"Score!" Toru yelped, pumping a fist as the arcade machine chimed triumphantly.
"Hey—Izuku, this is not fair!" Himiko pouted dramatically, jabbing a finger toward the screen. "She's hogging all the luck. Let's gang up on her!"
Toru laughed, already lining up her next move. "You're just mad I'm winning."
"I'm mad because you're winning invisibly," Himiko shot back. "That's cheating on, like, a cosmic level."
Izuku leaned against the machine beside them, laughing openly as the lights and sounds of the arcade washed over the trio.
"This is your fault," Himiko added, turning on him. "You brought her here."
"I regret nothing," Izuku replied easily.
The machine beeped again. Another high score.
Toru spun toward them, hands on her hips. "Skill issue."
Himiko gasped as she grabbed onto Izuku's arm. "She's learned confidence. This is dangerous."
Izuku shook his head, smiling as he watched them bicker, the noise of the arcade fading into something warm and familiar.
This—no villains, no worlds ending, no expectations—just flashing lights, cheap prizes, and laughter echoing between machines.
Yeah.
This was probably his favourite date yet.
....
LEMON STARTS.
"Sit still," Himiko spoke confidently, pulling at his pants.
"So, Toru-chaaan, what do you think? Up for a double-team?" She continued as the girls were on their knees.
"Yeah," Toru whispered.
"No time for stage fright now," she cooed, her eyes returning to her task. She didn't wait, lowering her head and taking him into her mouth with a practiced, unhurried ease. A low, shuddering sigh escaped him, his hands flexing at his sides.
Toru, spurred into motion by the intimate sight and the soft, wet sound that followed, shifted closer on her knees. The scent of him, of them, was overwhelming. With a hesitant glance at Himiko's rhythmic movements, she leaned in, her own lips finding the sensitive skin of the inner thigh just beside where Himiko worked. She placed a soft, experimental kiss there, then another, her tongue tracing a faint vein.
"Good," Himiko murmured, pulling back for a moment, a slick strand connecting her lips to him. "Now here. Don't be shy." She guided Toru's head with a gentle pressure, not forcing, but directing. "Share."
Toru's heart hammered against her ribs. Closing her eyes, she let instinct take over, parting her lips and taking what Himiko offered. The taste was musky, salty, uniquely him. Himiko returned to her position, and for a second, there was a clumsy bump of noses, a silent negotiation of space in the intimate dark.
Then they found a rhythm. It was a hesitant, then increasingly synchronized dance. Himiko took the shaft with deep, steady pulls, her hands cupping and stroking his balls. Toru, gaining a sliver of her lost confidence, focused on the head, her tongue swirling over the crown, tracing the tip with a curiosity that turned to fervent purpose. Her smaller hands joined Himiko's, their fingers occasionally brushing, tangling as they worked together.
He gasped, a broken sound, his hips giving an involuntary jerk that they both accepted, soothing with their hands and mouths. The duality of sensation was overwhelming—the experienced, demanding pull of Himiko contrasted with Toru's newer, more exploratory fervor. Hot breath and soft lips moved over him from two angles, a confluence of pleasure that left him trembling.
Himiko pulled off again, breathing heavily, her pupils blown wide. She watched Toru work for a moment, a proud, possessive gleam in her eyes.
"See? You're a natural," she breathed, her voice husky. Then she dove back in, not to take over, but to join, her tongue meeting Toru's in a fleeting, salty kiss against his skin before they both renewed their efforts, a double-teamed assault on his senses that left him murmuring incoherent praises, his hands coming down to gently card through their hair, not guiding, but simply feeling the proof of their shared attention.
I'm about to come…" he groaned, the words strained, his hips giving a helpless, shallow thrust.
"Toru, be a good girl and share with me after," Himiko smiled, her voice a darkly sweet whisper against his skin. She pressed Toru forward, a gentle but unmistakable nudge of command.
In that final second, Izuku's control snapped. Not into chaos, but into a focused, possessive surge. His hand shot down, fingers tangling firmly in Toru's invisible hair, holding her in place with a grip that was both tender and absolute.
"Good girl…" he growled, the praise a rough, guttural sound as he emptied himself into her throat, a shudder wracking his entire frame.
For a long moment, he just breathed, the aftershocks trembling through him, his grip in Toru's hair slowly relaxing to a caress.
He watched, chest still heaving, as Toru—obedient, devoted—pulled back. She opened her mouth, a silent, glistening offering visible in the low light, and turned to Himiko.
Without hesitation, Himiko closed the distance. The kiss she gave Toru was deep and strangely tender—a claiming of her own. Toru's lips—still glistening, parted—obeyed the unspoken command. Himiko's tongue, pale and quick, darted out to collect the pearlescent drop that clung to the corner of Toru's mouth. They both swallowed with an audible, pleased sound, cats that got the cream.
When they finally parted, both girls looked up at him, their expressions a mirror of satisfied devotion. Toru's face, now faintly visible from the exertion and flushed with heat, wore a look of dazed bliss. Himiko's grin was sharp, triumphant, and utterly content.
"See?" she murmured, leaning into his space, her breath warm against his jaw. "Every drop. We don't waste a thing."
No words were needed.
"Good girls... Now get on the bed for me," He muttered, his shaft already rising again.
They both obeyed, shedding the last of their clothes in front of him—a synchronized, silent stripping. Toru's invisibility made the act a surreal dance of fabric falling from empty air, pooling on the floor. Himiko's movements were deliberate, feline, her eyes never leaving his as she bared herself.
Soon enough, Toru was on the bed, her invisible form a slight dip in the mattress, her legs parting in a wordless invitation.
"I have a better idea," Himiko smiled, a sharp, wicked thing. She crawled onto the bed and pushed Toru up towards the headboard, positioning her. Then, without ceremony, Himiko's face dove between Toru's legs.
A sharp, gasping moan tore from Toru's throat—muffled almost instantly by the pillow she buried her face in.
Himiko hummed in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against Toru's core, and then she arched her back, sticking her perfect, pale ass out towards Izuku—a blatant, unmissable offering.
The sight was a punch to his gut. Toru, writhing under Himiko's skilled tongue, invisible but for the trembling of the sheets and the sounds she couldn't fully suppress. And Himiko, presented to him, her body a sinuous curve, wet and ready for him, all while she serviced another.
He moved onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress behind Himiko. His hands gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. He was already slick from their earlier activities, but Himiko was dripping, her excitement mingling with Toru's.
He didn't hesitate. He guided himself to her entrance and pushed in with a single, deep, unforgiving stroke, sheathing himself fully in her tight, scorching heat.
Himiko cried out, a ragged, delicious sound, but she didn't stop licking. If anything, her movements became more fervent, her tongue laving and sucking with renewed intensity, as if taking Izuku inside her fueled her service.
Izuku set a punishing pace, each thrust driving Himiko forward, her face pressed deeper against Toru. The bed rocked with their rhythm. Toru's muffled screams became punctuated, hitched sobs of overstimulation and bliss. Himiko was moaning around Toru's flesh, the vibrations driving the invisible girl wild.
He leaned over Himiko's back, his chest to her sweat-slicked skin, his mouth finding her ear. "You like this, don't you?" he growled, his voice rough. "Being my good girl. Making her my good girl."
Himiko could only manage a desperate, affirmative whimper, her body trembling between the dual sensations—Izuku pounding into her from behind, and the taste of Toru's climax building on her tongue.
