Welcome back to the fic and to its thirteenth chapter, which also marks the beginning of the new story arc: The Naruhata Crisis, spanning from chapter XIII to chapter XX.
The name of this arc should give you an idea of what to expect, but I can also reveal that throughout this arc, characters from the Vigilantes spin-off will make their appearances. If you're not familiar with it, I highly recommend checking it out—it's a fantastic read. This arc is a way to fulfill my desire to see characters from both manga interact during Izuku's time as the protagonist, rather than before.
To give you a bit of context, the chapter takes place during the events of chapter 71 of Vigilantes, so I hope you enjoy the twist I've introduced.
On another note, starting from this chapter, the story's rating will increase from T+ to M. You'll see why as the arc progresses.
Also, a new chapter will be uploaded every four days, so you'll have Chapter XIV on September 1st.
Lastly, in case you haven't noticed, today marks one month since the fic began. I'm very excited about this, and I can't thank you all enough for the support you've given!
I don't have much else to add, so I'll just respond to your comments:
Sea21: Thanks for the new review! Yes, in Rebels, it's shown that lightsabers have a "training mode" that reduces their power, usually for training purposes. As for Izuku needing to learn both swordplay and martial arts, it's because almost all the Jedi from the prequels use them, so I thought Izuku should as well. Ojiro, being skilled in martial arts, was a natural choice to help with that. Regarding Endeavor, his characterization in the fic will influence how he is portrayed, but I haven't written any chapters set in U.A. yet, so I can't answer that question right now.
Benguin: Great to read you again! I'm glad to address all the questions of my readers. I feel many characters from 1-A and 1-B are underutilized in the canon, and Ojiro is a good example of that. Since we don't know much about his past, he's a blank slate with potential. Eraser will appear in this arc, so I hope you enjoy his role.
Ryustin: It's nice to read your comments again. Don't worry—I find it challenging to write just one romantic interest, so there's no way I'll be writing a harem haha.
thebananameister21: I don't understand the hatred towards characters either, unless they're villains, in which case it often means they're well-developed, making the story more engaging.
Ryuujin96: Good to read you! Thanks for the feedback and for appreciating my decisions. Comments like yours motivate me to keep writing. Regarding the interaction between Mei and Izuku, I wanted to show their strong friendship. Mei's curiosity wouldn't lead her to damage something Izuku built with so much effort, especially since she understands the difficulty of creating such things. That's why Izuku's reaction is one of concern but not overly serious. It's more of a friendly joke than anything serious—Mei won't tamper with Izuku's lightsaber, though she might find inspiration in it.
Guest: I missed reading you, haha. Obi-Wan as Izuku's fashion advisor would be quite amusing to write. There might be a chance for Anakin to offer some dark side skill suggestions, but it's uncertain at this point. Regarding Ojiro, I'll develop him after this arc, as I want to focus on the trio (Izuku, Mei, and Hitoshi) and the spin-off characters. If I had included him in this arc, I might not have done him justice. I'm also considering having Izuku teach others his age or younger ;) Though I haven't decided who yet, your ideas are great, and I might draw inspiration from them. (Shoji or Tokoyami as Grievous sounds brilliant haha!)
As for Obi-Wan and Assaj, I also felt there was something there—such confidence in fighting back to back has to come from somewhere. After this arc, Himiko will finally appear, and I'm excited to write her.
Neiltanael: I'm still working on the U.A. storyline. Instead of hatred, I see Yoda's feelings as disappointment—he's not happy to see his former padawan using his talents in Form II for personal ambitions. The Order allowed specialization in any of the forms, and the decline of Makashi until Dooku's time relates more to the Order's state post-Ruusan than anything else. Yoda is a skilled duelist who could have defeated Dooku at Geonosis if not for his need to protect Anakin and Obi-Wan. Thus, Yoda's feelings would be more about disapproval of the person practicing Form II rather than the form itself.
BotSamIam: Hey, thanks for the new review! Haha, I also love Mei as a force of chaos. Regarding her romantic interests, I have something planned for her, and as I mentioned before, Mei and Izuku aren't going to end up together. I see them more as a pair of crazy siblings. Not to mention, when she was told that the saber is like Izuku's heart, she decided she wanted to modify it instead of just taking care of it haha. Ojiro is a great character, and I hope I do him justice.
Before I finish this, I would like to ask you to talk about and recommend this fic to your friends; it would make me very happy. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy it. Please leave a review, add it to your favorites, and follow the story.
See you at the end!
Disclaimer: You already know this; MHA is owned by Kohei Horikoshi. The Force and everything related to Star Wars are the intellectual property of George Lucas and the evil multi-billion-dollar company that owns DisneyWorld
The only thing that is mine is the computer from which this is written.
Underlined and italicized text = thoughts and/or internal dialogues.
Underlined, italicized, and bold text = Force ghosts dialogues.
Italicized and bold text = The Force dialogues.
Bold Text =Powerful characters dialogues (Like All-Might).
"A failure in planning is a plan for failure."
Chapter XIII: Thwarted Plans.
The summer sun blazed down on Musutafu as Izuku bounded down the stairs of his apartment building, his heart racing with excitement. The midday heat was oppressive, yet the sixteen-year-old barely noticed. It was the middle of July, and the first semester at Orudera High School had just ended. For Izuku, this meant one thing: the Annual Hero Convention in Naruhata, Tokyo.
