Hey guys, how is it going?
We're back on track with a new chapter, picking up the aftermath of the battle for Naruhata as we approach the end of the arc.
Now, on to your reviews:
NinjaFang1331: Hey, thanks for the review! Hope you enjoy the chapter.
BoltSamIam: Hey, man! I'm feeling much better, so we're back on schedule. You're right—sometimes you can't save everyone, and tough choices have to be made for the greater good. There will be consequences, but it'll be hard to get the full story since the only real witnesses to the battle were Izuku, Koichi, AFO, and the helicopter crew (who didn't catch everything). As for Ibara, it's simpler since she seems Force-sensitive. If that's confirmed, well, there are five wise masters out there that can help her understand, haha. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
Icage: Thanks for the review! I hope you're still enjoying the story.
Darkgod3000: Hey! No worries—I was already feeling better when I posted the last chapter, and I'm in even better shape to keep writing now. Hope you enjoy this one!
CRose: That's a great perspective, and I agree to an extent. Normally, Izuku wouldn't resort to such measures, but in the original series, we rarely see him face truly difficult choices. Two moments stand out: first, when he left U.A. to protect his friends from the League and AFO, and second, when he tried to "save" Shigaraki but almost doomed the world. If not for Eri's horn, AFO would've won. In the MHA universe, some villains can't be reasoned with, and All Might himself acknowledged this in his Kamino fight against AFO, regretting not killing him in their last encounter.
The way I see it, Villain's death does exist in MHA, even if the protagonists usually don't confront it directly; for example, Endeavor killed the Nomu in Hosu, and no one protested. Here, Izuku has trained for years in sword combat, listened to his masters' stories, witnessed death in visions, and come close to causing it himself. His outlook is different from the "original" Izuku's. He understands that if he'd hesitated in Naruhata, many innocent people could have died. But he's still the same boy with a heart of gold, willing to sacrifice himself for others without hesitation. That's why he chose to deal with Number 6 himself, so Koichi's ideals wouldn't be compromised.
So don't worry; I'm not turning Izuku into someone who resolves every conflict by killing. I hope you keep enjoying the story, and I'd love to keep discussing it with you!
Ryuujin96: Thanks for the review, man! I'll be honest—I was nervous since this is my first big battle, so knowing you liked it really reassures me. You'll get answers to your questions in this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!
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!
PS: Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or just want to chat!
PS2: The chapter is 12k words! I've gone crazy, man.
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.
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).
"Survival is one step on the path to living."
Chapter XXI: Aftermath
Datsuichi Shigaraki—or as the world now feared him, All For One—had witnessed decades pass like fleeting shadows. He had stood at the precipice of history when the first quirks shattered the old order, a cataclysm that plunged Japan and the world into chaos. Governments crumbled, society unraveled, and humanity was forced to confront its new reality. The age of man had ended, replaced by the age of powers. And in that fragile moment, All For One had seized control.
Where others saw ruin, he saw opportunity. From the ashes of the old world, he had forged a new one in his image. The broken remnants of society were his to shape, and he molded them with precision, leaving his unseen hand guiding the currents of history. For decades, he thrived in this world of quirks, sometimes ruling from the shadows, other times stepping into the light. Yet, for all his power, the world had become predictable. What once was chaos had congealed into a mundane order. The novelty of quirks, their once unimaginable unpredictability, dulled over time. What had once been a marvel was now routine, and with it, the spark of excitement had dimmed.
Except for one thing—One For All.
The quirk that had eluded him for centuries, the only power that dared to challenge his rule. One For All had started as a gift, a gesture of twisted love to his younger brother Yoichi—a quirk meant to save him from the curse of weakness, to lift him into the eternity of power alongside him. But his dear brother, stubborn and defiant, had rejected it, setting in motion a legacy that would haunt All For One for generations. What began as an act of familial grace had spiraled into an eternal war between two ideologies. Yoichi's inheritors had become the only true distraction in an otherwise tiresome existence.
