Chapter 8
If you have a question about their mental conversations, then yes, they can communicate with each other through dreams. Since all three of them could enter dreams in their past lives—whether by using the Dream Nail or by their own nature, it doesn't matter. And no, they cannot enter the dreams of strangers.
The evening sky over Musutafu was slowly swelling with a dirty grey, leaden hue. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving behind only a cold streak of sunset that was rapidly fading under the onslaught of urban twilight. Beyond the high iron gates of UA High School, everything went on in its usual, mundane routine. Exhausted office workers in identical suits hurried home past the fence, route buses rustled their wheels softly against the damp asphalt, and a small stall on the street corner wafted the scent of burnt sugar and fried caramel. It was an ordinary human city, living its petty worries and completely unaware that on a closed underground training ground just nearby, several teenagers had only just survived a true mental hell.
To the rare passersby, the four figures walking slowly along the sidewalk toward the train station were simply exhausted first-years from the prestigious hero course. They wore the standard UA uniform. But while Izuku felt more or less used to these clothes, even as he could barely move his legs from sheer physical exhaustion, the school suits hung on the trio of gods like foreign, heavy shackles. The thick fabric pressed against their shoulders and restricted their movements, but worst of all, it could neither warm them nor hide the internal cold that was currently burning them from within.
They were returning home. They walked in a complete, almost tangible, heavy silence. The only sound around them was the uneven, ragged rhythm of their footsteps on the asphalt that had warmed up during the day.
Izuku strode slightly ahead, occasionally glancing back at his "relatives." He was pushed to his limits: his head throbbed, and deep, dark shadows rested under his eyes from the colossal mental strain following a grueling practical exam against Bakugo and Iida. Yet, a faint but stubborn spark of joy still lingered in his green eyes. He had made it. He had proven to everyone, and above all to himself, that tactics, analysis, and pure calculation worked even against the absolute, destructive force of quirks.
But this joy quickly faded and vanished the moment the boy turned his head to look back. On a subconscious level, Izuku felt that something was catastrophically wrong with the trio. Being an ordinary human, he explained it in his own way, deciding that the teachers had simply pushed the boundaries too far during the exam to test the limits of their massive abilities. He could not even begin to imagine exactly which strings in their ancient souls these trials had struck.
Myla trudged to Izuku's right, heavily slouched with her shoulders dropped—a posture completely uncharacteristic of the proud Goddess of Light. Her golden bangs were entirely disheveled by the wind, completely obscuring her face and hiding her eyes. She stared nowhere at all, her gaze blankly fixed on the tips of her own school shoes. Her teeth were clenched so tightly that it strained her jawline. The girl could still physically feel, on a sensory level, that dry dust and the worst memories of her past life lingering at her fingertips. The dust reminded her of the wasteland. Of the stagnant, lifeless shells of creatures that had once succumbed to her will.
Grimm walked to his brother's left, his hands buried deep in his trousers pockets. His usually flawless, elegant posture now seemed fragile and broken. The collar of his grey blazer was turned up high, practically concealing the lower half of his face. Beneath his white shirt, a massive, crimson-purple bruise from Snipe's precise shot was already forming on his left shoulder, but the Nightmare King paid no heed to this dull physical pain. He, who was accustomed to always holding himself with confidence, grace, and theatrical flair, controlling every gaze of the audience, was now fading right before their eyes. The fabric of his pockets stretched from how tightly he clenched his fists, retreating into himself from the experienced shame and helplessness.
Shade brought up the rear, keeping exactly one step behind Izuku like a grim, monolithic shadow. His face, with its pale, almost porcelain skin, now looked like a frozen, completely motionless mask where not a single muscle twitched. From beneath his thick hood, two small, white pupil-dots gleamed faintly and coldly. The shadows around his legs no longer lunged like sharp spears or ribbons as they did during fights—they only twitched minutely, convulsively, and silently around his ankles, as if trying to hide their master from this world. The Lord of Shades' hands were deeply hidden inside his long sleeves, but Izuku accidentally noticed that Shade's fingers were brutally scraped to the point of bleeding. This was the consequence of how he, completely stripped of Void magic due to Aizawa's Erasure, had used his bare hands to break dry concrete and tear apart heavy iron rebar to pry open Vlad King's trap.
"Guys... Myla..." Izuku called out softly, almost in a whisper, as they finally approached the glistening turnstiles at the train station.
His voice sounded as gentle and cautious as possible. The boy desperately wanted, desperately tried to find the exact, right words to pull them out of this state of numbness.