It was too much for Toru. With a final, choked scream that was barely a sound, her body seized, back arching violently off the bed as she shattered. Himiko drank her in, swallowing every tremor, her own hips pushing back against Izuku's to meet his thrusts.
Feeling Himiko's inner muscles begin to flutter wildly around him, sensing her own peak rushing forward, Izuku wrapped a hand in her hair, not pulling, just holding. Anchoring.
"Come for me," he commanded, his own control fraying at the edges.
That was all it took. Himiko's body clamped down on him like a vise, a silent, shuddering scream tearing through her as her own orgasm ripped her apart.
He stayed buried in her for a long moment, both of them breathing in shattered gasps. Beneath Himiko, Toru was a boneless, trembling heap, completely spent.
Slowly, Izuku pulled out, still painfully, impossibly erect. The sight of him, untouched by fatigue, sent a fresh, dizzying thrill through Himiko even in her exhaustion. She collapsed onto her side, pulling Toru's limp form against her, both of them a tangle of limbs and satisfied exhaustion.
Izuku looked down at them—his. Both of them. Utterly, completely his. The air still thrummed with the energy of their coupling, thick and charged.
A slow, dominant smile touched his lips. The night wasn't over. Not even close.
"Let's try something else," he said, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that brooked no argument. "Toru, lay down on your back. Himiko, on top of her."
The command hung in the air, crisp and clear. There was a brief moment of stunned silence. Then, movement.
Toru, with a soft, overwhelmed sound, shifted weakly onto her back, her invisible form a pale outline against the dark sheets. Himiko's sharp grin returned, fueled by curiosity and a deep, feral loyalty. She didn't question; she obeyed, crawling over Toru and straddling her hips, facing Izuku. Her skin glistened, and she felt Toru's warmth beneath her, the invisible girl's rapid heartbeat pounding against her own thighs.
"Good," Izuku murmured, his gaze burning as he took in the scene: Himiko, proud and waiting atop the pliant, invisible Toru.
He moved forward, kneeling between Toru's spread legs. His hands gripped Himiko's waist, lifting her slightly—not off Toru, but just enough. Then, with deliberate slowness, he guided himself, not into Himiko, but beneath her.
The tip of his shaft pressed against Toru's soaked, sensitive entrance once more. Himiko, understanding dawning, let out a sharp, delighted gasp. She braced her hands on Toru's shoulders, arching her back to give him space.
Izuku pushed forward.
A joint, muffled cry filled the room.
He entered Toru again, in one deep, relentless stroke, but this time, Himiko was pressed tightly between them. Toru was filled to the brim beneath her, and Himiko could feel every inch of Izuku's penetration through Toru's body—the thick pressure, the rhythmic movements, transmitted through their intimate connection.
Toru's hand snaked it's way to Himiko's boobs, her mouth slowly suckling on one.
"Oh, fuck," Himiko breathed, her eyes rolling back for a second. It was an incredibly intimate voyeurism, feeling him claim Toru so intimately while she was sandwiched against them.
Izuku began to move, a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that made the bed creak. Each thrust pushed Himiko up, then pulled her down against Toru. Toru was sobbing openly now, overstimulated and hyper-sensitive, every movement sparking fresh waves of pleasure-pain. Her invisible hands flew up to clutch at Himiko's back, her nails digging in.
"Feel that?" Izuku growled at Himiko, his pace increasing. "Feel how she takes me? She's mine. And you…" he grunted, snapping his hips harder, making them both jolt, "…you're feeling it through her. You're both connected to me. Both mine."
It was a display of possession so profound it bordered on the metaphysical. He wasn't just with one of them; he was dominating them as a single, shared entity. Himiko, overwhelmed by the sensation and the sheer psychology of it, dropped her head to Toru's shoulder, biting down gently to stifle her own moans as she felt Toru's impending climax tremble through the body beneath her.
Izuku felt Toru's internal muscles begin to spasm wildly. He drove into her one last, brutal time, holding himself deep as she screamed into the void, her body convulsing in a silent, shattering release.
He remained there, buried, for several long seconds, his breathing harsh.
Izuku pulled out of Toru's shuddering form, her internal muscles still fluttering weakly around nothing. He didn't give her time to recover. His hands, large and unyielding, gripped Himiko's hips, pulling her off the bed and repositioning her onto her knees, in doggy-style. She went willingly, a feral grin on her face, back already arching in perfect, obscene presentation.
"Arch out," he growled, a hand splaying against the small of her back to emphasize the curve.
Toru, still trembling and breathless from her own climax, moved on instinct. She slid off the bed, her invisible form a whisper of movement beneath Himiko, her face level with the dripping apex of Himiko's thighs.
"Lick."
The single word was a decree.
Toru obeyed. A soft, wet sound filled the room as her invisible tongue swiped a slow, experimental stripe through Himiko's slickness. Himiko gasped, her head dropping forward, a shudder running through her arched spine.
"Good," Izuku muttered, more to himself than to them. He guided himself to Himiko's entrance, now glistening from Toru's attention. He pushed in, not with the brutal force of before, but with a deep, relentless possession that stole the breath from both women.
Himiko moaned, long and low, her hands fisting in the bedsheets. The dual sensation was overwhelming—Izuku filling her from behind, thick and unyielding, and Toru's eager, devoted tongue circling and flicking her clit from below.
Izuku set a steady, grinding rhythm, each thrust pushing Himiko's hips down onto Toru's face. Toru took it, her hands coming up to grip Himiko's thighs, holding her in place, her licking becoming more fervent, more focused, drinking in the taste of Izuku and Himiko mingled together, Her tongue circling Izuku's balls at times.
"F-fuck, Izuku..." Himiko panted, her voice strangled. "You're both so good..."
Izuku's only answer was a grunt, his pace increasing. He could feel everything—the tight clutch of Himiko around him, the wet heat of Toru's mouth against Himiko, the complete surrender of both.
He leaned over Himiko's back, his mouth finding the shell of her ear, his hand moving to Toru's cheek, "You're both mine," he breathed, the words a hot, possessive brand. "Every part. Every sound. Every drop."
Himiko cried out, her body beginning to tense. Beneath her, Toru redoubled her efforts, a desperate, hungry noise escaping her as she felt Himiko's thighs begin to tremble.
"Now," Izuku commanded, his own control snapping.
Himiko shattered with a raw, broken scream, her body convulsing violently. Toru drank her in, swallowing every pulse and tremor, her own neglected body aching with a sympathetic thrill.
Izuku followed, driving home one last time with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside Himiko.
He stayed there, slumped over Himiko's back for a moment, all three of them connected in a chain of sweat-slicked skin, shared breath, and utter completion.
Slowly, he pulled out. Himiko collapsed sideways onto the bed, pulling Toru up with her. They were a tangled, spent heap—one visible, one invisible, both irrevocably his.
Izuku lay down behind them, draping an arm over both their bodies. The room was silent save for their ragged breathing. After a few more rounds, no words were needed.
....
END OF LEMON.
All heroes involved in this are ready and on standby. All Might will be a few kilometres away. We're as ready as we can be," Nezu explained calmly, claws folded atop the table as the projections shifted behind him. "Now—are you certain you can get all of your classmates out before anything occurs?"
Izuku nodded without hesitation.
"My clone possesses all of my abilities," he said. "Same awareness. Same reaction speed. Same judgment."
He met Nezu's gaze evenly.
"If nothing else," Izuku added, "it's the thing I'm most confident in."
Nezu's ears twitched, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"…You say that as if you aren't confident in most things," he remarked.