The padawan had been counting down the days to this event, eagerly awaiting the chance to immerse himself in the world of heroes. The convention was a massive gathering of pro heroes, aspiring heroes, and enthusiasts from all over Japan. It was a place to learn, network, and be inspired. This year felt especially important, as Izuku had grown significantly both in skill and in spirit. His friends, Hitoshi Shinso and Mei Hatsume, shared in his enthusiasm. However, despite the excitement bubbling within him, a small cloud of sadness lingered over Izuku's heart. His new friend, Mashirao Ojiro, wouldn't be able to join them due to obligations at his family's dojo.
As Izuku made his way through the bustling streets towards the train station, the reality of how much had changed in the past few months settled in his mind. Mashirao had quickly become an integral part of their group. Despite living an hour away, Mashirao made the effort to visit Musutafu frequently, often joining them for study sessions and training. His calm demeanor and unwavering sense of justice had earned him a special place in their hearts.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he recalled one of their recent training sessions. Mashirao had been patient, guiding them through various techniques with a level of expertise that spoke to years of disciplined practice. His dedication to mastering his martial arts and honing his Quirk had a profound influence on all of them, pushing them to strive harder. For Izuku, these sessions had become more than just practice; they were moments of growth and camaraderie, where each of them contributed to the other's progress.
The most significant change in their dynamic had been the improvement in Hitoshi's physical condition. Mei, ever the relentless engineer, had insisted that Hitoshi join him in training at Mashirao's dojo. The brainwasher had initially resisted, preferring to focus on his mental training and Quirk control. But the pink-haired inventor's persistence, combined with Ojiro's patient guidance, had paid off. Hitoshi was now noticeably fitter and more agile. Izuku had watched as his friend gradually transformed, his once-slouched posture straightening, and his movements becoming more deliberate and confident. The quiet pride Hitoshi took in his progress was evident in the way he carried himself, and Izuku couldn't help but feel a swell of admiration for his friend.
Izuku himself had made significant strides in his training as well. The rigorous kenjutsu sessions had greatly improved his lightsaber skills. The discipline and focus required in traditional martial arts had translated well into his Jedi training. His movements were becoming more fluid, his strikes more precise. Every time he ignited his lightsaber, the hum of the blade felt like an extension of his own will—a testament to the countless hours he had devoted to his craft. The combination of physical and mental training was shaping him into a formidable warrior. But beyond the physical, there was a deeper transformation taking place within him—a growing understanding of the balance between light and dark, and the delicate equilibrium he needed to maintain within himself.
As he neared the station, the green-haired teen's thoughts shifted to the Hero Convention. It was more than just an event; it was an opportunity to learn and grow. Izuku's mind buzzed with anticipation, eager to attend the panels and workshops, hoping to gain insights from some of the greatest heroes of their time. There were also rumors of special exhibits showcasing new hero technology and gear, which he knew would be of great interest to Mei. The prospect of seeing All Might—the number one hero—speak at one of the panels filled him with a mixture of excitement and reverence.
Hitoshi had his own reasons for attending. The convention was the perfect place to observe and analyze various heroes and their Quirks. Hitoshi's analytical mind thrived in such environments, where he could dissect strategies and abilities, learning from the best to refine his own techniques. Izuku couldn't help but notice how much Hitoshi had changed since they first met. He had come a long way from the quiet, reserved kid Izuku had initially known. Now, his determination to prove himself as a hero was evident in every step he took, and Izuku felt proud to witness his friend's evolution.
As Izuku waited on the platform, the hum of the city around him faded into the background, his mind wandering to Mashirao once again. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to his friend.
"Hey Ojiro, we're going to miss you at the convention. Good luck with the dojo stuff! Let's hang out when you have some free time."
He hit send and slipped his phone back into his pocket just as the train arrived. The doors slid open with a hiss, and he stepped inside, finding a seat by the window. The train was bustling with activity, filled with people heading to various destinations, their faces a mix of anticipation and fatigue. Moments later, Hitoshi and Mei joined him, both of them radiating excitement.
"Can you believe it? The Hero Convention!" the pink haired inventor exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. Her eyes sparkled with an almost childlike glee, and her hands moved animatedly as she spoke. "I've got a whole list of booths and panels I want to check out. And did you hear about the new support gear they're showcasing this year? I can't wait to see it all!"
Hitoshi chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. "Of course you do, Hatsume. Just remember to pace yourself. We've got all week, and I don't think the vendors will appreciate you dismantling their prototypes on day one."
Mei waved a hand dismissively, though a mischievous grin played on her lips. "Hey, I only dismantle things for educational purposes! Besides, this is a chance to learn from the best. Who knows what kind of innovations we might see?"
Izuku smiled at his friends, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie wash over him. This was what he cherished the most—these moments where they could share their passions, their hopes, and their dreams. "It's going to be amazing. I can't wait to see what new gear and tech they'll have this year. And the panels… I really want to hear All Might's speech. I feel like every time I hear him speak, I learn something new about being a hero."
As the train rolled on, the trio continued to chat, their excitement building with each passing mile. The cityscape outside the window gradually shifted from the familiar streets of Musutafu to the more densely packed urban sprawl of Tokyo. The towering skyscrapers and neon signs that defined Naruhata ward came into view, a stark contrast to the quieter suburban neighborhood they had left behind. The Hero Convention awaited them—a place where dreams could be realized and where they could measure just how far they had come on their journey to becoming heroes.
But as the train approached their destination, an unsettling feeling began to gnaw at the edges of Izuku's consciousness. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a sense of foreboding that lingered in the air. It was as if the bright hopes they carried with them were being shadowed by something dark, something hidden beneath the surface of the bustling district they were about to enter.