"You... well, don't worry so much about Principal Nezu's grades. I... I saw the screens in the monitor room during my exam. The Principal deliberately, absolutely consciously created impossible, horrific conditions for you. It wasn't just an exam; it was a test on the artificial restriction of power, don't you see? He knows perfectly well what you're capable of in a real fight. He just wanted to check how you would act within the strict rules and laws of society..."
Grimm flinched visibly at the sound of his voice, but he still did not raise his head. The collar of his blazer hid how hard he bit his lip.
"Izuku, don't..." Grimm responded quietly, completely expressionless and somehow hollow. His voice, usually deep and melodic, now sounded dry and muffled, like cracked glass. "Some things... some acts are better left unmentioned once the curtain has finally fallen. We... we simply handled the rules of this specific exam poorly. Let us not speak of it."
Myla did not even turn her head at Izuku's words. She only wrapped herself tighter in her blazer, convulsively hugging her elbows, even though the evening outside was quite warm and sultry. But inside, she was still wracked by a fine, hot tremor from dry, claustrophobic horror. Over and over again, she replayed that moment in the hangar in her mind.
When the evening commuter train pulled up to the platform with a loud hiss of brakes, they stepped silently, obediently into the half-empty carriage and immediately tucked themselves into the darkest corner by the doors. Izuku instantly stood slightly ahead, naturally shielding Shade's battered, bloody hands with his body and backpack from the casual glances of the few passengers, who occasionally looked with curiosity at the golden UA emblems on their uniforms.
The carriage smelled unpleasantly of dust and someone's cheap food from paper bags. The trio stood with their shoulders pressed tightly against one another—it was their only silent support, helping them keep their balance and hide their internal breaking from the passengers. Meanwhile, the people around them lived their ordinary, small, and safe lives: someone indifferently scrolled through a newsfeed on their phone, someone dozed, someone loudly discussed grocery prices at the supermarket or laughed at silly jokes. They were all so carefree, so fragile. One careless, emotional snap of Grimm's fingers, and this iron carriage along with the tracks would have blown sky-high in a crimson blaze. One brief flash of Myla's anger, and all these people would have instantly gone blind, screaming in agonizing pain. But they tried not to think about it.
Half an hour later, they were already approaching their apartment building. Through the large square window on the third floor, the familiar, soft yellow light of the Midoriya family's kitchen broke through. From there, the moment they stepped onto the porch, drifted an incredibly cozy, homemade scent—Inko had been preparing hot, juicy katsudon and fresh pastries since midday. She wanted so badly to throw a real celebration for the children, marking the end of their first difficult and eventful week at the elite academy.
When Izuku turned the key in the lock and pushed open the heavy door, this concentrated aroma of peace and warmth instantly filled the entire space of the narrow hallway.
"Mom, we're home!" Izuku shouted as loudly as he could, trying to speak as cheerfully and vibrantly as possible so as not to worry her with his exhausted appearance beforehand.
He habitually sat on the floor to take off his shoes, but the trio of gods simply froze on the threshold, rooted to the spot. They stood on the old linoleum and did not dare take even a single step forward into this clean, safe world that smelled of care. They felt like outsiders here, soiled creatures who had just brought the dust of destruction upon their soles.
Inko hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. A happy, proud smile bloomed on her face, but the towel slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor the moment she took a proper look at the children.
She was not a military analyst, a hero, or the wise Principal Nezu. She was simply a loving mother who instantly saw that her children were morally and psychologically devastated. Despite their clean, buttoned uniforms, their slouched postures and hollow, extinguished gazes betrayed everything. Especially Shade. When the Lord of Shades slowly lowered his arms along his body, his mutilated fingers slipped from the wide sleeve of his grey blazer. They were completely covered in black, dry ichor that had scabbed into a terrible crust.
"Grimm... Myla... Shade..." Inko practically flew toward them, her small palms trembling with wild fright.
She gently touched Grimm's shoulder, feeling his body under the fabric tense and hard as stone.
"What... what happened to you? Izuku said it was just a regular practical exam! Why are you all so pale, like ghosts? My goodness, Shade, what is wrong with your hands?! Why are they covered in blood?!"
In a panic, she rushed to the bathroom, desperately calling back to her son on the way:
"Izuku! Quickly, fetch the large first-aid kit from the drawer in the living room! Bandages, antiseptic, cotton, and peroxide! Hurry, son, please!"
