The hideout was cloaked in shadows, illuminated only by the dim, amber glow of a single, overhead bulb that swayed gently from the ceiling. The faint hum of the bulb was the only sound filling the room, until the clinking of glass broke the silence.
Kurogiri stood behind the bar, methodically washing a wine bottle, the gentle splashing of water adding an odd sense of calm to the otherwise tense atmosphere. His smoky form shifted occasionally, the low light reflecting off the polished surface of the counter as he worked. Each movement was deliberate, as if he was trying to maintain a sense of normalcy in a situation that was anything but.
Across the room, Shigaraki sat slumped in an old leather chair, one leg draped over the armrest. His crimson eyes were locked onto the floor, unblinking, deep in thought. His fingers twitched sporadically, scratching at the decaying leather, a habit he couldn't seem to control. His usual chaotic energy was replaced with a cold, calculated fury—a rare state of mind for him, and one that Kurogiri didn't interrupt.
"She should have been nothing," Shigaraki finally muttered, his voice low but seething with anger. "Weakened, outnumbered… but she still pushed us back."
Kurogiri paused in his cleaning, his yellow eyes glancing up to observe his leader. The silence stretched, and for a moment, it seemed like Shigaraki would stop there. But then, in a sharper tone, he continued, "I miscalculated. We all did."
The admission of error hung in the air like a heavy weight, something rarely acknowledged in the League. The villains were used to being on the offensive, always the ones holding the cards. But Seraphina had turned the tables, even in her weakened state. Her power had been undeniable, a force that had nearly rivaled All Might's prime—something Shigaraki had never anticipated.
"She wasn't supposed to be a threat anymore," he said, more to himself than to Kurogiri. His fingers dug into the armrest, bits of crumbling leather falling to the floor. "Not at this level. But there she was, tearing through our ranks like it was nothing."
Kurogiri resumed washing the bottle, his movements slower now, more measured. "It seems," he said in his calm, resonant voice, "that we underestimated her resilience. It's not an error we can afford to repeat."
Shigaraki's eyes flicked up, narrowing as they fixed on the bar. "What good is acknowledging that now? We should've prepared for this—should've added a quirk to counter her from the start. And yet…"
His words trailed off as his gaze shifted to a corner of the room, where a flickering monitor suddenly came to life. The screen glowed softly, casting eerie shadows across Shigaraki's scarred face. The image was unclear at first, a swirl of static before resolving into the outline of a figure—a silhouette barely visible in the dim light.
Then, a voice, calm and sweet, filled the room, despite the static that distorted the screen. The silhouette remained obscured, but Shigaraki and Kurogiri both knew exactly who it was. The voice had a melodic quality, a sweetness that belied the monstrous presence behind it.
"Tomura," the voice purred, addressing him with a tone that almost felt affectionate. "I've been watching, of course. Your little adventure at UA... quite the spectacle."
Shigaraki's fingers twitched as he crossed his arms, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. He didn't like being reminded of that day—how things had spiraled out of control, how they had underestimated their opponents, especially Seraphina.
"It didn't go as planned," Shigaraki admitted, his voice strained with frustration. "We thought we had the upper hand. We were wrong. Seraphina... she's stronger than we expected."
The voice chuckled softly, the sound like silk brushing against steel. "Ah, Tomura, you sound almost defeated. But don't fret. The fact that we underestimated her is not a failure—it's an opportunity. Now we know just how powerful she truly is."
Kurogiri observed quietly, knowing better than to interrupt when the voice on the screen spoke. His mist swirled gently, an almost calming presence as Shigaraki tried to maintain his composure.
"You're too optimistic," Shigaraki muttered, his fingers curling into fists. "Sending that Nomu out there without the proper quirks to counter her... It was a waste. We should've prepared better."
"But it wasn't a waste," the voice countered smoothly. "Now we know what we're dealing with. Seraphina has revealed her hand, and with that, we can adjust. We'll find the quirk that can counter hers, and then she'll be nothing more than an obstacle easily removed."
