Interlude: The Pursuit of Heroism

Izuku Midoriya, Hero Student, 1-A Seat #18

I remember how it all began, I was born in a world that has been divided into two kinds of people: those with quirks, and those without. I fell into the latter category—an anomaly in a society where supernatural abilities were as common as different hair colors. Despite being born quirkless, I've always held onto the dream of becoming a hero that could stand shoulder to shoulder with All Might, the greatest of them all.

With that dream held in an iron grip I ignored the snide comments of my classmates and former friends through the years. Spending every waking moment dreaming, and researching. I barely held my spot in the upper quarter of the class rankings, spending more time looking up hero videos then studying.

That day was another one of those days where I would hang out at a local cafe organizing my week's notes into my notebooks.

I shuffled through my notes, each page filled with meticulous observations of heroes in action, their strategies, and their quirks. The sketches of All Might, with his emblematic grin and towering physique, dominated the pages. It wasn't just admiration; it was a blueprint for the impossible—a quirkless boy's guide to heroism. My guide.

"Midoriya, daydreaming again?" Katsuki's sneer brought me back to reality. Sparks danced around his palms, a volatile display of his explosive power.

"Ah, no, Kacchan! Just... studying!" My voice faltered under his glare. We had grown up together, but when I saw someone to look up to, he only saw weakness, a strain on our relationship.

"Studying how to be more pathetic?" He scoffed, ready to light the fuse on another tormenting tirade. Despite his harsh words I know he didn't really mean it. I had done enough research on quirks back when I was only a child to understand how the body is influenced by such things. It's proven to me everyday when Bakugo explodes and acts harsh while avoiding injuries and constantly moves to burn off steam.

Fate has a way of tilting the scales when you least expect it however…

There was a crash behind him and I noticed something glinting-

"Look out!" I shouted, my feet moving before my brain could catch up. A petty thief had lunged at Kacchan, knife glinting in the sunlight. Instinct took over, and somehow, I managed to shove Kacchan aside, taking the full brunt of the assailant's momentum- somehow not getting stabbed.

"Wha—?" Kacchan staggered, eyes wide, not with gratitude, but shock.

"Hey, let go of me, you little twerp!" The robber tried to wriggle free, but I clung on, feeling a strength I didn't know I possessed.

"Help! Somebody stop him!" My voice echoed in the narrow cafe.

And then, like a comet crashing into the mundane, he appeared— All Might, the cafe doors open and framing his figure. With a single bound, he was beside us, the wind from his landing sending papers flying from my table. His presence was electric, an aura of righteousness that made even the robber cower.

"Good work, young man," All Might boomed, effortlessly apprehending the criminal. "Your actions today were truly heroic."

"Me? Heroic?" I stammered, staring up at him in awe. My heart thundered against my ribs, a mix of adrenaline and reverence.

"Indeed," he said, his iconic smile never waning. "It's not the quirk that makes the hero, but the heart. And you, young Izuku, have shown great bravery."

"Thank you, All Might..." My words trailed off, the gravity of his praise sinking in. All Might had noticed me—had seen something worth acknowledging.

"Remember this moment, young man. It takes more than just power to be a true hero." With a gentle pat on my shoulder, he turned to address the gathering crowd, assuming the role of their protector once more. Kaachan frozen his eyes wide and shocked at everything he was forced to witness in the past minute.

As I collected my scattered notes, my fingers trembling with excitement, I felt a shift within me—a spark that whispered of untapped potential. Maybe, just maybe, there was a path for heroics for me after all.

My days passed after that in a blur before the single most defining moment of my life arrived.

The moment when All Might, the paragon of heroism, stood before me with an offer that defied the very laws of possibility, I found myself grappling with a reality that seemed as distant as the stars. His eyes, two beacons of resolve, bore into mine as he spoke words that would irrevocably alter the trajectory of my life.

"Midoriya, I see in you a heart that surpasses the need for any quirk," All Might said, his voice a deep timbre that resonated with conviction. "I am entrusting you with my power, One For All. You will be the new symbol of peace."

I could scarcely breathe, let alone form coherent thoughts. The weight of his statement pressed upon me, heavy with expectation and honor. My hands shook—not from fear, but from the overwhelming sense of purpose that infused my veins with an unfamiliar courage.

"Are you serious? Me... take on your legacy?" I managed, the question emerging as a hoarse whisper.

"Absolutely," he replied, his iconic grin spreading across his face. "Your bravery has proven that you're worthy. Now, all I need is you to accept, and we will begin your training."

And so, under his tutelage, I grew stronger, each day pushing past the limits I once thought unbreakable. The responsibility of carrying One For All was daunting, yet invigorating. As I entered the gates of U.A., the sense of embarking on a grand journey—my journey—filled me with determination.

The friendships formed quickly within those hallowed halls, bonds forged in the fires of shared dreams and aspirations. Ochaco's buoyant enthusiasm had me smiling, Tsuyu's keen insights kept us grounded, and Shoto's quiet intensity inspired a silent awe in everyone. But it was Tanya Yamada, with her piercing gaze and commanding voice, who seized the reins of Class 1-A without contest.

The day we all voted on class president's she took control of the class and organized everyone. With that show of leadership it wasn't even a contest on who was selected as class president… yet somehow I tied with her.

I tried to brush it off- give the class presidency to someone more deserving like Ida, but… the jarring blare of the intruder alarm. Panic gripped the class, a cacophony of shouts and scrambling chairs filling the space. My body froze, indecision rooting me to the spot. Then, amidst the chaos, Tanya's voice sliced through the turmoil like a knife through silk.

"We need to make a bigger exit!" What does- "You need to break open the wall!"

Without thinking, I pushed my way through the crowd. There was something about her—an air of authority that demanded respect. Before I knew it my fist collided with the concrete barrier as One For All surged through me. The impact reverberated up my arm, a sharp pain fracturing the bone. A sickening crack echoed in the room, followed by a stunned silence.

As we all gathered outside, "Midoriya, will be your president," she declared, her voice leaving no room for argument. Though taken aback, I felt an odd compulsion to agree.

"Uh, sure, I guess..." I stammered, still unsure how I had been volunteered for this role.

"Excellent decision, Midoriya," Tanya responded crisply, already moving on to the next agenda item- looking for Aoyama.

As the dust settled, I feared the worst. Surely such destruction would not go unpunished, but whatever happened I deserved. Standing before Principal Nezu, my heart raced with anxiety. I tried to get a word in, take the blame for what happened, but Tanya interrupted me.

Commanded me to be quiet as she diffused the situation.

She spoke with the principal with such eloquence and tact and we were dismissed with little more than a warning.

"Thank you, Tanya," I whispered as we left the office, genuinely grateful for her intervention. I don't know what would have happened there if I took the blame and nothing else… I feel I would have failed whatever test the principal gave to the girl.

"Stay alert, Midoriya. We can't afford mistakes," she replied, her tone firm but not unkind.

In the aftermath, I found myself reflecting on her strength and intellect. She was more than just a class president; she was a leader—one who could command with a word and think strategically under pressure. I resolved then to heed her advice, to learn from her example. Perhaps, with her guidance, I could become the hero I dreamed of being.

The sun was dipping below the horizon as I flipped open my notebook, preparing to take minutes for the class president meeting. Tanya Yamada, her sharp eyes scanning the room like a hawk, nodded at me to begin.

"First item on the agenda," she announced crisply, her voice slicing through the air with authority, "is the review of our training module effectiveness."

As I scribbled down her words, she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for my ears. "Midoriya, you need to speak up more. Assertiveness is key in heroics."

I nodded, my cheeks warming slightly. Interaction with girls wasn't exactly my forte, but Tanya's presence had a strange effect on me. Under her scrutiny and guidance, I found myself wanting to rise to her expectations.

"Right, I'll try," I murmured, barely audible. It was one thing to agree, another entirely to act upon it.

"Good. And watch your posture—heroes don't slouch." Her tone brooked no argument.

In the following weeks, under Tanya's relentless tutelage, something within me shifted. My voice grew stronger when I answered questions in class, my shoulders squared as I walked the halls. Even my interactions with Ochaco and Tsuyu felt less strained. The confidence Tanya instilled bled into every facet of my life.

"See, Midoriya? What did I tell you?" Tanya would say with a smirk, noticing my small victories.

"Thanks to you," I'd reply, gratitude lacing my words.

"Heroes help each other, Midoriya." Her smirk softened, just a fraction, before she marched on to the next task.

Her presence in class wasn't just felt by myself. Every day she would give encouragement- or stomp out injustice. In conversations she advocated for fairness- her few words always instilling a presence and command that couldn't be ignored. The way her throat would glow a fierce red, as if she was about to breath fire on those who refused to ignore her earned her the nickname of "Dragon" by a few of the boys of the class.

The childish nickname stuck despite his attempts to put it down.

Then came the day our class was returning from the USJ. I was ready to prove myself, and I felt I did great during the rescue training! I didn't even break any bones today!

Then the robotic driver shut down on the way back. I cautiously made my way to the driver's seat, searching for a reset button. Aizawa stood up beside me and peered around outside.

"Something doesn't feel right."

He forcefully pried open the doors and stepped out onto the empty street.

I looked outside, seeing a man with teal hair and a half mask- and a t-shirt and jeans? He must have only had time to put on half of his costume before he was directed to the scene. The cloak of hands on his back was a little unsettling, but there are scarier looking heroes out there…

Tanya asked me, "Who's that?"

I could only shrug, "Some low ranking hero?"

I turned back outside and noticed a Smoke looking figure next to the teal man- he pointed a wispy finger towards Aizawa, and a black pool appeared underneath him. Aizawa dodged jumping away and the man pointed at the bus,

The bus shuddered as the back of the bus started to fall backwards-teleportation-disintegration-get out!

I grabbed Tanya- she was looking backwards didn't know the danger- Shoved her out of the open door leaping out with her.

I looked around the top of the bus disappearing as the whole vehicle fell down into the pool of black mist-

The Mist followed along the ground towards us- I pulled Tanya with me dodging the mist that trailed after us.

"That's enough. Save your energy for All Might."

The rest of the encounter was a blur…

Aizawa told us to run, but what hero would abandon someone in need? With great power comes the responsibility to help. I had the greatest power now. It's my duty.

I dashed towards the goons that they sent to fight Aizawa. With a broken pinky and a great smash I took one down.

Tanya rushed to assist us. Then the man sent a larger man, Nomu. Aizawa once again tried to get us to run away. We ignored him of course.

Then Nomu appeared. The heavily brushed, skin almost purple in appearance, and hulking frame larger than that of All Might. With a roar that froze me it leaped towards me.

Aizawa pushed me out of the way, the punch of the Nomu sending him skidding across the ground…

My mind blanked as the bone shaking roar once again echoed in the street.

The movement of one of the previous villains caught my attention, shaking myself from my stupor. I rushed him before he could interfere in Aizawa fighting the Nomu. A Broken ring finger and I smashed the man away from us all.

I rubbed out the pain from my wrist- I looked around trying to locate the other villains when Tanya grabbed my shoulder- her voice steady as she tried to get me to leave, but "We can't just leave-" "Yes, we can! We need-"

A chilling cry of pain followed by the familiar sound of bone crunching. Aizawa!

I looked to the Nomu- the beast man standing on the bleeding body of Aizawa-

"HAVE NO FEAR! FOR I AM HERE!"

Hope filled me- If anyone can help us, it's All Might!

Then I noticed his outfit- the same one he was wearing for the last three hours.

