The infirmary at UA High School had always been a place of quiet reckoning, a sterile sanctuary where the clamor of training grounds and classrooms fell away, leaving only the soft beeps of monitors and the faint rustle of bandages. Late afternoon light slanted through the high windows, turning the white walls a muted gold and catching the dust motes that drifted like slow, indifferent ghosts.
Recovery Girl, stood at the edge of the exam table, her small hands deftly unwinding the last layers of gauze from Shota Aizawa's torso. The bandages came away in long, stained strips, revealing skin mottled with fading bruises and the thin, puckered lines of surgical scars that crisscrossed his ribs like a map of old battles.
Aizawa sat shirtless on the table's edge, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed slightly as he endured the process with the same stoic patience he applied to everything. His dark hair hung in its usual disheveled curtain, hiding most of his face, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable, each slow breath a deliberate act of control.
Recovery Girl paused, inspecting the final patch of exposed skin. The deep purple blooms of bruising had retreated to a sickly yellow-green, and the worst of the fractures had knit under her quirk's influence.
"Almost there," she said, her voice carrying the dry, matter-of-fact tone. "You're healing well. Better than I expected, considering that monster nearly crushed you into paste."
Aizawa exhaled through his nose, a faint sound of relief. "Great. Means I can get back to hero work."
Recovery Girl snorted, tossing the soiled bandages into a bin with a flick of her wrist. "No, you cannot. And if you try, you'll be back here faster than you can blink, probably with worse than bruises."
She pointed a small, wrinkled finger at his chest, where the skin still bore the deep imprint of Nomu's grip.
"That thing, it compressed your ribcage like a tin can. Fractured four ribs, punctured a lung, cracked your sternum. You were lucky the internal bleeding stopped before it drowned you from the inside. I had to knit you back together twice. Push it too soon and those fractures reopen. You'll be coughing blood again, and this time my quirk won't be enough."
Aizawa's jaw tightened, a subtle squint creasing the corners of his eyes. He didn't argue, but the way his fingers curled into fists on his knees spoke volumes. Recovery Girl watched him for a moment, then softened her tone.
"You're fit enough to walk around, teach your classes, maybe even patrol lightly. But hero work? Not yet. Give it another week, minimum. The Sports Festival is close. Don't try to play hero again so soon."
Aizawa nodded once, the motion curt. "I just need to be fit enough by then. To not show a weak face."
Recovery Girl's expression gentled further, her small hand resting briefly on his knee. "I understand. These are trying times. One dead student is already too much. UA's never had that before. It's a wound that doesn't heal easy."
Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. For a moment, the room felt smaller, the air heavier. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, almost rough. "I failed that day. That's all I've had time to think about since. Koda... he was my student. And he's gone."
Recovery Girl didn't interrupt. She simply listened, letting the words settle.
Aizawa continued, his tone flat but laced with something raw. "It was a terrible tragedy. I keep telling myself that. But the more I think about it, the more that other side creeps in, the careless, cold part of my brain. It whispers things like, 'At least the kid died doing exactly what he wanted.' Chasing animals and playing hero. But that's how a villain would describe it. Like it doesn't matter."
He exhaled slowly, the sound ragged. "I hate that it even crossed my mind."
Recovery Girl nodded, her voice gentle but firm. "At least you can tell which thought is wrong. Some people start to fall down that process after something like this." She patted his knee once, then stepped back. "But I'm not your therapist, Shota. If you need to talk this through, go to Hound Dog. Or Midnight. They're better equipped."
Aizawa gave a small, tired huff, almost a laugh. "I'll take my chances."
He slid off the table, wincing slightly as his feet hit the floor. The pain was dull now, manageable, but still there, a constant reminder. Recovery Girl watched him steady himself, then spoke again.
"Tell All Might to reach me when he can. I've got some questions for him."
Aizawa nodded, pulling his shirt back on with careful movements. "Will do."
___
Izuku Midoriya sat on the edge of his bed in the quiet confines of his small bedroom, the late afternoon sun filtering through the half-drawn curtains in soft, golden shafts that did little to warm the chill settling in his chest.
He was supposed to be training right now, pushing his limits with One For All in the park nearby, building control over that surging power that still felt like a wild river inside him. But he couldn't bring himself to move.
The very thought of activating it, of feeling that electric hum course through his veins, made his stomach twist.