Izuku exhaled quietly. "This isn't about confidence. It's about margin for error. I won't gamble with their lives."
Nezu studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Very well," he said. "Then we proceed as planned."
He tapped the console, bringing up the forest training camp layout, routes highlighted in overlapping colors.
"Your clone will initiate extraction the moment hostile presence is confirmed," Nezu continued. "No engagement unless absolutely necessary. Delay, misdirect, and evacuate."
"I know," Izuku replied. "I'll keep them from becoming targets."
Nezu leaned back slightly, eyes sharp but approving.
A quiet hum filled the room as systems finalized.
"…Young Midoriya," Nezu said, softer now, "once this begins, events may diverge quickly. Even from what you've seen before."
Izuku nodded. "I'm prepared for that."
Nezu smiled—small, keen, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Then let us see whether fate enjoys being intercepted."
Izuku turned toward the door, already shifting his focus outward.
The pieces were in place.
The board was set.
And when the villains made their move—
They wouldn't be striking a class of students.
They'd be walking into a net.
....
Izuku wasn't smiling as he walked onto the field with his class.
Something was off. The air felt wrong—too still, too expectant.
"That's strange," Aizawa muttered, eyes scanning the treeline. "We were expecting the Wild Wild Pussycats to meet us at the gate."
Before anyone could question it—
Fwoom!
The air split.
Clones of Izuku appeared in rapid succession, each one moving with practiced efficiency. There was no panic, no shouting—just hands on shoulders, firm voices, and decisive motion.
"Alright, listen up," one clone said calmly. "Training exercise adjustment. Stay together."
"Wha—Midoriya?!" Kaminari yelped as he was scooped up.
In seconds, the class was gone—carried, guided, relocated at impossible speed, vanishing down pre-cleared routes deeper into secured territory.
Only the original Izuku remained.
He didn't move.
Didn't chase after them.
He raised a hand to his earpiece, eyes fixed on the forest ahead as his Observation Haki expanded fully, threading through the trees, slipping past leaves, roots, heat signatures—
Too many.
Too wrong.
"The Wild Wild Pussycats have been intercepted," Izuku said evenly. "Villain activity noted."
Static crackled for half a heartbeat.
Then Nezu's voice came through, sharp and focused. "Confirmed. Multiple hostile signatures detected. Proceed with containment protocol."
Aizawa stepped closer, low and tense. "Midoriya. Report."
Izuku didn't look back.
"Unfamiliar bodies and normal villains," he said, "Heavily modified. Coordinated. This isn't a raid—it's an operation."
A presence shifted in the forest.
Several, actually.
Purple mist spilled out between the trees, rolling low across the ground as a tall figure stepped forward from the treeline, posture immaculate even here.
Kurogiri.
"Pro Hero Apex," he said calmly. "And Eraser Head. You've acted… earlier than anticipated."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed instantly. "Where are the Wild Wild Pussycats?"
"Alive," Kurogiri replied without hesitation. "Restrained. Relocated."
Izuku didn't respond. His focus was elsewhere now—on the pressure building in the forest, on the way the air itself felt crowded.
"So this is the point of contact," Izuku said evenly.
Kurogiri inclined his head. "Yes. You were not meant to be present."
Before Izuku could answer—
BOOM.
The sky tore open.
A shockwave rippled through the clearing as a massive figure landed several kilometres away, the impact rolling through the forest like thunder.
"I AM HERE."
All Might's voice crashed over the battlefield like a declaration of war.
In the same instant—
Feathers sliced through the air in controlled arcs as Hawks descended from above, already splitting off toward clusters of hostile signatures.
Fire erupted to the west.
Endeavour landed in a blaze of heat and fury, eyes locking immediately on a blue-flamed figure stepping out from behind the trees.
Endeavour growled at the villains.
Before long, a patchwork villain stepped forward, blue flames sparking between his fingers,
"Hey, Dad," Dabi replied lightly. "Miss me?"
Explosions.
Ice.
Steel.
Wind.
Pro heroes poured into the forest from every direction—top-tier, coordinated, ready. What had been an ambush became a battlefield in seconds.
Kurogiri's mist surged—
And Aizawa was already moving.
"Eyes on me," Eraser Head snapped, scarf whipping out as he lunged straight at Kurogiri, quirk activating instantly. "You're not running interference today."
Portals flickered—then destabilized.
Hawks shot past Izuku in a blur of red, feathers pinning lesser villains to the ground mid-motion.
"Hey kid," Hawks called without slowing, "nice job forcing the Commission to actually commit resources."
Izuku didn't smile.
He raised his hand to his earpiece.
"All units," he said calmly, voice cutting cleanly through the chaos. "Evacuation successful. Class 1-A is clear."
A pause.
Then Nezu's voice, razor-sharp with focus. "Confirmed. Engage and suppress."
The forest erupted.
Nomu emerged in force now—lesser models at first, thrown forward like expendable assets. They were intercepted almost immediately by pro heroes moving with lethal precision.
This wasn't a skirmish.
This was a war field.
Izuku stayed where he was for half a second longer, eyes tracking everything at once—friendlies, hostiles, lines of engagement. The battle was thinning the herd already.
Then he stepped forward.
Not rushing.
Not charging.
Just moving into the storm.
"Let's end this cleanly," he murmured.
Above him, the sky burned.
Around him, legends clashed.
And somewhere deeper in the forest, unseen by him for now, something vast shifted its weight—waiting for the moment when the battlefield would finally make room for it.
The villains had brought everything.
....
In the corner of the battlefield,
Blue fire and hellfire collided again, shockwaves tearing bark from trees and turning the forest floor to glass.
Endeavour staggered half a step, boots digging in as he caught Dabi's fists mid-swing, flames roaring between them. Heat screamed in the air, orange and blue grinding against each other like opposing wills.
"What happened to you…" Endeavour whispered, voice cracking despite himself. "Toya…"
For the first time, Dabi didn't pull away.
He laughed.
Not loud. Not manic.
Bitter.
"You finally say my name," Dabi spat, blue flames flaring harder, eating into Endeavour's fire. "Funny how it takes a battlefield for that."
Endeavour's grip tightened. A lone tear streaked down his face, evaporating almost instantly.
"I searched," he said hoarsely. "I thought you were dead. I—"
"You moved on," Dabi snapped, slamming his forehead forward. Endeavour barely had time to brace before the impact sent both of them skidding apart, carving trenches through the dirt.
Dabi straightened first, flames crawling up his arms like living scars.
"Look at me," he said, spreading his arms wide. "This is what you made. Every lesson. Every look of disappointment. Every time you decided I was a failure."
Endeavour rose slowly, chest heaving.
"I wanted you to be strong," he said. "To surpass me."
Dabi laughed again, harsher this time. "No. You wanted a tool."
He vanished in a burst of blue fire and reappeared at Endeavour's flank, kicking him square in the ribs. Endeavour countered with a blast that tore through the trees behind Dabi, barely missing his head.
"I did surpass you," Dabi continued, circling now, eyes burning brighter than his flames. "Not the way you wanted. But better."
Endeavour's voice dropped. "Better?"
"I burned everything you stood for," Dabi said. "Your legacy. Your image. Your perfect little dream."
Another clash—fire against fire—this one so violent the ground cratered beneath them.
"You don't get to cry now," Dabi snarled, fists blazing as he hammered against Endeavour's guard. "You don't get to act like this hurts you more than it hurt me."
Endeavour grunted, barely holding the line.
"I failed you," he said. "I know that now."