"Three Hours." All Might's time limit in hero form is approximately three hours. A result of the injuries he sustained during his battle with an unnamed villain. He showed me the injury on the day I asked why he chose me…

Even from here I could see the steam raising from his form- ready to fall at any moment.

"Izuku!" I looked over and noticed Tanya trying to get my attention while pulling out bandages, over the form of Aizawa.

The most important part of being a hero is saving others, not fighting.

I shook with every blow I heard behind me as we worked on Aizawa. At any moment, All Might's body will give up- I need to help him! This is why he gave me One For All!

I didn't think I'd find myself in a situation like this so soon. The metallic tang of blood fills my nostrils as I press the fabric against Aizawa's wound, trying to stem the flow. The sight of crimson staining his shirt makes my stomach lurch, and for a moment, I feel like I might be sick.I look across his body to Tanya, who was cutting away at Aizawa's shirt- gauze in her hands. I can't afford to lose it now; I have to focus.

The sounds of the clash behind me are a constant distraction. I can hear the grunts and thuds of the fight, and every instinct is screaming at me to join in. I want to turn around, to help my mentor, to make sure he'll be okay. But I can't. Not yet.

"Stay with me, Mr. Aizawa," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're gonna be okay. Just hold on."

His eyes are open, but they're unfocused, and I can see the pain etched across his features. I press harder on the wound, my hands slick with his blood, and I try to ignore the tremor in my fingers. I've read about this in books, seen it in movies, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it!

The fight rages on behind me, and I can hear the shouts and the crashes growing louder. Every fiber of my being wants to leap up and join them, to make sure my friends are safe, to take down Nomu and the others. But I can't. Not yet.

I force myself to concentrate on the task at hand, on the pressure I'm applying to the wound, on the desperate need to keep Aizawa alive. The blood seems to be slowing, and I dare to hope that maybe I'm doing something right.

But then I hear a cry, a sound that chills me to the bone, and I know that I can't stay here much longer. I have to finish this, and fast.

"Stay with us, Aizawa-sensei; you can't fall asleep yet." I murmured, my voice strained.

"Just… Get out of here already. All Might won't be able to keep this up for long."

I glance over my shoulder, torn between my duty and helping All Might. But I force myself to turn back to Aizawa, and I focus all my attention on him. For now, he's the only thing that matters- and he was falling asleep!

Energy that I shouldn't have radiated from next to me, as the familiar red glow of Tanya's quirk washed over us, "Do ray mi- wake up, wake up."

My blood pumped in my ears as we quickly finished the bandages and tourniquet on Aizawa's wounds.

"Izuku, we need to get Aizawa out of here. Please!"

Just like the last time they suggested we leave I shook my head, "We can't just abandon-" "Izuku! We will only get in his way!" I clenched my fists.

Don't they see how All Might is on his last legs!? Here he is breaking through his limits- fighting someone that has the perfect counter to All Might's- My quirk! An Absorption quirk that was powerful enough to match One For All!

"Your Quirk is only Shock Absorption- Not Nullification! That Means there is a Limit to what you can take! Right?!"

I couldn't move form my spot as the titans clashed once again-

"You may have heard this lesson before- but let me teach you what it really means to go beyond-"

All Might leaped after the man-

"PLUS ULTRA!"

"Stay awake, sir; it's almost over; All Might saved us."

No… He used it all.

He is just standing there- The smoke rising off his form was not rubble- it's the last bit of power he has left.

"You have been bested. Surrender and we can all get this over with quickly."

The man scratched at the air- A black mist- I moved calling upon One For All- "Sir he can disintegrate anything on touch-"

Finger's closed around my throat as I kicked in the air. I could barely breath as I was held in a four finger grip.

This wasn't what-

"You… All Might, you will kneel before me and beg me to spare this child… or else there will be one less student for you to brainwash."

I could see All Might standing there- his trademark smile gone from his face- his eye flicking towards me and the teal villain- the black mist portal in front of both of us.

"I said KNEEL!"

Tears sprang in my eyes as All Might slowly took a knee.

I'm sorry.

I just wanted to help.

I don't want to die.

A high pitched wail- I was thrown onto the ground- Tanya tripped and All Might kicked towards the villains- I saw a wall of black as All Might dug into the ground.

Then the screaming started.

Tanya's throat was in the grip of the man who only just seconds ago held me- however he was holding tight.

Tanya's eyes were open wide- her eyes flashing all the colors- her throat slowly disappearing into flecks of light- I couldn't hear anything as I felt sharp pain across my entire body. The portal vanished- The arm that was holding her up severed in the air-

Tanya! I tried to call out- but I couldn't hear anything as the world was muted.

Her body crumpled to the ground. My heartbeat thunderous in my ears. I scrambled to her side, my mind reeling.

Stay with me, I begged.

I could swear her eyes were glowing golden as she stared upwards towards me.

Midoriya... Her lips barely moved, Do... better.

I clenched my fists, tears welling up. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to be the hero. Yet there she was, injured because of my recklessness. In the aftermath I barely remember putting as much pressure I could on her neck to steam the bleeding as portals appeared under us all…

School was canceled for the next few days after the attack. I remember the hospital that the heroes took me and Tanya too. I had to see her.

Breaking out of my mothers hold I told her I would be back- I ignored her tears… I had to see her.

I had turned off my phone after the first night- too many people were asking me what happened, but I couldn't tell them. Not yet. It was all my fault. I had to see her first.

I found myself in a small waiting room at the hospital. The nurses relented to my begging to see her- the one who saved my life.

The television buzzed with the fervor of a hornet's nest, reports cascading over one another in a frantic symphony. My eyes were glued to the screen, each flashing image a vivid reminder of the chaos we'd just survived. The media was in a frenzy, their words sharp and accusatory, painting U.A. as a fortress breached.

"Once again, All Might rises above the ashes of uncertainty, a beacon of hope in the midst of U.A. 's glaring oversight," an anchor declared, his voice tinged with a mix of reverence for the hero and scorn for my school. "The question remains: how could such a prestigious institution fail to protect its students?"

I flinched, the weight of those words hitting me harder than any physical blow could. We were supposed to be safe there—safe to learn, to grow into heroes ourselves. And yet, even as the reporters lauded All Might's triumph, I couldn't shake the haunting image of him from my mind, that last glimpse before darkness had swallowed me whole: All Might, the Symbol of Peace, curled up on the ground, vulnerable and human.

"His unwavering spirit is the very essence of heroism," another reporter chimed in, her face alight with admiration. "Despite the attack, All Might once again proves why he is the number one hero."

"Unwavering spirit..." I muttered to myself, my fingers clenching into fists. They didn't see what I saw. They didn't feel the tremors of fear that had shaken the earth beneath our feet. They spun tales of victory, but I was haunted by the specter of defeat.

Action swirled across the screen, a replay of All Might's valiant efforts—fists flying, debris clearing, civilians saved. But behind the glory, there was something else, a shadow that the cameras didn't catch, a moment of profound weakness that only I seemed to remember.

"Where are you, All Might?" I whispered, my voice lost amidst the din of the newsroom debates echoing from the TV. The silence that greeted me was a vast chasm, widening with every unanswered call, every text that went without reply.

My heart raced, a mixture of concern and frustration bubbling within. He'd always been there, a pillar of strength to lean on, to aspire to. But now, as doubt crept in, I found myself grappling with the terrifying possibility that even the greatest of heroes had their limits.

"Is U.A. still the premier institution for budding heroes, or has this attack exposed a fatal flaw in their security measures?" The question hung in the air, a challenge that pierced through the cacophony of opinions and speculation.

"Fatal flaw..." The words echoed in my head, a stark contrast to the images of All Might's might and valor. Was it our fault? Were we too complacent in our trust, too reliant on the presence of someone like All Might to shield us from reality?

The scene shifted, a cutaway to a press conference with H.P.S.C officials, their faces stern and resolute. They spoke of reassurances, of increased measures, of never allowing such a breach again. Yet, all I could think about was the fallibility of icons, the cracks in the armor we all refused to see.

"Heroes aren't invincible," I thought, the notion settling heavy in my chest. "They're just people...and people can break."

I reached for the remote, the press of a button silencing the relentless barrage of criticism and praise. The room fell into a hush, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the unshakeable memory of All Might's fall, and the disquieting silence from the man who taught me everything about what it means to be a hero.

Looking at the clock I saw that it was time.

I walked through the sterile white halls of the hospital, my footsteps echoing a rhythm of trepidation. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the undercurrent of illness and despair that seemed to seep from the very walls.

I noticed her, before she saw me. Mita Mano- Tanya's caretaker- and former sidekick Joyful Fist. I opened my mouth- calling out to her, "Miss Mita?" she looked towards me, the empty hallways seeming much smaller suddenly as her eyes bored down onto me.

"All her life she has spent trying to be a hero to others." The words stabbed into my chest, "Her heroics were meant for someone worth saving,"

I could only flinch- she was right after all.

"I hope you prove her right."

I stood there frozen, for I don't know how long- she was right. I have to prove her right.

I have to make this all better somehow.

I paused outside her room—Tanya Yamada's name etched on the door in stark, impersonal letters.

With a deep breath meant to steady my nerves, though it did little to quell the tempest inside me, I pushed open the door. There she was, lying still as death itself, tubes and wires snaking around her like mechanical vines. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor played a morbid lullaby, one that I wished I could silence with a wave of my hand or a stomp of my foot.

"Hey, Tanya," I whispered, unsure if she could hear me. "It's me, Midoriya."

My voice sounded foreign in the hushed room, too loud and yet not reaching far enough. I pulled up a chair beside her bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, an abrasive sound in the otherwise quiet space.

"I… I'm sorry." I began, my stomach clenching uncomfortably, "I'm sorry." There were so many more words I wanted to get out. How her advice helped me. How I want to continue getting advice from her, I could only continue to cry, I tried to stop the tears, but nothing could stop them.

"You were right about everything."

The only response was the continuous beep of the monitor, indifferent to my confession.

I reached out tentatively, my hand hovering over hers, afraid to touch, afraid to disturb the fragile peace that enveloped her.

"Everyone's going to be so worried about you," I continued, my voice cracking. "Ochaco, Tsuyu, Kyoka... they all are trying to figure out what happened. We're all pulling for you, Tanya. You have to wake up soon."

A nurse entered, her presence breaking the intimate bubble I had formed around Tanya and me. She checked the monitors, adjusted a few settings, and gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving as quietly as she had appeared.

"All Might once talked about self-sacrifice," I murmured, more to myself than to her. "He said there's no greater act a hero can perform. But you shouldn't have had to sacrifice yourself for me. It should've been me."

Guilt gnawed at me, a relentless beast with teeth sharp as knives. What good was my new power if I couldn't protect those in front of me?

"Please, Tanya," I begged, my words barely above a whisper. "Fight this. Come back to us. I need you to keep pushing me, to keep telling me what I don't want to hear."

My hand found courage, and I held hers gently, feeling the coolness of her skin against mine.

"You're the Dragon of Class 1-A," I said, my voice a mix of admiration and desperation. "You can't be taken down by something like this. Not you."

The silence in the room grew heavier, suffocating. The beeps of the heart monitor punctuated my thoughts, each one a reminder of the fragility of life, of dreams, of the thin line between being a hero and being a memory.

"Come back, Tanya," I pleaded silently. "Show everyone, show me that you're the strongest among us. Please..."

My gaze lingered on her face, searching for any twitch, any flutter of eyelids that might signal her return to us. I stayed there, holding her hand, talking to her, willing her to wake up, until the visiting hours waned and the nurses ushered me out.

