We clustered on the observation deck, the chill air nipping at our hero costumes—mine still torn from my flood-fueled frenzy days back, Momo's warmth from our stolen interlude lingering like a secret ember on my skin.
Uraraka bounced beside me, cheeks rosy from her victory, oblivious to the undercurrents I sensed. "Deku, you think Kaminari and Mina can zap Nezu? He's like, super smart!"
Her optimism was a balm, but my water ki sense at 60% mastery prickled—faint electrical hums in the air, laced with something sharper. Oceanus rumbled low: Currents twist in hidden wires, young tide. The storm brews unseen.
Bakugo snorted from the railing, arms crossed. "Dunce Face better not short-circuit again. Pinky's got the moves, at least."
Aizawa's voice crackled over the comms, his scarf still frayed from Momo's traps. "Kaminari Denki and Ashido Mina versus Principal Nezu. Objective: defeat or escape in 30 minutes.
Nezu's High Spec quirk makes him a tactical nightmare—adapt or fail." Below, Nezu perched in his custom mech-suit, a gleaming exoskeleton of alloy and sensors, no bigger than a fox but radiating intellect like a supernova.
His beady eyes twinkled behind the visor, paws dancing over holographic controls. "Students! Let's make this educational. I'll deploy every trick in my arsenal—show me your ingenuity!"
Denki struck a pose, his yellow-streaked hair wild under his visor, sparks dancing from his fingertips. "Time to charge up, Principal! Mina, let's fry this furball!" Mina grinned, her pink skin glistening under the lights, Acid quirk bubbling at her palms as she flexed her horned head.
"You got it, Sparky! Let's melt his plans!" The buzzer blared, and the arena—a reconfigured maze of elevated platforms, pressure plates, and automated turrets—erupted into chaos.
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The Fight: Kaminari & Ashido vs. Nezu
Nezu moved first, his mech-suit's treads humming as it zipped across the ground, holographic emitters projecting decoys—three identical Nezus, each barking orders in perfect sync.
"Forward algorithm: flank and contain!" Turrets whirred to life, firing non-lethal rubber rounds in calculated patterns, pinning Denki behind a barrier. He yelped, dodging with a burst of electricity that shorted one turret, his quirk's 1.3 million volts crackling blue-white.
But Nezu anticipated, the real mech leaping to a platform, deploying a net launcher—carbon-fiber mesh laced with insulators, designed to ground Denki's charge.
Mina countered, sliding on a trail of acid that corroded the net mid-air, the mesh hissing into sludge. "Take that, brainiac!" She vaulted forward, palms spraying acidic arcs—corrosive streams eating through a decoy's armor, revealing it as hologram.
Nezu chuckled, voice amplified. "Excellent dissolution, Ashido! But entropy favors preparation." His mech fired countermeasures: foam dispensers erupting alkaline neutralizers, bubbling against Mina's acid, creating a slippery fog that slowed her slide.
Denki broke cover, unleashing a wide-area discharge—Indiscriminate Shock, 13,000 volts in a radial burst—frying two turrets and shorting a decoy. The real Nezu dodged with gyroscopic precision, his suit's AI plotting trajectories faster than thought.
Five minutes in, they pressed. Mina melted a path through a barricade, her acid boots gripping the residue for traction, while Denki charged a concentrated bolt—Whey, a pinpoint laser of electricity—aiming for Nezu's sensor array.
The principal parried with a deployable shield, the bolt glancing off, but the feedback loop overloaded Denki's quirk temporarily, his brain shorting into dumb mode.
"Wheyyy... pretty lights..." He staggered, thumbs up in confusion, as Mina dragged him behind cover. Nezu advanced, mech-suit unfolding drones—six palm-sized scouts, each scanning for weaknesses, relaying data to his High Specs.
"Kaminari's overload is predictable. Ashido, your acid pH is 2.3—neutralize with base 12 solution, deploying now."
Alkaline foam rained, sizzling against Mina's skin—mild burn, but enough to force her back, her slides turning treacherous on the neutralized ground.
Drones swarmed, zapping with low-volt tasers, herding them toward a kill zone: electrified plates synced to Denki's residual charge.
