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It had been a few days since the intense dinner at the Todoroki estate and the return to the daily grind of U.A. The students of Class 1-A were preparing for the afternoon's foundational heroics training, but the conversation, as always, drifted to their recent experiences in the field.
"Man, this winter gear is bulky," Kaminari complained, tugging at the collar of his updated costume. He looked over at Kirishima. "Hey, Mr. Red Riot! I saw you on the news again! You guys busted that drug ring in Esuha, right? Fat Gum looked like he had lost a hundred pounds!"
"Yeah!" Kirishima grinned, slamming his locker shut. He was shirtless, showing off the new, jagged scar on his shoulder. "It was super intense! But Amajiki-senpai was the real MVP. He took down three guys at once using a swordfish transformation. It was so manly!"
"We're all leveling up," Sero said, wrapping his tape dispensers around his elbows. "Iida's getting faster, Tokoyami is controlling Dark Shadow better in the light… we're not the same scared kids from the USJ anymore."
In the corner of the room, a different kind of silence reigned. Akaza stood by his locker, pulling on his hero costume. When he pulled his shirt off, the room seemed to quiet down instinctively.
The room still was not used to his tattoos. (Tattoos = Yakuza from what I have found out.)
"Oi, Akaza," Bakugo's gruff voice cut through the quiet. He was sitting on a bench, lacing up his grenade gauntlets with aggressive yanks. "You ready for today? I really wish we are having a spar today. If I get you, don't hold back like you did with the extras."
Akaza pulled his gauntlets on, the metal clicking softly. He looked at Bakugo, a small, challenging smirk playing on his lips. "I never hold back, Bakugo. You have to survive long enough to see the real thing."
"Heh," Bakugo grinned, a feral showing of teeth. "Try me."
"You two are terrifying," Ojiro muttered, shaking his head. "But… it's reassuring. Knowing we have heavy hitters like you guys on our side."
"We're all heavy hitters now," Shoto said quietly from his locker, adjusting his utility belt. "We have to be. The League is quiet. That means they're planning something louder."
Akaza nodded, his expression darkening for a fraction of a second. Gigantomachia, he thought. The Doctor. Shigaraki's evolution. It's all coming.
Meanwhile, in the girls' locker room, the atmosphere was less tense but equally focused.
"It's so cold!" Toru Hagakure shivered, her gloves floating in the air as she hugged herself. "I wish I could wear a coat over my costume, but then I wouldn't be invisible!"
The empty space where his locker used to be was a somber reminder that caught Mina's eye. She shook her head, dispelling the gloom.
"So, Rumi-chan!" Mina chirped, bouncing over to where Rumi was stretching her legs on a bench, her flexibility defying human anatomy. "I heard you went to dinner with Todoroki's family! Was it super awkward?"
Rumi laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "It was a riot. The old flame-beard is trying to be a dad, which is about as natural as a fish trying to climb a tree. But the food was good. And yeah, I almost fought him. Akaza stopped me."
"Akaza-kun went too?" Momo asked, looking up from adjusting her creation belt. She looked tired but determined. "He… brought Eri-chan?"
"Yeah," Rumi's expression softened. "She's good for them. She's good for us. Keeps Aki grounded. You should have seen him, Momo. He was cutting her food into tiny little star shapes. The 'Battle God' reduced to a glorified babysitter."
"That is… incredibly sweet," Ochaco Uraraka said, blushing slightly. "He's really changed since the festival. He's still scary, but… it's a protective scary."
"He's always been that way," Rumi said fiercely, hopping off the bench. "You guys just finally took your blinders off."
"We know," Tsuyu croaked softly. "And we're grateful. Seeing you two getting stronger… it makes us want to work harder too."
"Good," Rumi grinned, punching her palm. "Because I'm not slowing down for anyone. Let's get out there and break some records!"
The class assembled on the cold concrete of Ground Beta. Their breath misted in the air, creating a low fog around the group. They stood in formation, waiting for their homeroom teacher.