Dabi froze.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then his face twisted—not in relief.
In rage.
"Don't," he hissed. "Don't say that like it fixes anything."
He shoved Endeavour back with a blast that sent him crashing through a line of trees.
"You don't get redemption," Dabi continued, flames spiraling higher, tearing at his own skin. "You don't get forgiveness. All you get is this."
He pointed at himself.
"The monster you made."
Endeavour pushed himself up from the rubble, flames guttering but unbroken.
"…Then I'll stop you," he said, voice steadier now, heavier. "Not as a hero."
He met Dabi's gaze.
"But as your father."
Dabi's smile was sharp, cruel, and almost proud.
"Good," he said. "Because that's the only version of you worth fighting."
They launched at each other again, fire screaming into the sky as the forest shook—
not just from power—
but from everything that had been left unsaid for far too long.
.....
In another corner of the battlefield—
Aizawa moved like a blade.
His scarf snapped forward, binding mist and solidifying it long enough for him to strike, eyes glowing red as he erased Kurogiri's quirk again and again, forcing the villain into imperfect manifestations.
"Stay down," Aizawa growled, boots skidding through churned earth as he pressed the attack.
Kurogiri staggered back—not panicked, not frantic—but measured.
Then he spoke.
"You know…" his voice said, quieter than the chaos around them, "…my name used to be Oboro."
Aizawa froze.
Just for a heartbeat.
It was enough.
A tendril of dark mist lashed out, slamming into his side and throwing him back through the undergrowth. Aizawa rolled, barely catching himself before the next strike, snapping his gaze back up—eyes burning red again.
"Impossible," Aizawa said hoarsely. "My friend died."
Kurogiri straightened, mist settling into a familiar silhouette. For the first time, there was no mockery in his tone.
"Indeed," he replied calmly. "And was reborn as me."
Aizawa's jaw tightened.
"…Oboro Shirakumo died protecting people," he said. "He was reckless. Loud. Annoyingly optimistic."
His scarf tightened around his fists.
"He would never stand on the side of people who hurt others."
Kurogiri tilted his head.
"And yet," he said, "here I am."
Aizawa lunged again, rage sharpening his movements now, each strike heavier than before.
"You're not him," Aizawa snapped. "You're a puppet wearing his corpse."
Kurogiri blocked, mist reforming slower this time under Erasure.
"Perhaps," he admitted. "But his memories remain. His loyalty remains. Simply… redirected."
Aizawa's voice dropped to a whisper between blows.
"Do you remember the clouds?"
Kurogiri hesitated.
A fraction of a second.
"…Yes," he answered. "I do."
That was all Aizawa needed to hear.
His expression hardened—not with denial, but with resolve.
"Then listen carefully," Aizawa said, eyes blazing. "I don't care what they turned you into."
He advanced, unrelenting.
"I'll tear you apart if I have to," he continued. "But I will free you."
Kurogiri's mist flared violently, clashing against Aizawa's advance.
"…You will have to destroy me," Kurogiri replied, voice almost gentle.
Aizawa tightened his scarf and stepped forward anyway.
"Then don't stop me."
Two former friends—one buried, one broken—collided again amid the smoke and ruin.
....
All Might and Izuku stood amid the settling ruin, the last Nomu finally collapsing in on itself.
For a moment—just a moment—there was quiet.
All Might straightened, relief softening his expression as he raised his voice.
"Villains! Stop!" he declared. "Your weapons have been put down. Stand down now, while you still—"
Shnk.
The sound cut through the battlefield like a snapped nerve.
Aizawa's body jolted.
For a split second, he didn't understand why his feet weren't touching the ground—why the world felt tilted.
Then pain bloomed, sharp and absolute.
A black, pulsating blade protruded from his chest.
Not jagged.
Not rushed.
Precise.
Heroes froze.
All Might's smile vanished.
Behind Aizawa stood a tall figure in shadow, a hand resting casually on the hilt of the weapon impaling him. A voice followed—calm, almost disappointed.
"Still lecturing," All For One said mildly. "After all this time."
Aizawa coughed, blood staining his scarf as his eyes struggled to stay open.
"All… Might…" he muttered.
Izuku felt it happen before he saw it.
The world went silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
Something inside him cracked—not explosively, but like a fault line finally giving way.
All For One withdrew the blade in a single smooth motion, throwing Aizawa a distance away.
"What a brilliant quirk...Kurogiri," AFO continued, unconcerned, "remove the excess."
Mist surged—
And then it stopped.
Because Izuku took one step forward.
The ground beneath him fractured.
The air bent.
An invisible pressure detonated outward—not heat, not wind, but will. Raw and overwhelming, the presence slammed into the battlefield like an ocean dropped from the sky.
Villains froze mid-motion.
Then they fell.
One by one.
Some collapsed instantly. Others screamed as consciousness was ripped from them like breath from crushed lungs. Lesser Nomu crumpled as if their strings had been cut.
Trees bowed.
Glass shattered.
Even seasoned pro heroes staggered, forced to brace themselves against something they couldn't see.
Conqueror's Haki.
Awakened.
Unleashed.
All For One's smile faltered for the first time.
"…Oh," he said softly. "That's new."
Izuku didn't look at him.
He was already at Aizawa's side, catching him before he hit the ground, hands steady despite the fury radiating off him in waves.
"Stay with me," Izuku said quietly. Not pleading. Commanding.
All Might stood frozen, staring at the unconscious battlefield—at villains strewn like debris—then at Izuku.
"…Midoriya, be a hero..." he whispered.
All For One took a single step back, shadows curling around him protectively.
"Kurogiri," he said again, sharper this time. "Now."
Mist swallowed what few villains remained standing—and then kept spreading.
Heroes shouted in alarm as portals bloomed beneath their feet, behind their backs, tearing open space without pattern or mercy. Endeavour vanished in a blaze of fire mid-turn. Hawks was ripped sideways through a gate, feathers scattering like blood-red snow. Even All Might was forced back as the ground beneath him warped, the distortion just shy of claiming him.
In seconds, the battlefield was dispersed—heroes scattered across Japan, cut off, isolated.
Only a handful remained.
Izuku.
All Might.
Aizawa, unconscious in Izuku's arms.
And All For One.
The mist thinned.
All For One stood alone now, unhurried, hands clasped behind his back as if this were a private meeting rather than the aftermath of a warzone.
He tilted his head slightly, listening to something only he could hear.
"Garaki," he said calmly, "bring it here."
The forest answered.
Not with sound.
With pressure.
The ground shuddered—once, twice—trees groaning as roots were torn aside. Something massive moved beneath the earth, not tunneling blindly, but adjusting and carving a path as if it instinctively understood the terrain.
Izuku felt it then.
A presence unlike any Nomu he'd faced.
Not mindless.
Not loud.
Focused.
The soil split.
From the rupture rose a towering, serpentine silhouette, its body plated in pale, interlocking armor etched with unfamiliar markings. Its form was wrong—too symmetrical, too deliberate—six limb-like protrusions braced against the earth as it hauled itself free.
Its head lifted.
Not to roar.
But to observe.
Multiple eyes opened across its skull, irises rotating independently, locking onto Izuku in perfect unison.
The air around it shimmered.
All Might took a step forward despite himself. "…What is that?"
Garaki's voice crackled faintly through a hidden speaker, reverent.
"Our magnum opus," he said. "An adaptive Nomu, high-end doesn't even describe it. It learns. It corrects."
All For One's mouth broke into a wide smile,
"It's called... Mahoraga."
