck and the sting of his grip in your hair. Cal's grin widened, almost unnervingly so, as something in his demeanor changed. His cocky arrogance gave way to a smug confidence that hinted at something more.

Then, his eyes began to glow—a vivid, unnatural lavender that pulsed faintly like the hum of electricity. His smirk grew wider as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing, huh? What this is all about?"

You didn't flinch, didn't blink, but your mind raced, assessing every word, every flicker of movement in his body.

"I'll tell you," Cal continued, his tone almost teasing now. "My quirk? It's a little something special. It's called 'Paths' and lets me see the infinite possibilities of a person's future." He paused for dramatic effect, his glowing eyes narrowing as though he were peering into something beyond what you could see. "Every choice, every path, every decision you could ever make—it's all laid out in front of me like a roadmap."

Cal's grin widened as the glow of his eyes deepened, the neon lavender casting faint reflections on the forest floor. He tilted his head, studying the face before him like a masterpiece he couldn't yet decipher. "Let's see what your future has in store, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice was soft but laced with an almost gleeful curiosity.

With a deliberate breath, Cal activated his quirk, and his vision burst into a kaleidoscope of colors and images. Thousands of possibilities spilled before him like an endless river, each future stretching out in vivid clarity.

At first, the futures were ordinary—common threads he'd seen in others before. There you were as a teacher, standing before a classroom of attentive students, your hands gesturing as you explained something complex yet captivating.

Another flicker showed you as a doctor, your coat pristine, hands steady as you treated a patient. Then, a shift—he saw you on a stage, a violin tucked beneath your chin as your bow danced across the strings, the haunting melody weaving through a captivated audience.

Other futures followed in rapid succession. A hero in full costume, your stance strong and commanding as you saved countless lives. A mother, laughter on your lips as you cradled a child, the scene idyllic and warm. A happily married partner, your smile soft and genuine as you leaned into an unseen figure, a golden ring catching the light.

But then, the images froze.

Cal blinked in confusion as every path seemed to stutter, their vibrant clarity darkening and warping at the edges. The stillness was unsettling, the once-fluent river of possibilities grinding to a halt. Before he could question it, the frozen futures began to distort, their edges flickering like static on an old television.

Then... they all shattered.

The fragments reformed into one singular vision, overwhelming and absolute. It filled every corner of his mind, erasing the ordinary futures he had come to expect. In its place stood a singular, horrifying image: you, standing before a burning city.

Flames roared around you, consuming everything in their path, the inferno casting long, jagged shadows across a ruined world. Your figure stood tall and unmoving, a chilling smile tugging at your lips as if you found joy in the chaos.

But it wasn't just the smile. It was your eyes.

They burned with an unnatural light, reflecting the destruction like twin mirrors of hell itself. The gaze wasn't human—it was something far darker, far older, a presence that made his chest tighten as an icy dread crawled up his spine.

Then, as if sensing his intrusion, your eyes snapped to meet his within the vision.

The moment froze, a stillness so suffocating that Cal felt as though his breath had been stolen. Your hand moved, reaching toward him—not in an act of kindness or salvation, but with a deliberate and calculated motion. The intent behind it was unmistakable, and it chilled him to his very core.

"G̛͔͇̞̹̈̀͘͘͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊t̴͕͖͓̀ O̵̷̪̰ͩ͆ͅû̶͙̽̿͆̈t̴͕͖͓̀," the vision seemed to hiss, though your lips in the image didn't move. 

Cal's soul felt like it had been plunged into a bottomless pit. His connection to the vision snapped violently, and he stumbled back into reality, gasping as if he'd been suffocating. The lavender glow in his eyes faded, and he blinked rapidly, disoriented and shaken.

When his gaze fell back on you, the contrast made his stomach churn. You stood there, head tilted slightly, your expression the picture of curiosity, your demeanor far removed from the version of you he had just seen.

Yet, even in the innocence of your current form, he could see it—the faintest trace of that demon lurking beneath the surface, waiting.