Shota Aizawa walked out from the shadow of a building. He wasn't wearing his usual sleeping bag. He was in his full hero gear, his capture weapon wound tight around his neck, his goggles around his throat. But something was off. His shoulders were tighter than usual. His eyes, usually just tired, looked haunted.
Beside him stood All Might, looking equally grim, and Present Mic, who was uncharacteristically quiet, his usual loud swagger replaced by a nervous, twitchy energy.
"Today's training will be self-directed," Aizawa announced, his voice raspy. "You have the grounds until 1600 hours. Work on your ultimate moves. Spar in pairs. Do not destroy the city blocks, we just had them repaired. All Might will supervise."
"Sir?" Iida raised his hand. "Are you not joining us? Your guidance is crucial for — "
"I have business," Aizawa cut him off. "Urgent business. Off-campus."
He didn't explain further. He simply turned on his heel, his black hair whipping in the wind. Present Mic followed him, giving the class a weak, forced thumbs-up before hurrying to catch up.
Akaza watched them go, his eyes narrowing. He saw the tension in Aizawa's walk. He saw the way Mic's hands were shaking slightly.
Tartarus, Akaza realized.
He watched the car pull away, taking the teachers toward a nightmare from their past.
The drive to the Tartarus detention facility was suffocatingly silent.
Present Mic drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked. Aizawa sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the gray ocean, his mind thousands of miles away, lost in a memory of rain and a crushed blue sky.
"Do you think…" Mic started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "Do you think it's really him? Gran Torino said the match was almost identical, but… it's Kurogiri. The mist guy. The guy who attacked the USJ. It doesn't make sense, Shota."
"We'll find out," Aizawa said, his voice dead. "Gran Torino and Tsukauchi wouldn't have called us if they weren't sure."
They arrived at the facility. Tartarus was a fortress built into the sea, a monolith of black steel and concrete designed to hold the world's greatest monsters. They went through security check after security check, the air growing colder and more sterile with each heavy door that slammed shut behind them.
Deep in the monitoring room, they met Gran Torino and Detective Tsukauchi.
"Thanks for coming," Tsukauchi said. He looked exhausted. He gestured to the glass partition.
Beyond the glass, in a stark white cell, sat Kurogiri. He was bound in a heavy straightjacket, quirk-suppressing sensors attached to his neck and chest.
"We analyzed his quirk base," Tsukauchi explained, holding up a file. "The mist is a combination of several factors. But the core… the base genetic marker that anchors the quirk… it belongs to Oboro Shirakumo."
Mic let out a strangled sound, covering his mouth. Aizawa just stared through the glass, his face pale.
"Shirakumo is dead," Aizawa whispered. "I saw him die. I saw the building fall. I saw the body bag."
"His body was recovered, yes," Gran Torino said grimly. "Or what was left of it. But it seems... not all of it was put to rest. All For One... that monster... he stole the corpse. He experimented on it. He twisted it."
"We need you to wake him up," Tsukauchi said gently. "Kurogiri is unresponsive to interrogation. He's programmed to protect Shigaraki. But if there is any trace of your friend left in there... you two are the only ones who can reach him."
Aizawa and Mic exchanged a look. A lifetime of friendship, of grief, passed between them in a second.
"Let us in," Aizawa said.
They entered the cell. The door hissed shut, sealing them in with the monster wearing their best friend's corpse.
Kurogiri didn't look up. He stared at the table.
"Kurogiri," Aizawa said, sitting across from him.
"I have nothing to say to you," the villain replied, his voice distorted but polite. "I do not know the location of Tomura Shigaraki."
"We're not here for Shigaraki," Mic said, his voice trembling. He slammed his hands on the table. "Look at us! Look at me! Who am I?!"
Kurogiri raised his eyes. "You are Present Mic. A pro hero."
"I'm Hizashi!" Mic yelled, tears springing to his eyes behind his shades.