As I left her room, the weight of her absence bore down on me, but so did the resolve that her words had instilled within me. Whether she could hear me or not, I would continue to speak to her, to share my progress, my fears, my hopes. Because somewhere, beneath the coma-induced slumber, I believed the Dragon of Class 1-A was listening, waiting for the right moment to awaken and sing fire into our world once more.

Mita Mano, Caretaker, former sidekick 'Joyful Fist'

The steady beep of the heart monitor was a feeble lifeline amidst the sterile scent of antiseptics that filled the hospital room. Tanya lay motionless on the bed, her chest rising and falling with mechanical precision, aided by the machines she was hooked up to. Angry red scars laced her throat and upper chest, a grotesque tapestry against her pallid skin – remnants of a battle that had almost claimed her life. The injuries were severe, but not fatal, thanks to the swift intervention of Recovery Girl whose healing touch had stabilized her until the surgeons took over.

Mita stood at the foot of Tanya's bed, a tempest of worry etched into the lines of her face. "How are we supposed to afford all this?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Her hands clutched at the fabric of her skirt, a physical manifestation of her internal turmoil.

"Please, Ms. Mita," came the soft, yet firm voice of Principal Nedzu, his small form perched atop a nearby stool. "Let me assure you, U.A. takes full responsibility for what happened. We will cover all medical expenses." His words were meant to console, but they only fanned the flames of Mita's anger.

"Responsibility? That doesn't change the fact that my girl is lying here because of..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, her gaze returning to Tanya's still form.

"And where is Aizawa? Shouldn't he be here?" Mita demanded, her tone laced with a mother's fury.

"Mr. Aizawa is in intensive care, as is the Hero who stepped in to assist. They're both receiving the best care possible," Nedzu replied, his voice tinged with regret.

"Intensive care..." Mita sighed, the fight draining from her as understanding settled in. They had tried their best, but it hadn't been enough to keep Tanya safe. She checked her watch and gasped softly; time had slipped away from her. "I have to get back to the orphanage. The other children..."

The sterile scent of antiseptic chased me down the corridor as I checked my watch, its ticking a somber reminder that time never halted—not for worry, not for grief. Tanya lay behind me in that sterile room, her once vibrant voice silenced by tubes and machines. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my nails digging crescent moons into my palms. They said they did their best, but was their best ever good enough when it left a child broken?

"Excuse me," I muttered, brushing past a nurse with a cart full of clinking vials, the sound grating against my already frayed nerves.

"Miss Mita?" The tentative voice halted me mid-stride, and I turned to see Izuku Midoriya, his green eyes wide, his freckled face etched with concern and something else—guilt, maybe. The boy who Tanya had risked everything for.

"All her life she has spent trying to be a hero to others." The words just poured out, "Her heroics were meant for someone worth saving," I spat out, unable to stop the venom from seeping into my words. "I hope you prove her right."

His flinch was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. I wanted him to feel it, the weight of his life against hers. Without waiting for a reply, I turned on my heel and strode away, leaving the echo of my harshness to hang between us.

The sliding doors gave way to the chill of the outside world, gripping me in its cold embrace. I took a deep breath, trying to rid myself of the hospital's clinging sterility, looking forward to the familiar chaos of the orphanage. But even the outside air carried a heaviness that settled on my shoulders like a shroud.

"Frau Mita, a vord if you please?"

My heart sank at the sound of the accented voice, a voice that carried the weight of old Europe in its timbre. There he stood, tall and imposing, his white hair a stark contrast against the dark leather of his coat. His scowl was fierce as he regarded me, yet it vanished behind a practiced smile as our eyes met.

"Mr. Gottschalk," I greeted coolly, my gaze unwavering. "What brings you here?"

"Is it so wrong for a grandfather to be concerned about his kin?" His smile didn't reach his eyes, those icy red orbs that seemed to dissect my very soul.

"Concern is one thing," I retorted, crossing my arms. "But let's not pretend you've been the doting grandfather. You haven't been seen in years and right when she starts to do what she has always wanted, you come out of nowhere."

I didn't let him out of my sight as I turned my head around, there was plenty of people around… and cameras. Good.

He wouldn't risk anything like this.

"I did some background checks after you left. You have a rather prolific history with the HPSC."

His smile fell slightly, but refused to leave his face.

"Ah, but blood is thicker than water, Frau Mita." He leaned in closer, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "And I have resources that could aid her recovery... if only you'd allow it."

"Your 'resources' come with strings attached, Mr. Gottschalk. Tanya's not another girl for you to marry off." I matched his lean with a step back, maintaining the distance between us. "She needs rest and care, not manipulation."

"Manipulation? That is rather rich from you." He straightened, his scowl returning as he studied me. "Very well, I see you are beyond reason, but remember, I am her flesh and blood, and I will not be kept from her indefinitely."

"Remember this," I fired back, my resolve as steely as the look in his eyes. "Tanya may share your blood, but she's got a family that doesn't demand anything of her except her happiness. She's mine. And I'll protect her from anyone—family or not."

With a final glance at the man who claimed kinship yet offered conditional help, I walked away, feeling the bite of the wind against my cheeks. It wasn't just the cold that made me shiver—it was the knowledge that battles for Tanya's well-being were fought on many fronts, and not all enemies were strangers.

Kyoka Jiro, Hero Student, 1-A Seat # 12

The world felt like it had been upended, its axis tilted just enough to throw everything into disarray. It was one of those surreal moments when reality seemed to warp and twist before my eyes. We sat on the cold, hard benches of U.A. High's auditorium, a sea of uniforms in a room that thrummed with tension. Police officers stood at the front, their faces grim lines of authority. They spoke, but their voices felt distant, like echoes bouncing off the walls of my skull.

"Your bus," one officer began, his voice steady despite the weight of his words, "encountered an... anomaly after leaving the USJ."

An anomaly. Such a sanitized word for chaos.

"Subsequently," another officer continued, "there was an incident involving two students." He paused, letting the gravity of the situation sink in.

I could hear the collective intake of breath from my classmates, each of us trying to piece together the fragments of the day. The air was thick with unspoken questions, the kind that gnawed at your insides and left you restless.

"Midoriya Izuku and Yamada Tanya," the first officer said, and I felt my heart stutter. Tanya always seemed untouchable with her bright eyes and calm demeanor. And Izuku, earnest and determined, who bore the weight of his dreams like armor.

"They reappeared on school grounds moments after the portal's manifestation," the second officer added, his words clinical and detached. "Both were injured."

Injured didn't begin to cover it. The image was seared into my memory: Tanya, usually so composed, lying broken and bloodied; Izuku covered in splatters of crimson, his expression hollow with shock. It was a tableau of horror that no amount of hero training could have prepared us for.

"Where is Midoriya now?" someone asked, their voice barely above a whisper.

"Absent," the officer replied curtly, and a murmur rippled through the room. Absent. The word hung in the air, heavy with implications we couldn't yet fathom.

I clenched my hands in my lap, trying to drown out the noise around me. My thoughts raced, skittering like loose pebbles down a hill. Tanya, with her mysterious ability to see sound, had always been an enigma. Could her power have played a role in this? Was she targeted because of it?

And Izuku – where was he? Why wouldn't he answer any of our calls or texts? Frustration simmered beneath my worry, a hot current threatening to spill over.

"Please," the first officer concluded, "remain calm while the investigation is ongoing."

Calm. As if the very concept hadn't shattered along with the illusion of our safety.

I needed to know what happened, to understand why Tanya and Izuku fell from the sky like fallen stars, their light snuffed out by whatever malevolence lurked behind the veil of that mysterious portal. But all we had were pieces, jagged and jumbled, of a puzzle too vast to comprehend.

The police officers filed out, leaving us to our own devices. Our thoughts were whispers in the dark, each of us grappling with the unknown, the fear of what lay beyond the edges of our understanding.

My classmates' voices rose and fell around me, a turbulent sea of speculation and worry. Their words slipped through my ears, discordant notes that I couldn't quite tune out. As the last police officer stepped through the classroom door, closing it with an ominous click, the room's tension crept up another notch.

"Did you see how Izuku looked? Like he'd been through a war zone," one student whispered.

"And Tanya..." another added, voice tinged with awe and fear.

I slid my phone from my pocket, my fingers trembling slightly as I unlocked it. Tap by tap, I searched for any scrap of news, any clue that could explain the chaos we'd been thrust into. Each headline was more cryptic than the last, reports fragmented and incomplete. Swallowing hard, I opened my messaging app and typed out a message to Izuku, hoping for something, anything.

Are you okay? What happened out there? We're all worried.

The three dots that signaled a reply appeared briefly, then vanished. No response came. My heart sank; the silence from Izuku felt louder than any alarm.

"Jiro, did Midoriya say anything to you?" Momo asked, her eyes searching mine for answers I didn't have.

"Nothing," I replied, frustration souring my voice.

"He's not taking calls or replying to texts." Uraraka spoke up from beside her.

A collective sigh rippled through the group. My gaze flickered across their faces—each one etched with concern, confusion, fear. We were all in the dark together.

"Kyoka!"

I jerked upright at the sound of my name, my head snapping toward the doorway. Through the glass pane, I saw the familiar figures of my parents, concern etched deep in their expressions. They weren't alone; the hallway was crowded with other anxious parents come to claim their children.

"Mom, Dad," I said, offering them a small smile as I gathered my backpack and headed toward the door. "I'm okay, really."

"Sweetheart, we've been so worried," my mother breathed out, enveloping me in a tight hug that smelled of home and lavender. My father's hand rested on my shoulder, solid and reassuring.

"Let's get you home," he said, his voice steady but eyes betraying his own unease.

As we walked to the car, their conversation revolved around the snippets of information they'd gleaned from the news. I tried to follow along, piecing together their words with what little I knew, but it was like trying to complete a puzzle in the dark.

"Apparently, All Might was there," my mother said, her tone a mix of admiration and anxiety. "They say he fought some kind of villain."

"Can you believe what's happening to this city?" my father chimed in, shaking his head. "It's becoming too dangerous."

"Is U.A. even safe anymore?" My mother's question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable.

"Of course, it is," I shot back, perhaps too quickly. "We're training to be heroes, aren't we?"

Their doubtful glances stung more than I cared to admit. It was clear they struggled with the idea of sending me back to a place where danger seemed to lurk behind every corner. I wanted to reassure them, to tell them that everything would be alright, but my own certainty wavered.

"Let's just focus on getting home," I said instead, my voice softer now.

"Right," my father agreed, starting the engine. The car hummed to life, pulling away from the school and the chaos it held within.

As we drove, the city passed by in a blur—a moving tableau of normalcy that felt surreal. Shopkeepers hawked their wares, children played in the parks, and the sun dipped low in the sky, painting everything in hues of gold and shadow. But beneath it all, undercurrents of unease ran deep.

"Kyoka, will you let us know if anything else happens?" my mother asked, her hand finding mine.

"Promise," I replied, squeezing her fingers. But promises felt fragile, almost foolish in the wake of today's events.

At home, I retreated to my room, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on me. My phone lay silent and accusatory on my bedspread, the unread messages sent to Izuku a glaring reminder of how much we still didn't know. As night fell, I curled up under the covers, a cold sense of helplessness settling over me.

"Tomorrow," I whispered to the darkness, "we'll figure it out. We have to."

