It was 5:17 a.m. and the training camp—meant to be a crucible of growth and peril—hung in a fragile limbo, suspended between the night's secrets and the day's unscripted promise.
Izuku Midoriya lay motionless in his sleeping bag, eyes wide open, staring at the rafters as if they held the answers to a riddle carved by the gods themselves.
Sleep had evaded him after Mina's capture, his body a taut wire strung with the aftershocks of indulgence and strategy.
But rest was a luxury for the unwary. Ocean pulsed in his veins, eighty percent mastery extending its tidal reach to the forest's edge—heartbeats of classmates stirring, Pussycats patrolling, beasts slumbering in earthen lairs.
No spikes of malice. No incoming storm of decay and blue flames. The League of Villains, that festering shadow, had gone quiet. Too quiet.
As if summoned by the thought, the quest window ignited—not with the usual golden poise or crimson urgency, but a serene azure glow, like the calm eye of a hurricane.
It hovered inches from his face, bold letters etching themselves into the air, visible only to him:
QUEST UPDATE: SHADOWS RETREAT
THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS' ASSAULT—SCHEDULED FOR 04:00 A.M.—HAS BEEN ABORTED.
REASON: ALL TRAITORS NEUTRALIZED.
Yuga Aoyama & Denki Kaminari (former ghosts, now flesh-bound servants): Their "early returns" disrupted internal intel flows.
Mina Ashido (Traitor #1): LOV's primary coordinator. Her absence = comms blackout.
Momo Yaoyorozu (Traitor #2): Security maps undelivered; U.A. defenses intact.
Nemuri Kayama (Midnight, Traitor #3): Somnambulist diversion offline. No mass sleep for the strike team.
OUTCOME: LOV HIGH ALERT. NO ATTACKS IMMINENT. STAND DOWN.
NO REWARD. NO PENALTY. THE BOARD HAS SHIFTED.
The window dissolved into motes of blue light, absorbed into his skin like morning mist. Izuku exhaled slowly, the tension coiling in his shoulders unwinding just a fraction.
No ambush. No Nomu crashing through the canopy, no Shigaraki's rasping decay crumbling the lodge to splinters.
The canon timeline—the one he'd pieced together from half-remembered manga panels and whispered fears—had fractured under his hand.
Relief warred with unease. The camp would proceed as a true training ground—no blood on the pines, no Bakugou snatched into the night. But the League wouldn't slink away forever.
Before he could spiral deeper, the window reignited—this time in verdant green, earthy and insistent, like new growth pushing through scorched soil:
QUEST: HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN
OBJECTIVE: CONVINCE KOTA (MANDALAY'S NEPHEW) THAT HEROES ARE NOT THE VILLAINS OF HIS NIGHTMARES.
Change his perspective: From hatred (fueled by parents' death at Muscular's hands) to admiration. Heroes as saviors, not symbols of failure.
Methods: Dialogue, demonstration, or deed. Subtlety advised—no force.
REWARD:
KOTA'S GOODWILL: Unwavering support for all heroes. A future ally, quirk and heart.
KOTA'S QUIRK BOOST: +80% power (Quirk: Water Gun → High-pressure cannon, endless reservoir).
TIME LIMIT: End of Training Camp
FAILURE: None. But a boy's hate festers.
ACCEPT? [Y/N]
Izuku's finger twitched in the air, tracing the [Y] without hesitation. The window shattered into emerald shards, scattering like fireflies.
Acceptance was instinct—the hero's heart, that unyielding core he'd clung to through dungeons and sacrifices, demanded it. Kota: the small storm on the cliff, golden eyes blazing with a grief too big for his frame.
Yesterday's encounter had chipped the ice—thirty percent less hatred, a senzu bean offered like a truce—but it wasn't enough. Not for this quest. Not for the boy who'd lost his world to a villain's rampage.
Yet completion eluded him, a distant peak shrouded in fog. Why? No Muscular. No hulking brute to embody the heroism Kota despised, no life-or-death clash where Izuku could shield the weak and shatter the monster.
In canon, Muscular's assault had been the anvil: Kota cornered, heroes rising, perspectives forged in blood and ice. Here? Peace.
The forest slumbered, beasts tamed (one colossal edition stored away), villains scattered like startled crows. Forcing a revelation without catalyst felt hollow—like preaching salvation without showing the cross.
Izuku sat up, rubbing his eyes. The dorm stirred: Iida's alarm chirping precisely at 5:30, Bakugou's muffled curse as he kicked free of his bag, Kirishima's yawn like a bear's rumble.
He dressed quickly—track suit crisp, jacket zipped over secrets—and slipped into the common room. The air smelled of dew-kissed pine and last night's curry embers, a hearth cold but promising warmth.
Ochaco was already there, floating a kettle for tea, her cheeks pink from sleep. "Deku! Up early. Bad dreams?"
He smiled, small and genuine. "Just... planning. You?"
"Gravity's heavy today." She grinned, setting the kettle down with a gentle touch. "But camp's fun when it's not trying to eat us."
Their chatter flowed easy—small things, like yesterday's drills and Kota's glare from afar—until the class filtered in, a tide of yawns and stretch.
Bakugou claimed the biggest bowl of rice, snarling at the portions; Todoroki stared into his miso like it held prophecies; Tsuyu ribbited about frog-friendly humidity.