(A/N: Mahoraga in MHA lets gooo. Possessing Adaptation, a fused quirk similar to Kurogiri. A peak Nomu.)
"Now," he said pleasantly, lifting a hand in a lazy wave, "don't think of interrupting. Or attempting anything foolish."
He chuckled softly.
"We have the one closest to you… with us."
The mist behind him widened.
Kurogiri's smoke condensed into an image—clear, cruelly precise.
Inko Midoriya.
Bound in chains, suspended in a sterile white room, her face bruised but defiant. She looked up at the camera just as it flickered to life.
Izuku felt something tear inside his chest.
The pressure he'd been radiating didn't explode this time.
It compressed.
Harder.
Sharper.
All For One watched with visible satisfaction.
"Go on," he said lightly, gesturing toward Mahoraga. "Play with it."
The Nomu took a single step forward.
The ground collapsed beneath its weight.
Izuku didn't move.
Didn't shout.
Didn't threaten.
His eyes locked on the image of his mother for one heartbeat longer—
Then he looked at Mahoraga.
"…You're buying time," Izuku said quietly.
All For One's smile widened. "Very good."
Mahoraga's armor plates rotated again, responding to the tone of Izuku's voice alone.
Izuku stepped forward at last, placing himself fully between the creature and everything else.
"Then I'll finish this quickly," he said.
The air screamed as Mahoraga lunged—faster than anything that size should be able to move, its eyes darting around, giving it 360 vision.
And for the first time since the war began, Izuku Midoriya stopped holding anything back.
Not his power.
Not his rage.
Not his will.
Because this was no longer about heroes.
This was about taking back what All For One thought he owned.
...
"Now, All Might…" All For One said softly.
His red eyes narrowed—and the world changed.
Did you ever think a day like this would come?"
The pressure around All Might vanished.
Not weakened.
Gone.
His breath hitched as the familiar strength, the constant roaring presence of One For All, was ripped away in an instant. His body lurched forward, suddenly heavy, suddenly old.
"…So this is it," All Might murmured, forcing himself to remain upright.
All For One smiled, genuinely pleased.
"I told you once," he said, taking a slow step forward, boots crunching against shattered earth. "That your era would end not with thunder… but with inevitability."
All Might clenched his fists, veins standing out even without his power.
"You've always misunderstood one thing," All Might replied, voice steady despite the tremor in his limbs. "Power was never what made me strong."
AFO chuckled. "Ah. The speech." He waved a dismissive hand. "Spare me. Ideals don't stop blades."
His gaze flicked briefly to where Izuku stood locked in combat with Mahoraga—watching, calculating, adapting.
"You raised him well," AFO continued casually. "Too well, perhaps. But even he must choose where to stand."
All Might followed his gaze, then smiled faintly.
"You already lost," he said.
All For One paused.
"…Oh?"
"You taught him fear," All Might continued. "I taught him hope."
AFO's smile thinned, just slightly.
"You taught him to burn himself out," he corrected. "I taught the world to endure."
The forest shook violently as Mahoraga slammed Izuku through a ridge of stone, the shockwave rolling outward like an earthquake. Trees toppled. The sky rippled.
AFO turned back to All Might, eyes gleaming.
"And now," he said quietly, "I'll teach you what it feels like to watch… powerless."
All Might straightened, shoulders squaring despite the weakness gnawing at him.
"If you think," he said, "that taking my quirk makes me helpless…"
He met AFO's gaze head-on.
"…then you never understood me at all."
"We'll see about that when your precious student dies in front of you, with you helpless," AFO spoke, a small amount of glee in his voice.
.....
"Why… why won't it drop?" Izuku snarled through clenched teeth.
Another Atlas strike crashed into Mahoraga's torso, Haki flooding his arm, the impact detonating with a concussive boom that split the ground for dozens of meters.
The Nomu skidded back—
Then caught itself.
Its armor plates shifted with a wet, grinding sound, light along its body flaring once before settling into a new configuration. The fractures Izuku had just created sealed over, denser than before.
"It keeps getting faster…" Izuku breathed, already moving again.
"Stronger…"
Mahoraga moved.
Not with brute force.
With correction.
It ducked the next punch by centimeters, countered with a sweeping strike that Izuku barely blocked, the shockwave sending him hurtling through three layers of forest before he dug his heels in and stopped himself.
Izuku straightened, chest heaving.
Its eyes—too many of them—were locked on him now. Not wild. Not enraged.
Focused.
Garaki's voice crackled faintly, delighted.
"You see it now, don't you? Each successful interaction refines it. Your strength becomes its data."
All For One laughed softly from afar.
Mahoraga lunged again—faster than before. Izuku barely had time to react, Haki flaring as he twisted aside. The Nomu's strike anticipated the dodge anyway, grazing his side and sending a spike of pain through his ribs.
Izuku slid back, boots carving trenches in the earth.
"…It's adapting to my rhythm," he muttered.
Another clash.
Another correction.
Another evolution.
Mahoraga's movements were smoother now. Cleaner. Its blows landed closer. Its timing was sharpening against Izuku's own.
For the first time in a long while—
Izuku felt pressure.
Not from power.
From inevitability.
All For One watched with keen interest.
"Break him," he murmured. "Show him the limit of brute force."
Mahoraga reared back, energy coiling through its frame as it prepared a strike that would have flattened a city block.
Izuku raised his guard—
Then stopped.
His eyes widened slightly.
"…No," he whispered.
He exhaled slowly.
"I get it."
Mahoraga struck.
Izuku didn't meet it head-on.
He vanished—reappearing above it, landing lightly on its armored head, Haki roaring through him not outward, but inward, compressed, focused.
"You're not adapting to me," Izuku said quietly.
He drew his fist back, muscles screaming as he poured everything into it—not just Atlas, not just Haki—
But intent.
"You're adapting to what I've shown you."
The air screamed as Izuku threw the punch.
Not yet released.
Not yet.
But this time—
He was thinking past the strike.
Because to beat something that learned from force—
He would need to show it something new.
And Mahoraga, for the first time, hesitated.
Just a fraction of a second.
Enough.
He dropped.
Sliding beneath the Nomu's center of mass, boots carving molten lines through the earth as he twisted his body, Haki compressing so tightly around his arm that the air screamed in protest.
Every muscle locked.
Every instinct aligned.
Every ounce of power he had ever gained—stacked, focused, refined.
"Don't adapt," Izuku said quietly, voice carrying through the pressure, through the roar.
"End."
His fist drove upward.
100,000% Atlas Strike.
BOOOOOOOM—
The impact didn't just shatter the ground.
It erased it.
A pillar of force detonated skyward, ripping through Mahoraga's head and spine in a blinding column of compressed will and raw strength. The shockwave didn't expand outward—it punched up, tearing the clouds apart like paper.
For a split second, all of mainland Japan saw it.
Clear skies.
Then—
CRACK.
The forest imploded.
Trees were flattened in concentric rings, the earth collapsing inward as if gravity itself had briefly failed. A seismic tremor rippled across the region, rattling cities miles away.
Mahoraga's body froze mid-air.
Its armor plates fractured—not adapting, not shifting—breaking.
The light etched along its body flickered wildly, trying to rewrite, to correct, to understand—
And then they went dark.
The Nomu was launched straight upward, reduced to a collapsing silhouette against the sky before detonating into fragments that burned away before they could even fall back to earth.
Silence followed.
Not stunned silence.
Absolute silence.
