The massive billboard in the heart of the city pulsed with a sterile, white light that cut through the evening gloom. On the screen, the image of a defeated man in red rags being loaded into a high-security transport vehicle played on a loop.
"The 'Hero Killer: Stain' has been officially transferred to the Tartarus Maximum Security Facility," the news anchor's voice droned through the earbuds of the man standing in the crowd. "Following a brutal confrontation in Hosu City, the Number Two Hero, Endeavor, managed to suppress the threat that has claimed the lives of seventeen pro-heroes. While many questions remain regarding his alleged ties to the League of Villains,"
The man in the crowd adjusted the collar of his dark, oversized puffer jacket, pulling it up to mask the lower half of his face. His hair was a chaotic, ink-black mess that shadowed his eyes, but it couldn't hide the faint, purplish hue of the scarred skin around his jawline, held together by crude, silver staples that glinted in the neon light.
He stared up at the screen, his gaze lingering on the name Endeavor as it scrolled across the ticker tape.
"A 'decisive defeat'... what a joke."
He began to walk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn't care about Stain's ideology, the "True Hero" nonsense was just more noise to him. The news was already spinning a narrative that the League and the Hero Killer were two sides of the same coin.
"Working with the League, or just a marriage of convenience? Doesn't really matter," he muttered to himself. He thought of the last group of petty thugs he had associated with, a collection of small-time losers with big mouths. He had incinerated them three days ago, leaving nothing but scorched brick and the faint scent of ozone. He needed a new place to bunk, a house that wouldn't crumble under the first sign of heat.
The League was the only bet worth making. Every bottom-feeder in the underworld was currently scrambling to find their frequency, drawn in by the brazen violence of the USJ and the tragedy of the Sports Festival. They were the only ones moving the needle.
Buzz. Buzz.
A burner phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, looking at the unsaved number before flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.
"Yeah?"
"Hello, Dabi," a smooth, oily voice answered on the other end. It was Giran, the broker who kept the veins of the underworld flowing. "I've been hearing some very 'hot' rumours about your recent activities. The League is looking for fresh blood, and your name came up in the vetting process."
The man, Dabi, let out a short, cynical huff. A thin trail of grey smoke escaped his nose. "Took you long enough. Are they meeting or just talking?"
"They're meeting. They've moved to a new location to handle the... influx of fans. I'll send you the coordinates. Be there at midnight, and try not to burn the welcome mat."
"I'll see you later, Giran," Dabi said, his eyes reflecting the cold, blue light of the billboard one last time.
___
The metallic clang of lockers and the rustle of reinforced fabric filled the Class 1-A changing room. It was the first day back in costume since the Hosu incident, and the air was thick with a new, sober focus.
Izuku adjusted the straps of his gauntlets, his mind flashing back to the searing heat of the alleyway and the sight of Todoroki's ice wall cutting through the dark. He looked over to the locker at the end of the row, where Shoto Todoroki was silently pulling on his white boots, his expression as unreadable as a frozen lake.
Izuku swallowed hard and stepped over. "Todoroki-kun."
Shoto didn't look up, his fingers moving with clinical precision. "Midoriya."
"I... I wanted to thank you properly," Izuku said, his voice quiet but sincere. "For what you did in Hosu. If you and Endeavour hadn't arrived when you did, I don't think any of us would have made it out of that alley."
Todoroki finally stood up, his mismatched eyes landing on Izuku with a chilling neutrality. "There's no need to thank me. I was simply fulfilling my duties as a hero-in-training. It was a mission, nothing more."
He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly. "But tell me something. Why were you there on your own in the first place? You weren't on a sanctioned patrol with Gran Torino when you found Iida. You went looking for him."
Izuku shifted his weight. "I was worried for Iida-kun."
"And look at the result," Todoroki said, his voice flat and cutting. "Seventeen pro-heroes were taken out by Stain in a matter of months. You and Iida should have known you were no match for him. You were reckless, Midoriya. By charging in without your mentor, you didn't just put yourselves at risk, you became liabilities. You got in the way."
Izuku felt a sting of frustration, but he didn't look away. "If I hadn't gotten in the way, Native-san would be dead. Stain was seconds away from finishing him. Sometimes, waiting for the 'proper' way means letting people die."
Todoroki's jaw tightened, his left side radiating a faint, nearly imperceptible heat. He looked like he was about to counter with a harsh truth when the door to the changing room swung open.
"Hey! You guys coming or what?" Kaminari chirped, leaning into the room with his hero mask pushed up on his forehead. "All Might's foundational heroics class is starting in five minutes. You know he hates it when we're late for the warm-ups!"
