The morning after the Muscular incident was bright, cold mountain air, birdsong, and the smell of pine sap mixed with antiseptic.
Izuku had limped back to the lodge just before sunrise, ribs screaming, face a patchwork of bruises and dried blood. Mandalay had taken one look at him and nearly dropped her coffee.
Aizawa's eyes had narrowed to slits, but before he simply said, "Infirmary. Now." No questions. Yet.
By the time Recovery Girl arrived via helicopter, Izuku had already swallowed 1 senzu bean in secret and let her heal only the surface damage.
The rest he wanted visible. Bruises were evidence. Evidence was belief. Kota needed to see that heroes bled.
While Recovery Girl fussed over the class's accumulated scrapes and sprains, Izuku slipped away to the empty equipment shed behind the lodge.
He shut the door, leaned against the wall, and let out a slow breath that tasted of iron and victory.
Twenty remaining Master Balls in the pouch felt lighter every time he used one.
He pulled three spheres free.
"Release."
White light bloomed, soft and soundless.
Next, Momo Yaoyorozu, sheet discarded, now dressed in the spare U.A. track suit he'd conjured for her the moment she was sealed. She adjusted her ponytail, cheeks pink, but her eyes were steady, loyal, warm.
"Reporting for duty."
Last, Mina Ashido, pink skin glowing in the dim light, horns polished, tail flicking with restless energy. She stretched like a cat, cracked her neck, and grinned sharp teeth.
"Miss me, boss?"
Izuku exhaled. "You two were 'helping with an overnight rescue simulation' that Aizawa-sensei approved. You got back five minutes ago. No one saw you arrive because you used the back trail. Got it?"
Two synchronized nods.
"Good. Blend in. Act normal. Momo, Mina, you pulled an all-nighter studying combo moves. Go."
They scattered like smoke, Momo and Mina jogging to join the girls already packing.
Izuku watched them disappear, then pressed a hand to his aching ribs. Eight servants sealed, three walking free, and no one the wiser.
Perfect.
By 10:00 a.m. the buses were loaded. The Pussycats waved teary goodbyes; Pixie-Bob was still sulking over her missing earth titan.
Class 1-A piled in, sunburned, stronger, and blissfully ignorant of how close the night had come to catastrophe.
Aizawa stood at the front of the lead bus, arms crossed, eyes bloodshot. "Training camp concluded early. We're returning to U.A. today. Sleep. Debrief tomorrow."
A cheer went up. Izuku took his usual seat by the window. Kota, small and determined, climbed the steps last. He paused beside Izuku, hesitated, then thrust out a tiny fist.
Izuku bumped it gently.
Kota's voice was barely a whisper. "Thank you… for last night."
Izuku just smiled. "Anytime, little hero."
The boy's eyes shone. He scurried to his aunt's side, but the change was already carved in stone: hatred gone, replaced by something fierce and bright.
The buses rolled out.
Four hours later the gates of U.A. rose ahead, familiar and safe. Students spilled into the courtyard, laughing, dragging luggage, already planning naps and instant ramen.
Aizawa dismissed them with a lazy wave of his capture weapon. "Curfew 22:00. Don't make me regret it."
Izuku lingered until the crowd thinned.
He found a quiet corner behind the dorms, the same spot where he used to do one-handed push-ups as a kid dreaming of this place. Now he knelt in the grass, pulled the velvet pouch from his jacket, and let one skeletal thrall materialize.
The skeleton clattered into existence, empty sockets glowing faint green. It had no name, no memory, just obedience. Izuku rested a hand on its skull, feeling the cold bone under his palm.
"Sorry," he murmured. "Thank you for your service."
He didn't need to speak aloud. The quest system simply knew.
A new window flared, calm silver letters:
TRADE OFFER
Sacrifice: 1 Skeletal Thrall (permanent)
Receive: Passive Ability – POWER
Every successful punch landed in combat permanently increases punching strength.
No upper limit.
Works on any target: flesh, stone, Nomu, gods.
Accept? [Y/N]
Izuku didn't hesitate. The skeleton crumbled into ash that blew away on the evening breeze. In its place, warmth flooded his arms, veins glowing faintly under the skin before fading.
He flexed his fingers. Nothing dramatic. Just the quiet promise that every fist he threw from now on would hit a little harder than the last.
He stood, rolled his shoulders, and felt the difference immediately, subtle, but there. Like the first step on an endless staircase.
Twenty Master Balls left.
Six skeletons remaining.
One new ability humming in his knuckles.
Inside the dorm, voices echoed, laughter, the clatter of instant-noodle cups. Normal life, or as close to it as he could give them.
Izuku walked toward the light.
Behind him, the ash of the sacrificed thrall settled into the grass and vanished, another quiet price paid so the people he loved could keep smiling.
Tomorrow there would be questions.
Tomorrow Aizawa might corner him about the bruises.
But tonight, Class 1-A was whole.
Tonight, Kota believed again.
Tonight, Izuku's fists carried the weight of every blow he would ever land, growing heavier, stronger, without end.
He closed the dorm door behind him, smiled at the familiar noise, and let the warmth sink in.
Home.
And somewhere in the quiet of his heart, a single thought:
Let them come.
I'm just getting started.