Little did they know, Naruhata ward held more than just otakus and hero enthusiasts. A dark presence was beginning to stir in the district, its plans years in the making finally starting to unfold. As the train pulled into the station, casting long shadows over their bright hopes, the stage was set for a confrontation that none of them could have anticipated—a test that would challenge not just their skills, but their very resolve as heroes.
But for now, they were just three excited teens, eager to see what the convention had in store, unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon.
-THE FORCE AWAKENS–
The vibrant streets of Naruhata thrummed with energy as the Annual Hero Convention drew thousands of enthusiasts, heroes, and hopefuls to the district. The atmosphere was electric, with the buzz of chatter, the hum of excitement, and the bursts of laughter mingling in the air. The towering banners of heroes in dynamic poses, the flashing lights of vendors, and the vivid displays of hero gear all combined to create a sensory overload that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. Among the throngs of excited convention-goers, two figures moved through the crowd with a different kind of energy, one born not of joy but of internal conflict and hidden agendas.
Kazuho Haneyama, better known as Pop Step, was a young woman of nineteen with a striking presence, even when she wasn't dressed in her usual flamboyant attire. Today, her bright pink hair, typically styled in playful, eye-catching designs, was tied back in a simple ponytail. She had chosen a plain hoodie and jeans for the occasion, but her outward simplicity did little to conceal the storm brewing within her. Her vibrant, expressive eyes, usually full of mischief and life, were now clouded with uncertainty and a deep, pervasive sadness.
The crowds around her moved with purpose, eager to dive into the festivities, but Kazuho felt strangely disconnected from it all. The exuberance of the convention seemed almost mocking against the backdrop of her inner turmoil. Her heart was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, longing, confusion—all competing for dominance. She couldn't shake the gnawing anxiety that had settled in her chest, the sense that everything in her life was spiraling out of control.
Beside her walked Rokuro Nomura, her manager, and a man whose very presence exuded a carefully crafted image of calm and control. To the casual observer, he seemed the epitome of a supportive, professional manager, guiding his charge through the chaotic sea of fans and vendors. But beneath the surface, Rokuro's mind was alight with anticipation and a dark satisfaction. His plans were unfolding perfectly, the pieces falling into place with a precision that both thrilled and satisfied him. Every step he took beside Kazuho was calculated, every word spoken with intent.
"You're doing great, Pop," Rokuro said, his voice smooth and warm, laced with a practiced enthusiasm. He flashed her a smile that, to anyone else, would seem genuinely encouraging. "All of this will pay off soon. You just have to trust me."
Kazuho forced a smile in return, but her gaze was distant, her mind a million miles away. She was barely listening to him, her thoughts too tangled up in her own anxieties. Her heart ached with a confusing mix of emotions, not least of which was her secret, unspoken love for Koichi Haimawari—the Crawler. She had admired him for so long, captivated by his quiet strength, his unwavering determination, and his inherent kindness. Her affection for him had grown into something deep and powerful, something she didn't know how to handle.
But the fear of rejection loomed large, a shadow that darkened every hopeful thought. The image of Makoto Tsukauchi, always poised, always perfect, haunted her. Kazuho was terrified that if she confessed her feelings, Koichi would turn away from her, drawn instead to the seemingly perfect Makoto. The thought was almost unbearable, a suffocating dread that made her heart clench painfully in her chest.
As they walked through the crowded streets, Kazuho found herself lost in a daydream, imagining a world where she was brave enough to tell Koichi how she felt. But even in her daydreams, the outcome was the same—Koichi turning away from her, his gaze shifting to Makoto, leaving Kazuho standing alone, her heart shattered.
Rokuro, ever the opportunist, noticed her distraction. He had long since learned how to read her moods, how to pick up on the slightest change in her demeanor. He seized the opportunity to tighten his grip on her psyche, his voice taking on a soothing, almost hypnotic quality.
"You know, Pop," he said, his tone gentle, as if he were offering her a lifeline, "all of this is just the beginning. I know how hard things have been for you—balancing your career, your feelings for Koichi, and the pressures of your public image. But don't worry. I'm here to help you through it."
His words were like a comforting blanket, wrapping around her and momentarily easing the tight knot of anxiety in her chest. But beneath that comforting exterior lay something far more sinister. Rokuro had always been a master manipulator, adept at using Kazuho's insecurities to keep her under his control. He knew exactly how to exploit her fears, how to amplify her doubts, all while presenting himself as her greatest ally.
As they continued walking, the lively sounds of the convention grew louder, the bright lights and colors intensifying as they approached the main event area. But Kazuho barely noticed any of it. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts, in the suffocating fear that she was losing control of her life. Every step felt heavy, as if she were trudging through mud, each movement taking more effort than the last.
The future seemed like a vast, dark void, and she was standing on the edge, teetering precariously. She couldn't shake the feeling that something momentous was about to happen, something that would change the course of her life forever. But whether it would be for better or worse, she couldn't say.
Rokuro, on the other hand, was in his element. The chaos of the convention, the swirl of people, the excitement in the air—it all fueled his own excitement, his own anticipation. He could almost taste the success of his plans, could almost see the culmination of all his careful machinations. The thrill of it all was intoxicating, and he had to work hard to keep his composure, to maintain the mask of the calm, supportive manager.
As they neared the convention's entrance, Rokuro leaned in closer to Kazuho, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Just remember, Pop," he murmured, "we're in this together. Trust me, and everything will work out. I've got everything under control."
But as Kazuho glanced up at him, something in his words struck a chord of unease within her. She forced herself to smile, to nod in agreement, but deep down, the sense of dread only grew stronger. The cheerful atmosphere of the convention felt increasingly out of place, a veneer over the darkness that was creeping ever closer.
