The television screen flickers, its light a sickly, strobing blue that cuts through the darkness of the room. Outside, the Yokohama storm is a weight, a rhythmic thrumming against the glass that sounds like a thousand desperate fingers tapping for entry.
On the screen, the image is grainy, captured by a drone struggling against the gale. The camera pans over a district that looks less like a city and more like a graveyard of concrete and steam.
"...the situation in the coastal wards remains critical," the reporter's voice is hollow, strained through layers of static. Behind her, the ruins of a skyscraper lean like a broken rib against the charcoal sky. "Pro-Hero Endeavor has officially ceased pursuit of the S-Rank threat known as 'King Fin.' The villain utilized the rising floodwaters to vanish into the bay."
The footage cuts to a shaky, handheld recording. You can see the orange glare of Endeavor's flames, usually a symbol of scorching hope, clashing with the torrential downpour. But the peace of the hero era is gone. Instead, there is only the scream of pressurized steam.
"Public backlash has been instantaneous and vitriolic," the reporter continues. "The 'Wall of Flame' tactic intended to pin the villain backfired catastrophically. The heat from the Number One's quirk reached such intense levels that the waist-deep floodwaters in the residential sector began to flash-boil. Medical tents are currently overflowing with civilians suffering from severe steam-scalds and respiratory burns. For many, the question is no longer when the heroes will save us, but if we can survive their protection."
A list of names scrolls across the bottom of the screen, the missing and the dead. The numbers are ticking upward like a stock market of human misery.
"Inland, the mystery deepens. Unconfirmed reports are flooding our switchboards of 'shadow-like' entities moving through the wreckage, vanguards of a new, unidentified threat that the Hero Commission has yet to acknowledge."
The screen cuts to a still image of a man in a pristine, white hero costume. Stinger. The "Port Hero" with a smile that now looks like a mask.
"And in a final, somber blow to the city's morale, we have received confirmation on the death of Kenji Hoshino, known to the public as the Pro-Hero Stinger. His body was discovered three hours ago in an abandoned estate on the outskirts of the city. There was no sign of a struggle, no broken windows, no spent ammunition."
The reporter pauses, swallowing hard. The professionalism in her eyes wavers for a fraction of a second.
"Preliminary coroner reports are... disturbing. Stinger was found in the center of the grand foyer, his heart having suffered a localized, violent 'burst' from the inside out. He was left in a pool of his own making. No suspects have been named, but the brutality suggests a level of precision that has left the investigative community paralyzed. We send our deepest condolences to the city, we have lost a pillar of the wharf in a time when every light is being snuffed out."
The rain outside seems to double in intensity, a roar of water that threatens to drown out the broadcast. The reporter leans forward, a new script being handed to her from off-camera. Her hands are shaking.
"And speaking of light being snuffed out... we have just received a classified leak regarding news at UA high school. New data has surfaced concerning the condition of the former Symbol of Peace. We have been told that All Might is in a coma..."
The screen cuts to black static. The only sound left is the rain.
___
Outside, the rain lashed against the reinforced concrete of UA, a muffled, rhythmic thumping that felt like a pulse. Inside, the only light came from the glow of several monitors displaying the same static-choked news broadcast that was currently tearing the country apart.
"How?" The word was a jagged glass shard, thrown by Vlad King. He slammed a hand onto the mahogany table. "The public didn't even know he was hospitalized, let alone in a vegetative state. They're talking about biological anomalies and UA cover-ups. We're already fighting a war on three fronts, and now the foundation is rotting."
"The timing couldn't be worse," another teacher added, their voice tight with a fraying edge. "We haven't even finished whatever is going on with Bakugo. We might be becoming a liability."
Nezu sat at the head of the table, his paws folded neatly. His fur, usually pristine, looked dull under the fluorescent lights. "Calm yourselves," he said, though his voice lacked its usual melodic cheer. It was flat. Clinical. "Anger is a luxury we cannot afford while the house is on fire."