Izuku bolted from his spot and rushed headlong to get the medical supplies. The trio remained standing in the cramped hallway. They could have reduced this entire building to atoms in a single second if they had wished. But right now, standing before them was a small, fragile woman crying from a piercing fear for them, wiping the grime from their faces with trembling fingers, and trying to protect them simply because she loved them. And against this simple, defenseless human care, all their divine might was utterly powerless.
Grimm slowly, incredibly obediently dropped to his knees right onto the hallway mat to make it easier for Inko to examine him. His usual, elegant smile, which he convulsively tried to force out for the sake of disguise, turned out twisted, pathetic, and quickly faded away.
"Everything is fine, Mom Inko..." he rasped quietly, barely audible, while the woman gently unbuttoned the top buttons of his blazer, beneath which the dark blue of a hematoma was already seeping through the white fabric of his shirt. "The exam just turned out to be a bit more difficult than we anticipated. We... miscalculated our strength."
"What kind of foolish exam is that?! Have they lost their minds in that academy of theirs?!" Inko was already kneeling beside him, gently dabbing a wet towel over the Nightmare King's face, where grey, corrosive traces of gunpowder soot still lingered under his eyes. "You are still just children! I am definitely calling your homeroom teacher tomorrow morning! This crosses all lines!"
Myla silently sat on the low wooden shoe bench, pulling her knees up to her chin and completely burying her nose in the thick collar of her blazer. When Inko approached her and began to softly, incredibly gently stroke her disheveled golden hair, carefully brushing out the remnants of dry cement dust with her fingers, the girl simply closed her eyes. Her pride, which had previously demanded total submission and worship from all living things, finally crumbled into nothingness from this warm touch. Inko did not know about her dark past, did not see a cruel monster in her, but simply pitied her foster daughter with all her heart because she was hurting now. And from this, Myla felt an unspeakable, burning shame.
Meanwhile, Izuku brought over the heavy plastic first-aid kit and squatted in front of Shade, who leaned motionless against the wall. Midoriya's fingers trembled visibly as he opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide with a click.
"Shade... give me your hand, please," he asked softly, with deep sorrow in his voice.
The Lord of Shades silently, without a single sound, extended his mangled fingers to him. The thick, black blood had already managed to clot, but the skin around the nails was literally torn to the meat. Izuku gently, trying not to apply pressure, touched the open wounds with a cotton pad soaked in the solution. The peroxide hissed instantly, rising in a thick white foam against the anthracite-black flesh. Shade did not even flinch. Not a single muscle twitched on his porcelain face, and the white pupil-dots deep inside his hood remained motionless. This physical pain was absolutely nothing compared to the mental impasse and numbness into which he had been driven during the exam, forced once again to feel like a helpless, empty vessel at the very bottom of the dark Abyss.
Within a few minutes, all the wounds were thoroughly treated, and Inko insistently herded the whole company into the kitchen. The small room was flooded with the cozy, thick light of the lampshade. On the table, hot katsudon was steaming in beautiful ceramic plates, ruddy pastries lay nearby on a tray, and aromatic chamomile tea was brewing in a transparent teapot. Yet, this dinner still resembled a silent, heavy wake.
The trio sat at the table absolutely motionless, like porcelain statues. The clean white bandages on Shade's hands stood out in sharp, stark contrast against the black chopsticks he held in his palm, though he never once brought them to his mouth. Grimm slowly, mechanically moved a piece of meat around his plate, staring aimlessly at a single point in front of him. Myla simply gripped her hot cup tightly with her palms, as if trying to warm her icy, numb fingers.
"So, look!" Izuku suddenly exclaimed unnaturally loud, simply unable to bear the oppressive, reinforced-concrete silence ruling the kitchen.
With a sharp rustle, he pulled out his charred-edged Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13 notebook and placed it firmly right on the table next to the plates. The boy began to flip rapidly, fiercely through the pages filled with fresh, still-smirched pencil sketches he had convulsively made during the train ride.
"I analyzed everything here in thorough, step-by-step detail!" Izuku spoke excitedly and rapidly, genuinely trying to defuse this heavy atmosphere with his usual theories. "The UA instructors calculated your counter-strategies simply incredibly, at the highest level! Look, Grimm, in your sector, Snipe and Midnight very cleverly used sleeping gas along with gunpowder dust from special rubber bullets. They calculated beforehand and knew the exact temperature of your scarlet fire, so they artificially created the effect of a volumetric fuel-air explosion around you. They literally forced you to hold back at every turn so that you wouldn't accidentally blow up the entire sector along with the civilian mannequins with your own attacks! It was pure, filigree tactical pressure on your psychology!"