Todoroki didn't say another word. He simply grabbed his utility belt and walked past Izuku, his shoulder brushing against him with a cold, dismissive finality.
Izuku watched him go. He watched the way Todoroki carried himself, stiff, isolated, and shrouded in a quiet, simmering anger.
His mind flashed back to the Sports Festival. He remembered the hallway, the smell of sulphur, and the towering, flaming silhouette of Endeavor looming over Shoto. He remembered the way Endeavor had spoken about his son, not as a child, but as a masterpiece to be refined, a tool to surpass All Might.
He's carrying a different kind of wound, Izuku thought, his chest aching with a familiar empathy. I want to help him. I want to tell him I saw what his father is like... but how do you even bring that up?
"Midoriya! Let's go!" Kaminari called out again.
"Coming!" Izuku shouted back.
___
The industrial maze of Ground Gamma hummed with the mechanical whir of specialized training robots. High above the tangle of pipes, catwalks, and rusted scaffolding, All Might stood on a central observation platform, his hero costume draped over his frame, a stopwatch held in his hand.
"ALRIGHT! GROUP TWO, TO YOUR MARKS!" All Might's voice boomed, carrying that familiar, booming resonance. "The goal is simple: reach me at the center! But remember the new 'Standard of Vigilance'! There are three automated drones patrolling the airspace. They will launch three balls of varying sizes at you. You must catch three before you cross the finish line. If a ball strikes you, or if you drop one... you're ELIMINATED! START!"
Izuku took a deep breath, the green sparks of One For All, now a steady 10%, dancing across his skin like static electricity. Beside him, Sero, Ashido, Ojiro, and Sato tensed.
Crack.
The sound of the starting piston hadn't even finished echoing before Izuku vanished.
He didn't just run, he launched. Borrowing the rhythmic, high-velocity bouncing technique he had observed from Gran Torino, Izuku turned the industrial landscape into a pinball machine. He slammed his foot into a vertical pipe, using the friction and the power of One For All to recoil upward, his eyes scanning the grey sky.
Thwip.
A robot overhead chirped, firing a large, red foam ball the size of a boulder directly at his head. Izuku spun in mid-air, his hand reaching out with a predatory precision he hadn't possessed a month ago. He caught the massive ball against his chest, using its momentum to swing around a horizontal railing.
One, he thought.
He didn't slow down. He felt... light. The weight of the "Champion" mantle, the trauma of Hosu, the constant hum of Yoshi in his mind—it all seemed to condense into a singular, sharp focus. He was moving through the scaffolding with a fluidity that felt dangerously natural. Every pipe was exactly where he needed it to be, every jump was calculated to the millimeter.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two more projectiles launched simultaneously. One was a medium-sized sphere, the other a tiny, golden ball the size of a marble, zipping through the air like a bullet.
Izuku kicked off a brick chimney, soaring into the open air. He caught the medium ball in his left hand and, in a display of harrowing agility, snapped his right hand out to pinch the golden marble between his thumb and forefinger mid-leap.
He tucked them both against his belt and plummeted toward the finish line. He landed with a heavy, controlled thud directly in front of All Might, the green lightning dissipating into the air as the stopwatch clicked.
"TIME! FIFTY-EIGHT SECONDS!" All Might shouted, his eyes wide with genuine shock. "THAT'S THE RECORD TO BEAT!"
Izuku stood up, breathing steadily. He wasn't even panting. He pulled the three balls from his gear and held them out. Behind him, the rest of Group Two were still struggling, Sero had been knocked off a ledge by a rogue sphere, and Ashido was currently dodging a barrage of foam.
"Young Midoriya..." All Might said, stepping forward and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "That was... exemplary. Your synchronization with the power has leaped forward. Your movement, your reaction time, it was as if you knew exactly where those robots were going to fire before they did. Truly, a performance worthy of the name Champion!"
"Whoa, Midoriya!" Kirishima yelled from the sidelines, leaning over the railing. "That was insane! You looked like a blur! How did you catch that tiny one while doing a flip?!"
"Seriously, man," Kaminari added, shaking his head. "You're getting way too good at this. Leave some heroics for the rest of us!"
Izuku smiled, nodding at the praise, but internally, a cold shiver ran down his spine.
He looked at his hands. They weren't shaking. He felt... fine. But that was the problem. The movements had come to him with a terrifying ease, almost as if his body were being guided by an external instinct. He hadn't felt the strain of the ten percent, he hadn't felt the usual clumsy hesitation of his own mind.
It was too easy, Izuku thought, his emerald eyes darkening for a fraction of a second. I didn't have to think.