The static on the screen flickered for a moment, and another voice, this one raspier and filled with clinical detachment, joined the conversation. "It's a shame the Nomu was destroyed, though," the new voice said. "I was rather fond of that one. But at least the data we collected was worth the loss. This experiment has proven enlightening."
The sweet voice chuckled, clearly amused by the doctor's comments. "Indeed, Doctor. We have learned much, and that knowledge will serve us well. The Nomu may be gone, but the results... Ah, the results are what truly matter."
Shigaraki narrowed his eyes at the screen, his frustration still simmering. He knew the doctor and the voice both saw things differently. They valued knowledge and data above all else, while Shigaraki craved victory and destruction. But he couldn't deny the logic behind their words. Seraphina's strength had been revealed, and that information would be crucial for their next move.
The sweet voice, now tinged with a hint of steel, continued. "While everything remains in order for now, Tomura, we cannot allow Seraphina to roam free for too long. She could become a significant problem, particularly when the time comes for my next encounter with the Symbol of Peace."
Shigaraki's gaze sharpened. He knew exactly who the voice was referring to, and the mere thought of that looming confrontation sent a thrill through him.
"In your world of gaming, Tomura," the voice continued, still sweet but now with a calculating edge, "you know the importance of roles. Having a healer or support character can drastically change the outcome of any battle. Seraphina, with her abilities, is like that healer. If we remove her from the equation, we level the playing field. But still... we must prepare. Find more quirks. Adapt. In case that plan fails."
Shigaraki smirked slightly, finally seeing the strategy unfold before him. It made sense in its twisted way. Removing Seraphina would cripple the heroes' chances, making their victory more attainable. But preparation was key.
"Understood," Shigaraki said, his tone firmer now. "I'll find the quirks we need. And next time, Seraphina won't be so lucky."
The screen flickered again, the sweet voice returning to its melodic tone. "That's the spirit, Tomura. Continue to grow stronger, and soon, all will fall before you. But remember—always be prepared for the unexpected. We've only just begun."
With that, the monitor clicked off, the static dissolving into darkness. The room was silent once more, save for the quiet hum of electricity in the walls.
Kurogiri moved to Shigaraki's side, his voice low and respectful. "What will you do next?"
Shigaraki stared at the blank monitor for a long moment before turning away, his expression cold and determined. "We gather our resources. Find the quirks that will counter Seraphina's power. And then, we take her out of the equation."
--
The hospital room was a sterile, quiet space, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights. Monitors beeped rhythmically, tracking Seraphina's vital signs as she lay unconscious on the bed. Her once-bright hair now dulled, and her skin, usually radiant, had lost its luster, reflecting the toll the battle had taken on her.
At the foot of her bed, Recovery Girl stood, her wrinkled face etched with concern. She adjusted the IV drip and sighed, her small stature dwarfed by the solemn atmosphere in the room. A large screen on the wall displayed a video call in progress, with two Vatican representatives on one side and a group of Japanese officials on the other.
"Her condition is stable," Recovery Girl began, her voice calm but tired. "But her quirk is making it difficult for me to accelerate her recovery. Every time I try to use my quirk, it's as if her body rejects the healing. It's slowing down the process significantly."
The Japanese officials exchanged uneasy glances. At the forefront was an older man in a crisp suit, his demeanor serious and diplomatic. Beside him, a younger woman with sharp eyes and a stern expression took notes on a tablet.
The Vatican representatives were dressed in formal clerical robes, their faces framed by the solemnity of the occasion. The older of the two, a cardinal with a severe expression, spoke first. His voice was measured, but there was an underlying tension in his tone.
"We were informed that Seraphina's quirk might interfere with traditional healing methods," the cardinal said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded the Japanese officials. "Her natural healing factor is indeed the only way for her to recover fully, but this situation should never have reached this point."
The younger Vatican representative, a woman with keen eyes and a calm demeanor, added, "Seraphina's quirk is far more complex than what has been shared so far. At full power, she can manifest barriers, heal others, enhance the strength and morale of her allies, and even summon weapons out of thin air, controlling them like projectiles. She also has the ability to produce golden chains that drain her enemies of their strength. But in her current state... she's limited. She can only manage basic healing, barriers, and a weakened version of the chains."