His face paled as horror etched itself into his features. His hands trembled as he released you, stumbling back as though your very presence burned him. His lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came out. Then, his voice broke through, hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"W-Wrong... Everything is wrong."

The weight of his own words seemed to crush him as he staggered farther away, his eyes wide with terror. For once, his arrogance was gone, replaced entirely by a raw, unfiltered fear.

You stood motionless, watching as Cal scrambled to put distance between the two of you, his every step unsteady, as if the ground beneath him might give way at any moment. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, and his trembling hands barely managed to stay at his sides. He looked like a cornered animal, desperate and exposed, every ounce of bravado drained from his face.

You tilted your head slightly, your curiosity piqued. "What happened?" you asked, your tone calm, almost clinical. "What did you see?"

His breath hitched at the question, and for a moment, he didn't respond, his gaze darting wildly like he was searching for an escape. Then his fear twisted into something sharper. Horrified rage flickered across his face as he shakily raised a finger, pointing directly at you.

"You," he spat, his voice uneven and trembling. "You're not supposed to be here."

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, but you didn't flinch. Instead, you stayed perfectly still, your expression carefully composed.

Cal's breathing grew more erratic, his shoulders shaking as he took another step back. His lips trembled as he whispered the word again, quieter this time, like saying it hurt. "You're not supposed to be here..."

Then, finally, the last word fell from his lips, drenched in dread.

"Devil."

Your heart thrummed at the sound of it, a familiar title spoken after what felt like far too long. Internally, you preened, a faint hum of satisfaction settling into your chest. It's been a while since I've heard that one, you thought, the corners of your mouth twitching faintly, though you kept your outward expression cold and steady.

Before you could press further, a familiar voice cut through your mind.

"Attention students. You are authorized to defend yourselves against the attackers. Stay alert and prioritize your safety."

Mandalay's announcement was all the permission you needed. A dangerous smirk curled across your lips as your gaze flicked back to Cal. The fear still burned in his eyes, his body trembling with the weight of whatever he'd seen—but it didn't matter.

"Guess your time's up... Cal," you said, your tone laced with dark amusement.

Without waiting for a response, you lunged toward him, your movements swift and unrelenting, the thrill of the hunt sparking in your veins. The game had shifted once again, and this time, you weren't going to let him leave unscathed.

Cal barely had time to react as you lunged at him, the force of your movements pushing him on the defensive. His expression flickered with a mix of fear and fury as he swung his arm out, his hands reaching for you in a desperate attempt to regain control.

You met him head-on, blocking his grasp with sharp precision, your body moving instinctively as the fight escalated. Every step, every strike was calculated, but the edges of your control began to fray, a wild, hungry thrill rising in your chest.

"Stay down," he snarled, his voice frantic as his hand shot out again, fingers curling dangerously close to your throat. "You're not supposed to be here—none of this is supposed to happen!"

You dodged, twisting your body to avoid his strike, and retaliated with a kick aimed at his midsection. He staggered but didn't fall, his breathing ragged as he pushed forward, trying to close the gap between you.

Each attack grew more frantic, his strikes faster and stronger, driven by a desperation to "fix" something only he seemed to understand. But for every move he made, you were there to counter it, your ferocity growing with every passing second.

The fight grew faster, more brutal. Cal's movements were erratic but deadly, each swipe of his hand aimed with lethal intent, while your counters became sharper, more relentless.

Your blood thrummed with exhilaration, the primal need to see him broken beneath you taking hold.

The forest blurred around you as the fight became the only thing that mattered—the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, the sharp crack of a branch as you dodged a blow, the ragged sound of his breathing all blending into a symphony of chaos.

Then your hand brushed against something—a sturdy stick lying in the dirt. Without hesitation, you snatched it up, gripping it tightly as you shifted your stance. The makeshift weapon was crude, its splintered edge jagged and uneven, but it would do.