Grimm slowly, with difficulty, raised his scarlet eyes to the teenager. Deep within his pupils, angry red sparks flickered for a moment and instantly went out. Izuku thought it was just a brilliant piece of "tactical pressure." He did not have the slightest inkling that this artificial explosion had made Grimm feel like a helpless, terrified little bug once more, trembling in horror amidst the ash of a burned kingdom under the oppression of the insatiable and cruel Nightmare Heart.
"Yes, Izuku... indeed, a splendid calculation..." Grimm replied quietly, with deep, unconcealed bitterness, biting his lip harder. "They... they truly possess a masterful skill in selecting conditions to show us our proper place."
"And for you, Myla!" Izuku flipped the next page excitedly with a rustle, practically poking his finger into a detailed, panoramic drawing of Cementoss's enclosed hangar. "Cementoss perfectly pinned you down in a restricted space with his reinforced-concrete monoliths! Your light beam has a colossal, simply anomalous temperature. And when you tried to blast through his barricades right away, the stone under your strike instantly began to melt, boil, and burn! Within seconds, the hangar was completely choked with thick, hot cement dust and toxic, acrid smoke from the thermal destruction of the concrete. He just completely blocked your visibility! And without a clear, visible target, you couldn't shoot at full power further out, to avoid accidentally hitting and poisoning the hostages with that smoke blindly. It's just a textbook use of enclosed space against large-scale emitter-type quirks!"
At these words, Myla only squeezed her cup tighter, to the point of spasms in her knuckles. The fragile ceramic cracked quietly, menacingly under her fingers, and hot tea spilled onto the clean, light tablecloth. Inko instantly jumped up from her seat with a rag, fussing and wiping the puddle so that the girl, God forbid, wouldn't burn herself.
"I am perfectly fine, Mom..." Myla muttered through tightly clenched teeth, hiding her face further in her disheveled golden hair.
She was literally nauseated by these enthusiastic breakdowns. "Quirk counter-strategies." For Izuku, it was merely a beautiful, fascinating theory from a textbook for future heroes. For her, it was a moment of wild, primal shame and fear, when her pure Light, due to artificial restrictions, had almost turned into that very same filthy, suffocating Plague that once forced creatures to tear their own bodies apart in absolute madness.
"Well, and Shade..." Izuku finally turned to his pale brother, his green eyes shining with genuine, boundless respect. "Your sector was just something unbelievable. Hundreds of kilograms of iron and concrete! Eraser Head himself and Vlad King teamed up against you. The blood held the entire platform structure firmly, while 'Erasure' completely blocked your shadows, preventing them from manifesting. They knew perfectly well that your quirk is too fast and unpredictable, so they consciously shifted the entire battle to an exclusively physical, brutal level. If you had released even a single shadow ribbon, the entire platform would have instantly collapsed into the mannequins from the slightest vibration."
Izuku slid closer to the silent Shade, almost peering under his hood:
"But what you did at the end... You completely submitted to 'Erasure,' accepted those rules, and used the pure, incredible strength of your own body! You ripped that heavy iron rebar out of the monolithic concrete with your bare hands, breaking the clamps, and used it as a lever! That means you are colossally strong and dangerous even entirely without your quirk, don't you see? You broke their entire calculated plan with pure, stubborn will and saved those robot children. Shade, that's just incredible! I absolutely must write down your physical parameters in detail for our future joint training sessions!"
Shade slowly, very heavily turned his head toward him. In his hollow, pale white pupil-dots, there was not a single drop of joy or pride. He silently looked at the boy who so desperately, with childish naivety, tried to find a higher heroism in their complete, crushing moral ruin. Izuku sincerely believed that Shade had shown tactical endurance and the resilience of a fighter. He did not know, and could not know, that at that very moment, the Lord of Shades had barely suppressed a wild, all-consuming urge to tear that entire underground training ground along with the instructors into tiny pieces, because they had made him feel like a locked, helpless, and bound creature all over again.
"Izuku..." Inko intervened softly but firmly, clearly seeing that these loud conversations were only making the teenagers feel worse, while the hot food on the plates was completely cooling down. She gently placed her palm on her son's shoulder. "Put away your notebooks, please. They are all very, very tired today. They just need to eat quietly, in silence, and get a good rest. Hide the notebook, son."
"Oh... right, sorry," Izuku was instantly flustered, blushing, and quickly, awkwardly stuffed his Notebook No. 13 back into the depths of his school backpack. "I just... I'm actually really proud of you. To me, you are all real heroes."
