UA Cafeteria (FLASH BACK TO earlier in the afternoon)
Takeru sat with Neijire and Kendo at a corner table in the U.A. cafeteria, grateful they were all finally in one place again. Neijire had returned from Ryukyu's agency for a short break, and Kendo had rushed over from Class 1-B the moment the bell rang. It was the first time in a week they'd managed to share a meal together.
Kendo chatted about her new class and being class president while Neijire animatedly described a villain she'd encountered during a patrol with Ryukyu, hands swinging as if she were reenacting the whole thing. Takeru listened, smiling, but his mind kept drifting to the mission waiting for him that night. The more he tried to focus on the girls, the more the briefing replayed in the back of his mind.
Neijire noticed immediately. She leaned closer, her hair brushing his shoulder."Takeru-kun… you're all frowny today."
Kendo poked his arm. "Yeah. You're here, but not here."
"I'm just tired," he said, hoping it was enough.
Neijire's eyes flicked mischievously toward his untouched pudding. Without warning, she snatched it, peeled the lid, and ate a spoonful with a delighted hum.
Takeru stared. "Neijire."
"You weren't eating it," she said matter-of-factly, already taking another bite.
Kendo laughed softly. "She was eyeing it the second she finished her pudding."
Neijire held out a spoonful toward Takeru. "Here. I'll share. What a caring girlfriend I am," she said, giggling at her own witticism.
He exhaled, shaking his head with fond resignation.
Across the cafeteria, Kaminari and Mineta froze mid-bite.
"Bro," Kaminari whispered, "Hot senpai is feeding Takeru his pudding."
Mineta wept tears of blood. "Why is God so unfair… He gets two, I don't even get one! Why, God? Why??"
Takeru was oblivious to the envious voyeurs at the other end of the cafeteria.
"SECURITY BREACH AT FRONT GATE."
Students panicked instantly. Tables scraped, and a wave of chaos swept across the cafeteria. Students crowded toward the exits, shoving past one another.
Takeru shot to his feet, jaw tightening. Of course. The one peaceful lunch and—
He reached into his bag, pulled out his visor, and flew up to the ventilation window near the ceiling. Scanning the breach, he counted dozens of heat signatures—no weapons, but plenty of cameras.
Reporters. Of course.
He turned toward the crowd of frantic students and clapped once. The sharp shockwave froze the cafeteria.
"Everyone calm down. It's only the press. Sit. It's the press—don't panic and return to your seats." He projected his voice so it carried across the cafeteria.
The panic dissolved into stunned silence. Students slowly returned to their seats.
Takeru dropped back into his chair, annoyed.
Neijire giggled, leaning against him. "No need to be all grumpy. We still have time."
Kendo nudged him playfully. "You should run for school president, Takeru-kun."
Takeru gave Kendo's ass a playful pinch as Neijire fed him the last bite of pudding.
"Here. For being a good boy."
Takeru, amused, opened his mouth to take the last bite. For a moment he thought he heard faint screams of anguish from somewhere in the back of the cafeteria, but he dismissed it and thought nothing of it.
Takeru POV(Current Time )
Takeru launched into the night sky, quickly reaching hypersonic speeds and closing in on the ship's location via satellite tracking. The freighter moved in uneven patterns, its transponders shut off to prevent other vessels from locating it. Even the lights were dimmed—they did not want to be found. Takeru angled downward and reduced speed, crossing the remaining distance without sound. The faint radiation signature confirmed the ship's identity.
Through the visor, he counted fifteen heat signatures topside and another dozen moving below deck. Some carried rifles; others held compact devices shaped like demolition tools. Several had quirk signatures flagged in red—Commission intelligence inserts had loaded their profiles in advance.
One guard at the stern had a vibration quirk; his boots hummed faintly against the steel floor. Another near the crane emitted thin streams of smoke from his fingertips—a low-level combustion quirk. A third carried a plasma firearm capable of burning through steel. They formed a perimeter around the sealed container, guarding the cargo with a level of professionalism higher than Takeru expected from a criminal organization.
Takeru landed behind the vibration-user and seized him by the lower jaw. The man tried to unleash a shockwave through his legs, but Takeru twisted his neck before the force could build. The body slumped like a marionette with its strings cut, and Takeru laid him gently on the floor.
The smoker turned at the faint sound of shifting metal and exhaled a narrow arc of flame. Takeru stepped through it, heat rolling off his suit, and drove his knuckles into the man's sternum. The spine broke against the deck, his breath cutting short.
Four more guards reacted at once—plasma gun, two pistols, and a woman whose quirk hardened her forearms into stone.
The plasma shot bloomed in a bright lance of light. Takeru moved in a straight line, crossing the distance before the guard could fire again. He struck the man's wrist, breaking it inward, then snapped his neck with a single pivot. His cover was blown; now he simply had to take them all out before they could raise an alarm or unleash the payload.
The pistols roared next. Bullets sparked off the deck where Takeru had been an instant earlier. He rushed the closer shooter, caught the man's arm mid-fire, and redirected the gun into the second shooter's chest. Then he hammered his elbow into the first man's temple, shattering his skull like a melon. Takeru hated getting blood on his costume—his heightened sense of smell filled with the coppery stench.
The stone-armed woman charged, swinging her reinforced forearms in a tight arc. Takeru stepped into her stance, grabbed her throat, and crushed her windpipe. Her eyes went wide as she twitched on the floor, gasping for air before choking on her own blood.