Cal's eyes darted to it, widening briefly before his expression hardened, his attacks coming faster as he tried to disarm you. But you were faster, sidestepping his lunge and swinging the stick in a wide arc. The sharp crack of wood meeting flesh echoed through the clearing as he stumbled back, clutching his arm.

The two of you circled each other, both breathing hard, sweat glistening in the dim light. Cal lunged again, his hand aiming for your face, but you dodged, twisting around him with practiced ease. Your movements were fluid, each dodge and strike pushing him closer to his breaking point.

The thrill of the fight consumed you, your bloodlust rising as you felt the gap between you closing, your victory imminent.

And then it happened.

In a blur of motion, you feinted to the left before surging forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. The stick in your hand plunged forward, its jagged tip finding its mark.

The world seemed to freeze as the splintered wood drove into his chest, the force of the blow staggering you both. You were close—nose-length close—and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Your lips curled into a slow, devilish smile, the satisfaction coursing through you like fire. Cal's mouth opened slightly, his eyes wide with shock and pain as a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his lips. His breath hitched, a wet, choking sound that only added to the grim satisfaction building in your chest.

"Gotcha~"

Cal staggered back, his hand clutching at the stick still lodged in his chest. You'd broken it off, leaving the jagged wood embedded deep, the angle deliberately aimed for an artery. His gaze dropped to the wound, his face paling as he realized the extent of the damage. He swayed on his feet, his breaths shallow and uneven, as the realization sank in.

But you didn't move. You simply stood there, watching him with a cold, predatory satisfaction, your heart pounding in time with his fading strength. This was your game, and you had won.

Cal stumbled back, his feet dragging across the dirt until he collapsed onto a stump. His chest heaved with labored breaths, each wheeze rasping loudly in the quiet clearing. The jagged stick lodged in his chest trembled with every movement, fresh blood trickling down his front in thin, dark streams. He winced, his face twisted in agony, but you could still see a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

You took slow, deliberate steps toward him, each one sending a shiver of dread rippling through his battered form. As you reached him, you crouched down, your movements precise and predatory. Without a word, your hand shot out, tangling in his hair and yanking his head up. His face contorted in pain, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his bloodshot eyes met yours.

"What did you see?" you asked, your voice calm and measured, but with an undertone sharp enough to cut. "Tell me."

Cal coughed violently, his body shuddering as blood sprayed from his lips, some of it splattering onto your cheek. The wet warmth of it didn't faze you; you barely even blinked. Instead, you rolled your eyes, annoyed by his lack of cooperation.

With a sigh, you slammed his head back against the stump with a sickening thud. The impact made his breath hitch, his hands twitching weakly as if trying to push you away, but he was too far gone to fight back.

"Tell me," you said again, your tone darker now, colder. "Or your last moments alive won't end here. I'll keep you on the brink, dragging your half-dead body along like a puppet. Trust me, it won't be pretty."

For a moment, it looked like he wouldn't answer, his jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth against the pain. But then his eyes narrowed, a flicker of hatred breaking through the fear. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

"You don't... belong here."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, leaning closer as you stared him down. "Yes, you've said that several times already," you said sarcastically, your lips curling in a faint sneer. "Care to add something new?"

Cal's lips trembled as he coughed again, fresh blood spilling down his chin. This time, his trembling hand raised slightly, the motion weak but deliberate. His eyes, though dull with pain, glimmered faintly with defiance as they locked onto yours.

"You don't... understand," he rasped, his hand twitching as it began to glow. The faint lavender hue of his earlier energy returned, his eyes flashing neon purple as a small orb of light formed in his palm.

The movement was so subtle, so gradual, that you didn't immediately register it for the threat it was. By the time you did, it was too late.

With a strained, choked laugh, Cal released the orb, the energy exploding outward in a burst of raw power. The force struck you square in the chest, the impact like a battering ram slamming into you. Pain erupted through your torso as you were thrown backward, your body hurtling through the air before slamming into a nearby tree with a deafening crack.