"Then tell us who leaked it," Snipe demanded, his gloved hand twitching near his holster. "Security was supposed to be absolute."
Aizawa, leaning against the far wall in the shadows, let out a long, ragged breath. He didn't look up. "It's likely my fault."
The room went silent. A dozen pairs of eyes turned toward the Underground Hero. Aizawa's eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles beneath them looking like bruises.
"Explain, Eraser," Nezu said quietly.
"There is a college student Nezu identified... Teruo Matsui," Aizawa said, his voice a low gravel. "The kid has a quirk that lets him interface with electronic signals. Radio Host. He's been a ghost in the machine since the semester started. When I informed the class about the reality of All Might's condition I didn't explicitly forbid them from discussing it among themselves. I treated them like soldiers who could handle it. I didn't account for a mole who doesn't need a phone to broadcast a secret."
"Then arrest him," Ectoplasm said. "If he's the leak, we can grab him tonight."
"On what evidence?" Nezu interjected, his voice weary. "Teruo doesn't leave a paper trail. He transmits. He deletes. If we move against against a student without a smoking gun, especially one with a quirk that deals in information 'freedom,' the public will see it as us suppressing the truth. We cannot give them a martyr."
The silence returned, heavier this time.
"Moving on," a teacher from the back said, shifting the folders in front of them. "There's the matter of the Yokohama sightings. We have a confirmed report from a localized hero who survived the flash-boiling in the residential ward. He claims he saw a boy matching Midoriya Izuku's description."
Aizawa straightened up, his posture tensing. Nezu's ears flicked, a subtle sign of focus. Only they, and the absent recovery staff, knew the terrifying truth of what had been sharing Midoriya's skin.
"He was helping," the teacher continued, a note of disbelief in his voice. "The report says he was pulling people out of a collapsed apartment block. But the witness mentioned... weird black strings. Not the green electricity associated with his quirk. He described them as, looking like vines."
"Endeavor's mess," someone muttered, and for the first time, nobody defended the Number two. The image of the boiling water in Yokohama was a stain on the profession. "If the kid was there, why didn't he stay? Why didn't he wait for the extraction teams?"
"Because he's smart enough to know we'd lock him in a cell 'for his own protection,'" Aizawa said. "The hero on site tried to approach him, asked why he wasn't at UA. Midoriya made an excuse about a secondary rescue zone and disappeared. He might be avoiding us."
"He's a child," Midnight whispered, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "His mother is in a coma. His friends are still here. He's alone in a city that's literally drowning."
"Then we use the mother," Aizawa said. The words were cold, landing like lead on the table.
Several teachers looked at him with visible horror. "Eraser, that's..."
"Cruel? Yes," Aizawa interrupted. "But we are running out of options. Inko Midoriya is stable in the medical wing. We put out a restricted broadcast. We tell him she's waking up. We lure him back because if he stays out there, the Harvest will find him. And I can't even think of a worse."
Nezu watched Aizawa, his black eyes unreadable. He knew Aizawa was lying to himself, that the lie about Inko wasn't just to save Midoriya, but to save the school from the ghost of Yoshi Abara that they still didn't fully understand.
Present Mic, who had been uncharacteristically silent, finally spoke up, his eyes fixed on his tablet. "We don't have time to debate the ethics of baiting a student. The switchboard is melting down. Every major news outlet in the hemisphere is calling for a statement on All Might. The recent graduates we stationed at the gates... they're reporting that the police cordons are breaking. The reporters are marching. They want to know if the Symbol of Peace is okay and ready to save them."
The rain outside seemed to scream then, a sudden gust of wind rattling the bunker's heavy shutters. The "Golden Light" of their era was being snuffed out by the very people they were sworn to protect.
Nezu stood up. He didn't use his chair's mechanical lift. He simply climbed down, his movements slow and methodical. He looked small, smaller than he had ever seemed in the history of the academy.
He let out a sigh. It wasn't the tactical sigh of a strategist or the frustrated huff of an educator. It was a deep, soul-tiring sound, the sound of an old man realizing the game was no longer in his control.