The world was about to change, and Kazuho Haneyama wasn't sure if she was ready for what was coming.
-THE FORCE AWAKENS–
The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over Naruhata as the streets buzzed with the energy of the Hero Convention. Izuku moved through the lively crowd, his senses were heightened, alert to the myriads of Force signatures that flowed around him.
He marveled at how each person seemed to have a unique aura, a reflection of their inner selves. The convention was more than just a spectacle; it was a rich tapestry of human emotions and aspirations woven together by the Force. His training had deepened his connection to these sensations, allowing him to discern the subtle fluctuations in the energy around him.
The excitement of the event filled the air, but beneath the surface, Izuku could sense a darker undercurrent—a tension that prickled at the edges of his awareness.
As he navigated through the throngs of people, Izuku's attention was drawn to a pair walking together a short distance ahead. The woman, with her vibrant pink hair tied back, stood out amidst the sea of faces. Beside her walked a man whose presence immediately set Izuku on edge. The Force seemed to recoil from him, as if rejecting his very existence. It was an anomaly, a void in the natural flow of energy that Izuku had never encountered before.
The woman's emotional signature was a chaotic storm, swirling with fear, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of dread. Her inner turmoil was almost palpable to Izuku, as if she was carrying a burden too heavy to bear. It was as if her very presence was a magnetic force, pulling him into her emotional struggle.
In discrepancy, the man beside her exuded a cold, calculated calm that was deeply unsettling. His aura was disturbingly void, like a black hole that consumed all light and warmth around him, lacking the usual resonance that marked living beings. It was as if he was an anomaly, an artificial creation in the natural flow of the Force.
Izuku's instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong. The contrast between the woman's vulnerability and the man's eerie composure sent a shiver down his spine. He decided to follow them, keeping a careful distance as they made their way towards a dilapidated building at the edge of the convention area.
The structure was a stark difference to the vibrant energy of the surrounding streets. Its worn, crumbling facade suggested years of neglect, standing as a silent sentinel to whatever secrets it held within. Izuku's instincts told him that something important—and potentially dangerous—was about to unfold.
The woman hesitated as they reached the entrance, her steps faltering as a wave of apprehension washed over her. But the man was unfazed, guiding her forward with a cold determination.
The padawan felt the Force stirring within him, urging him to act. The sense of impending danger was growing stronger with each passing moment. Just as the man pushed the woman toward the darkened doorway, Izuku made his move. In an instant, he was there, placing himself between her and the entrance.
"Stop!" His voice cut through the air, firm but calm, as he extended a hand towards the pair. The suddenness of his appearance startled them both, but it was the man who recovered first, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint.
"And who might you be?" the man asked, his voice dripping with cold disdain.
Izuku met his gaze, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, but he stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm just someone who likes to get involved where he's not wanted," he replied, his voice steady, yet laced with an undercurrent of challenge.
Kazuho's eyes widened in surprise as she looked at the teenager. Her gaze seemed to waver for a moment and for a fleeting moment, her vision betrayed her. The green haired teen's figure seemed to merge with another—Koichi's face flickered in her sight, creating a disorienting blur between the two. Her heart raced, confusion battling with the terror bubbling within her.
"Who… who are you?" She whispered, her voice trembling as she took a step back.
Rokuro's lips curled into a sinister grin. "How intriguing. It seems we have an unexpected guest. Unfortunately for you, your interference won't be tolerated."
Without warning, the 'manager' lunged at Izuku, his body a blur of motion. The air itself seemed to crackle with the speed of his attack, but Izuku, senses sharpened by the Force, reacted instantly.
His senses were on high alert as he faced off against Rokuro, who was now on the offensive. Each attack was executed with blistering speed. The air around them crackled with the intensity of their confrontation, and the padawan's enhanced awareness allowed him to dodge Rokuro's rapid strikes.
Yet, despite his skill, he could feel the pressure mounting. The fake manager's speed was unnatural, pushing him to his limits.
He sidestepped another blow, narrowly avoiding a fist that would have shattered bone. His heart pounded in his chest. "Run, Miss!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Get out of here! I'll handle this!"
Kazuho hesitated, her eyes locked onto the battle. But fear won over, and she nodded shakily. With a swift leap, she used her Quirk to propel herself onto a nearby rooftop, the adrenaline surging through her veins. As her feet touched the concrete, she fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed Koichi's number.
"Koichi… help… please…" Her voice was barely a whisper, panic lacing every word.
Back on the ground, Izuku was momentarily distracted by Kazuho's plea. His focus shifted to her, giving Rokuro the perfect opportunity to exploit the lapse. With a flash of movement, Rokuro unleashed the full power of Overclock, his speed accelerating to a nearly imperceptible blur. He struck the padawan with a force that sent him staggering, a crushing blow that broke through his defenses.
Izuku grunted in pain as he was hit, the impact jolting him back. He fought to regain his composure, his mind racing to process the situation. The pain from the hit was sharp, but his determination was sharper. He focused on Rokuro, who was now preparing for another attack, his eyes gleaming with a sinister edge.
Above, Kazuho's voice trembled as she pleaded into the phone. "Koichi, please! It's bad! I don't know what's happening, but Rokuro… he's trying to hurt me and this kid with green hair that came to help me! You have to come now!" Her words were rushed, desperate, the fear choking her.
"Pop?! Stay calm, I'm on my way!" Koichi's voice was urgent, but it did little to soothe her frayed nerves.