The breath was knocked from your lungs as the bark splintered behind you, sharp fragments biting into your back. For a moment, the world tilted, your vision swimming as you struggled to process the sudden change in momentum. Then, the pain settled in, sharp and unrelenting, radiating through your ribs like fire.

Cal, still slumped against the stump, let out a weak, victorious chuckle, his bloodied lips curling into a faint grin. "Gotcha..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, but the triumph in his tone was unmistakable.

For a moment, you lay there, your body pressed against the rough bark of the shattered tree, the pain radiating from your chest with every shallow breath. The edges of your vision swimming as you forced yourself to focus. Each heartbeat pounded in your ears like a war drum, but you refused to stay down.

With a sharp exhale, you planted your palms against the forest floor and pushed yourself up, your movements slow and deliberate.

Dizziness hit you like a wave, making the trees around you blur into distorted shapes. You paused, closing your eyes briefly as you steadied yourself. When your vision cleared, it landed on Cal's lifeless form slumped against the stump. His bloodied was still, and the faint glow in his eyes had long since faded, leaving behind only dull terror frozen on his face.

You sneered at him, a mix of irritation and disgust bubbling under your skin. "Fucker," you muttered, your voice low and filled with disdain.

Using the nearest tree for support, you forced yourself to your feet, each step shaky as you leaned heavily on the trunk to steady yourself. Every muscle screamed in protest, but the thought of showing weakness, even to yourself, was unbearable.

The idea to head back to camp came to the forefront of your mind, your original plan of seeking out Shigaraki now entirely abandoned. Whatever fleeting curiosity you'd had was snuffed out, replaced by the dull ache of exhaustion and irritation. The adrenaline that had fueled your fight ebbed away, leaving only the cold practicality of survival to guide you.

As you walked, the strength in your limbs gradually returned, the dizziness fading with every step. The cries and shouts of your classmates echoed faintly through the trees, mingling with the cackling laughter of villains and the occasional crackle of distant explosions. The sound grated on you, but it was distant—someone else's problem.

Or at least, that's what you told yourself.

You didn't care. Of course, you didn't care. Their lives were irrelevant to your plans, their suffering insignificant in the grander scheme of things. And yet...  intrusive thoughts began to creep into the edges of your mind, unwelcome and weak, but persistent nonetheless.

What if they need me?

They're my classmates.

The ridiculous notion almost made you stop in your tracks. You shook your head sharply, as if to dislodge the thoughts before they could take root. Friends? The word tasted foreign, hollow even.

They were tools, pieces to be positioned on the board—nothing more.

And yet, the faintest echo of their voices lingered, threading through the cracks in your mind. You pushed forward, ignoring the knot forming in your chest, determined to smother the weakness before it could grow.

But for a fleeting moment, the thought refused to die, its voice quiet but stubborn: They're my friends.

The thought slipped away as quickly as it had come, crushed under the weight of your resolve. Your lips curled in disdain as you pressed onward, the distant cries fading into the background as you walked deeper into the forest, leaving Cal and the intrusive whispers behind.

After what felt like an eternity of trudging through the dense woods, a cacophony of voices reached your ears, carried on the faint night breeze. At first, you thought it might be the camp—a safe haven where you could finally regroup and collect yourself. But as the voices grew louder, more distinct, a sinking realization crept in. This wasn't the camp.

Pushing past a thick cluster of trees, the scene unfolded before you. Shoji was hunched low, his multiple arms stretched outward as he scrambled to grab a small blue marble just before it could roll out of reach. His expression was tense, sweat beading on his face as he carefully cradled the object.

Not far from him, Todoroki was dashing toward another marble, his dual-colored hair whipping in the wind as he extended his hand toward it—only to be cut off by Dabi. The villain intercepted him with a flick of his wrist, a wall of blue flames roaring to life between them.

Before you could fully process the situation, a flash of red caught your eye. Kirishima, his face lined with worry, turned and spotted you emerging from the woods. Relief washed over his features, but it was short-lived as his gaze flickered down to your battered form. Without hesitation, he began making his way toward you, his movements quick but cautious.