To the world, the bearers of One For All were heroes, symbols of hope fighting against the darkness he represented. But to All For One, they were something far more intimate. Each inheritor was a successor in an ancient sibling rivalry, a never-ending game between him and the shadow of his brother's will. Every battle was not merely a struggle of good versus evil—it was personal. It was family. And it had gone on for far too long.
After the fourth inheritor, the game had lost its charm. They became predictable—each successor stronger, but none offering the thrill he craved. His victories were inevitable. Yet three years ago, something had pierced through the fog of his eternal boredom. The battle with All Might had been different. For the first time in centuries, he had felt the cold grip of death at his throat. The raw power of All Might, the sheer, unyielding force of his will, had brought him to the brink.
In that moment, for the first time in so long, All For One had felt truly alive.
It had been a fleeting sensation—too brief for his taste. The thrill of danger, the raw exhilaration of facing someone who could genuinely end him, had lasted only for that short instant. The battle had left him scarred, physically diminished, but more painfully, it had left him disappointed. The high of that fight, had faded as quickly as it had come. The symptoms of his eternal boredom were returning, creeping back into his soul like a slow poison.
No matter how his plans advanced, how many quirks he collected, nothing stirred him the way that moment had.
And he hated it.
Or at least, he had—until the battle for Naruhata had started.
From the rooftop of a building in the outskirts of the city, All For One watched. His dark figure was obscured by the smoke and chaos below, his vantage point giving him a perfect view of the unfolding devastation. Drones, silently hovering above and around him, transmitted live feeds directly to his visor, courtesy of Dr. Garaki's tireless work. He watched it all unfold in real-time, every detail of the battle captured from multiple angles. At first, it was nothing more than a field test—a mere spectacle of destruction. But then Koichi Haimawari, the Crawler, stepped into the fray.
At first glance, All For One regarded him as a mere vigilante, a small-time player in a much larger game. His quirk, Slide and Glide, was unremarkable—nothing compared to the overwhelming power All For One had collected over the centuries. But as the vigilante moved, dodging attacks, and leading Number 6 away from the hospital, something stirred in the ancient villain.
The way Koichi moved, the way he instinctively used his environment, was unlike anything All For One had seen in some time. This was not brute force or raw power—this was strategy, adaptability, and survival in its purest form. The boy wielded his quirk with resourcefulness that defied the laws of combat. The Symbol of Evil leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued.
As the battle unfolded, a slow smile began to creep across All For One's face. The boredom that had clung to him for so long began to lift, replaced by something that felt almost like excitement. Koichi's movements weren't just impressive—they were inspiring. The vigilante had taken a quirk that anyone else would have considered weak and turned it into a weapon of survival, of defiance. He wasn't trying to overpower his opponent; he was outlasting him, using every tool at his disposal to keep himself alive.
The thrill All For One had longed for began to rise in his chest, subtle at first, but growing stronger with each passing moment. And then came the moment that cemented Koichi in All For One's mind as something truly special.
The boy's eyes flicked to a damaged power line, sparking and hanging precariously from a pole. There was a moment of stillness—just a heartbeat of hesitation—before Koichi moved. In a single fluid motion, he darted toward the pole, scaling it with ease using his quirk. His hand shot out, grabbing the live wire, and without a second thought, he yanked it free. The electricity crackled around him, but Koichi didn't flinch. With precise timing, he swung the wire toward his prototype's chest, the electric charge lashing out like a whip.
And in that moment, All For One finally felt it—the exhilarating thrill he had been chasing for centuries.
It hit him like a bitter wind cutting through the fog of time. His heart, which had long been numb to the world, raced with a flood of excitement. Koichi had taken a quirk that should have been dismissed as insignificant and wielded it in a way that was nothing short of extraordinary. The ingenuity, the sheer creativity of it, left All For One utterly astounded. He had been prepared to see another hero fall, another victim of the cycle of power and destruction. But this? This was something far greater.
The Symbol of Evil's smile widened, a dark gleam igniting in his eyes. He could feel the pulse of excitement coursing through his veins. This... this was the thrill he had been seeking.
The battle between Koichi and Number 6 was far from over—he knew that. But the mere fact that Koichi had managed to bring him to his knees, even for a moment, was enough to reignite the flame within All For One's heart.
