"I have a confession to make," says Kacchan as his rough voice, amplified by the speakers, slams into the crowd like a sledgehammer. "This career… it's been fuckin' tough keepin' up with the Number One, not that I've really been keepin' up…"

The crowd titters as he trails off, drowning out the harsh whispers between journalists and camera crews.

"That isn't the real confession, though." The noise stops. "I… I have had a lot to atone for in my life, and I know, dammit, that it sounds real fuckin' weird coming from me. Even now, after what even I consider a successful career rescuing people and beating up villainous shits, it feels like it wasn't enough. No… I know it wasn't fuckin' enough."

By now, the journalists are even more hyper-focused than before, scribbling rapidly into their notebooks as Kacchan speaks.

"When I was a kid, I thought I was hot shit," he admits, scowling. "I treated a lot of people pretty damn badly… especially our Number One. He and I grew up together, you see." Kacchan breathes in deeply, visibly preparing himself for what he's about to say. "He was so goddamn nice to everyone, and every time he reached out his hand to help someone… I'd burn it. I told myself that it was because he was fuckin' looking down on us… that he thought we needed his shitty-ass help because we were beneath him."

The crowd sucks in a breath of air almost as one as the implications occur to them.

Kacchan opens his mouth again, but can't seem to find the words. After a long pause of deadly, stifling silence, he speaks. "I was wrong." His statement is nearly silent, and the only reason anyone in the auditorium hears it besides him was the microphone held up to his face. "It took me a long damn time to realize that. Too long. By then, I thought it was too late to make up for anything. I'd caused too much fuckin' pain to take it back."

There is a long pause.

"He told me it didn't matter. That he was over it, and to put the past behind us," Kacchan says the last part like he's quoting someone. He snorts derisively. "Years of shitty treatment… He wanted to let it rest, but I wouldn't. I fucking couldn't. So I decided I would become the best damn Hero I could—and that I would save people. I made anti-bullying speeches. Led fucking seminars. I wanted to atone, but I couldn't—I can't. It'll never be enough."

Kacchan looks up from where his eyes had been fixed on the floor in front of him suddenly, eyes alight with purpose and determination. "I can't make up for my stupid fucking actions with better ones, but I can move past it and be a better person!"

He sighs, deflating.

"Make of it what you will, but this is my legacy. The stupid fucking bully who grew up and tried his best to be a hero."

With that, Kacchan turns abruptly and exits the stage area.

Izuku smiles. Kacchan had never had a way with words, but he hadn't done too badly today.

Kacchan leans against the wall next to Izuku, looking exhausted. "How'd I do, nerd?" he asks with an odd expression.

With a start, Izuku realizes Kacchan looks nervous.

Giving him his best reassuring smile, Izuku speaks. "Kacchan, I forgave you a long time ago. What you do now is up to you—it's your legacy, your life. Make of it what you will, but they will remember you for this."

As he walks away, Izuku spares his friend one final glance.

You did well, Kacchan.