"Akuma-san!" he called, his voice filled with concern. As he reached you, his strong hand gripped your arm gently but firmly, steadying you as his worried eyes searched your face. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the clearing, sharp and dripping with amusement.

"Ah, little red..."

Dabi's voice carried effortlessly over the tense air, his words drawing the attention of everyone present. His turquoise eyes flicked toward you, a smirk curling across his scarred lips as he tilted his head in mock curiosity.

Kirishima's hold on your arm tightened instinctively, his body tensing as though bracing himself for an attack. Nearby, Midoriya shifted slightly, his green eyes darting between you and Dabi, his posture guarded as he inched closer.

Dabi's smirk deepened as he leaned casually to one side, his arms loose at his sides but radiating the threat of power barely restrained. "What happened to Cal? Did he give you any trouble?" he asked, his tone light and almost conversational, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his true interest.

You met his gaze without flinching, your face impassive as you said nothing. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unyielding. Dabi's smirk faltered for only a second before he chuckled, the sound low and dry. He tilted his head further, his expression unreadable as he muttered, "Oh well. He wasn't that important anyway."

With a casual wave of his hand, Dabi turned his attention to another figure standing just behind him—Mr. Compress. "Deactivate it," he ordered simply, his voice regaining its sharp edge.

Mr. Compress hesitated for only a moment before complying. With a dramatic flourish, he reached into his pocket, his movements exaggerated even in the tension of the moment. The effect was immediate. The two blue marbles in Shoji's and Dabi's hands began to glow faintly before suddenly breaking apart in a burst of energy.

The first to emerge was Tokoyami. Shoji immediately moved to help him up, steadying the dark-haired boy as he staggered slightly, shaking off the disorientation of his confinement. The second was Bakugo, who burst free with the force of a wild animal, his crimson eyes blazing with fury.

Before he could fully regain his footing, Dabi's hand shot out, gripping Bakugo by the neck with an almost casual ease. The blond thrashed violently, his explosions crackling weakly in his hands as he clawed at the villain's arm. "Let me go, you bastard!" he snarled, his voice raw with rage. "I'll kill you! I swear I'll fucking kill you!"

Dabi barely flinched, his smirk growing wider as though Bakugo's furious outburst was nothing more than a minor annoyance. With a slight shake of his head, he tightened his grip just enough to cut off the edge of Bakugo's snarl, forcing the boy to gasp for air. "Shut up," Dabi said lazily, his tone mocking. "An adults is talking."

His attention shifted away from the struggling blond, locking onto you with unnerving ease. His smirk softened into something more calculating, his words carrying a heavy weight of amusement and menace. "Ya know, little red," he began, tilting his head slightly, "he's not the only one we came here for." He paused, his voice dropping lower, his next words deliberate. "But you already knew that... didn't you?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. From where you stood, you could see Bakugo's crimson eyes flicker toward you, his furious thrashing slowing as his attention shifted, his gaze locking onto yours.

For a brief second, everything else fell away—his anger, his struggle, even the flames crackling faintly around Dabi's fingers.

Dabi, unbothered by the quietness, gave a small nod toward Mr. Compress. The masked villain stepped forward slightly, his hand slipping into his coat to retrieve something. "You know how this works," Dabi continued, his voice smooth as he gestured toward the faint shimmer of Kurogiri's gate forming behind him. "We can make this easy. Just come with us, and we'll wrap this up nice and neat."

Compress began to hum softly as he prepared whatever move they had planned next, but Dabi wasn't finished. He leaned slightly toward you, his voice dropping into something almost conversational, his smirk as sharp as ever. "But if not..." he shrugged, a faint laugh escaping his lips, "the League will just come for you another day. We've got all the time in the world."

The swirling black of Kurogiri's portal expanded, the edge of it licking at the ground like shadows come to life. The tension in the clearing was palpable, each word from Dabi like a spark threatening to ignite the air between you.