What if that presence stirred, taking over like it had at the USJ? He didn't like the idea of the Sports Festival at all.
He tried to distract himself first with the TV in the living room. The screen flickered to life with a hero documentary, All Might's old fights, the Symbol of Peace standing tall against impossible odds.
Izuku watched for a few minutes, hoping the sight would inspire him like it always had, but the images only made him feel smaller. He switched it off, the room falling silent again.
In the kitchen, he pulled an apple from the fruit bowl and sliced it carefully, the knife's rhythmic chop echoing in the empty space. The pieces looked perfect on the plate, crisp, white flesh glistening, but when he lifted one to his mouth, his throat closed.
He couldn't swallow. Setting the plate aside, he opened the fridge instead. Cold air washed over him, carrying the faint scent of leftovers and condiments. Nothing appealed. He closed the door again, the soft thud sounding final.
"Pathetic," he muttered to himself, the word slipping out like a confession.
Pathetic because he'd been ignoring calls and texts, from Iida's polite reminders about study sessions, Uraraka's cheerful voice messages checking in, even All Might's concerned voicemails about training progress.
He'd let them ring, screen lighting up and dimming unanswered, because admitting why felt like admitting defeat. He'd avoided training with his quirk for days now. He was scared that Yoshi would come out again, seize control in a surge of cold darkness. The memory of regaining his body at the USJ still haunted him, clawing out of a deep, endless well of hate, walls slick and black, the word itself a poison that seeped into his skin.
And in the dream of his past, the bullying, the humiliation, Yoshi's presence had amplified every taunt, every blow, until Izuku felt the hate like a physical weight pressing down on him.
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. "Scared of Yoshi," he whispered aloud, testing the words. It sounded ridiculous, childish even. Yoshi. Such a sweet, innocent name.
It made him think of parents naming their babies with only adorable infancy in mind, chubby cheeks, tiny giggles, forgetting the child would grow into someone who carried that name through life's complexities.
The contrast twisted in his gut, a name like that, attached to something so dark.
He bent down to pick up a speck of dirt he'd spotted on the corridor floor, a tiny crumb, insignificant but nagging. As he reached for it, a voice growled from his right, "Watch it."
Izuku jumped, heart slamming against his ribs, the dirt forgotten. He spun, eyes wide, but the hallway was empty. Then, a strange pull on his cheek, flesh twisting unnaturally. In the mirror at the end of the corridor, he caught the reflection, teeth and lips forming on his own skin, a mouth manifesting like a grotesque tattoo.
"Watch it, scaredy cat," it said, voice muffled but clear.
Izuku bolted to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He leaned over the sink, breath coming in gasps, staring at his reflection, pale, freckled, eyes wide with panic. Then his eyes darkened, shadows pooling like ink, and it was as if another body peeled away from his own, materializing beside him in the glass.
Yoshi Abara, smirking, arms crossed, Bantu knots framing a face that held no warmth.
Yoshi laughed, low, mocking, devoid of joy. "Pathetic. Since you lived your life as a doormat, you're stuck that way. One day, you'll run into a situation where you're pushed right back down into the dirt."
Izuku hated the way Yoshi spoke to him, like he was dissecting a bug, casual cruelty wrapped in observation. Yoshi had found out about him, or so Izuku thought. Living inside him, seeing every interaction, every vulnerability... it made his skin crawl, a deep unease twisting in his gut.
Yoshi's eyes narrowed, as if sensing the thought. "Yeah, I see it all. Uneasy? Good. That's your problem, you let everything in."
He paused, expression turning pensive, a rare crack in the façade. "Why do you want to play hero, anyway?"
Izuku blinked, caught off guard. "Can't you just... read my thoughts?"
Yoshi snorted. "It's a nasty process."
Izuku sighed, leaning against the sink. "I want to be as great as All Might. Make people smile when I arrive, save them with hope on my face."
Yoshi took a moment, head tilting. "Copycat. There's more to it you're not saying."
Then, as if interrupted by an unseen force, Yoshi's form flickered, expression shifting to surprise. He vanished abruptly, dissolving into shadows that bled back into Izuku's reflection.
Izuku stared at the mirror, alone again, heart pounding in the sudden silence.