On the ground, Izuku's focus remained unbroken, but the strain was starting to show. Rokuro was unrelenting, his attacks coming in a frenzied flurry. Each strike seemed faster than the last, blurring into a cascade of lethal movements. The narrow alleyway reverberated with the sounds of their conflict—the heavy thud of fists cutting through the air, the sharp slap of flesh meeting flesh, and the constant scuffling of feet against the pavement as he maneuvered to dodge each blow. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his muscles ached from the effort of maintaining his defenses. Despite the searing pain from the earlier hit, his resolve did not falter.
"Stay calm, focus," He reminded himself, breathing deeply to center his mind. He recalled the teachings of his masters, how they had stressed the importance of restraint. A lightsaber was not a toy to be brandished at every moment of danger, and it was not always the answer to conflict. He knew he had to find another way to subdue his opponent. Rokuro's speed was incredible, nearly overwhelming, and it was clear that the man had a far greater mastery of his quirk than Izuku had over his own abilities. Izuku's training as a Jedi Padawan had taught him to use the Force for defense, for understanding, to protect rather than destroy. Yet, as the fake manager pressed his advantage, Izuku found himself struggling just to stay in the fight.
Seeing that his opponent was starting to recover, Rokuro's expression twisted into a predatory grin. "You're quick on your feet, kid, but you can't keep this up forever," he taunted, his voice a low growl. He surged forward again, Overclock pushing his body to the brink as he lashed out with a series of rapid punches, each one faster and more precise than the last. To Izuku, the fake manager's movements were a blur, his limbs like streaks of light. He barely had time to react, relying on the Force to guide his instincts and keep him from being overwhelmed.
The padawan ducked under a vicious swing, his body moving in a fluid motion as he twisted away from a follow-up strike. He could feel the air rippling around him from the force of Rokuro's blows. The villain's speed was terrifying, his quirk making it seem as if he existed in a different time frame, a few seconds ahead of everyone else. Izuku's mind raced to keep up, his senses heightened by the Force, yet even with his training, he could feel the gap between them. Rokuro's experience in combat was evident in every move, every feint, and every calculated strike that sought to exploit his defenses.
From above, Kazuho's heart clenched with anxiety as she watched the scene play out below her. The pace of the battle was staggering, a chaotic dance of life and death unfolding before her eyes. Her fingers tightened around her phone, desperately willing Koichi to arrive. Could the green haired younger teen hold his own against an opponent like Rokuro? The sheer intensity of the fight filled her with dread, each passing moment amplifying her fear.
Izuku gritted his teeth, his breath coming in controlled bursts as he focused on his breathing, trying to keep calm despite the frantic pace of the fight. He had to stay ahead of Rokuro, had to find a way to disrupt the man's rhythm and create an opening. He pushed the pain from his mind, channeling the Force to keep his reflexes sharp and his perception keen. The danger was mounting, and the stakes were higher than ever. He knew that if he lost focus for even a second, it could mean the end.
Rokuro's strikes continued to come, a relentless barrage that left him little room to counter. The alley seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as the battle raged on. The padawan could feel his muscles burning, fatigue starting to creep in, but he couldn't afford to slow down. He had to protect the pink haired woman, had to buy time until a hero arrived.
As he maneuvered through the onslaught, narrowly evading each strike from Rokuro, a memory from his training resurfaced. It was a conversation he once had with Master Anakin during one of their lessons about the intricacies of space travel. They had discussed the mechanics of hyperdrive, a subject that had fascinated Izuku with its blend of physics and mysticism.
His master had explained that hyperdrives allowed ships to travel faster than light not by simply increasing speed, but by shifting the ship into an alternate dimension—a hyperspace lane—where the normal rules of time and space didn't apply. In this dimension, the passage of time was altered; to those inside the ship, time seemed to stretch and compress, allowing them to traverse vast distances in what felt like mere moments. Meanwhile, the external universe appeared almost frozen, like a photograph, as if the ship was a stone skipping across the surface of a still pond.
"The trick," Anakin had said, his voice echoing in Izuku's memory, "is not just moving faster. It's about finding a path where the rules are different. In hyperspace, you aren't bound by the normal flow of time and space—you bend it to your will."
Izuku's eyes widened as he sidestepped another of Rokuro's attacks, the villain's fist grazing his cheek with the force of a sledgehammer. It clicked into place. Rokuro's Quirk, wasn't merely about increasing his speed. No, it was more nuanced, more sophisticated. Rokuro was shifting his perception, operating on a plane where time flowed differently for him. Just like a ship in hyperspace, his mind moved so fast that the world around him seemed to slow to a crawl.
Rokuro was effectively manipulating his own temporal perception, granting him the illusion of superhuman speed. In essence, he was dipping into a personal kind of dimension, where his thoughts, reflexes, and decisions were accelerated beyond the comprehension of his opponents. To everyone else, he was moving faster than the eye could follow, but to him, each moment stretched out, offering ample time to react and adapt.
However, just like with a hyperdrive, there had to be limits. Even the best hyperdrive couldn't stay in hyperspace indefinitely without risk; it required precise navigation and immense energy. If Izuku could understand the rhythm of Rokuro's acceleration—his bursts of time manipulation—then maybe he could find a way to counter it. There would be a pattern, a pause, a moment when Rokuro had to re-align his perception with the normal flow of time, even if only for a fraction of a second.
Izuku took a deep breath, centering himself as Rokuro lunged again. This time, he focused not on matching Rokuro's speed but on sensing the changes in the Force around him, attuning himself to the subtle shifts in Rokuro's presence. He could feel the pull and stretch of time, the way Rokuro dipped into his personal dimension, each movement punctuated by a slight ripple in the Force.