Recovery Girl nodded, her face grave. "I've encountered powerful quirks before, but hers is something unique. The damage she sustained during the battle... it's significant. She needs time to heal on her own terms, but I fear time isn't a luxury we have."
The room fell into a tense silence as the implications of her words sank in. The Japanese officials exchanged more uneasy looks, and the older man finally spoke, his voice steady but strained.
"We understand the gravity of the situation," he began carefully. "But we must also acknowledge the constraints under which we operate. Japan has strict regulations regarding the use of quirks, particularly in public spaces. Seraphina's restrictions were necessary to ensure the safety of civilians."
The cardinal's eyes hardened, his tone becoming sharper. "And those very restrictions have now left her vulnerable. You've crippled her performance, and as a result, she's lying here in this hospital bed, fighting for her life."
The tension in the room thickened, and the young Japanese official with the tablet spoke up, her voice firm but diplomatic. "We had no choice but to enforce our laws. Seraphina isn't a licensed professional hero in Japan. While we respect her abilities, our regulations are in place for a reason. We cannot allow exceptions, no matter how powerful the individual."
The Vatican woman leaned forward slightly, her expression calm but her words pointed. "Seraphina may not be bound by your professional hero laws, but that doesn't negate the fact that she was here to help. She put her life on the line to defend your country, and now she's paying the price for it. If these restrictions had been loosened—"
The older Japanese official interrupted, his tone measured but with a hint of frustration. "We appreciate her assistance, truly. But we must balance the protection of our citizens with the enforcement of our laws. Allowing her full access to her quirk in the middle of a populated area could have caused more harm than good."
The cardinal's expression grew colder, his voice laced with a warning. "The Vatican does not take kindly to seeing one of its most valued protectors being limited in such a way. Seraphina's capabilities are not just an asset to you, but to the world. If Japan cannot recognize that, then perhaps we should reconsider our cooperation in the future."
The young Japanese woman's eyes flashed with indignation, but she maintained her composure. "Are you implying that there could be... political repercussions from this incident?"
The cardinal's gaze bore into her, unflinching. "What I am saying is that Seraphina is not just a soldier or a hero. She is a symbol, and her presence here reflects the goodwill between our nations. If her role is undermined by your restrictions, then yes, it could have broader implications. We expect her to be given the freedom to operate without such limitations in the future. Otherwise..."
He let the sentence hang in the air, the implication clear.
Recovery Girl, sensing the rising tension, intervened. "We all want what's best for Seraphina. She's a remarkable individual, and she's done a great deal of good here. But right now, what she needs is time to heal—both physically and politically. Arguing over what should or shouldn't have happened won't help her recover any faster."
The Vatican woman nodded slightly, her tone softening. "You're right. What matters most now is her recovery. But do not mistake our patience for complacency. We will be watching closely, and we expect Japan to make the right decisions moving forward."
The older Japanese official inclined his head, his expression solemn. "We understand. We will do everything in our power to ensure Seraphina receives the care she needs. And we will revisit the regulations that affected her ability to fight effectively."
The tension in the room eased slightly, though the underlying friction remained. As the call ended, the screen went dark, and the room fell into silence once more. Recovery Girl sighed and turned back to Seraphina, her thoughts heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.
The political fallout was only beginning, and she could only hope that Seraphina would recover before it all came crashing down.
--
Izuku Midoriya sat at his desk, the soft glow of his lamp casting long shadows across his room. His notebooks were scattered around him, filled with scribbled notes on heroes, quirk analyses, and battle strategies. But tonight, his pen was still, his mind too restless to focus. The events at the USJ played over and over in his head like a broken record.
He clenched his fists, the image of Seraphina's battered form seared into his memory. He had seen heroes injured before—on television, in the news—but seeing it up close, someone he admired so much, someone who had fought so bravely, had shaken him to his core.
"If only I were stronger..." he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I had been faster, smarter... maybe I could have helped her."