He continued to watch, his eyes never leaving the vigilante. This wasn't just another fight. This was something different, something... remarkable. The boy had shown him that even in a world dominated by quirks and raw power, there was still room for evolution.
For a brief flicker of time, the man once known as Datsuichi Shigaraki almost felt... satisfied. But just as he began to savor that fleeting sense of excitement, something else happened—an event that shattered his expectations once again.
In a blur of motion, a blue light cut through the smoke and chaos. All For One's attention snapped to the source as a glowing blade sliced cleanly through Number 6's outstretched arm. The severed limb fell to the ground, crackling and sparking as the monster let out a howl of rage and pain. Before he could even process what had happened, his prototype's body was launched backward, hurtling through the air and crashing into the rubble, far from Koichi.
After decades, The Symbol of Evil's eyes narrowed with genuine curiosity.
The drones zoomed in, adjusting their focus on the figure that had emerged from the chaos. At first, he thought it was another piece of Naruhata's desperate defense. But as the figure stepped forward, the smoke swirling around him, All For One felt something… strange.
The newcomer stood cloaked in darkness, his hood drawn low, shrouding his face in impenetrable shadow. There was something captivating about the weapon he wielded, an unfamiliar device that hummed with a peculiar energy, its eerie glow casting flickers of light on the surrounding chaos. But it wasn't just the weapon that held All For One's attention. No, what truly seized his focus was the palpable aura radiating from the stranger—something he couldn't immediately categorize. It was something else entirely.
All For One's breath caught in his throat as the sensation in his own body intensified. This power wasn't just something external—it felt as if it called to him, resonating within his very cells, something long dormant. He had lived for centuries, mastering and collecting quirks, yet none of them had prepared him for this.
The thrill he felt had reached new heights Koichi had impressed him, had broken through the monotony with his ingenuity, but the hooded stranger? He had shattered everything. The power the newcomer wielded was something All For One had to understand, had to possess. It was a power that felt as though it belonged to him, a piece of his own destiny that he had yet to claim.
The game had irrevocably changed.
With a dark smile spreading across his face, All For One realized he had obtained something invaluable. Both Koichi and the hooded stranger had breathed life into the dullness of his existence, reigniting a thrill he thought long lost. In their struggle, they had unwittingly reminded him of what it felt like to be alive.
But as the battle raged on below him, he felt no desire to linger. The outcome was insignificant now. He had seen enough to know that these two were capable of defeating Number 6, a creation of his own design. The thrill of the confrontation was enough for him to make his exit.
With a subtle gesture, a swirling portal of dark energy appeared behind him, shimmering ominously as it pulsed with energy. He turned to face the scene one last time, allowing the weight of his presence to hang in the air.
"In gratitude for the exhilarating show you've provided, I will spare your lives," he declared, his voice low and contemplative, resonating with chilling authority "You have brought back the thrill I thought I had lost, and for that, I thank you."
He let his gaze linger on each of them, a predatory glint in his eyes. "I shall watch your careers with great interest, Koichi Haimawari... and you, hooded stranger." There was a chilling finality to his tone as he added, "It is a pity that Overclock will fade into oblivion. But such is the price to pay for feeling alive again."
With a final, knowing smile, All For One stepped back, allowing the portal to envelop him in shadows. "But for now, it is time for me to depart. I have much to ponder and even more to observe."
As he vanished into the darkness. The echoes of his words lingered in the air, a chilling promise left behind as he made his exit.
-THE FORCE AWAKENS–
"Vortex… Bazooka."
Koichi's voice was barely audible as he unleashed his final attack. The burst of energy shot forward, spiraling toward the epicenter of the explosion. The glowing wave of destruction continued expanding, its light bright that it momentarily blotted out the skyline. The helicopter was caught in the radiant glow, swallowed by the force as the blast began to collapse inward, the Crawler's attack buying them precious seconds.
Inside the cabin, there was a split moment where the world stood still.
The pilot exhaled heavily, a shaky laugh escaping his lips as the helicopter leveled out, the worst, it seemed, was behind them.