With newfound clarity, Izuku's movements became more deliberate. He dodged to the left, his body moving almost before Rokuro had decided to strike, catching the villain off guard. For the first time, Rokuro's confident grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise.
"Impressive," Rokuro snarled, his voice laced with pain and fury. "But how long can you keep up?"
The padawan's expression was calm, his mind racing with possibilities. He didn't need to be faster than Rokuro; he just needed to be smarter. He just needed to trust the guidance of the Force.
Meanwhile, on the rooftop, Kazuho could only watch in horror as the fight below unfolded in a whirlwind of motion. The combatants seemed like blurs, their movements so fast that her eyes struggled to keep up. She saw only the aftermath—the chaotic collision of limbs, the explosive bursts of dust and debris, and the occasional flash of violence. It was as though the world had slowed down for them, while her own senses were trapped in a nightmarish struggle to process what was happening.
Her heart raced with fear and helplessness. Each time the green haired teen narrowly avoided a strike, her breath caught in her throat. The scene was both mesmerizing and terrifying, a brutal dance of skill and power. Kazuho's emotions were a chaotic storm—terror for the younger teen fighting so valiantly, guilt for her role in dragging him into this peril, and an ever-growing hope that Koichi would arrive before it was too late.
Below, Izuku was locked in a relentless battle. Every fiber of his being was focused on dodging Rokuro's relentless onslaught. His body moved with the grace and precision honed through years of training, yet the attacks came with such speed and ferocity that each dodge felt like a heartbeat away from disaster. His mind raced, every second stretched as if time itself were mocking his efforts to keep up. The alleyway was alive with the sounds of their clash—the staccato rhythm of rapid strikes, the heavy thuds of impacts, and the padawan's strained breaths.
With each passing moment, Izuku's strategy became more evident. His movements, once frantic and purely reactive, had taken on a calculated rhythm. He began to time his dodges with impeccable accuracy, his enhanced senses—sharpened through years of rigorous training and his connection to the Force—granting him the clarity needed to anticipate Rokuro's next move.
As he adjusted his approach, the dynamic of the battle shifted. His attacks, once sporadic and driven by instinct, now flowed with a deliberate intent. He moved with fluid grace, each strike purposefully aimed to exploit the brief openings left by Rokuro's relentless barrage. The transition was subtle but profound. Izuku's precise strikes began to land, each impact a testament to his growing understanding of Rokuro's quirk and his ability to counter it effectively.
From her rooftop perch, Kazuho could see the tide of the battle turning. The previously unstoppable force of Rokuro's assault was being met with a new level of resistance. The green haired teen's strikes were beginning to break through Rokuro's defenses, the villain's once-unyielding form now showing signs of strain. Kazuho's emotions were a turbulent mix of relief and dread. Relief that Izuku was finding his footing in the fight, but dread at the sheer magnitude of the danger they were still facing.
As Izuku pressed his advantage, his thoughts were a whirlwind of focus and determination. He was fighting not just for his own survival but for the safety of Kazuho Each strike was a testament to his commitment to protect and defend.
In the midst of this chaotic struggle, Rokuro's frustration was etched deeply into his face, his eyes gleaming with a sinister, almost predatory resolve. A malevolent smirk twisted his lips as he extended his arm, dark energy coalescing around it with a threatening intensity. The arm morphed into a menacing, pulsating bomb, its ominous glow casting a harsh, flickering light in the twilight of the alleyway.
Izuku's heart raced, the threat of the bomb clear in his mind. He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts flashing back to the words of his masters: They had taught him to use his lightsaber with care, to wield it only when absolutely necessary. Up until now, Izuku had held back, relying on his agility and the Force to evade Rokuro's relentless assaults.
But the sight of Rokuro's deadly bomb arm forced a critical shift in his mindset. The imminent danger of a catastrophic explosion left him no room for hesitation. Izuku knew that the only way to prevent a disaster and protect those around him was to act decisively. With a steely resolve, he unsheathed his blue lightsaber, its blade igniting with a brilliant, reassuring glow.
Without hesitation, the padawan swung his lightsaber in a swift, decisive arc, the blade slicing cleanly through Rokuro's arm. The severed limb flew through the air, trailing a streak of malevolent energy before landing a couple of meters away. With a forceful wave of his hand, Izuku used the Force to propel the dismembered arm even farther, minimizing the risk of a catastrophic explosion.
The ensuing blast was deafening, a roar that reverberated through the alleyway and sent shockwaves cascading through the air. Debris was hurled into the sky, and the ground shook beneath the padawan's feet. As the dust began to settle, his gaze remained locked on the fake manager. To his astonishment, Rokuro's severed arm was already regenerating with grotesque speed, reassembling itself in a sickening display of resilience. It was as if the villain was impervious to conventional attacks, his quirk defying the natural limits of combat.
In the midst of this frenetic scene, Kazuho's mind was awash with a storm of realizations. The ruthless, unearthly nature of Rokuro's quirk was a horrifying revelation, fitting into the vague, ominous warnings Koichi had once shared. She recalled his words about a shadowy figure linked to a series of bombings at the Tokyo Sky Egg. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with jarring clarity—Rokuro, the man she had trusted as her manager, was the mastermind behind the terror that had gripped Tokyo. The betrayal cut deep, leaving her with a profound sense of dread. Her closest ally had been a facade, a puppet master orchestrating chaos from behind the scenes.
Realizing the gravity of the battle before him, Izuku adjusted his strategy. With the lightsaber now in hand, he attacked with relentless precision, his blade carving through the air with a series of rapid, calculated strikes. Each movement was deliberate, aimed at keeping Rokuro off balance and preventing him from mounting an effective counterattack. As the lightsaber clashed against Rokuro's defenses, Izuku noticed a crucial pattern: Rokuro seemed to react with heightened urgency whenever the blade approached his head.