These sincere words rang out in the thick silence of the kitchen like a final, painful chord of absolute human ignorance. The trio of gods silently, synchronously lowered their heads over their plates. They had to keep playing this imposed role. Playing it for the sake of this boy, for the sake of this kind, caring woman, for the sake of this warm, peaceful light of the kitchen lamp, which currently remained the only night anchor still holding them beside these fragile humans.
Deep night wrapped Musutafu in a thick, damp blanket. By one o'clock in the morning, even the distant sounds of the railway had fallen silent, and absolute stillness reigned in the small Midoriya apartment. In his room, curled into a ball beneath his blanket, Izuku slept soundly—his exhausted brain had finally switched off after the grueling day. In another part of the apartment, Inko breathed softly and regularly in her sleep.
But in the neighboring room, where the trio rested on their futons, there was no sleep.
Thick darkness ruled here. The gods sat in the gloom, and each of them felt truly wretched at heart. The dinner in the kitchen and Izuku's naive attempts to cheer them up had only clawed further at their fresh wounds. The exam had run like a steamroller over their pride, dragging to the surface the very memories they had so desperately tried to bury.
Grimm lay motionless on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his scarlet eyes glowing dimly in the dark. Before his eyes still stood that childhood horror and the way the little boy had panicked, cowering deeper into the fire just to hide from him.
Beside him, Myla was shaken by a similar fine tremor of mental shame. She could not forget the father and mother shielding their daughters with their own bodies. The screams of the frightened children had pierced through her defenses, forcing her to remember her past life, where her Plague had similarly forced wretched bugs to slaughter their own families. She had simply frozen at the sight, utterly at a loss for what to do.
"That was horrific," Grimm's mental voice broke the silence first. It sounded dry, stripped of even a fraction of his usual theatricality or grandeur. "We wished to be heroes for this world, but today people fled from us in panic, and children screamed in terror. If we freeze like that again in a real battle because of our own fear, we will disgrace ourselves completely."
Myla sat up on the windowsill, hugging her knees tightly, her amber eyes gleaming heavily in the twilight.
"Our power is too crude," she responded softly within their shared consciousness. "It burns everything to ash. If we do not learn to control it down to the millimeter, we will become a threat to the very ones we are meant to protect. There is simply no middle ground for us."
Both of their gazes slowly shifted toward the corner of the room. There, leaning against the wall, sat Shade. His bandaged hands stood out starkly in the shadows.
He had suffered no less—the screams of the hostages, along with those of his brother and sister, still echoed hollowly within his void, reminding him of the Pale King's cruelty and the thousands of his kin falling to the bottom of the Abyss like broken, useless vessels. But the Lord of Shades had found the strength to turn that pain into pure, cold fury. He had simply pushed straight ahead, tearing out the children's salvation through sheer physical endurance.
Shade's two white pupil-dots gleamed coldly beneath his hood. His mental transmission was brief, but hard as iron:
"We need alternatives. A quirk must not be our only crutch."
Grimm slowly sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor. His brother's sober pragmatism helped tame the emotional turmoil in his head.
"Shade is right. If our power is erased, or if using it becomes too dangerous due to the threat to hostages—we do not have the right to remain helpless," the Nightmare King transmitted resolutely. "From this day forward, we place our powers under absolute, rigid control. We shut the floodgates on large-scale attacks. What we need is fine, surgical precision, so that every single spark is calculated, just like in Izuku's notebooks."
"And we begin training our bodies," Myla added, stepping down from the windowsill. A stubborn look flared in eyes. "No more softness. We must be able to seize victory with our bare hands and fists, even if a thousand Aizawas stand around us with their Erasure. Our will must become stronger than any quirk."
Shade slowly stood up and took a step forward, extending his bandaged palm. It was a simple, silent pact between warriors who had recognized their mistakes. Grimm's palm immediately rested upon his hand, and Myla's slender hand topped the arrangement.
They returned to their futons and finally fell asleep—free of dreams, and free of nightmares. A new school week lay ahead, and in the morning, they would begin training in an entirely different way, ensuring that never again in their lives would any trap or memory leave them helpless.
Chapter 9
Chapter 9- Electing the Class 1-A President
Monday morning greeted U.A. Academy with an absolute frenzy. A crowd of reporters, armed with microphones, recorders, and heavy television cameras, had effectively occupied the space in front of the high security gates. Like hungry vultures, the journalists descended upon every first-year student, desperate to snatch even a single word about the main sensation—All Might serving as a teacher.
"Hey, you! Tell us, what's it like having the Symbol of Peace in your classroom?" a girl with a microphone bombarded a startled Izuku Midoriya.
