Kurokami Tenshin shook the dust from his shoulders like a dog emerging from a bath, chunks of warped alloy clattering harmlessly to the floor as his boots touched down. He stretched, rolled his neck once, and looked around with bright, curious eyes.
"Okay!" he announced cheerfully. "I think I punched everything."
The remains of the top of I-Island's central tower looked like a god had tried to fold it into itself and then given up halfway. Twisted beams jutted at impossible angles, panels fused like melted plastic, the open night sky yawning above them where a ceiling should have been.
Kyoka Jirou, leaning against a bent support column with her arms crossed, sighed and gestured vaguely at the scene. "Yeah. You have that effect."
She straightened and pointed at Kuro. "Everyone, this is Kurokami Tenshin. Our hyper class president and—unfortunately for the rest of us—the strongest student I know."
Kuro froze mid-beam.
"…Wow," he said softly, placing a hand over his heart. "Straight to the point. I respect that. I knew you liked me, Jirou. It was kinda hard to tell with all the snark and sarcasm drowning out your affection."
Jirou didn't even look at him. "Keep dreaming, President."
She waved a hand lazily. "Anyway. Meet the father–daughter genius duo, David and Melissa Shield. Over there is our faithful vice-president Yaoyorozu Momo, and—" her eyes flicked to the side "—our resident school pervert, Mineta."
Mineta, currently dangling upside down while stuck to a half-rebuilt console by several strands of his own hair, raised a shaky thumbs-up. "I'm contributing!"
Jirou continued, unbothered. "They were supposed to restore power and help us take back the island. Then that big boom happened." She glanced upward at the night sky where the tower used to continue. "Which almost killed us. Until you, President, punched our problems away."
Kuro nodded vigorously, clearly pleased. "Ah. So this is a 'thank you for saving your lives' situation. I accept praise in verbal, physical, or mango-based forms."
Jirou jerked her thumb toward the far end of the ruined floor. "So, current status report. Momo is over there."
Kuro followed her finger. Yaoyorozu Momo was kneeling beside a mess of exposed wiring and half-destroyed panels, sleeves rolled up, posture tense and focused. Melissa Shield crouched next to her, hands moving quickly as she overlaid improvised components with frightening speed. Between the two of them, what might one day resemble a control panel was being forcibly reborn through sheer intellect and desperation.
"She's trying to remake an entire control interface in about five minutes," Jirou said flatly. "Melissa's feeding her specs, and Momo's brute-forcing reality."
Kuro blinked. "…That's hot."
Jirou shot him a glare.
"—Intellectually," he corrected immediately. "Very inspiring teamwork."
Jirou sighed again and pointed elsewhere. "Mineta's with David. He's… sacrificing his hair to hold together whatever the professor needs."
Kuro went solemn. He clasped his hands together and bowed toward Mineta. "Your sacrifice will be remembered in the history books. Or at least in our group chat."
Mineta sniffled. "Tell my future wife I was brave…"
Kuro straightened and clapped his hands once. "Alright! So what's the play? Save hostages on the bottom floor? Storm the flying metal death bowl and beat up the boss?"
Jirou pointed upward.
Hovering above the broken tower was exactly that—a massive, bowl-shaped structure made from the compressed remains of the upper floors. It floated unnaturally, suspended by Wolfram's Quirk, metal shifting and flexing like a living thing.
"…You see," Jirou said, "that thing is literally the top of the tower. And yes. It's flying."
Kuro squinted, focusing. His pupils glowed faintly as he traced the structure's flow of force. "…Oh. Huh. No supports. That's illegal."
"Momo's theory," Jirou continued, "is that if we destabilize it, the villain loses his playground. Possibly his footing. Possibly his consciousness."
Kuro's grin widened. "And since I currently have nothing better to do…"
He looked down over the edge. Far, far below, the island lights glittered like stars.
"…You're not afraid of heights, right?"
Nearly a hundred floors below.
Bakugo Katsuki was falling.
Not falling, falling—descending aggressively.
The elevator shaft screamed with rushing air as Bakugo dropped through it, one hand trailing sparks, explosions firing intermittently to control his speed. The elevator car itself had been obliterated near the top, leaving a clear vertical path straight to the gala floor.
He grinned, feral and sharp.
While the nerds talk, he thought, I'll handle the fun part.
The moment he spotted the open wall leading into the gala hall, Bakugo twisted midair.
"READY, EXTRAS?!"
An explosion ripped through the side of the shaft as he rocketed out, smashing straight through decorative panelling and into the heart of the hostage situation. He slammed into the first armed soldier with a spinning elbow, the impact snapping the man off his feet and into unconsciousness before he hit the ground.
Shouts erupted.
Rifles swung toward the civilians.
Bakugo's smile vanished.
"…Oh, hell no."
He flicked his wrist and hurled a small, cartoonishly round device into the center of the room. (Think metal ball that, for all intents and purposes...is more like a magnet.)
Click.
Every firearm jerked violently.
Metal screamed as rifles, pistols, and ammunition were ripped from hands and fragments of walls alike, clumping together around the magnet in a chaotic heap. Soldiers stumbled, swearing in panic.
Bakugo launched himself forward, explosions booming with surgical precision.
"ENJOY A PRESENT FROM CRAFTING TABLE AND PIKACHU!"
He became a blur of fury—knees, elbows, blasts snapping bodies away from civilians, every hit clean, efficient, merciless. The pro heroes, still bound, stared in stunned disbelief as the hostage takers dropped one by one.
Bakugo skidded to a stop, chest heaving slightly, eyes already scanning for the next threat.
"…Tch. Took long enough," he muttered. "Where the hell is that metal freak?" Above them all, the flying arena loomed.
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[Auther: Hi! Sorry for taking so long.]