Behind him, Mr. Compress straightened, his gloved hand now holding what looked like another marble. Dabi's flames danced dangerously close to Bakugo's neck as the villain took a slow step backward toward the portal, his smirk daring you—or anyone—to act.

You did nothing but stare, your eyes locking onto Bakugo's as the distance between you grew with every retreating step Dabi took.

His red eyes burned with a mix of anger and fear, the defiance that always radiated from him now splintered, shaky beneath the weight of his realization. He was losing this battle, and he knew it. 

His lips parted as though he wanted to scream, to curse, to do something to keep himself grounded, but the sound never came. His explosions crackled weakly at his sides, faint bursts of light that faded as quickly as they appeared.

His gaze didn't leave yours, as if you were the only solid thing in the chaos swallowing him whole.

Time seemed to stretch, each second dragging into an eternity. The muted roar of the portal, the distant cries of your classmates, the cackling villains—it all dulled into background noise. All that remained was the intensity of Bakugo's gaze, locking you in place, his fear cracking through the layers of control you'd so carefully built.

 Those thoughts rose again, intrusive and unwelcome, clawing at the edges of your resolve.

I can stop this.

No, I shouldn't care.

But he doesn't deserve this.

It's not my problem.

They all trust me.

Why should I care?

The thoughts clashed violently in your head, a war raging between the cold, calculated detachment that had always defined you and the unrelenting pull of something far more human. Part of you wanted to shove the thoughts away, to let him be taken, but you didn't want to admit it—not even to yourself—that something about this moment, about him, refused to let you turn away.

Your chest tightened as his expression shifted, the faintest flicker of hopelessness bleeding into his defiance. That flicker of vulnerability was all it took to crack the wall you'd built.

And  before you knew it, you were moving.

Your body reacted on instinct, faster than your mind could catch up. One moment, you were standing still, the next, you were racing forward, the air rushing past your ears as your heart pounded in your chest as though some unseen force had taken hold of you and pushed you into action.

Bakugo's eyes widened as you closed the gap, his gaze locking onto yours one final time. Something shifted in his expression—confusion, disbelief, and something deeper, something you couldn't name. For a fleeting moment, the fear melted away, replaced by a spark of recognition that rooted you in place even as your body hurtled forward.

Your hand shot out, your fingers interlocking with his in a desperate grip. His skin was warm against yours, grounding you even as the chaos of the moment threatened to consume everything.

The portal's pull surged, cold and suffocating, dragging the both of you toward its swirling maw. The last thing you heard was Midoriya shout—a raw, desperate scream that carried your name and a single, heart-wrenching word: "____, No!"

The last thing you saw was Bakugo's face, his wide, stunned eyes meeting yours as the portal swallowed you whole.

The last thing you felt was the heat of his hand in yours, the strength of his grip as his fingers curled around yours, clinging to you like a lifeline.

And then everything went black.

The written portion of the exam had been a breeze. Your mind, honed by years of self-study and fueled by your high intelligence, easily devoured the questions.

The only disappointment came during the announcement of testing zones—you, Bakugo, and Midoriya were all assigned different locations.

Oh well, you lose some and win some.

The practical exam had unfolded like a chaotic ballet. Dodging a falling hunk of scrap metal, you broke out of your contemplative mood just in time to sidestep a toppling robot you'd just dismantled.

Dusting your hands off with nonchalance, you were about to move on to your next target when a whimper pierced the air.

"Help!" a scared voice cried out.

Pinpointing the source, you located the voice coming from underneath one of the fallen robot legs.

Helping others wasn't exactly your forte, but heroics were part of the exam criteria.

With a sigh of resignation, you turned and headed towards the sound.

Jumping effortlessly over the debris, you reached the whimpering figure.  A young boy with short blond hair, a black lightning bolt streak framing his left eye, lay trapped under a section of the fallen robot.