"We made it! That was close, but we're still flying," he called back, a sense of triumph evident in his voice. He adjusted the controls, eyes scanning the city below through the windshield. "Crawler just saved the whole city."
In the back of the helicopter, Eraserhead glanced at Koichi, whose body slumped unconscious against the seat. The other vigilante—a kid, if his suspicions were correct— was similarly drained, lying motionless beside him, the strain of the battle had taken its toll on both of them.
Hitoshi, sitting across from them, allowed himself a brief sigh of relief. They had managed to avoid catastrophe, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like they had outrun danger. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment toward Eraserhead, who in turn gazed out over the city, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.
But that moment of optimism was short-lived.
Suddenly, the shockwave from the explosion slammed into the helicopter, rattling the entire structure. A deep, thunderous roar filled the cabin, followed by a violent shudder that threw everyone off balance. The windshield cracked instantly, the metal frame groaning under the pressure.
The pilot let out a sharp gasp, gripping the controls tighter. "Brace yourselves!" he shouted over the deafening roar. The helicopter jolted violently, the tail whipping violently as the shockwave shoved them sideways through the sky. The instruments flickered wildly, red warning lights flashing across the control panel.
For a moment, it felt like the aircraft would be torn apart by the sheer force of the blast.
"Hold it!" Hitoshi yelled, grabbing onto the nearest support as the helicopter swayed and lurched like a leaf caught in a storm. His gaze darted toward Koichi and Izuku, both unconscious, their bodies slumping dangerously as the helicopter rocked.
Eraserhead was already moving. His capture weapon shot out in a flash, wrapping around both vigilantes in one swift motion. The bindings tightened, securing them to the seats just as another tremor rippled through the cabin, throwing everyone off their balance again. His expression was hard, focused.
"They're secure," he said, under his breath, as the helicopter shook again, a metallic screech piercing through the roar of the wind. The pilot was fighting for control, pulling on the controls with all his strength, his face contorted in concentration.
"We've been hit hard by the shockwave!" the pilot called back, his voice strained. "I'm trying to stabilize, but—"
Before he could finish, everything went dark.
The lights on the control panel flickered once, twice—then died completely. The hum of electronics vanished in an instant, leaving only the deafening rush of wind and the mechanical groan of the helicopter's rotors struggling to keep them in the air.
"What the—?" The pilot's eyes widened in horror as he slammed his fist on the controls. "No, no, no! Everything's dead! We've lost power!"
"It's an EMP," Hitoshi muttered, his stomach dropping as he realized what had happened. The shockwave must've carried an electromagnetic pulse. He could feel the weight of the air change, that strange hum of static that always accompanied such energy surges. "It fried everything."
The pilot's hands trembled as he worked the controls frantically. "We're losing all systems! No response from avionics—no radio, no stabilizers, nothing!"
Eraserhead's eyes narrowed. They had been expecting damage from the shockwave, but the EMP had hit them harder than expected. They were flying blind, just a rapidly descending aircraft with two unconscious vigilantes strapped in.
"Is there anything you can do?" The erasure hero asked, his voice still calm despite the growing chaos around them.
The pilot's face was pale as he struggled with the manual controls. "I'm trying to keep us level, but without power, we're falling fast. We're dead in the air unless I can—"
Another jolt rocked the helicopter as the ground loomed closer. The city below, once distant, was now a sprawling landscape of buildings and streets rushing up toward them. The altitude meter, once a comforting guide, was now a blank, lifeless screen. They were falling blind.
"I'm losing control!" the pilot shouted, his voice laced with panic as the tail swung again, the helicopter spinning slightly as it dropped. "If we can't get any of these systems back online, we're going to crash!"
Hitoshi tightened his grip on the supports, his mind racing. "We need to slow this descent somehow, or at least steer us toward an open area," he muttered, scanning the cockpit for anything that might still be functional. The EMP had knocked out almost everything.
Eraserhead gripped the back of the pilot's seat, his gaze sharp as he calculated their options. "You still have manual control of the rotors?"
"Barely," the pilot replied through gritted teeth, his hands working furiously. "I'm fighting just to keep us from going into a spin."