His mother, Inko Midoriya, quietly entered the room with a tray of tea and snacks. She placed it on his desk, her eyes full of concern. She had seen the news, heard about the attack, and she knew how much it weighed on her son.
"Izuku," she said gently, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "You've been through a lot. It's okay to feel upset."
Midoriya turned to her, his eyes tired but determined. "I just... I feel like I should have done more, Mom. Seraphina-san… she's always been so strong, so sure of herself. And now, she's in the hospital because of what happened. I couldn't protect her."
Inko's heart ached seeing her son like this. She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You did everything you could, Izuku. You're still learning, still growing. You can't expect to be perfect right away."
"But that's the problem," Midoriya said, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't afford to make mistakes. Not when people's lives are at stake. I have to be better. Stronger. For everyone's sake."
Inko nodded, understanding his resolve. She knew how much becoming a hero meant to him, how deeply he cared about others. But she also knew that pushing himself too hard could lead to burnout. She had seen it in his eyes before—the weight of the world resting on his young shoulders.
"Just remember, Izuku," she said softly, "it's okay to ask for help. You don't have to do everything alone. Your friends, your teachers… they're all here to support you. Don't carry this burden by yourself."
Midoriya nodded slowly, appreciating her words, even if the guilt still lingered. He knew she was right—he wasn't alone. But that didn't change the fact that he needed to grow stronger. For Seraphina, for All Might, for everyone.
As his mother left the room, he turned back to his notes, a renewed determination in his eyes. He would train harder, study more, and push himself beyond his limits. The next time danger struck, he would be ready. He couldn't afford to fail again.
--
Katsuki Bakugo lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his room unusually quiet. Normally, the silence would have been filled with the sound of him muttering about his latest victory or how he would surpass everyone else. But tonight, there was no fire, no bravado. Just a heavy weight in his chest that he couldn't shake.
The image of Seraphina, bloodied and unconscious, wouldn't leave his mind. He had seen her fight before, always so fierce, so unstoppable. But seeing her like that... it made something inside him twist uncomfortably.
"Damn it," he muttered, clenching his fists. "Why the hell do I care so much?"
It wasn't like him to worry about others. He had always seen them as extras, obstacles in his path to becoming the number one hero. But Seraphina... she was different. She wasn't just another person to surpass. She was strong, determined, and he respected that. He respected her.
But it was more than that. Something he couldn't quite put into words. Something that made his chest tighten every time he thought about her lying in that hospital bed.
He had known her since middle school, since the day she appeared a few years ago, at first he saw as another xtra, then inferiority, then lastly acceptance. Like All might, she had always been someone he admired from afar—strong, confident, and unafraid to stand up for herself. He had liked that about her, even if he would never admit it, not even to himself.
But seeing her hurt like that... it made him feel like he had failed at something. He didn't know what, exactly, but it gnawed at him.
His mother's voice called from downstairs, interrupting his thoughts. "Katsuki! Dinner's ready!"
Bakugo didn't respond right away. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions swirling inside him.
Finally, he sat up, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't stand feeling like this—weak, helpless, unsure. He wasn't supposed to care about anyone else. He was supposed to be the strongest, the best. And yet...
"Damn it," he muttered again, frustration lacing his voice.
He knew one thing for sure—he couldn't just sit here and do nothing. If he wanted to be the best, he had to be strong enough to protect everyone, even those he wouldn't normally admit he cared about. Even Seraphina.
As he headed downstairs for dinner, he made a silent vow to himself. He would train harder, push himself further, and make sure that next time, he wouldn't just be standing on the sidelines while someone else got hurt. He wasn't going to fail again.
--
Shoto Todoroki stood by the window of his room, staring out at the moonlit garden. The cold night air seeped through the glass, but he didn't mind. It matched the chill that lingered in his heart.
The events at the USJ weighed heavily on his mind, particularly Seraphina's injury. He had replayed the battle in his head countless times, wondering if things would have been different if he had acted faster, if he had used his flames. But he hadn't. And now, she was in the hospital, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault.
"If I had just..." he began, but the words died in his throat.