His golden eyes, wide with fear, locked with yours as your shadow fell over him. "Oh, thank Gods! Can you help—?" his sentence trailed off as he got a good look at you.

You ignored his awed stare, squatting down and fitting your fingers beneath the narrow gap separating the robot leg from the ground.

With a low grunt, you effortlessly lifted the heavy debris. "Move," you commanded, your voice devoid of warmth, as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

The boy stammered, tears welling up in his eyes.  "I-I can't. I think it's broken," he choked out, his voice trembling.

Before you could utter another word, a horrifying sound filled the air—a loud, unsettling creaking. Shooting your gaze upwards, you saw a colossal chunk of the robot you'd just destroyed teetering precariously atop the building it had crushed.

And it was falling directly towards you and the injured boy.

A muttered curse ripped from your throat. Without wasting a single breath, you shifted the weight of the massive metal slab onto one hand. With your other hand, you swiftly scooped the boy into your arms, his startled yelp muffled against your chest.

In a single, powerful motion, you pushed backwards, throwing yourself back onto the ground.

The metal slab crashed down with a bone-jarring thud, landing precisely in the spot you had both occupied a mere second ago.  A cloud of dust erupted around you, momentarily obscuring your vision and triggering a coughing fit.

After a few seconds, the dust settled, revealing the mangled remains of the robot where you once stood.

"Are you alright?" You began to voice your concern, but your question died in your throat as you met the boy's gaze. He stared back at you, his golden eyes wide with awe and a hint of hero worship.

"Are you an angel sent from heaven to save me?" he blurted out, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and newfound reverence.

You were about to drop him ungraciously and disappear into the chaos, but then a glint of sunlight caught the strands of his blond hair, causing them to shimmer with an almost ethereal glow.

You cursed under your breath. There you go again, falling prey to your small weakness.

With a sigh, you said nothing, opting against abandoning your newfound charge.

Pushing yourself upright with surprising lower body strength, the sudden movement jolting the boy in your arms. He yelped, momentarily suspended in the air before you settled him in your arms.

"Thanks again, angel!" He then quickly introduced himself as Kaminari Denki, though he insisted you call him by his first name. As you listened to him ramble on about his gratitude and your supposed angelic intervention, a strange feeling of nostalgia bloomed within you.

You dropped him off at a makeshift infirmary tent, staffed by anxious-looking recovery heroes.

Kaminari, ever the chatterbox, insisted on getting your name before you could make a graceful exit.  With a theatrical sigh, you relented, offering a small bow.

"Akuma ____," you murmured, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes.  Leaning in closer, you added in a playful whisper, "Hopefully, I can get the chance to sweep you off your feet more often, Kaminari~." A wink completed the teasing gesture.

Kaminari's face flushed a brilliant red, his expression a comical mix of flustered gratitude and newfound awe. "C-Call me, Denki, please!"

You stifled a laugh, reveling in his predictable reaction. It was strangely... comforting.

His god-worship, his wide-eyed adoration—it all felt strangely familiar. A memory flickered at the edges of your mind—a loud blond boy and a fierce loyalty.

Could it be...?

A spark of amusement ignited within you.

This Kaminari character, with his boundless enthusiasm and hero worship, reminded you so much of a certain chainsaw-wielding devil hunter you had in your grasp a lifetime ago.

Perhaps Bakugo wouldn't be the only puppy you'd acquire at U.A.. He deserves a playmate; you can't have your puppy too lonely.

With a final, playful pat on his head, you turned and disappeared back into the chaotic cityscape. You still had points to rack up, after all.

Besides, there were more robots to dismantle, and perhaps, another damsel (or damsel-in-distress-wannabe) in need of "saving."

A slow, predatory smile spread across your lips. This hero course was turning out to be more entertaining than you'd anticipated.

☆

☆

A week crawled by, tbefore, finally, the day arrived—the results of the entrance exam were being released.

You were sprawled on your bed, lost in a daydream about manipulating the school lunch menu to include more of your preferred foods, when your bedroom door burst open with a bang.