Ten minutes gone, escape gate 150 meters away, blocked by Nezu's evolving defenses—barriers reshaping via adaptive hydraulics, turrets recalibrating fire rates based on their dodges.
Mina's acid faltered against the foam, her palms steaming, while Denki shook off his daze, sparks weak. "Mina, we're getting fried here! He's too smart—plays like chess while we're checkers!"
Desperation bred dirt. Denki, the second traitor woven into Class 1-A by All For One's machinations—recruited young, his family's debts a chain to the LOV—saw the out.
Shigaraki's orders echoed: Infiltrate, observe, sabotage when ripe. But winning meant survival, meant covering his tracks. He whispered to Mina, eyes flicking to the deck where Izuku watched, oblivious to his duplicity.
"Pinky, dirty trick time. I distract, you melt his ride. No holding back." Mina hesitated—her Acid quirk was playful, not vicious—but the camp loomed, her dreams of hero stardom on the line. "Fine. But this stays between us."
He feigned another overload, stumbling into the open with exaggerated flails—"Wheyyy, Principal, you're too cute to zap!"—drawing Nezu's focus. The principal's mech pivoted, sensors locking on the "threat," drones converging.
That split-second: Mina circled low, acid pooling at her feet, corroding a hidden seam in the arena floor—a maintenance hatch from my earlier floods. She sprayed a concentrated glob at Nezu's treads, the acid eating through lubricants, but he countered with a foam burst.
Desperation peaked—they played filthy. Denki, mid-"daze," hurled a handful of gravel—not quirked, but timed. It pelted Nezu's visor, a cheap shot smearing sensors with dust, forcing a recalibration blink—High Spec mind whirring, but mech optics lagging 0.2 seconds.
Mina struck then, dirty and decisive: she lobbed an acid vial—prepped from her belt, pH 1.0 corrosive—directly at the mech's joint servos, not the hull.
It splashed, fizzing into the hydraulics, locking a leg mid-stride. Nezu yelped, "Unsportsmanlike—fascinating adaptation!" But Denki wasn't done. As Nezu's drones swarmed to repair, Denki surged forward, quirk recharged in secret— a hidden capacitor in his gauntlet, LOV tech disguised as U.A. gear.
He grabbed a drone mid-air, crushing it in his fist, then jammed its taser prongs into the mech's exposed wiring—reverse feedback, his electricity amplified through the drone's circuits, surging back at Nezu.
Sparks erupted, the mech shuddering, systems frying in a cascade. Nezu ejected in a puff of smoke, tumbling to the ground unharmed, his tiny form scrambling for cover.
"Resourceful! But victory requires ethics—" Mina cut him off, sliding in on acid residue, her foot—slippery with her own quirk—kicking out to trip him mid-dodge.
Nezu rolled, but Denki followed, "accidentally" discharging a low-volt zap into the dirt near his paws, the ground conducting just enough to numb his limbs.
"Oops! Whey, sorry, boss!" Dirty, desperate—Nezu's High Spec calculated escape vectors, but the pair pressed, Mina's acid forming a shallow puddle that trapped his fur, Denki's sparks arcing across it like a live wire.
Nezu paused, conceding with a bow as they crossed the gate at 27 minutes. "Pass. Ingenious, if unorthodox. Reflect on the cost of such tactics." Mina high-fived Denki, guilt flickering in her pink eyes, while he sparkled. From the deck, cheers rang—Kirishima's "That was electric!", Iida's protests—but I clapped, blind to the shadows. Good job, guys.
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The Gacha System's Farewell
As the arena cleared, a familiar neon flare bloomed in my vision—the Gacha System, silent since the Dimensional Blade pull.
System Directive: Integration Complete. User Izuku Midoriya has transcended foundational trials—Saiyan Physiology at equilibrium, Sacred Gear: Ocean mastered, All Fiction honed, Dimensional Blade forged. Purpose served: heroic evolution achieved. System withdrawal initiated. Farewell, tide-bringer. The universe is yours.
My breath hitched, the interface fracturing like glass, neon shards dissolving into my core. No pull, no quest—just absence.
The abilities remained—Ocean's currents, Saiyan ki's roar, All Fiction's pen, the Blade's edge—but the system, the crutch, the architect of my rewrite, was gone.