The evening news flickered on the living room wall, casting shadows that danced like specters of doubt around us. My parents and I watched in silence as the anchor recounted the day's harrowing events at U.A. High School. Footage of All Might, muscles bulging and eyes ablaze with that iconic crimson glow, played on a loop—his heroics juxtaposed against a backdrop of fallen debris and terrified students.

"A villain attack," my father muttered, his voice tinged with worry. "It's becoming too common."

"Kyoka, we're thinking it might be best if you transferred schools," my mother said, turning to face me, her expression fraught with concern.

I shot up from my seat, the remote slipping from my fingers and clattering onto the floor. "You can't be serious!" My voice cracked like a whip, echoing through the stillness. "I've worked too hard to get here!"

"Darling, it's not safe," she pleaded, reaching for my hand.

"Safe?" I pulled away, pacing back and forth, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. "No one becomes a hero because it's safe. I want to be out there, stopping these attacks, making a difference!"

"Kyoka..." My father began, but I was already swept up in my own fervor.

"Being a hero isn't just about saving people from villains; it's about standing up when everyone else is too scared to move! It's about being the hope that shines through the darkness." The words tumbled out, a cascade of passion and conviction. "If I run now, what kind of hero would I ever become?"

They exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes in the silence between them. "Alright," my father finally said. "We'll talk to the principal about the security measures then."

"Thank you," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. They didn't understand—not fully—but they believed in me enough to stand down.

That night, nestled in my bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that each question branching out in my mind only led to more questions. The group chat lit up my phone screen with a relentless stream of messages, all directed at Izuku. No one had heard from him since the incident.

"Where are you, Izuku? What happened out there?" Mina's text glowed brightly among the flurry of concerned emojis and question marks.

"Guys, give him some space," I typed, even though my own fingers itched to call him, to demand answers. "He'll reach out when he's ready."

But deep down, I wasn't sure I believed my own reassurances. I tossed and turned, sleep elusive, while the phone vibrated with notifications—each one a reminder of how little we knew, how vulnerable we all were despite our quirks and dreams.

"Tomorrow," I murmured into the quiet of my room, the word a fragile promise to myself. "Tomorrow will be different."

But as I finally drifted off, the unease remained, a silent companion in the darkness, whispering truths I wasn't ready to face.

The light of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the dinner table as I picked at my food. The day had slipped by in a haze, each minute stretching out interminably while every second was a sharp pang of uncertainty. We were all still reeling, disconnected pieces trying to form a picture that made sense.

"Kyoka, honey, you've barely touched your plate," Mom's voice broke through my fog of thoughts.

"Sorry, just not hungry," I murmured, pushing the rice around my plate with my chopsticks.

"Have you heard anything from your classmates?" Dad asked gently, his eyes reflecting concern that seemed to deepen with each passing hour.

"Nothing yet," I replied, but before I could sink further into my worry, my phone buzzed against the wooden surface of the table.

I snatched it up, heart leaping into my throat. A message from Izuku – finally. His words spilled out on my screen in a rush of relief and fresh anxiety.

"Guys, I'm so sorry for being MIA," he began, and then the details poured out, too fast for me to process at first. Tanya's hospital address. Instructions to let Toru know. Admissions of guilt, of getting in All Might's way, of Tanya's sacrifice. It was all there, in stark black text against the blinding white background.

"Is everything alright?" Mom's voice sounded distant as I read and reread the message.

"Kyoka?" Dad prompted, leaning forward to catch my eye.

"Toru." was all I managed before tears blurred my vision. I hastily forwarded the information to her before the dam broke, sobs wracking my body as my parents rushed to my side, their arms a comforting weight around my shoulders.

"Sweetheart, what is it? What happened?" Mom's voice held a note of panic now.

"Ti-Tanya..." I choked out. "She saved Izuku... got hurt... because of him."

"Shh, it's okay, we're here." Dad's soothing tone barely registered over my own cries.

"Can we see her? Please, can we go see her?" I begged between sobs, clinging to them.

"Of course, sweetheart, we will," Dad assured me, and I felt a tiny spark of something that might have been gratitude amidst the storm of emotions.

"Tomorrow," I murmured that night in my room, my voice determined, "Tomorrow will be different."

The next day, the hospital loomed before us, a sterile fortress of white and chrome. My heart hammered in my chest as we approached Tanya's room. My parents flanked me, silent sentinels of support.

"Ready?" Mom whispered, squeezing my hand.

I nodded, swallowing hard.

The door swung open with a soft whoosh, revealing a room awash in the pallid light of afternoon. Machines beeped a monotonous symphony around Tanya's bed, where she lay motionless, a ghostly figure against the crisp sheets.

"Hey, Tanya," I managed, my voice barely a whisper as I stepped closer. "It's me, Kyoka."

Her face was peaceful yet haunting, scars marring the skin I knew so well; skin that once brimmed with life and fierce determination. The upper half of her chest and the elegant curve of her neck bore the brutal testimony of her heroism.

"Look at you, fighting even in your sleep," I said, a feeble attempt at levity that fell flat in the oppressive silence.

"Will she hear us?" Mom asked quietly, reaching out but stopping short of touching Tanya, as if afraid to disturb her rest.

"Maybe," I answered, though doubt gnawed at me. "But we can still talk to her."

"Then let's fill this room with love and hope," Dad suggested, his voice steady. "Tell her about your days, your dreams. Let her know she's not alone."

So I talked, recounting mundane details and shared memories, each word a lifeline cast into the void, hoping—praying—it would reach her somehow. My parents joined in, their voices melding with mine in a chorus of care and worry.

As the day faded into evening, I remained by Tanya's side, holding her hand, feeling the faint warmth of her skin against mine. In that quiet room, surrounded by beeping machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic, I made a silent pledge.

"I'll be here, Tanya," I promised. "We'll all be here when you wake up. So please, come back to us soon."

And we waited, hoping for a miracle in the hushed confines of room 307.

Tͭaͣᶰnʸyͣa ͭYͣᶰaʸmͣadͭaͣᶰ,ʸ ͣHeͭrͣᶰoʸ ͣStͭuͣᶰdʸeͣntͭ,ͣᶰ ʸ1ͣ-A Seat #6

Consciousness creeps into me like the morning tide, relentless and cold. My eyelids flutter open, and I am greeted not by clarity, but by a disorienting blur of shapes and colors. White ceilings, moving figures—a hospital room? The edges of my vision swim with frantic movement as hands, nothing more than smudges in my sight, press down on my limbs, securing me to the bed.

"Ms. Yamada, please remain calm," a voice pleads from the haze. It's distant, disembodied—does it belong to one of the shapes?

I want to respond, to demand answers, but words catch in my throat. Instead, I focus on trying to piece together the puzzle of my circumstances. How did I get here?

The ache that envelops me is all-encompassing, a dull symphony of pain that crescendos with each heartbeat. Every inch of my body protests, bound by invisible weights, leaving me helplessly immobile. My breath quickens, panic bubbling up, a familiar enemy I cannot afford to yield to.

"Try to relax, Tanya. You're safe here," another voice calls out, softer, more controlled.

Is that supposed to comfort me? Safety is a luxury I've long since stopped counting on.

Then, through the chaos, a singular figure emerges with chilling clarity—an old man, draped in white robes, standing at the foot of my bed. Being X. The only sharp detail in a world gone soft around the edges. The audacity of his appearance, here of all places, sparks a fire within me, chasing back some of the fear.

"Back again to torment me, are you?" I manage to rasp out, voice laced with venom, though my assailant remains unfazed.

"Please, Ms. Yamada, conserve your strength," another blurry shape chides, but I barely hear them.

Being X leans forward slightly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You are strong, Tanya Yamada. But even you must recognize when you are overpowered."

"Overpowered? By what—your incessant meddling?" I sneer, but my bravado is thin, brittle. Why can't I remember what happened before waking up here?

"Focus on breathing," a nurse instructs—a command lost on me as I fixate on my adversary, the unwelcome avatar of my past and present agonies.

"Your memories will return in time," Being X murmurs, almost kindly, which somehow makes it worse. "For now, consider this a reminder of your fragility."

"Reminder?" I try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sound. "As if I could forget with you haunting every step I take."

"Yet here you are, alive." His tone holds an edge, a sharpened blade veiled in silk. "Perhaps there's something you're still meant to do."

"Surviving isn't the same as living," I shoot back, the energy it takes to speak sapping the last vestiges of my strength. My eyes start to close against my will, the room spinning once more into a whirlpool of blurred scrubs and sterile walls.

"Indeed," he says softly, and the world dims further, my consciousness slipping away. "But survive you must, for what lies ahead..."

The incessant beep of the heart monitor punctuates the sterile silence of the hospital room, a counterpoint to the chaotic ballet of shapes flitting at the edge of my consciousness. I can feel the ghostly touch of hands—nurses, likely—pressing me back into the mattress, their features indistinguishable in the haze that shrouds my vision. But there, unwavering amidst the turmoil, stands Being X.

"Pathetic figment," I hiss through clenched teeth, my voice hoarse and weak, yet laden with venom. "Do you enjoy gawking at humans in their misery?"

He regards me with an infuriating calm, tapping his chin contemplatively as if weighing the merit of my insults. "Who are you?" The question, simple and direct, slices through the fog of confusion that mires my thoughts.

"Who am I?" I scoff, each word laced with disdain. "I am Tanya Yamada, formerly Degurechaff, formerly..." My defiance falters, like a flame gutted by a sudden draft. Something is missing—a gap in the tapestry of my mind, yawning and empty.

My second life as Tanya Degurechaff floods back to me, images flickering past with the speed of a film reel gone wild. But the life before that? A void. Panic claws at my insides, a primal beast that knows no reason.

"Can't remember your first go-round on this merry little planet?" Being X prods, his tone that of a lecturer addressing a particularly slow student.

"Silence!" My command is a growl, but it lacks force. My body refuses to obey, muscles leaden, unresponsive.

Within the confines of my skull, thoughts race and crash. It's like trying to hold onto water—no, more akin to grasping at smoke. I'm reminded suddenly of the Ship of Theseus, that ancient thought experiment. If every part of a ship is replaced, piece by piece, is it still the same ship? Or something else entirely?

"Am I even me anymore?" The question slips out, not meant for him, but I see a spark of interest flicker in Being X's eyes.

"An intriguing dilemma." He leans forward slightly, his robes shifting with the movement. "But perhaps not the one you should be focusing on right now."

"Focus?" I spit the word out as if it tastes bitter. "Easy for you to say, you who watches from the sidelines, never touched by the horrors you inflict!"

"Inflict?" There's a beat, then a chuckle, dry and humorless. "You give me too much credit. Life inflicts. I merely... observe."

"Then observe this," I snarl, though the effort of speaking sends a fresh wave of pain radiating through me. I want to rail against him, against the injustice of it all, but darkness nibbles at the edges of my perception, threatening to consume me whole.

"Rest, Tanya Yamada," he murmurs, almost as if he cares. "Your battles are far from over."

"Rest..." The word echoes in my head, a siren call to the oblivion that beckons. But I can't succumb, not yet. There's too much left undone, too many scores unsettled.

As the shadows gather, one final thought pierces the encroaching gloom: I will survive. Because that's what I do. That's all I've ever done. Survive, and fight.

And Being X? He'll watch. Always.

The sterile scent of antiseptic clawed at my nostrils, an anchor to the reality that seemed to slip through my fingers like water. My racing heart thudded against my ribs, a drumbeat of panic that echoed through the void where Being X had stood moments before. The hospital room spun into focus, white walls, beeping monitors, figures in scrubs moving with urgent precision. They were there to save me, or so their frantic motions suggested.