"____! They're here! Your results!" your mom exclaimed, bursting into the room, a manic grin plastered on her face.

She brandished a large envelope, practically vibrating with excitement.

Taking the envelope from her outstretched hand, you carefully peeled it open.

Unfolding the official U.A. document, your eyes scanned the page until they landed on the bold text:  "Congratulations!  We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into..."

A pause. You reread the line, a frown creasing your brow.

It wasn't Class 1-A, the prestigious hero course filled with the top prospects. No, the letter continued: "...Class 1-B."

Class 1-B.

Not quite the grand entrance you'd envisioned, but a detour was hardly a dead end.

In fact, being placed in the "lesser" hero course might be a blessing in disguise.

Back in middle school, you thrived in the shadows.

While the "popular" kids basked in the spotlight, you preferred the freedom of anonymity. It allowed you to operate with impunity, your carefully orchestrated "accidents" and manipulations remaining a mystery to everyone but your intended targets.

Being in Class 1-B offered a similar kind of freedom.  Here, you wouldn't be under the constant scrutiny of the teachers or the envious glare of top prospects.

No, here, you could blend in, observe, and most importantly, manipulate from the sidelines.

Class 1-B could be your launching pad, a springboard from which you could subtly influence the entire hero course, perhaps even the entire school.

The heroes-in-training might be focused on becoming symbols of peace, but you had a different vision—a vision you intended to weave into the very fabric of U.A. High.

This hero course was just getting started, and you, ____, were a master puppeteer, ready to pull the strings from the comfort of the shadows.

Class 1-B might not have been the spotlight you craved, but it was the perfect place to disappear in plain sight.

The game was afoot, and you, the enigmatic newcomer, held all the aces.

A/N: did y'all like?? 👀

~𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚~

At U.A. High, the faculty crowded around a large monitor, eagerly observing the live feed of the entrance exam.

Present Mic, ever the showman, bounced in his chair, practically vibrating with excitement.

"And there we have it, folks!" he boomed into the microphone, gesturing wildly at the screen. "Another impressive display from young Bakugo, utilizing his explosion Quirk with strategic finesse!"

Midnight, draped seductively across a nearby chair, purred in agreement, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just look at all the fresh meat, so...enticing."

Just as All Might was about to offer his own commentary, Present Mic cut him off with a flourish. "But wait, folks, there's more!  Let's take a quick trip over to Zone C, shall we?" He zoomed in on a specific section of the screen, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now this next contestant... she's a real dark horse!  Check her out!"

The video focused on you, a stark contrast to the towering robots around you. With surprising ease, you lifted a massive robot leg, revealing a dazed Kaminari trapped underneath. You scooped him up in one arm, your small frame dwarfed by his own.

Despite the situation, Kaminari's face was lit up with a mixture of hero worship and childish awe as he gazed at you with wide, adoring eyes.

The scene was undeniably comical—a petite girl carrying a lanky boy like a prize.

A collective gasp rippled through the teacher's lounge. Recovery Girl, known for her stoicism, even let out a surprised chirp. Even the ever-stoic Principal Nedzu adjusted his spectacles, a hint of curiosity flickering in his beady eyes. Ectoplasm oozed a gelatinous puddle of excitement, while Cementoss rumbled his approval.

Aizawa, however, remained stoic. As the others oohed and awed over your display of strength and unexpected chivalry, he stood back, his brow furrowed in thought. A low mutter escaped his lips, barely audible over Present Mic's enthusiastic narration.

"There's something about her that doesn't feel right..." he murmured, his gaze fixed on you. The screen froze on a close-up of your face.

Your yellow eyes, usually playful, held a glint of something far more calculating. Within each iris, a series of crimson rings swirled slowly, like miniature galaxies nestled within your gaze.

The playful facade you presented for the exam might have fooled the others, but Aizawa, with his keen instincts, suspected there was something far more complex lurking beneath the surface.