Izuku landed in the crater he'd created, knees bending slightly as he absorbed the recoil. The ground beneath him was glassed, cracked, and smoking.
His arm trembled violently.
Energy reserves plummeted.
15%.
He exhaled once—long, controlled—and straightened.
Across the battlefield, All For One stared.
Not smiling.
Garaki's voice crackled, frantic now. "Impossible—its adaptation cycle hadn't completed—!"
All For One raised a hand.
"…Enough," he said softly.
His red eyes narrowed—not with amusement this time, but calculation.
"So that's your answer," he murmured. "Overwhelming finality. Well, here's mine."
Shwing.
All For One's blade passed through All Might's chest in a clean, merciless arc.
The Symbol of Peace fell.
Silence followed—not shock, not screams—just a void where the world seemed to hesitate.
All For One straightened, red eyes gleaming with satisfaction rather than haste. He flexed his fingers once, testing the new weight settling into him.
"Remarkable," he said calmly. "Even now, your body persists."
He turned his gaze to Izuku.
"And now," All For One continued, almost conversational, "this ends properly."
His eyes burned.
A pressure rolled outward—different from before, colder, sharper. Izuku felt it immediately.
Erasure.
All For One smiled wider. "Eraser Head's quirk is quite elegant. With it, even your excesses should—"
He never finished the sentence.
Izuku vanished.
Not with a shockwave.
Not with speed that could be tracked.
He was simply there.
In front of All For One.
Close enough that the villain could see his eyes—calm, furious, utterly unafraid.
And then—
THUD.
Izuku's fist drove forward.
No flourish.
No wasted motion.
It punched straight through All For One's torso.
The world stopped.
All For One looked down slowly, disbelief creeping into his expression as he stared at the impossible gap where his chest should have been intact.
"…What?" he breathed.
Izuku didn't pull his arm out yet.
"You assumed," Izuku said quietly, voice steady despite the storm boiling inside him, "that I was like him."
All For One's eyes flicked up, mind racing.
"…No quirk suppression?" he muttered. "No destabilization…?"
Izuku leaned in, close enough for only him to hear.
"I'm not bound by your rules."
He ripped his arm free.
All For One staggered back, clutching the wound, shadows surging to compensate as stolen quirks scrambled to stabilize his body.
"…So that's it," AFO whispered, half awed, half furious. "You aren't the next holder."
He laughed, strained but genuine. "You're something else entirely."
Izuku tilted his head.
For the first time since the battle began—
He smiled.
Not kind.
Not heroic.
Just certain.
"Goodbye," Izuku said softly.
A beat.
"Demon King."
He stepped forward.
There was no buildup.
No declaration.
No mercy.
BOOM.
Izuku's fist connected.
The force didn't explode outward this time—it collapsed inward, a perfectly contained annihilation. The air imploded, shockwaves folding back on themselves as All For One's head was erased in an instant, gone before sound could even catch up.
The body stood for half a second longer.
Then it fell.
Silence crashed down over the battlefield.
No laughter.
No mist.
No voice lingering in the air.
[Congratulations on winning the training camp incident against a host of enemies. You have gained 1x Platinum Ticket, 1x Legendary ticket, 1x Diamond ticket.]
[The user has gained:
* [Gene Refinement]
|Epic Ability|
Allows you to alter and improve genetic structures, reinforcing, cutting and even overhauling them. And by proxy improving and altering the body and even the abilities of the target as long as it's based on their biology and genetics.
* [Grandmaster Biology]
|Mythical Skill|
Your comprehension in the field of Biology, the study of life is beyond any mortal should have. You instinctively understand the biology of organisms to the point where with a simple scan you can point out their genetic blueprint and know how to alter biology, DNA and genetics to your own ends. You will need time and study to properly digest the sheer amount of information this skill provides, at this level, the amount of knowledge stops becoming knowledge and simply comprehension and instinct toward the world around you instead.
* [Law of Regression]
|Legendary Ability|
Elden Ring - Allows the user to regress causality, turning something into its original form or what it's meant to be and dispelling all negative status effects and effects in the process. The more a target regresses, the more energy is expended.]
[Congratulations, you have gained another active ability slot! Current count: 6.]
Izuku began to laugh.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't manic.
Just a low hum that escaped his chest, half relief, half disbelief.
"So not today…" he murmured, breath shaking. "No one has to die today…"
A hand settled on his shoulder.
Firm. Familiar.
"Izuku," a soft voice said quietly, "you did your best."
Izuku turned.
Himiko stood there, face streaked with dirt and blood, eyes burning with something that wasn't anger anymore.
"Himiko," Izuku said, smiling through wet eyes, "don't worry. I can bring them all back."
she stiffened.
"…What do you mean?"
Izuku gestured around them—at the shattered forest, the fallen heroes, the still form of All Might.
"I can reverse it all," he said simply. "Bring both our senseis back. Every hero who fell."
She stared at him like he'd just spoken a foreign language.
"That's—" her voice cracked. "Izuku, that's playing god."
Izuku didn't look away.
He nodded.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
"You think I don't know that?" he said softly. "You think I don't feel it?"
He laughed again—quiet, hollow.
"But I don't care anymore."
The air around him shifted.
Not violently.
Decisively.
"There are laws of time," Izuku continued, voice growing steadier with every word. "And as of right now?"
His eyes lifted, luminous with something far older than heroism.
"I don't see anyone enforcing them."
She swallowed.
Izuku raised his hand.
"So," he finished, calm as a verdict, "for today, at least, the laws of time are mine to command."
The world seemed to lean toward him.
"And they will obey me."
[Active Ability: Law of Regression]
The air folded.
Cracks in the earth began to seal, stone remembering what it used to be. Fire scars faded. Splintered trees straightened, bark knitting together as sap flowed once more.
Blood reversed its course.
Breath returned.
All Might's chest rose.
Aizawa gasped.
Across the battlefield, fallen heroes stirred as causality itself rewound—not violently, not chaotically, but with terrifying precision.
Izuku stood at the center of it all, one hand still outstretched, the other wrapped tightly around Himiko.
She didn't say a word.
She didn't need to.
Her arms were around his waist, grounding him, feeling the way his body still trembled—not from exhaustion, but from what he'd just decided.
Around them, the world came back online.
Aizawa coughed sharply, one hand flying to his chest as he staggered a step, eyes wide as they took in the unbroken forest, the standing heroes, the absence where pain should have been.
"What the hell…" he muttered hoarsely. "I— I was—"
He stopped.
His gaze snapped to Izuku.
To the faint distortion still lingering around him, like reality hadn't fully settled yet.
All Might stood up abruptly, breath coming hard. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling solid muscle where there should've been ruin. His eyes widened—then narrowed with clarity that only experience could bring.
He remembered.
Everything.
He and Aizawa moved together, instinctively, stopping a few paces in front of Izuku.
"What happened, Apex?" Aizawa asked, voice low but urgent. "I remember it so clearly. I was about to die. His hand was around my throat…"
His gaze flicked past Izuku.
To the body.
All For One lay motionless in the distance, headless. No mist. No regeneration. No contingency.
Dead.
"…And now he's there," All Might finished quietly. "Dead."
The word hung in the air like a verdict.
Izuku didn't let go of Himiko.
"He's not coming back," Izuku said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. "Not ever."
Aizawa's eyes hardened. "You did this."
"Yes," Izuku replied simply.
No deflection.
No justification.
Just truth.
All Might studied him—really studied him—and for the first time since meeting the boy years ago, he didn't see a successor.