"Stay still, Ms. Yamada," one of them commanded, a voice distant as if spoken through layers of water.

But the clarity was fleeting, a cruel tease as the edges of my vision smudged and smeared again. He returned, Being X, materializing from the distortion like a figure stepping out from a fog, his white robes untouched by the chaos he wrought upon my world.

"Such a fragile thing, human life," he mused dispassionately, hands clasped behind his back. "One little prayer, and all this could go away."

"Never," I managed through gritted teeth, my body a battleground of pain and defiance. "You'll never hear me beg."

"Echo," he said the name, my hero alias, savoring it with a twisted fondness. "Apt, isn't it? You are but an echo of your former selves, a shadow clinging to the notion of self-importance."

I wanted to lunge at him, to wipe the smugness from his face, but my limbs wouldn't obey. They lay heavy and useless, just as he'd intended. My breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a fight against the weight pressing down on my chest.

"An atheist, an echo of arrogance, an epitome of pride," he continued, circling the foot of the bed like a vulture eyeing its dying prey. "How fitting that you should falter now, reduced to nothing but the echo of a hero."

"Heroes don't..." I started, the words trailing off into a pained whisper. "...need gods."

"Perhaps not," he conceded with a tilt of his head, his gaze piercing. "But humans do."

I turned inward, to the storm raging in my mind, finding solace in memories of battles won and foes vanquished without divine intervention. My pulse hammered a silent vow against the encroaching darkness; I would not yield.

"Watch me," I hissed, the challenge weak but unwavering. "Watch as I rise again, without your blessing. Without your curse."

"Very well," he replied, the corners of his lips twitching upward in a semblance of a smile. "Consider this another... test."

And then he was gone, just as abruptly as he had appeared, leaving only the blurs of doctors and nurses to swim back into focus, their voices a symphony of urgency that failed to drown out the echo of Being X's mocking laughter.

Nedzu, Principle of U.A.

"Rest assured, we're implementing additional security measures as we speak," I told the concerned parent on the other end of the line. My voice was steady, a calm lighthouse amid their storm of worry. "Yes, your child's safety is our utmost priority. We will do better." A click ended the conversation, and a heavy sigh escaped me as I placed the receiver down, the weight of responsibility pressing into my temples.

I leaned back in my chair, the smooth surface of the desk offering cold comfort to my hands. The attack played over in my mind like a broken film reel, each frame a testament to our vulnerability. Villains... they had infiltrated our defenses, turning one of our own robot drivers against us. A marvel of technology, reduced to an instrument of chaos. The route change, meant to be a safeguard, had been our downfall.

The silence of the office was shattered by the memory of the distress call - students teleported away, all except for two brave souls and their teacher. One student, Izuku Midoriya, currently bore the mantle of One For All – that incredible power passed down from All Might himself. The very thought made my heart race with both pride and fear. We were this close to losing the torch of heroism.

I rose from my seat, pacing the confines of my office. A picture of All Might and Aizawa on the wall caught my eye – both now lay in intensive care, their bodies mangled from the battle. All Might, ever the symbol of peace, had pushed his quirk beyond its limits. His heroism was as boundless as it was costly. And Aizawa, only alive thanks to the first aid administered by those two students under his charge.

All Might was only alive because of the villain taking a crippling blow from Tanya's quirk and choosing to retreat.

My steps halted at the window, the view of the school grounds bittersweet. Tanya Yamada, was fighting for her life. She was always so full of calculated fire, but now she lay comatose after throwing herself in harm's way for Midoriya. That selflessness clashed with her usual cold demeanor, revealing the complex tapestry of her character. Her brilliant mind, and her uncanny quirk – now silenced in the void of unconsciousness.

I remembered watching her practice, her throat aglow with mesmerizing hues. It was nothing short of a spectacle, yet here she was, paying the price for wielding such a gift. The risk she took, the strain on her quirk organ, it was a stark reminder of the stakes these young heroes faced.

"Principal Nedzu," a voice broke through my reverie. I turned to face the door, where Midnight stood with a look of concern. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine," I lied smoothly, my tail twitching with agitation beneath the desk. "Just lost in thought."

"Understandable, after everything that's happened."

"Indeed," I replied, returning to my desk. Deep within, a primal instinct stirred, urging me to defend my pack. But no, I had to remain poised, strategic. The villains thought they could rattle us, outsmart us? They were mistaken. I would not allow myself to succumb to my baser instincts. This was a game of intellect now, and I refused to be bested.

"Get me the latest update on the students' conditions," I instructed, my resolve stealing once more. "And inform Cementoss we'll need him shortly. It's time to fortify our haven."

"Right away, sir."

As Midnight left, I sat there amidst the quietude of my office, listening to the faint echoes of determination that filled the halls outside. We would rise from this. We had to. For them, for our future, for the peace that seemed ever so elusive in our world of heroes and villains.

—-

The click of the receiver punctuated the end of yet another promise to a concerned parent. I sat back in the leather chair which seemed far too large for my small form, letting out a weary sigh that fluttered the papers scattered across my desk. The phone call had been a tightrope walk of reassurances and commitments—a verbal dance I was becoming all too familiar with.

I drew in a deep breath and allowed my mind to revisit the chaos of the attack. How could they have breached our security? The villain's technological prowess was alarming; hacking into one of our robot drivers with such precision was no small feat… The hacker would have had to been on site-

"Principal Nedzu," came a voice, snapping me out of my thoughts. It was Midnight again, peering through the door with an apprehensive gaze.

"Ah, yes?" I responded.

"The news... they got footage of the attack."

"Show me," I demanded, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

The screen flickered to life, showing a shaky camera angle of the fight. All Might, in his towering glory, was a force of nature, his fists like thunderbolts against the dark silhouette of the Nomu. But then the lens cracked, spiderwebbing across the frame until the image cut to black with the finality of All Might's decisive punch.

"Thankfully, they didn't catch his..." I paused, knowing what came after—the way All Might's form dwindled before he was forced to kneel. It seemed the public deemed those details too fantastical to believe.

"Should we prepare a statement?"

"No," I said firmly, my thoughts already racing ahead. "We have more pressing matters."

Turning back to my desk, I unfurled blueprints that sprawled like a canvas waiting for the master's touch. Dormitories—our new bastion for the young heroes in training. Cementoss would construct them with walls impenetrable, with security woven into every brick and beam.

"Whoever dares threaten my students will find themselves up against more than just walls," I muttered under my breath, eyes tracing over the intricate designs. But as my finger skirted a line that led to a reinforced safe room, a growl rumbled low in my throat.

"Sir?" Midnight questioned, noting the change in my demeanor.

"Apologies," I said, catching myself. The feral instinct to hunt, to sink my teeth into those who dared harm my pack, was bubbling beneath the surface. I had to push it down—use my quirk to maintain the equilibrium of my mind. "Inform Cementoss that it's time to start construction. And ensure he understands the urgency."

"Right away, Principal Nedzu."

—-

How many calls does that make it today?

"Rest assured, we are taking every measure to ensure the safety of our students," I promised into the receiver, my voice a steady cadence of practiced calm. The parent on the other end seemed mollified, if only just, their anxious breaths quieting to a tentative sigh. "Please trust that U.A. will do better."

The click of the phone as it settled back onto its cradle echoed in my plush office, a resounding note of finality. I sighed, a soft exhalation that whispered of the tempest within. My thoughts churned, I continued to replay the events in my mind's eye.

Villains—cunning and ruthless—had infiltrated our defenses, turning one of our own robot drivers against us. A calculated shutdown, precisely timed after the route was diverted to evade an attack. It must have been planned. The true attack was subtler, but why send all but a few back to the school like pieces on a chessboard reset for another game.

I rose from my seat, pacing behind the desk, paws—no, hands—clenched tight. Two students had managed to escape the teleportation trap; one, Izuku Midoriya, the bearer of One For All. Such responsibility resting on young shoulders.

"Those two..." My words were hushed, reverential even, as I considered their bravery again.

The serenity of the room belied the chaos that had unfolded in my mind.

My steps halted at the window, gazing out upon the campus grounds with a fierce protectiveness. But it was Tanya Yamada, who haunted my thoughts most. She lay comatose, having saved young Midoriya at grievous cost to herself. Her potential was vast, her ambition a burning flame—yet now she battled in the shadowed realm of unconsciousness.

A growl threatened to rise from deep within me, a primal sound of anger and frustration. I quashed it immediately, channeling my faculties towards rational thought—always rational thought. Tanya's condition was a stark reminder of the stakes we faced.

"Stay strong, Tanya," I murmured, a rare slip into sentimentality. "Your place here remains unfilled, your journey unfinished."

Returning to my desk, I sat down heavily, the weight of leadership a constant companion. I would ensure those responsible for this atrocity would find no quarter, no mercy. U.A. was my territory, my pack, and I would defend it with every resource at my disposal.

"Principal Nedzu?" the intercom crackled to life, pulling me from my silent vow.

"Yes, what is it?" I responded, the steel in my voice belying the turmoil within.

"Your next call is ready, sir."

"Thank you," I replied curtly. "Put them through."

As the conversation began anew, the cycle of reassurances and promises, I could not help but feel the ghost of wariness looming. Yet there was work to be done, battles to prepare for, and a future to secure—for Tanya, for all my students. They were the next generation of heroes, and they would not falter. Not on my watch.

I pressed the receiver back into its cradle, the click echoing in the silent office. My claws—no, fingers—drummed a staccato rhythm on the polished mahogany desk. I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled deeply, the events of the attack replaying like a macabre film behind my eyelids.

"Calculated. Precise. They knew exactly what strings to pull," I muttered to myself. The phone call had been yet another parent demanding answers, assurances that their child would be safe within these walls.

A fleeting image haunted my thoughts; a camera lens shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, the last frame frozen in time. All Might's heroic form, his power shining before the ominous shadow of a Nomu. The footage had been plastered across every news outlet, a reminder of his strength.

"Thankfully, the masses are easily swayed by skepticism," I whispered, a dry chuckle escaping my lips. The cameraman screaming that no one believes him on a talk show about what happened after, "They refuse to believe their Symbol of Peace could ever bow or shrink. A convenient disbelief."

My gaze shifted to the blueprints spread out on my table, detailed plans for new dormitories sprawled across the surface. With a flick of my wrist, a pencil danced between my digits, marking adjustments, fortifying weaknesses. Cementoss would have his work cut out for him.

"Security will be paramount," I voiced aloud, my eyes tracing the intricate pathways and emergency exits. "A fortress for these young minds to grow and thrive, under the watchful eye of their Principal."

The thought of those villains infiltrating my territory again sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. My fur bristled—I caught myself, furrowed brow softening as I utilized my quirk, High Spec, to clamp down on the primal urges threatening to surface.

"Patience, Nedzu," I coaxed myself. "You are no mere animal, but a tactician. They are not smarter; they are simply more desperate."

I leaned back in my chair, allowing a brief respite as I gazed out the window, the sun beginning to dip below the skyline of the city. My mind teetered between the raw instinct of protection and the calculated precision of strategy.

"U.A. has withstood the test of time," I declared to the empty room, "and it shall not falter now. Not while I preside over its halls."

Engrossed in my meticulous work, I scarcely noticed the passage of time, the soft glow of my desk lamp casting long shadows across the parchment. I was crafting more than just a building; I was forging a sanctuary, a bastion against the chaos that sought to engulf us.

"Principal Nedzu," the intercom's static-laden voice jolted me from my reverie.