This observation granted the padawan a tactical edge. He began to feint his attacks, making Rokuro believe that his head was the target. With a deft shift, he redirected his strikes toward other vulnerable areas, aiming to wear down the villain's defenses and force him into a corner. The battle transformed into a high-stakes game of wits and endurance, with Izuku leveraging his insights to press the attack while evading the explosive potential of Rokuro's other quirk.
"You meddling fool!" Rokuro roared, his voice laced with raw frustration. "Why do you have to get in my way?!"
Izuku, narrowly dodging Rokuro's next ferocious strike, shot back, "You're a menace to everyone here! I'm not letting you get away with this!"
Kazuho watched in a mix of awe and terror as the green haired teen's weapon sliced through the air, each movement a testament to his skill and determination. The sight was both mesmerizing and frightening, a vivid display of the battle's intensity. Her breath caught in her throat as Rokuro's eyes narrowed with a sudden shift of focus, his gaze momentarily darting toward her. The hostility in his eyes was chilling, a stark reminder that the danger was not confined to Izuku alone.
As she grappled with the realization of Rokuro's intent, her phone rang abruptly. It was Koichi. Her fingers trembled as she answered, her voice shaking with urgency. "Koichi, I need your help. Rokuro is the one behind the bombings at the Tokyo Sky Egg!"
Koichi's voice came through, filled with alarm and determination. "Stay where you are, Pop. We're on our way. Keep yourself safe and stay alert."
Kazuho ended the call and refocused on the battle below. Izuku's movements were a blur of agility and precision as he skillfully avoided Rokuro's explosive attacks. The villain's rage was palpable, his eyes burning with a fierce, dangerous light. As the fake manager's furious gaze locked once more on her, it was clear that the battle was reaching a critical juncture, with the fate of everyone involved hanging in the balance.
"You have no idea what you've stumbled into," Rokuro sneered, his voice dripping with malevolence. "I had to cover my tracks, keep things under wraps. But now you've forced my hand. It's time to clean up loose ends."
The padawan's heart pounded as he heard Rokuro's sinister words. Desperately trying to keep the villain's attention fixed on him, he shouted, "Leave her out of this! I'm the one you want, so come at me!"
Fueled by a sudden surge of rage, the fake manager lunged toward Kazuho with a blinding speed, his form a menacing blur against the dim alleyway. Izuku's eyes widened in horror as he saw Rokuro's trajectory. The urgency of the moment ignited within him, and without a second thought, he leapt into action. His heart raced as he calculated the precise moment to strike, knowing that Kazuho's life hung in the balance.
With a swift and practiced motion, Izuku swung his lightsaber with unerring precision. The blade blazed through the air, its blue light cutting through the darkness. In an instant, Rokuro's legs were severed in a flash of brilliant energy. The villain's lower limbs fell to the ground, a grotesque display of regenerating flesh. To the padawan's astonishment, the severed limbs began to reassemble almost immediately, the regeneration process a nightmarish testament to the fake manager's unnatural quirk.
Rokuro's growl of frustration echoed through the alley, mingling with the sounds of crumbling debris and distant sirens. Determined not to let Kazuho fall victim to the villain's rampage, the padawan's resolve hardened. His focus was razor-sharp, and every instinct screamed at him to protect the woman who had unwittingly become a pawn in this deadly game. The panic in the pink haired woman's eyes, as she desperately tried to maintain her distance from the chaos, fueled his urgency.
Before Izuku could take further action, Rokuro, still seething with rage, redirected his focus toward the nearby building. His movement was a blur of efficiency, slipping inside with a predatory grace that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The rapid regeneration of his limbs gave him a formidable edge, and his escape into the building was executed with ruthless precision.
Izuku stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the confrontation settling over him. He deactivated his lightsaber, the blade's brilliant light fading to darkness as he took a deep, steadying breath. His gaze shifted away from the now-vanished villain and toward Kazuho, who was trembling and visibly shaken. The pavement around them was a battlefield of near-destruction, and Izuku knew he needed to ensure her safety.
Approaching her with a mix of concern and relief, he asked, "Are you alright?"
Kazuho looked up, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions—fear, gratitude, and a profound sense of vulnerability. Her voice trembled as she replied, "I—I'm okay. Thank you for saving me. I—I didn't know what to do."
The intensity of the moment melted away slightly as Izuku took in her gratitude. He offered a reassuring nod, the weight of their shared experience lingering in the air. Despite the chaos and danger, there was a fleeting moment of connection, a shared understanding of the harrowing reality they faced.
Before Izuku could respond, a familiar voice cut through the cacophony of the battle. Koichi, having received Kazuho's distress call, arrived at the scene with an urgent stride. His expression was a blend of deep concern and resolute determination.
He quickly moved towards Kazuho, his eyes scanning her for any signs of injury. "Pop, are you alright?" he asked, his voice edged with anxiety.
The pink haired woman managed a reassuring nod, her voice steadier as she replied, "Yes, I'm fine, Koichi. But you should definitely thank him," she said, gesturing toward Izuku. "He's the one who stopped Rokuro."
The man turned to Izuku, his gaze softening with genuine appreciation. "Thank you for your help," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I'm Koichi Haimawari. It's nice to finally meet you. I was able to get here quickly, thanks to you holding off Rokuro. If it weren't for you, things could have been much worse."