A final quirk-user burst from the stairwell—a man whose hair crackled with electricity. He launched a bolt that danced across the deck. Takeru simply tanked it, the charge passing through him harmlessly, and closed the distance. His fist struck the man's skull, pulping it like a melon; the man's brains painted the wall behind him. The deck went quiet.
Takeru advanced below deck, stepping over bodies and discarded weapons. The lower level held the ship's engineers—two men with metal manipulation quirks and another with a dense, exoskeleton-like carapace. They rushed as a group.
The metal manipulators bent railings and pipes toward him in thick arcs. Takeru smashed through them, fragments scattering across the floor, then grabbed the first man by the chest and crushed the sternum inward. The second tried to twist steel around Takeru's neck, but Takeru tore free, seized him, and cut his head clean off with a sideways chop, dodging the aerial spray of blood that followed.
The carapace man charged with surprising speed. Takeru simply grabbed him by the shoulder, drove his hand straight through the carapace, and ripped out his heart. The man fell to the floor writhing. With the combatants dealt with, the crew remained—an engineer, a captain, and a few deckhands. Takeru ripped a piece of railing free to use as a weapon and brained them all before they could scream or beg. No survivors, as always. He thoroughly scanned the ship with thermal and night vision. He swept the ship two more times before finally moving to the cargo.
The ship was silent now except for the steady hum of its engines and the dull throb of the container. Takeru's visor warned him of lethal levels of radiation, but he pressed forward. The container was sealed with heavy-duty bolts, looking more like a vault than a shipping crate. Takeru ripped the door off its hinges and flung it aside, making the entire ship rock with the force of the impact.
Takeru contacted HQ. "This is Yama. Ship secure. Proceeding to neutralize Gamma."
A child sat curled in the corner. Skin raw and peeling. Bones sharp against a starved frame. Eyes wide with panic and exhaustion. The air around him pulsed with unstable energy.
"Are… are you here to help me?" the boy whispered. "It hurts… it hurts all the time."
Takeru froze. He had expected a Godzilla-like monstrosity, but all he saw was a frightened, sickly child.
The boy's fingers stretched toward him. "Please… don't let me explode… I don't want to hurt anyone."
A memory hit Takeru hard—another life, another war, another child in rubble after an artillery strike he had called with confidence and certainty. A boy no older than twelve, ripped in half by shrapnel. Lt. Aoi Kobayashi had consoled himself by saying he followed protocol and collateral damage was inevitable, that it was the Taliban's fault for arming a boy. But none of it made the guilt go away.
Takeru's throat tightened. It was the logical thing to do—kill one to save many.But was it the right thing to do?
He could not be selfish; he had been entrusted to protect the people of Japan. He could not give in to sentiment—it would be selfish. The consequences of hesitation would be measured in destroyed cities and tens of thousands dead.
He removed his visor and stepped into the light, revealing his face. He smiled gently at the child.
"It will be okay. It won't hurt anymore, I promise."
For one small moment, the boy looked relieved.
The strike was fast and clean. The neck snapped before the boy could feel fear. His body went limp, the radiation pulsed once, then faded into a dull throb. The boy's body began to heat up. Takeru held him carefully and lifted into the night sky at hypersonic speed.
He flew until the ocean stretched below in all directions. Then he hurled the body upward into the dark, into a place where no one else would ever be harmed. A brilliant red explosion lit the sky.
"I am sorry life was so cruel to you. May you find peace somewhere else," he said.
Takeru suppressed the bile rising in his throat. He could have done something—Gone to U.A.? And put the entire school at risk?Had Aizawa erase his quirk while they contained or trained him?And reveal he was dealing with the HPSC?Sell out the secrets entrusted to him?
Takeru had a choice. He had chosen the path that served the greater good—And his own survival.
He flew from the upper atmosphere back into Earth's airspace, burning the blood and grime off his suit during reentry.But his soul remained stained. Takeru flew straight into the ship at hypersonic speeds pulverize it and ship sank in minutes. All evidence destroyed .
Takeru returned to HQ. Four agents in hazmat suits greeted him. He had to be thoroughly cleaned and scrubbed of residual radiation before he could be allowed near civilian areas. He might be immune to radiation, but others were not.
By the time Takeru was cleaned and debriefed, it was 12:45 PM.He could still make it to USJ, he thought.
"Takeru-kun, great work. I know it must have been difficult, but you made the right call, saving tens of thousands of lives. We'll be increasing your allowance to that of a B-list hero, along with another bonus. Madam President is very—"
Takeru interrupted him. "That's all well and good, Shun-san, but I have to go to class. I might still make it to rescue training."
"Takeru-kun, please—you've been excused for the entire day. I believe it is best you rest, or see the therapist."
"No, Shun-san. But thank you."
Takeru switched into his hero costume and flew straight toward the USJ facility. Aizawa would scold him for quirk usage, but what the hell—he was class president, and he couldn't miss such an important class.
As Takeru zipped through the air, the size of the USJ complex took his breath away. It was as large as Disneyland—except entirely indoors. As he slowed near the building, he saw a dust cloud. Iida was sprinting out the door, completely oblivious to Takeru floating above.
Takeru frowned.
His enhanced hearing picked up screams, shouts, and the unmistakable sounds of battle from within.
What the hell is happening?
Through the slightly ajar door, Takeru saw a living, writhing purple mist.