He had always hesitated to use his fire, a constant reminder of his father's influence. But Seraphina... she had never pressured him, never judged him for it. She had given him space, time to make his own decisions. And in return, he had let her down.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. He turned to see his sister, Fuyumi, standing in the doorway, her expression concerned.
"Shoto, are you okay?" she asked softly. "You've been quiet since you got home."
Todoroki turned back to the window, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's my fault she's hurt. If I had used my fire, I could have gotten to her in time. I could have helped."
Fuyumi stepped into the room, her eyes filled with empathy. "Shoto, you can't blame yourself for what happened. You did what you could."
"But it wasn't enough," Todoroki said, his voice laced with frustration. "I've been so focused on distancing myself from him, from my fire... that I've hesitated when it mattered most. And now, someone else is paying the price for it."
Fuyumi placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle. "You're not him, Shoto. You don't have to be afraid of your fire. You can use it in your own way, for your own reasons. Seraphina wouldn't want you to blame yourself. She'd want you to learn from this, to grow stronger."
Todoroki nodded slowly, her words resonating with him. He had spent so much time running from his past, from his father's influence, that he hadn't stopped to think about what it was costing him—and those around him.
"I need to stop hesitating," he murmured. "I need to start thinking seriously about my decisions. About what kind of hero I want to be."
Fuyumi smiled softly, her eyes filled with pride. "You're already on the right path, Shoto. Just keep moving forward. Don't let fear hold you back."
Todoroki glanced out the window one last time, the moonlight reflecting off the glass. He knew she was right. He couldn't keep running. He had to face his fears, his fire, and use it to protect those he cared about.
As Fuyumi left the room, Todoroki turned away from the window, a new resolve burning in his chest. He would become stronger—not just for himself, but for Seraphina, for his friends, for everyone who depended on him. He wouldn't let them down again.
The moonlight bathed the room in a soft glow as Todoroki sat on his bed, his mind calm and clear for the first time in days. He knew what he had to do. And this time, he wouldn't hesitate.
--
Seraphina slowly awoke to the faint beeping of machines and the sterile smell of antiseptic. Her eyelids felt heavy, like they were weighed down by invisible forces, but she managed to open them just a crack. The room around her was dimly lit, the soft glow from the medical equipment casting long shadows across the walls.
It took her a moment to realize where she was—hospital, she thought. The battle came rushing back in fragmented flashes: the Nomu, the overwhelming force of its attacks, the pain, and then… darkness. She took a deep breath, wincing as her body protested with sharp twinges of pain.
"You're awake," a familiar voice rumbled from her right. She turned her head slowly to see All Might, sitting in a chair beside her bed. His large frame seemed out of place in the small hospital room, yet his presence was comforting, like a beacon of safety in the midst of chaos.
"Yeah," Seraphina croaked, her voice hoarse. She swallowed and tried again. "How long was I out?"
"Not long," All Might replied, his voice gentle but filled with that unwavering determination she always admired. "Just a couple of days. You gave us quite a scare, young lady."
Seraphina managed a small smile at that, though it quickly faded as the memories of the battle resurfaced. "The others... Are they okay?"
"They're fine," All Might reassured her, his eyes softening with concern. "You protected them, just like you always do."
Seraphina nodded, but the relief she expected didn't come. Instead, she felt a gnawing emptiness, a sense of failure that she couldn't shake. She had fought with everything she had, but it hadn't been enough. The Nomu had nearly killed her, and she had barely managed to hold on.
"I wasn't strong enough," she whispered, more to herself than to All Might.
All Might's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his hands clasped together as he considered his words carefully. "Seraphina," he began, his tone serious yet kind, "every hero faces moments like this. Times when they push themselves to their limits and find that those limits aren't enough. But it's not about whether you were strong enough in that moment. It's about how you respond after."
Seraphina closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. She knew he was right, but it didn't make the self-doubt any easier to bear. "I've always believed that if I trained hard enough, if I pushed myself far enough, I could handle anything. But now… I'm not so sure."