"Go ahead," I answered, my tone collected, belying the storm of thoughts within.

"Your next appointment is ready."

"Of course," I replied, rising from my seat with a renewed sense of purpose. "Let us proceed."

I took one last look at the designs, etching each detail into memory. The safety of my students, my pack, was my utmost priority. I would let nothing stand in the way of their future, of Tanya's future.

"Steel your resolve, Nedzu," I muttered to myself as I strode towards the door, ready to face the board. "This is your domain, and you will guard it with every fiber of your being."

—-

Another day. The same calls. Thankfully this is the end.

I placed the receiver back onto its cradle, my hand steadier than I felt inside. The final parent had been placated, reassured by words that felt increasingly hollow with each repetition. My chest tightened as I dialed the hospital's number, the rhythmic pulse of the dial tone syncing with the cadence of my own racing heart.

"Hello, this is Principal Nedzu calling for an update on Tanya Yamada's condition," I said, my voice betraying none of the tempest brewing within me.

"Ah, Principal Nedzu," came the doctor's voice, a note of urgency lining his professional timbre. "We've encountered some... complications."

Complications. That single word sent a jolt through me, coiling my muscles into knots. "What kind of complications?" I demanded, my grip on the phone tightening.

"Her body has exhibited an unusual reaction to the sedatives and quirk suppressants. The skin at the site of her injury began aging at an accelerated rate—it was decaying," he explained, the gravity of his words not lost on either of us.

"Decaying," I echoed, the term feeling foreign and vile. A growl, low and primal, rumbled in my throat—a sound that caused the doctor to pause mid-sentence.

"Principal, are you—"

"Continue," I interrupted, regaining control over the animalistic impulse.

"Thankfully, we managed to remove the affected tissue completely. However, the damage to her quirk organ is still indeterminate. We won't know the full extent until she awakens," he finished, his voice cautious but hopeful.

"Understood. Keep me informed," I said curtly, the growl supplanted by steely resolve as I ended the call.

My gaze drifted across the room to the calendar hanging on the wall, its dates mocking me with their ordered progression. A month. Only a month remained until the U.A. Sports Festival. My mind raced, considering the optics, the expectations. Could we afford to show weakness now? To delay or cancel would be to yield to fear, to admit vulnerability.

"Never," I whispered fiercely to myself. "Our students will demonstrate their resilience, their brilliance. They are U.A.'s pride."

I turned back to the blueprints of the new dorms sprawled across my desk, tracing the lines with a clawed finger. Each corridor, each room designed with security and safety in mind—a fortress to shield our future heroes. They were more than mere structures; they were a testament to our defiance, a challenge to any who dared threaten our peace.

"U.A. will stand tall," I declared, the conviction in my voice filling the silent office. "And Tanya Yamada will stand with us."

As the shadows stretched and the light waned, my focus never faltered. For every student like Tanya, who had suffered and fought, I would fortify these walls. Their dreams were my charge, their hopes my mission.

The festival would go on, and it would be a spectacle of strength and unity. I would accept nothing less.

In the waning light of my office, I sat still as a statue, a click echoing in the silence and I tapped keys on my keyboard. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me like the gravity of a hundred worlds. My eyes, sharp and discerning, fixed upon the calendar on the wall, its orderly progression of dates now seeming like a countdown to an imperative decision.

"Only a month," I murmured to himself again, my voice barely above a whisper, "and U.A. must shine brighter than ever before."

I rose from my chair, pacing with a restrained energy. Each step was measured, deliberate, the soft tap of my feet against the polished floor a metronome to my racing thoughts. I paused by the window, gazing out at the sprawling campus that was bustling with activity just a few short hours ago.

"Everyone must be there," I declared, the words spoken to the empty room, a vow etched into the air itself. "The festival will be incomplete without each and every one of our students... including Tanya Yamada."

I turned away from the window, my silhouette casting a long shadow across the blueprints that covered my desk. One clawed hand rested atop the papers, fingers drumming lightly as I contemplated the young hero in the hospital bed who defied odds and expectations alike.

My thoughts turned inward, reflecting on Tanya's journey—her calculated ruthlessness that hid a yearning for tranquility, her exceptional mind that danced on the edge of brilliance and madness. He watched it all during his research into her case. He found he respected her. Perhaps more than he normally has for the students that pass through his territory.

"Perhaps it's foolish, but..." I trailed off, shaking my head slightly as if to dismiss the sentiment before it fully formed. Yet a part of myself—a part I rarely acknowledged—whispered a silent prayer for Tanya's recovery. I wasn't a man of faith, but in this moment, I found myself hoping for a miracle.

"Rest assured, Tanya," I spoke as though she could hear me, conviction firm. "Your place here at U.A. is secure. I will ensure that you have every opportunity to catch up, to soar even higher than before."

I returned to my seat, my gaze lingering on the sports festival date. The event meant more than competition; it symbolized their resilience, their refusal to bow to fear. It was a showcase of the future heroes of the world.

"Should you not awaken before the festival, we will wait," he resolved. "I'll hold you back if necessary, but only to see you rise stronger. U.A. is not just a school; it's a promise. A promise that I intend to keep."

As dusk turns to night, I worked tirelessly on, plans and strategies swirling through my mind. For Tanya, for all my students, I would build a fortress of determination and hope. They would face the world together, unbroken and unyielding.

Villains believing they could outwit me? The thought was ludicrous. The protective measures I was putting in place would be unparalleled. My school, my territory, would not fall prey to their machinations again.

I refused to chase my tail like some common animal. No, this was a game of chess, and I was always three moves ahead. They would soon learn that intelligence was the mightiest quirk of all.

If Midnight were to open the door again I know she would see my fur raised and sharp teeth bared.

I couldn't bring myself to care.

Fryderyk Gottschalk, Kind Old Man.

The incessant ringing of the phone pierced through the stillness of my hotel suite like an unwelcome siren. Today, like any other day in this godforsaken role as the head of the family, was devoid of respite. I pinched the bridge of my nose, already anticipating the wave of incompetence about to flood my ears.

"Ja?" My voice was a low growl, barely masking the irritation.

"Boss," the hesitant voice on the other end started, "it's Ludwig. The Bolsheviks are getting bold—pushing into our territory. They are using some new type-"

I clenched my jaw so tight I could hear my teeth grind. "I put you in charge, Ludwig. I trusted you to manage our operations without my hand holding yours," I sneered into the receiver. "Do not make me regret that decision."

"Of course, boss! I won't let you down again."

"See that you don't," I hissed, hanging up with a click that echoed the finality of my threat. Fools, all of them. A man steps away for a moment and the world crumbles.

Shaking off the conversation, I returned to the maze of paperwork sprawled across the mahogany desk. The HPSC, with their red tape and hoops, were making the adoption process akin to traversing a minefield. In Germany, we had our ways to circumvent bureaucracy, but here, I was bound by their restrictive chains.

"Verdammt," I muttered under my breath, scrutinizing line after line of legalese in the documents before me. These adoption laws were practically medieval. How did they expect anyone to navigate this labyrinth?

I pushed back from the desk, the chair rolling with a soft whisper across the carpet. Standing, I paced the room, hands clasped behind my back. They think they can hold Tanya from me with these strings of ink on paper?

"Nein," I whispered to the empty room. "I will have her back. I'll tear through their regulations if I have to.

The pen in my hand felt like a leaden weight, the forms before me a labyrinthine snare laid by bureaucrats to confound and delay. But it was not the mountain of paperwork that soured my mood—it was the memory that flickered unbidden into my mind.

"Japan," I murmured, recalling the first time I set foot on its soil, suffused with the scent of cherry blossoms and the clinking of sake cups. It was a trip that changed everything—where bonds were forged not just through agreements, but the heart.

I remembered her laughter, light as air, when she met him—a Yakuza, whose eyes held an untold depth beneath his stoic exterior. My daughter, always so headstrong, decided then and there that he was the one. "Papa," she had said, her gaze never leaving his. "I want this."

"Take what you want," I had always taught her, and so she did. With an unwavering hand, I signed off on their union, aligning our family with the shadows that rule in silence. A year later, when flames consumed them, I was left with nothing but ashes and vengeance, the price of our alliance.

"Quirk Marriages" they called it back then—an acceptance of love's myriad forms, no matter how powerful or peculiar the pairing. More powerful however, a promise to create stronger children. But now, Japan has turned its back on such openness, ensnaring little Tanya in a web of new restrictions, all because of how we declared her parents' union.

"Verdammt," I cursed under my breath, pressing my thumb against the ink pad, leaving another smudged fingerprint upon the document that mocked my efforts to claim her. The HPSC's orphanage might as well have been a fortress with walls made of red tape and watchful eyes. They didn't know who they were dealing with.

"Your documentation is... insufficient, Mr. Gottschalk." The words echoed from a past conversation, bureaucratic and cold. "Japan's laws are clear."

"Clear as mud," I spat back at the memory, my jaw clenched. "You would keep a child from her rightful family over this?"

"Regulations must be adhered to," came the hollow reply.

"Then regulations be damned." I rose from the desk, my resolve hardening like steel. Little Tanya—my granddaughter, my kin—was out there, caught in the crossfire of politics and power plays.

"Mr. Gottschalk?" A voice broke through my thoughts, and I realized I'd been gripping the pen so tightly it snapped.

"Ja, what is it?" I answered sharply, hiding the broken pieces beneath a stack of papers.

"Apologies for the interruption, sir, but your presence is requested immediately."

"Very well," I sighed, knowing full well that every second spent away from solving Tanya's predicament was a second too long.

As I strode out of the room, the echo of my footsteps seemed to mock me, each one a reminder of the distance between Tanya and me. But they didn't know Fryderyk Gottschalk—they didn't know the lengths to which I would go.

"Nothing will stop me," I vowed silently, my heart aching for the little girl who was born alone in a world of strife. "I'll bring you home, Tanya. No matter the cost."

The day after another round of "business" I sat back at those papers when the ringing of the phone shattered the silence like a hammer through glass, an urgent staccato that pulled me from the labyrinth of paperwork strewn across the hotel desk. I snatched up the receiver, a curse on my lips, but held back.

"Ja?" My voice was gruff, impatient for the interruption.

"Mr. Gottschalk," the voice on the other end was brusque and efficient, one of the Yakuza lieutenants I had briefed about my visit. I appreciated his lack of pleasantries; time was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"Your granddaughter. She's in the hospital."

My heart lurched. "Which one?" I demanded, my voice a blade of ice.

"Musutafu General."

Before he could finish, I was already moving, leaving behind the sheaves of legal jargon, the unfinished forms fluttering to the floor like wounded birds in my wake. The urgency propelled me forward, each step fueled by a growing dread that gnawed at my insides.

The air outside was thick with city smells—exhaust fumes mixed with the scent of rain on asphalt—but it all faded into nothingness as worry for Tanya consumed my thoughts. The drive to the hospital was a blur, traffic lights and honking cars mere background noise to the pounding of my own pulse in my ears.

Upon arrival, I was met with the sterile antiseptic smell that always seemed to cling to hospitals, a stark reminder of vulnerability and mortality. I didn't have time for the usual niceties. A woman with the stern face of authority approached me, her HPSC badge shining ominously on her lapel.

"Mr. Gottschalk, this is highly irregular—"

"Save it," I cut her off, my tone as sharp as the edge of a knife. "I know what you think of my daughter's marriage, but Tanya needs help now. I have resources—"

"Your family's reputation precedes you," she interjected coldly, arms folded across her chest as if to physically bar me from my own kin.