He saw an equal standing at a crossroads.
"…You reversed it," All Might said slowly. "Time. Causality."
Izuku nodded once. "Everyone here was meant to live. Their deaths were wrong."
Himiko tightened her grip just slightly, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone—but she didn't stop him.
Aizawa exhaled, rubbing his face. "You realize what you've done, right?"
"Yes," Izuku said again. "Completely."
All Might's voice softened. "And you chose it anyway."
Izuku finally looked up at them.
"I won't pretend this wasn't slightly selfish," he said. "I won't ask you to approve. But I won't apologize either. If a hero can, he will."
Silence stretched.
Then All Might took a step forward—and stopped.
Not in fear.
In respect.
"…You saved us," he said. "And you ended him."
His shoulders sagged slightly. "The world will never be the same."
Izuku met his gaze, eyes steady.
"I know."
Aizawa looked between them, then at Himiko, then back at Izuku.
"…We need to secure the area," he said finally. "And we're going to have conversations no one's ready for."
Izuku nodded. "I'll answer them."
Himiko leaned her forehead against his back and finally spoke, voice quiet but firm.
"He didn't hesitate," she said. "Not when it mattered."
No one argued.
All Might closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, resolve settling in.
"Then this isn't the end," he said. "It's the aftermath."
Izuku exhaled slowly, lowering his hand at last. The last traces of warped causality faded from the air.
The world held.
All For One was dead.
And standing in the ruins of his reign was a boy who had rewritten fate—and would now have to live with it.
"I'll be back," Izuku said quietly, certainty replacing the tremor in his voice. "I need to go find my mother."
No one stopped him.
They couldn't.
Ten figures split from him in perfect unison—clones peeling away like shards of will made flesh. Burden Breaker flared across each of them as they launched skyward, streaking across Japan in diverging arcs, senses stretched, Observation threading through cities, underground complexes, forgotten places.
Izuku himself vanished.
.....
"So there you are," Izuku noted calmly.
The words echoed in sterile white.
The laboratory was vast and wrong—too clean, too quiet. Rows of tanks lined the walls, some shattered, others still glowing faintly with dormant life-support systems. Monitors flickered, feeds cycling through genetic data, quirk schematics, failed experiments.
Chains hung from the ceiling.
And at the center of it all—
Inko Midoriya.
She looked thinner. Bruised. Exhausted.
But alive.
Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice.
"…Izuku?" she whispered, disbelief cracking through the word.
In a blink, he was there.
The chains disintegrated at a touch, metal regressing to inert slag as Izuku caught her before her knees could give out.
"I've got you," he said softly, arms firm, unshaking. "You're safe now."
She clutched at him, fingers digging into his suit as if afraid he'd vanish.
"I knew," she breathed. "I knew you'd come."
Izuku closed his eyes for just a second.
Behind them, slow, deliberate clapping echoed through the lab.
"Well, well," a voice rasped. "Family reunions always make my skin crawl."
Dr. Garaki stepped out from behind a bank of monitors, lab coat pristine, eyes bright with manic curiosity rather than fear.
"So this is the boy," he continued, adjusting his glasses. "The variable that ruined everything."
Izuku didn't turn around.
"Mom," he said gently, "close your eyes."
She hesitated.
Then trusted him.
Garaki chuckled. "You know, you could have been perfect. With my guidance. With time."
Izuku finally looked at him.
And Garaki faltered.
There was no rage in Izuku's expression.
No hatred.
Just finality.
"You hurt people to see what happens," Izuku said. "You don't create. You consume."
Garaki sneered. "Spare me the morality. You just rewrote causality itself. You're no better than—"
"I'm worse," Izuku replied calmly. "Because I understand what I'm doing."
He raised a hand.
Garaki's body froze mid-step.
"You stole lives," Izuku continued. "Broke them down to components. Treated biology like clay."
His eyes glowed faintly—not power, but comprehension.
"Let me show you the difference between knowledge and mastery."
[Active Ability: Gene Refinement, Ace of All Trades.]
Garaki screamed as his body unraveled.
Not violently.
Precisely.
Genes misaligned. Regeneration failed to trigger. Every enhancement he'd grafted onto himself was stripped away, regressed, overwritten—leaving behind nothing but a frail, mortal shell collapsing to the floor.
Izuku lowered his hand.
Garaki died with a gasp, eyes wide with terror.
Looking at the Nomu's in pods around him, he waved his hand and regressed all of them back to their human form.
His gaze fell on the tank at the far end of the room,
'Even you get a second chance...'
A white-haired teen began regressing until he was but a babe inside the pod.
He turned back to his mother, lifting her carefully into his arms.
"It's over," he said softly. "I promise."
As he walked toward the exit, alarms finally began to blare, systems collapsing in on themselves as clones reported in—locations cleared, false trails erased, the last remnants of the old regime burning away.
The lab lights flickered.
Then went out.
And Izuku stepped back into the world—his mother safe in his arms, the past finally buried, and the future wide open.
.....
Silence settled over the meeting room.
Not the awkward kind.
The wary kind.
Hawks leaned back in his chair, wings twitching once before settling. "I'm just saying it out loud," he continued, tone casual but eyes sharp. "We're talking about a kid who killed All For One, erased the strongest Nomu from existence, bent time, and walked away. If that isn't a category all its own, I don't know what is."
The President of the HPSC folded his hands. "Power like that doesn't get a free pass because it hasn't gone wrong yet. Deterrence exists for a reason."
Nezu's ears flicked.
"Deterrence assumes a capacity to enforce consequences," he said mildly. "Which, in this case, we lack entirely."
The president frowned. "You're suggesting we do nothing."
"I'm suggesting," Nezu replied, eyes gleaming behind his glasses, "that pretending we have leverage would be far more dangerous than admitting we don't."
Hawks exhaled through his nose. "He's not hostile," he said. "But he's not contained either. That puts him in a weird spot."
All Might, seated at the far end of the table, finally spoke again. His voice was calm, but carried weight that still made the room listen.
"He didn't hesitate to save people," he said. "Not once. Even when it cost him. Even when it scared us."
The president's jaw tightened. "And what happens if that changes?"
All Might met his gaze evenly. "Then we'll have failed him first."
That landed harder than anyone expected.
Nezu nodded.
"Izuku Midoriya doesn't need permission," he said. "He doesn't need oversight. What he needs is trust—and a reason to keep caring about this world after he leaves it."
Madam President tilted her head. "So what, we let him go? Smile, wave, and hope for the best?"
Nezu smiled faintly. "No. We acknowledge reality."
The president scoffed. "Which is?"
"That the most dangerous being on this planet," Nezu said calmly, "has chosen—repeatedly—not to be our enemy."
The room went quiet again.
Finally, Hawks chuckled under his breath. "Man," he muttered, "the world's getting weird."
All Might allowed himself a small, tired smile.
"It always was," he said. "We just didn't have to face it until now."
Nezu stood, signalling the end of the meeting. "We don't cage beings like that," he said lightly. "We hope they remember why they once wanted to protect us."
....
"Thanks for vouching for me," Izuku said calmly as the restraint cuffs disengaged with a soft click and slid off his wrists.
Nezu let out a long, resigned sigh. "Of course you heard everything."
Izuku smiled, easy and unbothered.
"Spatial mapping," he said lightly. "I was just reading your lips."
Hawks snorted. "That's… somehow worse."
All Might rubbed the back of his neck. "Young Midoriya, you didn't have to listen in on a closed-door meeting."