The green haired teen, still buzzing with adrenaline, couldn't help but express his excitement. "I'm Izuku Midoriya. Wow, your quirk is incredible. I saw you slide in and—wow! I'm so glad you arrived just in time."
Koichi's smile widened, clearly pleased by the enthusiasm. "Thanks. I'm here to make sure Pop is safe, and your timing was perfect. I appreciate you keeping Rokuro at bay."
Izuku's eyes then landed on the man's jacket—a rare collector's item adorned with All Might's signature. His excitement reached new heights. "Wait, is that an All Might jacket? And it's got an autograph?!"
Koichi's smile grew even more, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yep. Got it directly from the man himself. Want to see a photo?"
He pulled out his phone and showed the teenager a picture of All Might signing the very jacket Koichi wore. The padawan's eyes widened in awe. "This is amazing! I've read so much about All Might, and to see this jacket in person—"
Suddenly, Izuku's excitement got the best of him. He bowed deeply, almost in reverence. "Sempai, this is incredible! I can't believe I'm standing here with you!"
Kazuho, observing the interaction, felt a twinge of embarrassment. The fervor with which Izuku admired Koichi's memorabilia made her feel slightly out of place, as if she were an outsider in this hero-worshipping moment.
The green haired teen continued to enthusiastically discuss the jacket and All Might, his voice animated as he recounted the hero's achievements and trivia. Koichi, equally engaged, shared anecdotes about All Might that only fueled Izuku's excitement further.
Meanwhile, back in the building, Number 6—previously known as Rokuro—was engulfed in a tempest of fury. His plan, meticulously crafted over months, had been upended by the unexpected intervention of the meddlesome teen. The air was thick with acrid smoke, the stench of burning debris mixing with the palpable anger emanating from the villain.
His eyes, once filled with calculated precision, now blazed with unrestrained madness. His rage was almost tangible, an almost visible storm of dark energy swirling around him. He paced furiously among the wreckage, his mind a turbulent maelstrom of shattered ambitions and vengeful schemes. Each step he took seemed to echo with the weight of his mounting desperation.
The Queen Bee, once a critical component of his scheme and intended to be unleashed upon Kazuho, lay before him in a twisted heap. Number 6 had planned to use the living quirk to further his nefarious goals, but now it was useless. The villain's eyes narrowed into slits of cold fury as he threw it to the floor.
With a snarl of frustration, he stomped over the living quirk. He couldn't afford any loose ends, and the Queen Bee's failure was an intolerable setback. He unleashed a burst of destructive energy, obliterating what remained of it with a final, violent explosion. The blast scattered debris and sent a cloud of acrid smoke billowing through the air. The flames that followed quickly consumed the device's remnants, reducing them to cinders.
The basement was a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Bodies, twisted and contorted in their final moments, lay scattered across the floor. The once-pristine space now resembled a battlefield of the damned, with pools of blood mingling with the wreckage of shattered lives. The cold, metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the horrors that had unfolded within these walls.
With a sneer of derision, the villain began to manipulate his form, his body shifting grotesquely as he morphed into a perfect replica of one of the lifeless bodies sprawled in the basement. His eyes, once cold and calculating, now flickered with a malevolent satisfaction. This was more than just a tactical maneuver; it was a perverse display of his control over life and death, an assertion of his dominion over the chaos he had wrought.
As he prepared to make his escape, Rokuro set fire to the building with a flick of his hand. The flames roared to life with a voracious hunger, spreading rapidly through the weakened structure. The fire licked at the walls and ceilings, painting the interior with a hellish glow. The heat intensified, warping the air and casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls.
The building, already battered and bruised from the earlier chaos, was now being consumed by the inferno. The crackling of flames and the groaning of collapsing beams created a cacophony of destruction. The once-sturdy construction succumbed to the blaze, its structure crumbling under the relentless assault of the fire.
Number 6, shrouded in the guise of his latest victim, slipped out through the back door. The thick smoke and billowing flames obscured his escape, the oppressive heat a testament to the intensity of his wrath. As he vanished into the night, the building continued to burn, the inferno erasing any trace of his presence.
The destruction marked the end of his latest plot, but it was clear that this was only a chapter in a much larger, more sinister narrative. His actions left a trail of devastation, and the smoke and flames that obscured his departure were a grim reminder of the threat he posed. The true extent of his depravity and the scale of the danger he represented loomed ominously, casting a long, dark shadow over the future.
Hey you made it safely!
As I mentioned, this chapter covers the events in which Kazuho/PopStep is kidnapped by Rokuro (Number 6) and transformed into BeePop. My decision to save her from that harsh fate and prevent both her and Koichi from being labeled as villains is because both characters are my favorites from the Vigilantes manga. Plus, I genuinely want her to find happiness—she really deserves it.
So yes, the Koichi vs. the heroes arc won't be happening (which is a shame because it's one of the best arcs in the manga), but this means something good: Koichi could become a hero in Japan. The possibilities for this make me rub my hands with excitement!
On another note, we finally get to see Izuku in a real fight, showcasing his training and experiences. Did you enjoy the fight? I really had fun writing Izuku's reasoning about how Rokuro/Number 6's quirk works; I think it's something the character would do in canon. But as always, you be the judges.
We also get to witness the long-awaited meeting between the two protagonists of the MHA universe—the legendary Crawler and Deku—both of whom can debate about All Might after a traumatic event.
What do you think? Did you enjoy the chapter? Let me know your thoughts. As always, I'm eager to read you. Please drop your opinions in the review box.
Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. Your support and feedback mean a lot to me. Stay tuned for the next chapter, and may the Force be with you!
Until next time,
—FarXs,