"Damned bureaucracy," I muttered under my breath. But my mind was already racing ahead, formulating plans within plans. If they thought I would be deterred by their red tape, they were sorely mistaken.

Slipping past the HPSC woman, I made my way through the sterile corridors, my steps silent against the polished floor. My years managing illicit enterprises had taught me how to move unseen, unnoticed—a skill that was proving useful once again.

"Excuse me, sir, are you lost?" A young nurse eyed me with suspicion as I hesitated near the records room.

"Ah, mein apologies, just looking for the restroom," I said with a feigned confused smile, pulling on gloves as discreetly as possible. Once her attention shifted, I ducked into the records room, my heart drumming a rapid beat against my ribcage.

The click of the door closing behind me was a signal to begin. Time was of the essence. My fingers danced over the keyboard, searching for Tanya's file among the digital sea of patient information. The screen flickered with names and numbers, but only one mattered to me.

"Come on, where are you..." I murmured to myself, finally locating the file I needed. Room 307. With a mental snapshot of the location, I logged off and wiped down the mouse and keyboard, making sure to leave no trace of my presence.

"Old man or not, Fryderyk, you've still got it," I thought wryly as I slipped out of the records room, blending back into the flow of hospital staff and visitors. There was no time to dwell on the close call.

Now, armed with the knowledge of where Tanya was being kept, I moved toward Room 307, my resolve steeling with every step. My granddaughter lay within, and nothing—not laws, not stubborn bureaucrats, nor the walls of this hospital—would keep me from her side.

The sterile tang of the hospital lingered in my nostrils as I navigated the maze of antiseptic corridors. My shoes made soft sounds against the polished floor, a subtle drumbeat leading me to Room 307. Each number I passed was a countdown, a grim tally that brought me closer to Tanya.

"Sie muss stark sein," I whispered under my breath, invoking strength for her in my mother tongue. Strength she inherited from our bloodline.

Room 303... 305... and then, there it was: Room 307, its door a barrier between the world and my flesh and blood. A young nurse stood nearby, her eyes flicking over a clipboard with the weary focus of someone who had seen too much sorrow in one shift.

"Excuse me, Miss," I said, my voice softening into the gentle, persuasive timbre I reserved for my quirk. "I'm just here to check on a patient before leaving for the day."

The nurse glanced up, her expression shifting ever so slightly as the influence of my vocal suggestion weaved through her thoughts. "Of course sir, right inside," she replied with a small nod, stepping aside without further question. Her compliance was as expected as it was necessary; not even the nosiest staff could resist the tug of my quirk's subtle command.

"Danke," I murmured, though I knew she wouldn't understand the gratitude behind the word. I stepped past her, feeling the weight of her gaze leave me as if a switch had been flipped off. As simple as flipping through the pages of a book, my ability opened doors that were closed to others.

My hand pressed against the cool metal of the doorknob, turning it slowly to avoid any noise. The click of the latch seemed deafening in the quiet hallway, but no one stirred. My heart thrummed a warning—caution, Fryderyk—but I pushed it down. This was no time for hesitation.

I entered the room, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the blinds. The beeps of the heart monitor were a rhythmic intrusion, a reminder of the fragility of life housed within these walls. It was here, in this small corner of the world, that my granddaughter fought her own battles—a dragon in a den of vulnerability.

"Mein kleiner Schatz," I breathed out, allowing myself a moment to collect my thoughts. She was unaware of my presence, oblivious to the familial connection that bound us across oceans and through tragedy. And yet, here I was, ready to defy the very institutions that sought to keep us apart.

Steeling my resolve, I took a step closer to her bedside, ready to face whatever lay before me. My mind raced, already calculating, planning. For her, for Tanya, I would move heaven and earth.

"Du bist nicht allein," I promised silently, the words a vow etched deep into my soul. Not alone, never alone. Not while I still drew breath.

The sight that greeted me as I stepped closer to Tanya's hospital bed seized my heart with a vise-like grip. Tubes and wires snaked across her small body, a stark contrast to the fierce spirit I knew she harbored within. Her face, usually animated with a sharp cunning that belied her years, was now marred by bruises and scrapes, each one a silent testament to the violence she had endured.

"Who did this to you, Tanya?" My voice was a low growl, resonating with barely contained rage. The soft beeping of monitors provided an eerie counterpoint to my simmering fury.

My fists clenched at my sides, the leather of my gloves creaking in protest. I couldn't stand to see her like this—my little treasure, rendered so helpless. This was not the legacy I intended for her, not the world I had fought to shield her from.

"Opa will make them pay," I whispered, my eyes never leaving her still form. The promise was a dark cloud in my mind, swirling with thoughts of retribution. "I swear it."

I leaned over, brushing a kiss against her forehead. The skin beneath my lips was cooler than it should have been, and my resolve hardened like steel. They would regret ever laying a hand on her.

Turning away from the bed, I moved with quiet determination to the door. It was time to put plans into action, to call upon old favors and alliances. Overhaul was not an easy man to persuade, but desperation lent weight to my words, and I would use every ounce of leverage I possessed.

"Overhaul," I muttered under my breath, my mind racing through potential arguments and bargains. "You owe me, and I intend to collect for her sake. For Tanya."

I left the room with a glance back at the sleeping form of my granddaughter—the treasure who had stirred a tempest in my soul. Whatever it took, whatever the cost, I would see her restored, her fire reignited. And woe betide those who stood in our way.

Toru Hagakure, Hero Student, 1-A Seat # 16

The sterile scent of antiseptic still clung to my clothes, a sharp reminder of the hospital corridors I'd haunted only days before. Tanya's room had been quiet, too quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Today, though, the halls of U.A. High School was filled with a different kind of silence—a somber hush of students bracing themselves against the reality of absence. My fingers brushed over the cool surface of my desk, tracing invisible patterns as I settled into the seat, my gaze flitting across the room where Tanya's desk sat empty.

"Can't believe we're back here without her," Kyoka murmured beside me, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes, usually so bright and inquisitive, was dimmed by the weight of shared grief.

"Me neither," I replied, my voice dull. The thought of visiting Tanya after class was the only thing I looked forward to, "It'll be good to see her, even if... even if she can't see us."

The bell rang, slicing through the quiet like a knife, but nobody moved. We waited, collectively holding our breath for the arrival of a substitute teacher, someone to guide us through this day that felt like wading through molasses. Then, with the slow gait of a specter, a figure emerged at the doorway. Swathed in bandages from head to arms, he moved like a zombie.

"Is that...?" one student started, voice trailing off in disbelief.

A collective gasp rippled through the room as recognition dawned. Mr. Aizawa, our battle-worn homeroom teacher, stood before us—a mummy-like apparition bearing the scars of his heroism. Panic surged in my chest; there was no way he should be teaching, not in this condition.

"Mr. Aizawa!" someone called out, their concern echoing my own.

"Quiet!" he rasped, a shadow of his usual sternness laced with an unusual frailty. He winced, pressing a hand to his bandaged ear. "Keep it down. My ears are still ringing like church bells on a Sunday morning."

His attempt at humor did little to ease the tension; instead, it drew a ripple of laughter tinged with disbelief. How could he laugh when every inch of him screamed of pain endured, of battles fought? His resilience was as unnerving as it was inspiring.

"Sorry, sir," we muttered almost in unison, our voices a patchwork of guilt and admiration.

I fidgeted in my seat, the unease churning in my stomach. How many times had Tanya pushed herself too far? How often had she cloaked her pain in the guise of determination? The parallels between her and Mr. Aizawa were unsettling—both driven by a sense of duty that eclipsed their own well-being.

"Let's get started," Mr. Aizawa said, more to himself than to us, and shuffled to his desk with a grimace that he tried to mask with a cough.

As he passed by Izuku, whose bandaged arms were a stark reminder of the attack, I couldn't help but wonder about the burdens we carried, visible and invisible. We were all nursing wounds—some on the surface, some buried deep within. But here we were, back at school, trying to piece together normalcy from the fragments left behind by chaos.

"Today's going to be tough," Kyoka whispered, squeezing my hand under the desk. "But we've got each other."

"Yeah," I agreed, drawing strength from her presence. "For Tanya, for Mr. Aizawa, for all of us. We'll get through this together."

Aizawa's gait was labored, each step an echo of pain muffled by sheer will. My eyes followed him as he approached Izuku, whose own bandages seemed to mirror our teacher's wounds. Cotton peeked out from Izuku's ears – a tiny detail I might've missed if not for the stark silence that filled the room.

"Take this as a lesson," Aizawa began, his voice a hushed rasp filtering through the layers of gauze. "Some things are more important than your own health..." He paused, tilting his head ever so slightly as if weighing his next words against an invisible scale. With a sigh, his stance softened. "Scratch that, you still need to take care of yourself. But today's lesson is all paperwork, so I decided since All Might can't make it... I'll do it."

Whispers blossomed like hesitant flowers in a field of tension, speculating on All Might's absence. Yet Aizawa's presence commanded the space, silencing the murmurs with an assertive tone. "The essays you all turned in the day of the attack should be in each of your desks. You're going to read them out in front of the class."

My fingers grazed the edges of the paper in my desk, the memory of penning those words now a ghostly imprint on my mind. It was an introspection laid bare on lined paper, our aspirations and dreams transformed into ink. "Why did we decide to become heroes?" The question echoed louder in the quiet of the classroom than it had when I'd first confronted it.

"Isn't that personal?" Sero's hand shot up, voicing the collective unease that had settled over us like a thick fog.

I couldn't help but agree with Sero's sentiment; our reasons were the silent heartbeat beneath our uniforms, driving us forward yet kept closely guarded. To share them felt like peeling back skin to reveal the raw vulnerability underneath. But then again, wasn't that what being a hero was about? Exposing our truest selves in the service of others?

As I waited for Aizawa's response, a kaleidoscope of emotions churned within me. Anticipation gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, a blend of curiosity and apprehension for what was to come. Would my classmates understand my reasons, or would they judge them as too flimsy or naive?

I glanced around, taking in the faces of my peers, each a mystery about to unfold. In their eyes, I saw reflections of my own doubts and hopes, a mosaic of motivations that brought us together under one roof. And somewhere, in the unspoken camaraderie that hung like a delicate thread among us, I found the courage to face whatever lay ahead.

Aizawa's voice, though muffled by the swathes of bandages wrapping his head, carried an undeniable edge. "If you feel embarrassed at what you wrote," he said, addressing Sero's lingering concern, "then maybe you shouldn't be heroes."

His words were a gauntlet thrown at our feet—challenge accepted.

Todoroki's hand sliced through the thick air, his voice unusually tinged with curiosity. "Will she have to read hers when she returns?"

"She" being Tanya Yamada, absent yet omnipresent from her hospital bed, her essay lying dormant on Aizawa's desk.

Aizawa hummed, the sound resonating like a tuning fork struck against the tension in the room. "No. Izuku will read hers... He promised after all."

That dark tone, almost like a shadow passing over the sun, sent a wave of unease through me. Izuku, who already bore the physical marks of battle, shivered visibly before steeling himself, a resolute "Yes sensei." piercing the uneasy silence.

The class shuffled to their feet, one by one, as if standing before destiny itself. Iida, ever the embodiment of diligence and duty, took the lead. His back straight as an arrow, he spoke of family tradition and the footsteps of his brother—a path paved with legacy and expectation.

Uraraka followed, her cheeks flushed beneath the weight of her own confession. Her voice wavered but didn't break; aspirations of financial stability for her family spilled forth, chasing away the shame with a quiet bravery that only truth can muster.