Izuku turned beet-red from the sudden attention. He stuttered, waving his arms helplessly, having absolutely no idea how to escape the camera lenses thrust into his face. Memories of the grueling Friday exam were still flashing through his mind, and this high-pressure interrogation from the press only made it worse.
But the journalistic onslaught didn't last long. Following Midoriya, the trio of gods approached the gates. After some soul-searching over the weekend, where they had firmly decided to master the fine control of their powers, their spirits were high. They felt confident again, having returned to their usual demeanor, and this crowd of intrusive mortals presented the perfect opportunity to showcase their signature flair.
Grimm was the first to unleash his inner performer. Seeing the cameras pivot toward him, the Nightmare King didn't offer a boring response; instead, he flashed a wide, predatory grin. He executed a graceful, deeply theatrical bow right before the central news channel's lens and… dissolved into a burst of crimson fire with a loud crackle. The crowd of reporters stood with their mouths agape, stunned as only a few embers remained where the teenager had been, quickly fading into the air.
Marissa didn't keep them waiting. With her amber eyes, she gave a playful squint at the camera flashes, and in the next heartbeat, she vanished in a blinding, pure burst of light. The journalists shielded their eyes, disoriented by the sudden flare, and by the time they regained their vision, she was long gone.
Shade, however, delivered the final blow to the reporters. He acted with maximum efficiency, speed, and pragmatism. While the press scrambled to recover from the displays of fire and light, the Lord of Shades silently approached the trembling Izuku. Without a word, he grabbed Midoriya by the collar with one hand, hoisting him up like a helpless kitten. At that same moment, Shade's other arm elongated, fueled by thick, black Void—now perfectly obedient to his newfound, refined control. A shadow whip latched onto the top of the towering U.A. gate, and Shade effortlessly vaulted over the entire crowd of journalists, carrying Izuku through the air.
"A-a-a-a-ah!" was all Midoriya managed to squeak out as he soared above the bewildered cameramen.
A second later, Shade set the breathless Izuku down safely on academy grounds, his arm returning to its normal form. The reporters were left behind, helplessly pressed against the security barrier, still unable to comprehend exactly what kind of show they had just witnessed.
Inside Class 1-A, the canonical morning calm lasted only until Shota Aizawa appeared at the front of the room. Crawling out of his signature yellow sleeping bag, the teacher swept his usual weary gaze over the class and announced dryly:
"For today's homeroom... you have a simple task to complete. Choose a class president and a vice president."
The classroom instantly erupted into chaos. As if on cue, the teenagers jumped from their seats, waving their hands frantically.
"Pick me! I'd make the best president!" Kirishima shouted.
"It's my time to shine!" Aoyama exclaimed.
"I'll blow up anyone who doesn't vote for me!" Bakugo growled, slamming his fist onto his desk.
Amidst the uproar, Iida tried to shout over everyone, launching into a grandiose speech about sacred duty, democracy, and the necessity of conducting a fair ballot vote.
Our trio sat at their desks, completely relaxed. The idea of wielding paper-based authority over a class of mortal teenagers earned them nothing more than ironic smiles. However, since their mood remained excellent, they watched the human circus with genuine curiosity. Marissa rested her cheek on her hand, observing Iida's manic gesticulations; Grimm hummed quietly; and Shade simply sat motionless, keeping his eyes on Izuku.
Midoriya himself sat there, looking terrified. The very thought of being pushed into a leadership role made him shake, and the notebook in his hands trembled along with him. The gods exchanged glances—it seemed they had already found the perfect candidate for their votes.
Tenya Iida approached the task with all the seriousness it commanded. Within minutes, he had organized the distribution of paper scraps, constructed an improvised ballot box, and was patrolling the room strictly to ensure no one peeked at anyone else's ballot.
Izuku sat hunched over his scrap of paper, biting his lip. Vote for himself? Not in a million years! He believed that a class president had to be someone truly organized, strong, and capable of leading others. After a moment of hesitation, Midoriya confidently wrote down: "Tenya Iida." The boy in glasses had been so passionate about responsibility that he certainly deserved the position.
Meanwhile, in the back row, Grimm toyed with his pen, neatly inscribing letters onto his paper. The trio's mental link worked flawlessly, so there was no need for them to whisper.
"So, shall we support our little analyst?" Grimm sent to his brother and Marissa with an ironic smile. "He writes his strategies so beautifully in that notebook—it's time he learned to lead something other than paper."
"He worries too much," Shade responded mentally, though his hand was already jotting down Midoriya's name. "But among these noisy children, he is the only one who tries to think with his head rather than his quirk. Let him get used to the weight of leadership."