Without a word, without a glance back at his staff, Nezu walked around the massive table. The click of his small paws on the floor was the only sound in the room as he reached the door. He didn't give an order. He didn't offer a plan. He simply walked out into the cold, dimly lit hallway, leaving the teachers of UA alone in the dark.
___
The inn was a relic of a time before Quirks had redefined the architecture of the world, a quiet, drafty place tucked into a hillside overlooking the charred outskirts of Yokohama. The elderly woman Izuku had pulled from the flash-flooding had insisted he stay, her eyes milky with cataracts but sharp with a kindness that made his chest ache. She had given him a bowl of lukewarm miso and a room with tatami mats that smelled of dried grass and old memories.
Now, Izuku sat in the dark, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning that turned the room a stark, skeletal white.
He looked at his hands. They were scarred, trembling with the residual hum of One For All, a power he currently capped at twelve percent, yet it felt like a mountain he was trying to carry on his back. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the "Golden Light" of All Might flickering out like a dying bulb.
It's because of me, he thought, the words a rhythmic lash against his spirit. If I had been faster. If I had been stronger. If I hadn't been such a hollow vessel.
He felt the vacancy in his mind where Yoshi Abara had lived for weeks. That cold, apathetic presence was gone now, having carved its way out of Izuku's soul to reclaim a body of bone and blood. But the "room" Yoshi had occupied wasn't empty. It was filled with a lingering, oily residue, a shadow that felt like it was composed of every tragedy Izuku had ever witnessed.
When he thought of Yoshi, a surge of hot, jagged hatred rose in his throat. He hated the way Yoshi had used him, the way he had looked through Izuku's eyes and felt the beat of Izuku's heart. He hated the violation of it. But then, as the thunder rolled over the hills, the hatred would dissolve into a bitter, suffocating pity.
He knew Yoshi's story now. He knew about Hana. He knew that Stinger murdered an innocent girl in cold blood.
If it were me, Izuku whispered to the empty room. If someone took Mom... if the world told me my grief didn't matter because a 'Hero' caused it... would I be any different?
He thought of his hero notebooks, the ones filled with meticulously drawn sketches of men like Stinger. He remembered the awe he felt watching Stinger's debut on the news years ago. To find out that the man was a monster, not a "villain," but a hero who had simply rotted from the inside, made Izuku feel as though his entire childhood was a lie. The "Golden Era" wasn't just ending, it was being revealed as a gilded cage built over a charnel house.
He thought of the "Harvest." Shigaraki's leaderboard was turning the world into a game of slaughter. He knew he should go back to UA. He wanted to see Uraraka's smile, to hear Iida's rhythmic chopping of the air, to even hear the familiar, explosive anger of the boy Bakugo or whatever would come from him after that terrible exam they just had.
But he couldn't.
He looked at his forearm, where a faint, obsidian bruise seemed to linger under the skin. He focused, his heart rate spiking, and for a moment, the air in the room grew heavy. A single, thin vine of Blackwhip uncoiled from his palm. It didn't look like a hero's tool. It didn't glow with the reassuring green sparks of One For All. It was matte black, jagged, and it moved with a predatory twitch, as if it were looking for something to throttle.
It was fuelled by his malice. It was the physical manifestation of his anger toward Bakugo, his resentment of Yoshi, and his growing cynicism toward a society that let his mother slip into a coma while heroes fought over points.
"I don't deserve to sit in a classroom," he muttered, his voice cracking. "I don't deserve to be a 'student' while people are being hunted."
He stood up, the tatami creaking beneath him. He moved to the window and slid it open. The rain sprayed across his face, cold and sharp. In the distance, he could see the faint, orange glow of Yokohama still smouldering despite the downpour.
He reached into a satchel and pulled out a mask, his fingers lingering on the fabric. He thought of his mother, Inko, lying in that hospital bed. He hoped she was sleeping peacefully. He hoped she couldn't see what her son was becoming.
I'll do it right, he promised the rain. Just for the people who have nowhere else to turn.