"I didn't have to," Izuku replied. "I wanted to know what kind of world I'm leaving behind."
The room stilled at that.
Nezu studied him carefully. "And?"
Izuku met his gaze. No bravado. No challenge. Just clarity.
"It's scared," he said. "Reasonably so."
The HPSC president bristled. "You make it sound like we're wrong for being cautious."
"You're not wrong," Izuku answered immediately. "You're just… irrelevant to the decision."
Silence.
Hawks whistled under his breath. "Kid's got a way with words."
Nezu chuckled quietly. "That he does."
Izuku rolled his shoulders once, the air around him settling as if reality itself relaxed when he did.
"I'm not here to threaten you," he continued. "I'm not here to reassure you either. I'll protect this world while I'm in it. When I leave, I'll still keep an eye on it. That's the best deal you're going to get."
All Might stepped forward, voice steady. "And that's more than enough."
Izuku glanced at him, something softer crossing his expression. "You should rest. You've earned it."
All Might smiled, proud and a little sad. "You always were ahead of me."
Izuku shook his head. "No. I just went further."
Nezu tapped his cane against the floor once. "Then we'll consider this matter… concluded."
Izuku nodded. "Good."
He turned toward the exit, then paused.
"Oh," he added over his shoulder, grin returning, "if anyone here ever decides to test containment protocols on me—"
The lights flickered. Just once.
"—don't."
Hawks raised both hands. "Message received."
Izuku stepped out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Nezu sighed again—this time, with something like fond exasperation.
"…Well," he said, "history just walked out of the building."
All Might looked at the door, smiling faintly.
"And the future," he said.
....
Back in his home, the familiar warmth of it wrapping around him like it always had, Izuku stood with Himiko and Toru pressed close on either side of him.
They hugged his mother together.
Inko held on tightly, arms trembling just a little, as if she already sensed what was coming.
"Mom…" Izuku said softly.
He pulled back just enough to look at her properly.
"I'm leaving."
The words settled into the room, quiet but heavy.
Inko didn't gasp. She didn't cry out. Her eyes searched his face instead, as if confirming something she'd been slowly preparing herself to hear.
"…Leaving where?" she asked gently.
Izuku smiled, small and honest. "Far. Other worlds. Somewhere I need to go."
Her lips pressed together. She reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint scar there like she'd done since he was little.
"I figured," she whispered. "You've had that look lately. The one you get when you're about to do something impossible."
Himiko leaned forward, squeezing Inko's hand. "I'll take care of him," she said, earnest beneath her usual cheer. "I promise."
"And I won't let him forget to eat," Toru added quickly. "Or sleep. Or… you know, be human."
That earned a soft laugh from Inko, even as her eyes glistened.
She looked back at Izuku. "You're not running away, are you?"
"No," Izuku said immediately. "I'm choosing where I can help the most."
She nodded slowly. "…That sounds like you."
Inko pulled him into another hug, tighter than before.
"I don't care how strong you are," she murmured into his shoulder. "You're still my son. You come back. You hear me?"
Izuku hugged her back just as tightly.
"I will," he said without hesitation. "I promise. I'll visit. As often as I can."
She leaned back, wiping at her eyes, then smiled—brave, proud, aching.
"Then go," she said. "Do what only you can do."
Izuku nodded,
"But don't worry," he added gently, "I'll still be here. In a way."
Pop.
A second Izuku appeared beside him, identical down to the posture and expression. He gave a small, familiar wave.
Inko froze.
"…Izuku?" she whispered, eyes darting between them.
"It's still me," Izuku explained calmly. "We work like a hivemind. Same thoughts, same feelings. I just split my focus between my real body… and my energy, which makes up the clone."
The clone stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Hi, Mom."
Inko's hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh," she breathed, voice breaking. "…oh, that's not fair."
She stepped forward and reached out—hesitant at first—then grabbed the clone's shoulders, squeezing as if to make sure he was real.
"…You feel warm," she muttered, half-laughing through tears.
"Of course I do," the clone said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Inko pulled him into a hug—then pulled the other Izuku in too, arms wrapping around both of them at once, as if daring the universe to take more than it already had.
"You're unbelievable," she whispered.
Himiko smiled quietly at the sight, eyes a little wet, while Toru sniffed and wiped at her face even though no one could see it.
Izuku rested his chin lightly atop his mother's head.
"I'll watch over you," he said. "From here. From everywhere."
Inko finally pulled back, taking a steadying breath.
"…Then I suppose," she said, forcing a smile, "That makes everything okay..."
Izuku nodded.
...
Nezu listened quietly as Izuku placed the small, heart-shaped herb on the desk between them.
"This is called the heart-shaped herb," Izuku explained calmly. "It boosts physicality. Dramatically. It'll help the students here—future heroes especially. I'm sure you'll come up with a genius way to farm it."
Nezu stared at the herb for a long moment.
Then he sighed softly.
"You're already gone, aren't you?"
Izuku didn't deny it. He nodded.
"I figured," Nezu said, ears twitching. "Others might not notice. But your attention… it's split. Elsewhere and here, simultaneously."
Izuku smiled apologetically. "I'm not leaving truly, I'll still be here in this form."
Nezu's eyes softened. "You've already done more than anyone had the right to ask."
He slid the herb into a secure container. "Go, then. This world will… adapt."
Izuku inclined his head. "That's what it does best."
.....
Aizawa was halfway through grading reports when his vision burned.
He hissed, gripping the desk as something deep behind his eyes rewrote itself—optic nerves reforged, perception sharpened beyond human limits. The world snapped into impossible clarity.
"…What the hell," he muttered, he didn't feel the need to blink anymore.
On his desk lay a folded note he was certain hadn't been there before.
Your eyes were always strong.
Now they won't fail you when it matters.
– I
Aizawa stared at it for a long time.
"…Idiot," he said quietly—but there was no heat in it. He got up from his desk to go and make coffee.
A man lay asleep on the couch, his bright, colourful hair messy, his expression peaceful.
Aizawa paused mid-step, a strange tightness in his chest he couldn't explain.
Oboro Shirakumo breathed steadily, asleep on Aizawa's sofa.
On the table nearby sat a single note.
You deserved a life.
Live it loudly.
....
All Might stood alone on a rooftop, the wind tugging at his coat.
He felt it before he understood it—strength settling into his frame, not overwhelming, not borrowed, but his. A power reminiscent of his prime, gentler, steadier, enduring.
"…Young Midoriya," he murmured, smiling faintly.
A second note rested in his hand.
You don't need to carry the whole world anymore.
Just stand tall. I've tailored it to be similar to your prime.
All Might laughed quietly, wiping at his eyes. "You always did go too far."
.....
Momo Yaoyorozu stood in the UA courtyard as the sun dipped low.
"You've left," she said softly.
"Yes," Izuku replied. His clone stood beside her, familiar, grounding.
"And yet, still staying," she added, glancing at the clone.
"Yes," he said again.
She smiled—sad, but resolute. "Then I'll finish it, together with you."
Izuku nodded. "I knew you would."
She straightened her shoulders. "Don't let me fall behind."
He chuckled. "I won't."
.....
And then—
In another world.
Izuku stood beneath an alien sky, soft pastel clouds drifting lazily overhead. A group of small aquatic creatures danced around Toru and Himiko, blowing bubbles into the air around them.
Laughter echoed around him.
Izuku smiled.
Faint.
Content.
"…Alright," he said softly as his gaze trailed over the sky, "I guess that's The End Of... My Hero Academia."