Marissa chuckled softly, quickly scribbling the same name. "Agreed! It'll be fun to see the look on his face."
When Iida, with reverent awe, collected all the ballots and began counting the votes, recording the results in chalk on the board, the class went silent. Bakugo glared at the board, expecting his own triumph, but with every new tally mark, his face grew darker with rage.
The results were astonishing: Izuku Midoriya — 4 votes (Uraraka and our trio). Momo Yaoyorozu — 2 votes. Tenya Iida — 2 votes (one of which belonged to Izuku himself). The rest of the class received 1 vote each, as they had all voted for themselves.
"Since Yaoyorozu and Iida are tied..." Aizawa began, looking up from his notes.
"Teacher Aizawa!" Iida shot up from his seat, saluting like a soldier on the parade ground. His glasses glinted in the sunlight. "I believe that Yaoyorozu-san, who entered the academy on special recommendations, has proven herself much more capable and has every right to hold the position of deputy class president! I honorably cede this position to her, for it is the most logical decision for our class!"
Momo was a bit taken aback by the sudden proclamation, but she nodded gratefully to him. "Thank you, Iida-kun. I will do everything in my power."
"Fine, less work for me," Aizawa grumbled, lazily erasing the extra marks by Iida's name. "So, Midoriya is the class president, and Yaoyorozu is the deputy. Midoriya, get to the front. Say something to the class."
"Wh-what?! Four votes?!" Izuku jumped to his feet, staring at the board as if it were a death sentence. His eyes widened into saucers, and his knees shook so violently that his chair rattled against the floor. "Who... why me?! I didn't even vote for myself!"
"What the hell?! Who voted for this Deku?!" Bakugo erupted, rising from his desk with small, angry explosions sparking around his palms. "Own up, you idiots! Are you blind or something?!"
Izuku, on shaky legs, trudged to the front. He gripped the edges of the podium so tightly his knuckles turned white, trembling with stage fright before the entire class, unable to squeeze out a single word.
In the back row, Marissa barely suppressed a giggle, covering her mouth with her palm. Grimm gave a satisfied wink to Shade, while the Lord of Shades simply crossed his arms over his chest, remaining calm. Well then, the class president elections had concluded successfully, but the show for the gods was only just beginning.
The lunch break brought much-needed relief. The massive U.A. cafeteria hummed like a disturbed beehive, filled with the appetizing scents of Lunch Rush's cooking. Izuku sat at a table with Uraraka and Iida, still feeling dejected by his new role as class president. Nearby sat our trio: Marissa was tucking into her meal with gusto, Grimm elegantly swirled his tea, and Shade sat silently, a motionless, somber shadow.
"I just... I'm not sure I can do this," Izuku muttered quietly, poking at his rice with chopsticks. "Being class president is such a huge responsibility. And why on earth did four people vote for me?"
"Don't worry, Deku-kun! You'll do great!" Uraraka cheered him on fervently.
"Midoriya-kun," Iida said seriously, adjusting his glasses. "Your courage and ability to make quick decisions in critical situations make you a worthy leader. Those who voted for you definitely knew what they were doing."
Grimm hummed ironically into his mug but remained silent. However, the peace didn't last long.
Suddenly, loud, piercing sirens began to wail under the cafeteria ceiling. Red signal lights flashed, slicing through the space, and an alarming mechanical voice boomed from the speakers: "Attention! Security breach, Level 3! All students are requested to evacuate immediately!"
"Level 3?! That means someone has breached the academy's defenses!" a senior student shouted.
Panic erupted in the cafeteria instantly. Hundreds of teenagers leaped from their seats and rushed toward the exit, screaming. A horrific crush formed in the corridors. Students shoved each other, trampled on feet, and screamed in terror, creating a solid human traffic jam at the doors.
"A-a-ah! What's happening?!" Uraraka panicked as the crowd nearly pushed her away from the table.
Izuku tried to shout, to call everyone to order, but his weak voice simply drowned in the chaotic ultrasound of human fear.
Our trio didn't even flinch. Their new conclusions and grueling night training had taught them to keep their emotions under a cast-iron lock. Flashes of panic among the mortal students no longer caused them to freeze or triggered unwanted visions. They simply watched calmly. Shade didn't even raise an eyebrow when someone's tray flew past his shoulder; the two white pupils beneath his hood only watched the fleeing students coldly.
"A true lack of taste; there is no grace in their fear," Grimm mentally transmitted to Marissa, still holding his mug. "But if they trample our little class president, our votes will have been in vain."