___
Katsuki Bakugo exploded through the air in UA's outdoor training ground. His palms ignited with controlled bursts, propelling him in sharp, aggressive arcs as he unleashed a barrage of explosions against a row of reinforced dummies.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, matting his spiky ash-blond hair, but he didn't let up, each blast precise, each landing a statement of dominance. The air reeked of nitroglycerin and charred rubber, the echoes of his quirk booming like thunderclaps. Training like this was his ritual, his way of grinding away the frustrations of the day, pushing his body until it screamed, because anything less was weakness. Weakness he couldn't afford.
But today, the rhythm felt off. His mind wandered, unbidden, to that freckled face in class, the one that had no business being there. Deku. The name alone ignited a spark of annoyance in his chest, hotter than any explosion.
Everything about him has changed, Bakugo thought, gritting his teeth as he slammed a palm into a dummy's torso, shattering it in a shower of debris. Not surprising, it's been three years since I last saw that loser.
But now here he was, back in Bakugo's orbit, acting like he belonged. Stronger. Smarter. It pissed him off.
Bakugo landed hard, boots cracking the ground, and paused to catch his breath. His thoughts spiralled deeper, uninvited but relentless. Deku had always been a threat, not in the obvious way, not with power or presence, but in how he wormed under Bakugo's skin. Quirkless, useless Deku, always trailing behind like a shadow, muttering his stupid analyses, looking up at Bakugo with those wide, hopeful eyes.
He was supposed to stay down there, in the dirt, where he belonged.
"You're nothing," he'd snarled a hundred times, because if Deku rose, what did that say about Bakugo? That his superiority wasn't absolute? That someone who'd started from zero could catch up?
Jealousy twisted in his gut like a knife, though he'd never call it that. Disguised as contempt, he told himself, but it burned all the same. Deku inspired people now. Bakugo hated how people gravitated to it, how Deku's "weakness" turned into strength in their eyes.
In Shiketsu or any other school, Bakugo would be the undisputed king, but here? Deku was chipping away at his throne, piece by piece. It made Bakugo question things he didn't want to, who he was if not the best, the one who exploded through every obstacle without looking back. Rivalry had become his identity, twisted around Deku like a chain. Every win felt hollow if Deku wasn't there to crush, every loss a searing reminder that the gap was closing.
I need him, Bakugo admitted in the darkest corners of his mind, to prove he's better.
He blasted another dummy, the explosion louder than necessary, debris flying like shrapnel. Buried deeper was the guilt, a gnawing thing he shoved down hard.
Deku was supposed to break, not bounce back. Seeing him at the USJ, though... that had been different.
Bakugo paused, breathing heavy, sweat dripping from his chin. The USJ replayed in his mind like a glitchy video, Deku impaled, bleeding out, done for. Then, up, healed, moving like a demon. Killing the Nomu with ruthless efficiency, splitting it in half before All Might even arrived.
It surprised everyone, but Bakugo most of all. He'd known Deku longest, knew the crybaby who couldn't fight back, the quirkless loser. That wasn't him. That was... something else. A surge of power that didn't fit, eyes dark with hate that Deku never showed.
Something's at play, Bakugo thought, smirking despite the unease. He's hiding shit. Always has been. I'll find out what, and blow it wide open.
He ignited his palms again, launching into the air with a fresh explosion. The training ground trembled, but his mind was already plotting the next move. Deku wasn't getting away with whatever game he was playing. Not on Bakugo's watch.
___
The roar of the crowd hit Izuku Midoriya like a physical wave as he stepped out into the massive UA Sports Festival stadium, the air electric with anticipation and the sharp scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the metallic tang of quirk suppressors embedded in the barriers.
The venue was a colossus, tiered stands packed with tens of thousands of spectators, holographic screens floating overhead broadcasting every angle, and the central field transformed into a sprawling obstacle course that stretched into simulated terrains of urban ruins, dense forests, and treacherous pits.
Banners fluttered in the wind, emblazoned with UA's crest, and fireworks exploded in brilliant cascades of red, white, and blue, symbolizing the unyielding spirit of hero society. Present Mic's voice boomed over the speakers, hyping the event like a rock concert.
"Welcome to the UA Sports Festival, folks! Where tomorrow's heroes clash in glory! We've got over 10,000 in attendance today, and billions watching worldwide, showing the world that UA stands unbreakable!"
Izuku's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of excitement and nerves as he lined up with Class 1-A at the starting gate. The hype was intoxicating, the cheers, the flashing cameras, the sense of being part of something monumental. But beneath it all, a knot of worry twisted in his gut.