All Might reached out, placing a large, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You're stronger than you think, Seraphina. You survived. And that counts for something. You've always had a will that can't be broken, and that's why you're still here."
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. There was a depth of understanding in his eyes that only came from experience—from the countless battles he had fought, the near-death experiences, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew exactly what she was feeling because he had been there too.
"Being a hero isn't just about strength," All Might continued, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of her thoughts. "It's about resilience. About getting back up, no matter how hard you're knocked down. And I know you, Seraphina. You'll get back up. You always do."
Seraphina nodded slowly, but the doubts still lingered. "What if next time, I'm not fast enough? What if I can't protect them?"
Before All Might could respond, another voice cut in, dry and gruff. "Then you learn from it. You adapt."
Seraphina turned her head slightly, her gaze falling on Aizawa, who had silently entered the room. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual tired expression masking the concern in his eyes.
"Aizawa," she said, managing a faint smile. "I didn't expect to see you here."
He shrugged, his voice laced with his trademark nonchalance. "You're part of the team. Can't have you lying around in bed all day while the rest of us are out there dealing with things."
Seraphina chuckled softly, though it quickly turned into a wince of pain. Aizawa's presence was comforting in its own way—gruff, unyielding, but always reliable. He wasn't one to sugarcoat things, but that was something she appreciated about him.
"You pushed yourself too hard," Aizawa continued, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. "You always do. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's what makes you a great hero. You just need to be smarter about it."
Seraphina looked up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. "Smarter?"
Aizawa nodded. "You've got the strength, the skills, the determination. But sometimes, you forget that you don't have to do everything alone. You've got allies. Use them."
She considered his words carefully. It was true—she had always been the type to take on burdens by herself, to push herself to the brink if it meant protecting others. But in doing so, she sometimes overlooked the help that was right in front of her.
"You're not invincible, Seraphina," Aizawa added, his voice softening slightly. "None of us are. But that's why we work together. That's why we rely on each other."
Seraphina closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling over her. She had always prided herself on being strong, on being able to stand on her own. But maybe… maybe it was time to lean on others a little more.
When she opened her eyes again, both All Might and Aizawa were watching her, their expressions a mix of concern and expectation. She took a deep breath, finding the resolve she had been searching for.
"I know you're both right," she said quietly. "I need to be smarter, to use what I've learned from this. But I won't let this stop me. I'll keep pushing forward. I'll get stronger."
All Might smiled, a proud glint in his eyes. "That's the Seraphina I know. You've got a bright future ahead of you, and this… this is just a bump in the road."
Aizawa nodded in agreement, though his expression remained as stoic as ever. "Good. Just remember, you don't have to carry everything on your own. We're here to help."
Seraphina smiled faintly, feeling a sense of comfort she hadn't expected. "Thank you, both of you. I won't forget that."
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the conversation easing into a quiet understanding. Seraphina still had a long road ahead of her, but she knew she wasn't walking it alone. She had allies—friends—who would stand by her, no matter what.
As she settled back into the pillows, exhaustion tugging at her consciousness, she allowed herself to relax for the first time in days. The battle might have shaken her, but it hadn't broken her. And with All Might and Aizawa by her side, she knew she could face whatever came next.
As sleep began to claim her, she made a silent vow: she would rise from this stronger than ever, not just for herself, but for everyone who believed in her. The fight wasn't over—not by a long shot.
And this time, she wouldn't face it alone.
The days passed slowly for Seraphina as she recuperated in the hospital. The sterile walls of her room were a constant reminder of the battle that had left her on the brink of death, but they also became a space for introspection and quiet determination. Visits from her colleagues—All Might, Aizawa, and even a few of her students—helped lift her spirits. Their support gave her strength, but it was her own resolve that truly fueled her recovery.
She had made a promise to herself in that quiet room, and she intended to keep it.
--
A few days later, at U.A. High, Class 1-A was abuzz with energy. The morning sun filtered through the large windows of their classroom, casting warm light over the students as they engaged in their usual pre-class banter. Despite the lingering memories of the USJ incident, there was a growing sense of normalcy returning, though tension still simmered beneath the surface.