Marissa, noticing Iida trying to break through the crowd to assess the situation through a window, suddenly shouted to him, cutting through the noise: "Hey, four-eyes! Look out the window! It's just your reporters!"
Iida, hearing the girl, used his engines to jump nimbly and grab the upper window frame. Looking outside, he froze: the press crowd had simply broken through the gates, and the teachers were struggling to hold them back. There were no villains.
"It's just the press!" Iida crowed, but no one could hear him. The crowd continued to shove and scream.
The boy realized: he had to act radically. He ran to Uraraka. "Uraraka-san! Make me weightless!"
The girl reacted instantly, touching his shoulder. Iida floated into the air, pushed off the wall above the heads of the terrified students, and... like a jet-propelled projectile, flew straight to the exit. Using his engines at full power, he performed a graceful somersault under the ceiling and slammed his feet into the wall above the door, freezing in the pose of a green "exit" sign.
"EVERYONE, FREEZE!" Iida's voice boomed across the cafeteria, drowning out even the sirens.
Class 1-A and hundreds of other students stood stunned, heads snapping upward.
"It is all right! It is merely the press that has breached the gates!" Iida announced, clear, loud, and enunciating every word, his hand pointing forward. "We are at U.A. Academy! It does not suit us to succumb to panic! Conduct yourselves as befits the best of students!"
This iron-disciplined tone acted like a cold shower. The teenagers looked at each other, breathing heavily, but the crushing stopped instantly. The panic began to fade rapidly, and the students started to disperse to their classrooms in an organized fashion, without screaming.
In the background, Grimm gave a quiet, three-fingered applause, appreciating the theatrical performance.
"Now that is an exit," Marissa transmitted to Grimm, smiling brightly. "Humans can still surprise me."
Shade gave a barely perceptible nod under his hood, fully agreeing that the situation had been resolved beautifully. They had witnessed a leader who could seize control of a crowd with nothing but presence. And for Izuku, who watched the scene with his mouth agape, this moment was the final sign of who truly deserved to be the president of Class 1-A.
Once the alarm had subsided and the students had returned to their classrooms, a peculiar, quiet atmosphere settled over Class 1-A. Shota Aizawa was already waiting for them, leaning lazily against the teacher's desk, looking as though the entire reporter fiasco had merely robbed him of precious nap time.
Izuku Midoriya stepped forward. His knees were still trembling slightly, but his eyes no longer held the panicked fear from that morning. He took a deep breath, clasped his hands together, and looked at his classmates.
"We... we need to choose a class president," Izuku began firmly, though his voice wavered just a bit. "And after what happened in the cafeteria, I think everyone will agree: this position should be held by someone capable of uniting people and stopping chaos. Iida-kun! You acted incredibly. You caught everyone's attention and saved us from a terrible crush. I believe... no, I am certain that Tenya Iida is far better suited for the role of class president than I am!"
A momentary silence fell over the classroom, quickly broken by Kirishima's approving roar. "That's manly, Midoriya! Iida was literally like a living 'exit' sign in the cafeteria—that was awesome!"
"I agree," Yaoyorozu smiled. "Iida-kun displayed excellent leadership skills in an emergency situation."
Tenya Iida slowly rose from his seat. His face flushed with emotion, and his glasses glinted under the lights. He bowed to Izuku sharply, in a military fashion, nearly hitting his forehead against the desk.
"If... if the class president chosen by the majority and the entire class entrusts me with this mission," Iida declared loudly and solemnly, lifting his head, "then I, Tenya Iida, vow to fulfill my duty with total dedication! I will lead our class forward toward exemplary order!"
In the back row, Grimm leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. There was no longer any need to participate in these human personnel changes, but the finale suited him perfectly.
"Well, everything worked out even better than we thought," Marissa whispered, barely audible, twirling a pencil in his fingers. "Now we have an official president to sift through all the bureaucratic noise."
Shade, who until this moment had sat perfectly motionless, gave a brief, subtle nod in agreement. The Lord of Shades appreciated Izuku's gesture: surrendering power to someone better suited for the role was also a sign of the intelligence and strength they respected.
"Alright, that's settled," Aizawa interrupted the solemn speech dryly, wrapping himself back into his sleeping bag. "Less chatter, take your seats. The next lesson is Hero Basic Training, and you have serious practice today. Get ready."
The class straightened up instantly. The gods exchanged glances through their mental link. After their night of training for fine control, they had finally regained their confidence and were ready for whatever challenges this academy threw their way.