Panic surged, then peace. It served its purpose. I'd grown beyond it: from quirkless boy to universal hero, father across realms, lover in stolen moments.
Oceanus filled the void, his rumble steady: The sea needs no guide. You are the current now. Tears pricked—freedom's weight. To move on, I needed anchor. Ochaco.
I found her by the deck's edge, gazing at the stars, her round face soft in twilight. "Ochaco... come with me. Somewhere quiet. Just us." Her eyes lit, hand slipping into mine. "Anywhere, Deku."
The Dimensional Blade materialized from Storage, obsidian edge humming. I slashed—a portal tearing, violet rift to the empty dungeon: a vast, timeless void from the Zombie ticket's echo, real-world time frozen at 2 seconds, inside infinite. We stepped through, the tear sealing, eternity ours.
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Infinite Moments: Ochaco's Embrace
The dungeon was nothingness perfected—a starlit expanse, floor of soft mist, air warm and scented with cherry blossoms I willed via lingering ki. Ochaco's eyes widened, her hero costume—pink-and-black, practical yet feminine—clinging in the gentle breeze.
"Deku... this is magic." I pulled her close, heart pounding, the system's ghost fading in her warmth. "It's ours. Infinite time, no world to save. Just you."
Our kiss ignited slow, then consumed. I cupped her face—freckles like constellations under my thumbs—and leaned in, lips brushing hers feather-light before pressing firm.
She sighed, mouth parting, and I delved—tongue tracing her lower lip's plush curve, teasing until she opened fully. Twenty minutes unfolded in velvet heat: my tongue slid inside, stroking hers in languid sweeps, tasting her essence—sweet mochi from lunch, laced with her unique tang of resolve and joy.
Hers met mine tentatively at first, a shy flick, then boldening—curling around my length, sucking gently as I thrust deeper, mimicking rhythms unspoken.
I angled, deepening the seal, tongue exploring every crevice: the velvet roof of her mouth, the sensitive ridges behind her teeth, retreating to let her chase before plunging back, rolling in tight spirals that drew whimpers vibrating into me. Saliva slicked our union, breaths ragged through noses, her hands fisting my curls, pulling me impossibly closer.
Ten minutes: I sucked her tongue, drawing it into my mouth, lavishing it with flicks and nips—teeth grazing softly, soothing with broad laps. She moaned, body melting against mine, hips canting instinctively.
Fifteen: our tongues dueled, wet and fervent, hers tangling mine in playful knots, mine dominating with insistent thrusts, saliva trailing down her chin in glistening threads.
Twenty ended with a final, lingering curl—tongues entwined, stilling in shared breath—before I pulled back, foreheads touching, her lips swollen and shining.
Finally, her breasts. Costume peeled further, revealing them—modest swells, pert and perfect, nipples dusky peaks hardening in the air.
I cupped one, thumb circling, before my mouth descended on the left: lips enveloping the nipple, tongue flicking once before sucking—firm, insistent, cheeks hollowing to draw it deep.
Twenty minutes split between them: left first, ten of unrelenting pull—tongue swirling the bud in frantic circles, teeth nipping the areola, suction bordering ache that she craved, her cries sharp.
Flavor bloomed—clean sweat, faint vanilla from her lotion—my free hand kneading the right, pinching in sync.
Switch at ten: right breast claimed, same fervor—suck harder, tongue lashing the peak, rolling it against my palate while lips sealed tight. She writhed, back arching to feed me more, hands clutching my head.
Fifteen: alternating rapid-fire—suck left, nip right; deep pull on right, swirl on left—wet sounds echoing in the void, her skin reddening under my mouth.
Twenty ended with dual worship: mouth on left, fingers mimicking on right, then swap, final sucks draining gasps from her. Breasts heaved, nipples swollen and glistening, trails of saliva cooling on her chest.
We collapsed into mist, bodies entwined. "Ochaco... I love you," I breathed, the words raw, system's chains shattered. Her eyes shimmered, hand on my cheek.
"I love you too, Izuku. Always." Infinite time, but two seconds out—back to U.A., changed, whole. But with her, I was ready.