Mina and Momo's absence? Noted but not probed— "girls' morning routine," Denki supplied with a wink, his resurrected spark crackling innocently.
Izuku watched them all, Ocean mapping the symphony of pulses: steady, trusting, unbroken. No traitors in their midst. No whispers of sabotage.
The quest about Kota gnawed at him, a quiet itch. He needed a way in—not confrontation, but connection.
Perhaps during today's endurance hike, or the quirk-synergy exercises Pixie-Bob had teased. Show Kota heroes building, not breaking. Heroes laughing over blisters, not just punching shadows.
Breakfast blurred into motion. Mandalay herded them out at 7:00 sharp, her telepathic voice a cheerful prod: "Beast's Forest Redux! But this time, teamwork traps only—no solo heroics!"
The class groaned in unison, backpacks slung, water bottles clinking. Izuku fell in step beside Ochaco and Iida, the trail winding upward through ferns and fog-shrouded trunks.
The forest was kinder in daylight—sun dappled leaves like stained glass, birdsong a counterpoint to distant beast rumbles.
Pixie-Bob bounded ahead, earth beasts rising in playful shapes: not devourers, but obstacles—muddy pits to vault, vine walls to climb.
Class 1-A shone: Sero's tape bridging gaps, Jiro's earjacks scouting pitfalls, Uraraka floating the stragglers over streams. Bakugou blasted a path, cursing efficiency; Todoroki chilled a mudslide into a slide.
Izuku contributed quietly—Ocean sensing weak points in the terrain, necromancy on standby but unused. Gasper's time-stop could freeze a beast mid-lunge, but why? This was training, not trial.
His mind wandered to Kota. The boy would be watching from some ridge, cap pulled low, judging. Heroes playing games while villains plotted. How to bridge that chasm without a villain to punch?
By noon, sweat-soaked and triumphant, they crested a meadow overlook. The lodge sprawled below like a toy village, smoke curling from chimneys. Mandalay clapped. "Lunch break! Reflect on synergies."
The class collapsed in the grass, ration bars passed hand-to-hand. Izuku wandered to the edge, overlooking the cliff where he'd met Kota yesterday.
No small figure today—just wind and wildflowers. Patience, he told himself. The quest had days yet. Force it, and the goodwill would shatter like cheap glass.
Afternoon brought quirk relays: pairs creating combo attacks. Izuku drew Aoyama—sparkling navel lasers amplified by his dodges, a disco of destruction on test dummies.
Denki paired with Mina's "ghost" (herself absent, cover intact), electricity arcing through acid mists. Laughter rippled—Tsuyu and Tokoyami summoning frog-shadow hybrids, Kaminari short-circuiting into giggles.
As sun dipped toward 4:00 p.m., free time descended. Some napped; others sparred lightly. Izuku sought solitude in the lodge's library nook—a dusty alcove of hero manuals and topographical maps.
He pored over Water Gun quirks, cross-referencing with Kota's file (pilfered from Mandalay's desk, Ocean's subtle aid). Boosted by 80%? From garden hose to fire cannon—endless pressure, no recoil.
A hero's quirk, not a grudge's weapon.
Footsteps pulled him from reverie: Mandalay, tail swishing, eyes kind but weary. "Midoriya. You've been... watchful. Everything alright?"
He closed the book, heart steady. "Just thinking about Kota. Yesterday, on the cliff... he hates us. All of us."
Her smile faltered, a flicker of old pain. "Water Hose—his parents—died saving civilians from that monster. Muscular. Kota saw the reports. Blames heroes for not being there sooner. For letting villains like that exist."
Izuku nodded, the name Muscular a thunderclap in his chest. The missing piece. No brute, no proof of heroism's light piercing darkness. "I want to help. Show him we're not... fake."
Mandalay studied him, then sighed. "You're a good kid. But he's a fortress. Takes time to breach."
Time they had. The quest's limit loomed, but Izuku felt the stirrings of a plan: not grand gestures, but seeds.
Share stories of heroes' failures turned triumphs. Demonstrate vulnerability—bruises from the Beast's Forest, not hidden by senzu heals. Invite Kota to watch a drill, see the sweat behind the smiles.
Dinner was communal chaos: curry rice heaped high, stories swapped like currency. Bakugou boasted of his blasts; Ochaco demonstrated zero-G tricks with dessert mochi.
Izuku sat between Tsuyu and Shoji, half-listening, half-scanning for Kota's shadow. There—peering from the treeline, cap low, eyes like accusatory stars.
After plates cleared, the class scattered to baths and bunks. Izuku lingered by the fire pit, embers glowing like quest windows.
He pulled a spare U.A. pin from his jacket, symbol of aspiration. He tossed it into the dirt near the treeline, visible but not obvious.
Night fell soft, stars pricking the canopy. Back in the dorm, Izuku lay awake again, quest green in his mind's eye. Uncompleted, but not forsaken.
Heroes weren't bad—they were human, flawed, fighting shadows longer than Kota's short years. To prove it? Wait for the storm. No Muscular meant no catharsis, but perhaps... subtlety. Stories. Shared silences.
As snores rose around him, Izuku closed his eyes.And Kota? A boy on the edge, hatred a shield against grief. Izuku would chip it away, quest or no. Because heroes saved the world one heart at a time.
(A/N: Man, Kota really is having hard time being near heroes)
Not with fists alone, but with the quiet courage to say: We're trying. For you.