Kirishima leaned over his desk, flexing his arms in front of Kaminari and Sero, who were both laughing at his exaggerated display of strength. "You see this, guys? I've been working out twice as hard since the USJ. Next time, no villain's gonna catch me off guard!"
Kaminari snickered, giving him a thumbs-up. "Yeah, man! With those biceps, you'll scare them off before they even get close!"
Sero grinned, wrapping a piece of tape around his finger like a makeshift boxing glove. "We should all be getting stronger. Those villains are no joke. But hey, let's not forget the most important part of training—looking cool while doing it."
Mina, who had been listening in, rolled her eyes playfully. "You boys and your muscles. You know, there's more to being a hero than just flexing! Like… style!" She struck a pose, her antennae bobbing with excitement.
Jiro, sitting nearby, smirked and plugged one of her jacks into her ear. "Style's important, but I'd rather just blast them with some good music. Nothing like a little rock 'n' roll to get the blood pumping."
Bakugo, sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, was unusually quiet. He glanced at the lively group from the corner of his eye but didn't join in. His mind was elsewhere—on Seraphina, on the USJ incident, on his own determination to get stronger. But he'd be damned if he let anyone see how much it bothered him.
"Oi, extras, keep it down!" he finally snapped, his usual fiery tone returning, though it lacked its usual bite.
The group quieted down for a moment, a few chuckles escaping as they noticed Bakugo's mood. Even when he was subdued, he still managed to keep the class on their toes.
Meanwhile, Midoriya sat at his desk, scribbling notes furiously into his hero analysis notebook. His mind was a whirl of thoughts—strategies, training regimens, anything that would help him improve. But his focus was interrupted when Uraraka leaned over to peek at his notes.
"Wow, Deku, you're really going all out, huh?" she said with a bright smile. "You've filled, like, three pages already, and class hasn't even started!"
Midoriya blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his head. "I just… I don't want to waste any time. We need to be prepared for anything, and, well, you know…"
Iida, ever the model student, adjusted his glasses as he chimed in. "That's the right attitude, Midoriya! We must remain vigilant at all times. The next challenge could come when we least expect it!"
As if on cue, the classroom door slid open, and Aizawa entered, his usual disheveled appearance somehow still managing to command attention. The room fell into an immediate hush, all eyes turning to their homeroom teacher as he made his way to the front.
Aizawa's eyes scanned the room, his expression as tired and unreadable as ever. He let the silence hang for a moment before speaking. "Good to see you're all lively this morning," he said dryly. "But I'd like you to focus. We've got something important to discuss."
The serious tone in his voice sent a ripple of tension through the class. After everything that had happened at the USJ, they couldn't help but brace themselves for more bad news. Midoriya's grip tightened on his notebook, and Bakugo's scowl deepened, while Todoroki, who had been quietly sitting at his desk, straightened up, his attention fully on Aizawa.
Sensing the growing unease, Aizawa sighed internally. He knew these kids had been through a lot recently, and he wasn't about to pile more stress on them—at least, not yet. But he couldn't resist dragging out the suspense just a little longer.
"Starting today, we'll be focusing on a new challenge," Aizawa continued, his tone still serious. "This exercise will push you all to your limits and test everything you've learned so far."
The tension in the room thickened, some students exchanging worried glances. They were all thinking the same thing: Another battle? More villains? Were they even ready?
Aizawa paused, letting their imaginations run wild for a moment. Then, with a barely noticeable smirk, he delivered the twist. "This challenge isn't about fighting villains, though. It's about competing against each other."
Confused murmurs spread across the room as the students tried to make sense of what he meant. Aizawa waited until the noise died down before revealing the final piece of the puzzle.
"I'm talking about the U.A. Sports Festival," he said, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation that was rare for him. "It's coming up soon, and it's going to be your chance to show the world what you're made of."
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, the room erupted in a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The U.A. Sports Festival was one of the biggest events of the year—a chance for students to prove themselves not just to their teachers, but to the entire country. It was a golden opportunity for anyone aiming to become a top hero.