To amp up the spectacle, the announcers introduced the top ten heroes in attendance, each one stepping into spotlight pods around the arena's perimeter, their presences a deliberate show of force.
"First up, the Symbol of Peace himself, Number One: All Might!" The crowd erupted as All Might posed with his signature grin, muscles flexed, cape billowing. Izuku's eyes lit up, his mentor, his idol, right there.
"Number Two: The Flame Hero, Endeavor!" A towering figure with flames roaring from his beard, his intense gaze sweeping the field like a predator.
"Number Four: The Fiber Master, Best Jeanist!"
And he just kept going on and on with all the names of the biggest heroes in the nation.
The idea that all of them were here gathered in one place also gave Midoriya a bad vibe, the territories they typically handled were now left to sidekicks and surrounding heroes.
But the introductions fuelled the hype, the crowd chanting names as fireworks burst anew. Izuku was supposed to feel a surge of reassurance, With all of them here, we're safe. Right?, but it didn't fully quell the anxiety gnawing at him.
"Ready... set... GO!" Present Mic shouted, and the race exploded into motion.
Izuku bolted forward, One For All humming at 8% through his body, propelling him with controlled bursts that made the ground blur beneath his feet. The first obstacle loomed, a narrow tunnel blocked by massive robot sentinels, their red eyes scanning for targets.
Classmates surged around him, Bakugo blasting ahead with explosions, Todoroki freezing paths in ice, Iida revving his engines. Izuku zigzagged through the chaos, his mind racing faster than his legs.
Why am I so worried? he thought, ducking low behind a fallen robot arm as lasers whizzed overhead. It's just a festival. But... what if a sniper's out there? One shot, and it's over.
He darted to a cluster of debris for cover, heart pounding, imagining an invisible bullet slicing through the air. Am I the only one thinking this?
Look at Uraraka, she's floating over everything, smiling while doing so. Kirishima's hardening through blasts like it's nothing. Are they scared too, or am I just... paranoid?
He pushed on, weaving through the robot graveyard, his path erratic, zigzagging not just to dodge obstacles, but out of instinct, making himself a harder target. If the League attacks again... The fantasy unspooled in his mind, villains warping in, chaos erupting.
He'd charge forward with All Might at his side, One For All at full power, smashing through Nomu-like beasts in a blaze of Detroit Smashes, dismantling Shigaraki's forces swiftly, saving everyone with that unbreakable smile.
We'd take them out quickly, show the world heroes don't back down. But the thought of Yoshi's possession lingered like a shadow, tainting the vision. What if I lose control again?
Up ahead, Uraraka floated past a crumbling wall, her zero-gravity quirk making her bob like a balloon. She spotted him closing in. "Deku! Good luck!" she called, her voice bright amid the din.
Izuku nodded, managing a quick wave as he surged past, his enhanced speed carrying him forward. Thanks, Uraraka.
The second obstacle appeared, the Fall, a massive chasm spanned by tightropes swaying in artificial wind. Izuku leaped, balancing with precision, One For All steadying his steps. But his thoughts raced on.
Duck here, cover behind that pillar. Zigzag through the open field, just don't be predictable. He imagined snipers in the stands, hidden among the cheering masses, crosshairs tracking. Is Bakugo thinking this? Todoroki? Or am I the only one jumping at shadows?
The worry gnawed, sharp and persistent, echoing his old fears from Musutafu, always watching his back, always expecting the next shove.
The final stretch, the Minefield, a vast plain dotted with explosive traps buried just beneath the surface. Izuku blasted forward with a controlled Full Cowl, dodging eruptions that sent dirt and smoke skyward.
If they attack now... All Might and I would end it fast. Punch through their ranks, save the day. The fantasy fuelled him, pushing harder, but the underlying fear twisted it, Or maybe just All Might. I wouldn't want to get in his way.
He crossed the finish line first, the crowd's roar crashing over him like a wave. Present Mic's voice boomed.
"And in first place, Izuku Midoriya from Class 1-A! What a performance!"
Panting, Izuku slowed to a stop, the stadium spinning slightly from exertion. But the hype didn't last, the announcers moved on quickly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, for the next round, points have been assigned based on placement! And our first-place finisher, Izuku Midoriya, takes the top prize, ten million points!"