I felt a kinship with her in that moment, the shared knowledge that our dreams are often more complex than they appear, woven from threads of personal sacrifice and hope.

As each classmate stepped up, revealing the inner workings of their drive, the room became a tapestry of ambitions and fears. Some voices rang clear, others trembled, but all were bound by a single thread: the desire to reach beyond oneself, to grasp the mantle of heroism no matter the cost.

And amidst this chorus of dreams, I waited, the weight of my own essay like a stone in my pocket, ready to cast it into the collective pool and watch the ripples spread.

The air in the classroom was charged, quivering with the raw disclosures of young souls aspiring to greatness. Bakugo's turn at the podium was like a detonation, his voice booming and brimming with that potent cocktail of ambition and arrogance that was uniquely his own.

"Being a hero isn't about saving people or any of that crap!" he barked, fists clenched as if ready to fight an invisible adversary. "It's about winning! Always being on top! And I'll be damned if anyone else thinks they can stand in my way to number one! Victory above all else!"

His declaration rattled the room, echoes of an indomitable will imprinting themselves upon the walls. He swept back to his seat with the stride of a conqueror, eyes blazing—an unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air.

"That's quite a philosophy you have there," he said calmly. "Let's take a moment to reflect on it as a class. If anyone has questions or comments, please raise your hand. Bakugou, be prepared to hear feedback from your peers. Remember, this isn't an attack on your beliefs, but rather an opportunity for growth."

Several hands flew up and Bakugo twitched in irritation "Racoon eyes."

"Excuse you I have a name!"

"Pinkey then."

"No, fuck you! This is an attack on your whole philosophy!" Ashido exclaimed, standing up from her desk. "You're always so focused on being the best and proving yourself. But what exactly makes you the best? Would you rather chase after a purse snatcher instead of helping someone in need? That's not what it means to be a hero. Heroes are supposed to save others, not just show off their strength."

Bakugo opened his mouth to argue, but Ashido spoke over him. "And by the way, my name is Ashido. Jerk."

Aizawa looked from the two seeing Bakugou quirk crackling at his hands. The boy was surprisingly silent for Ashidos' tirade and took it.

" Shitty…" he growled before correcting himself "Kirishima."

Kirishima slapped his table, a proud smile spreading across his face. "You're really improving, man," he said. "But maybe you should take a step back and relax a bit. Remember what Red Riot always says: 'To be the best, you need the help of others and to lift not just with your arms, but your heart!' Mina's got a point - your essay comes off as selfish because you forgot to lift with your heart. But I know you have so many people rooting for you. They're not after any piece of you or waiting for you to fail. They genuinely want you to succeed. And if you push them away, who will be in your corner?" Kirishima's grin widened as he gave his friend a thumbs up.

Bakugo furrowed his brow, his fiery gaze scanning the room until it landed on me. "Hey, Invisogirl," he said, struggling to remember her name. "Haka... something."

"Invisofist," I corrected, "But I appreciate your effort. I admit that his drive could be perceived as selfish, but you just need to learn the importance of both words and tone, Tanya told you that last week. Before… yeah." As she spoke, the others in the room nodded in agreement, subdued as well.

Aizawa, seeing the mood shift cleared his throat and spoke, "Alright we are going to move onto the next essay."

Then it was Midoriya's turn. His approach to the front was tentative, a stark contrast to Bakugo's brazen confidence. As Izuku read, his voice hitched, the words drenched in emotion:

"I admire All Might," he sniffled through his essay, "because he saves people with a smile. No matter how hard things get, he's there... and I want to be like that too." Tears slipped down his cheeks, unchecked rivers of earnest yearning. "I know I have a lot to learn, but I promise... I'll do better."

His vulnerability was visible for all to see- and the silence of the room seemed to just weigh further on his shoulders as he curled more in on himself.

Aizawa let the silence swell, a brief interlude for reflection, before nudging Izuku onward, "Your turn. Pick out someone to comment."

Izuku looked over at the crowd and then pointed to Uraraka. She smiled "You told us before you wanted to be a hero that makes people smile but is that just because of All Might?" she asked "All Might is a different kind of hero than the rest of them. I know you both have strength quirks but are you going to fashion yourself as All Might or do you plan to try to surpass him and be your own hero? Good job though." She said leaning back in her seat.

Izuku's brows furrowed as he thought about Urarakas statement. All Might was a pinnacle of heroism. Why wouldn't he want to become one? It was All Might's quirk as well. He should copy him. "Sato"

Sato sat up and nodded "All might isn't my favorite hero but I can understand modding after your favorite. I learn a lot from modeling my cooking after famous chefs." Sato explained, "I watch a lot of videos and copy what they do to try to get great results but sometimes I have to just try it differently. Like when no matter what I do it's just not coming out right because I'm not the same person. Maybe the way I use the tools won't ever be the same as when they do it. So like try to be your own hero dude. Models are great but eventually it's all you doing the job."

Izuku hesitated, then nodded in agreement with Sato's words. He needed to remind himself that he was not All Might and that the quirk was now his own. Unlike All Might, Izuku's body wasn't built for powerful punches, and he couldn't afford to break himself every time he used his power. It was time for a new approach. Perhaps he could ask Mr. Aizawa to supervise an after-school training session where he could push his quirk to its limits without risking injury. As a teacher, Mr. Aizawa would be able to offer valuable insights on how to better control his quirk, or at least stop him from breaking himself…

"Uh Dark Shadow? Wait, are you raising Tokoyami's hand?"

"Darkness rises so I explain. '' Tokoyami stated boredly "you might not but become one with the darkness within thou. Thou hast such raw power and it only endues thou pain. Thou might not but wot to revelry in the dark." he stage whispered like the drama nerd everyone knew he was.

"Thou want to not only regard bringing joy to others yet also the darker side of being a hero. Thy abilities only bring thou pain when thou to far right." That was a lot of thou's was this shakespeare? Izuku and the class sweatdropped at his antics " Wot to use that pain to push forward thy drive to try better. Be a better hero by first building up thou!" he exclaimed powerfully Dark Shadow looked around the room "He wants you to work on your quirk." he stated with a laugh "You need to practice pushing it maybe look at getting a strength trainer with a similar quirk in our upperclassmen. They do mentoring in the Gym every Tuesday and Thursday during our free block." Dark Shadow nodded and Tokoyami gave the quirk the side eye "Revelry in the Dark."

"Midoriya, Tanya's essay now."

Izuku nodded, his bandaged hands trembling as he wiped away tears. Gingerly, he unfurled the pages of Tanya's meticulously penned words, taken aback by the elegant script and powerful title: "The Pursuit of Heroism." It promised a manifesto of ideals from a mind sharpened by battles unknown to them.

"Discipline is the cornerstone of meaningful change," Izuku began, his voice steady and resolute as he channeled Tanya's unwavering conviction. "Only those who possess the discipline to confront the chaos of crime can hope to make a difference."

As he continued reading, each word seemed to paint a picture of Tanya's world view. The next segment, spoke of order as the bulwark against the tempest of quirks.

"Stability is paramount," Izuku read aloud, his tone echoing with Tanya's unshakable resolve. "It is our duty to provide security for those lost in the storm."

Moving on to the section titled "Victory," Izuku's voice grew stronger as he recited Tanya's words. "Victory is not just triumph over adversaries. It is also being a beacon for others to follow through the darkness of their despair."

The depth and breadth of her vision was vast, and Izuku conveyed it with a reverence that bordered on sacred. She envisioned a world where every individual stood tall and self-reliant, crafting destinies forged from the embers of past failures—a beacon indeed.

"Through this pursuit," Izuku concluded, his voice ringing out with passion, "we foster a world where everyone thrives. A future bright and just, celebrating the limitless potential within us all."

Her words lingered, a ghostly presence filling the room, imbuing us with a sense of purpose, a call to rise beyond ourselves. Tanya's absence was palpable, yet through her essay, she was undeniably present, shaping our thoughts and, perhaps, our futures.

I clutched my own essay tighter, feeling the weight of responsibility that only Tanya's words can make me feel.

Agent Fox, HPSC Lab Technician

The sterile glare of the fluorescent lights above did little to alleviate the drudgery of my evening. I sat before a mountain of evidence bags, each meticulously labeled and dated. I reached for one that contained a vial of blood, its crimson contents taken from the severed arm of a teenager caught in the crossfire of a villain attack. My fingers lingered on the cool glass, a stark contrast to the warmth that once fueled the life it had been drawn from.

"Another night, another test," I muttered to myself, loading the sample into the analyzer. "I could be sipping on a mojito right now, laughing with the girls, but no... Here I am, playing mad scientist in this godforsaken lab."

As the machine hummed to life, processing the sample with mechanical indifference, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a sigh. I couldn't help but reflect on how my life had become a string of protocols and procedures. The excitement of fieldwork was a distant memory, replaced by the monotonous reality of lab tests and data entry.

Suddenly, the computer terminal erupted into activity, its screen a frenzy of flashing warnings and alerts. My heart quickened as lines of code scrolled at an alarming rate, accompanied by the insistent buzz of the system alert.

"Match found- Alert Details level 9 security," the robotic voice of the computer announced, jolting me upright.

A symphony of alarms blared as the room plunged into a sea of red, the emergency lights casting dancing shadows against the walls. The sense of urgency was palpable, the atmosphere thick with the scent of ozone and fear. My hands trembled, not entirely from the cold that seemed to seep into the very marrow of my bones, but from the sudden onslaught of adrenaline coursing through me.

"Level 9? That's near-apocalyptic. What the hell could possibly—" I cut off my own thoughts as the shrill ring of my phone sliced through the cacophony.

My breath hitched as the first tendrils of panic began to coil around my gut. The room seemed to contract, the walls pressing inwards, as if trying to squeeze the air from my lungs. I could feel the prickling sensation of sweat beading on my forehead despite the laboratory's usual chill.

"Come on, not now," I muttered to myself, swiping at the screen to silence the blaring alarms. But the red persisted, and so did the sense of impending doom.

The phone rang again, its shrill tone slicing through the tension like a scalpel. I snatched it up, my grip on the receiver so tight it threatened to crack.

"Agent Fox," I answered, my voice betraying nothing of the turmoil inside me.

"Listen carefully, Agent," the President's voice came through, clipped and authoritative. I jolted and almost saluted the air, "This is a code red situation."

My mind raced to keep up with the implications of his words. What kind of match could warrant such an alert?

"Seal the lab. No one in or out until further notice. Secure all data and await further instructions."

"Understood." The line went dead, but the intensity of the call lingered, crackling in the electrified silence that followed.

With deliberate motions, I initiated the lockdown protocol, my hands moving of their own accord while my thoughts spun wildly. Level 9 meant catastrophe; it meant an anomaly that could threaten the very fabric of our society.

The last time that there was a Level 9-

"All for One."

AN: Mark: That came out a lot faster than I thought it would be… Enjoy the longest chapter in the story thus far. Hopefully the speed doesn't reflect on its quality...

I hope to see all your reviews and more of you in my Discord, beating me up to write more. The invite is here: 5hwtG5CjsP

And shilling for the sake of shilling: TheMarkofArtemis on that Pat site.

Artemis: May this interlude tide you all over till we move onto the next season!

edit: 1/8/2024: removed a repeated section- note: Nedzu's sections are ment to be repetitive. he has over a hundred parents to personally talk to while trying to do other things :P edit2: made Nezu's section flow better. I think? maybe?