"I'm the guy who came up with your hero name! Remember?! 'Loud Cloud'! You hated it at first, but then you loved it! You said we were gonna start an agency together! You, me, and Shota!"
Kurogiri's expression didn't change. "I do not know what you are talking about."
"Stop lying!" Mic screamed. "You're Oboro! You're Oboro Shirakumo! You're the guy who cheered us up when we were down! You're the guy who gave his goggles to Shota! You're the guy who died saving people!"
"I don't know what you are talking about," Kurogiri stated. "I am the caretaker of the League."
Aizawa sat quietly, his head bowed. He was shaking. The memories were flooding back. The rooftop lunches. The training. The promise to be the best. The rain. The blood.
"Shirakumo," Aizawa whispered.
He looked up. His eyes were red, dry, and burning with a desperate intensity.
"If you're really in there… if you can hear us… look at what you've become. You wanted to be a hero. A hero who makes people smile. And now? You're a tool for a murderer. You attacked my students. You attacked children. Is that what you wanted? Is that the legacy you wanted to leave behind?"
Kurogiri's brow twitched. A small, almost imperceptible spasm.
"We were supposed to be the best," Aizawa's voice cracked. "The three of us. We were going to change the world. And I… I kept going. I became a teacher. I'm hard on them. I expel them if they're not ready. Do you know why? Because I don't want them to become you. I don't want them to die because they weren't strong enough!"
Tears streamed down Aizawa's face, splashing onto the metal table.
"Oboro! Please! You're still a hero to us! Don't let them use you! Don't let them win! Remember who you are!"
Mic was sobbing openly now. "Come back to us, man! Please!"
Kurogiri's head began to shake. The mist around his neck flared erratically, glitching. He groaned, a sound of deep, structural pain.
"Shigaraki… Tomura… I must… protect…"
"NO!" Aizawa roared, standing up. "You protect us! You're our friend!"
The glitching intensified. The purple mist began to recede, peeling back from the face. The vacant, yellow eyes seemed to struggle, the pupils contracting and expanding.
"Sho… ta…?"
The voice was different. It wasn't the deep, distorted voice of Kurogiri. It was lighter. Younger. Pain-filled.
Aizawa froze. "Oboro?"
The mist pulled back fully, revealing the face beneath. It was scarred, pale, and twisted, but it was him. It was the boy from the photos.
"Hi… za… shi…"
Oboro's eyes locked onto Aizawa. He struggled against the restraints, against the programming that had rewritten his soul.
"Hos… pital…" Oboro gasped, the words tearing from his throat. "Doc… tor…"
"What?" Aizawa leaned in. "What about the hospital?"
"Ujiko…" Oboro wheezed. "The… do.tor… expe..m.nt…"
He looked at Aizawa, and for a second, the old, bright spark was there. The smile that could light up a room.
"Y.u two.. … lo.k … cool…"
And then, the mist slammed back down.
The face vanished. The yellow eyes went blank. Kurogiri slumped forward, unconscious, the failsafe in his brain shutting him down before he could say more.
"OBORO!" Mic screamed, reaching out, but the guards were already rushing in, restraining them, pulling them back.
Aizawa stood there, his hand outstretched toward the friend he had lost twice. The room was cold. The silence of Tartarus returned, heavier than before.
Aizawa wiped his face, his expression hardening into stone. The grief was still there, a gaping wound in his chest, but now, it was fueled by a cold, burning rage.
"We got him," Aizawa whispered, his voice shaking with fury. "We know where they are."
He turned to the detective.
"Tell Nezu. Tell the Commission. We're going to war."
Back at U.A., the sun was setting on Ground Beta. The training was over. The students were exhausted, sweaty, and alive.
Akaza looked up at the sky, watching the first stars appear. He felt a shift in the air. A turning point.
Rumi walked up to him, wiping sweat from her brow. "You okay? You're doing the brooding thing again."
"I'm fine," Akaza said. He looked at her, at the scar on her face, at the strength in her stance. "Just feeling the wind change."
"Is that a metaphor?"
"Yeah."
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