The helicopter jolted violently, the frame shuddering as they descended faster. Another glance out the window confirmed it—they were rapidly losing altitude, and the streets below were closing in. There was no time to fix the systems. It was all about minimizing the impact now.
"We need to brace for impact," Eraserhead called, his voice steady even as the danger mounted. He secured himself in his seat, his eyes fixed on the ground below as it rushed toward them. Koichi and Izuku were still unconscious, their bodies tightly secured by his capture weapon.
The pilot's hands were slick with sweat as he tried to guide the falling aircraft toward an empty stretch of road. "I'm aiming for that open street ahead," he muttered through clenched teeth. "But with no stabilizers… this is going to be rough."
Hitoshi's heart pounded in his chest as the ground rushed closer. The buildings around them were growing larger by the second, and the helicopter's descent was terrifyingly fast. Every muscle in his body tensed as they prepared for the inevitable. The impact seemed imminent, a crushing blow that would end everything in a matter of seconds.
Then, out of nowhere, a booming voice shattered the chaos.
"HAVE NO FEAR, FELLOW HEROES, BECAUSE I AM HERE!"
The entire cabin shook, but not from the crash. Instead, the helicopter came to an abrupt, impossibly smooth halt, as if a giant hand had plucked it from the air. The wind still roared outside, but the relentless descent had stopped.
Hitoshi's eyes widened in disbelief. He whipped his head toward the window, barely able to process what had just happened. The ground was mere feet away, but they hadn't hit it.
Outside, silhouetted against the darkness of the city, stood All Might in his iconic pose—both arms raised, muscles bulging as he held the helicopter aloft with sheer force. His heroic grin gleamed in the darkness, utterly unshaken by the fact that he had just caught a plummeting aircraft with his bare hands.
The tension inside the cabin broke, replaced by stunned silence. Hitoshi's heart was still hammering in his chest as his mind tried to catch up with the impossible. The gut-wrenching fear that had overtaken him moments earlier was now replaced by a sudden, overwhelming relief. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his entire body sagging against the seat. His usually calm demeanor cracked, eyes wide, staring in awe at the impossible scene outside.
"All Might…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. The name alone seemed to carry the weight of their salvation, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a small, tired smile crept onto his face. They were safe.
Eraserhead, however, was more measured in his reaction. His breath steadied, and his hands, which had been gripping his capture scarf so tightly his knuckles turned white, finally relaxed. His sharp eyes narrowed as he gazed out the window, taking in the sight of the Number One Hero below, holding the helicopter as though it weighed nothing. Aizawa was no stranger to close calls, but even for him, the relief was palpable.
He adjusted the scarf around his neck and muttered, almost to himself, "Always has to be dramatic, doesn't he?" There was no malice in his words—just the weary tone of a man used to the impossible feats of the Symbol of Peace. For the first time since the explosion, he exhaled fully, the tension in his shoulders easing. The danger had been very real, but All Might's presence brought an undeniable sense of security. His gaze briefly flicked to the two unconscious figures of Koichi and Izuku, their unconscious forms still tightly secured, and the weight on his chest lightened just a little.
The pilot, on the other hand, was a different story. He had been fighting to maintain control of the chopper through the explosion and the subsequent electrical failure, sweat dripping down his temples as he braced for impact. When the helicopter stopped so suddenly, his mind took a moment to register the miracle that had just occurred.
"Holy—" The pilot's mouth hung open, eyes wide in disbelief. He could hardly tear his gaze away from the windshield, where the Number One Hero stood as the very definition of hope, bracing the helicopter with both hands. "That—That's All Might!" The tension broke from him all at once, a shaky laugh escaping his throat. "We—we're alive! I can't believe it!"
His hands slid off the controls, trembling from the adrenaline crash as he leaned back into his seat, rubbing his face with his palms. "I thought we were done for." His voice quivered with relief, still processing the fact that they had just been yanked from the jaws of death. He looked toward Eraserhead and Hitoshi, his eyes wide with amazement. "I thought that was it..."
Eraserhead gave him a reassuring nod, though his voice remained level. "You're not wrong." He cast one last glance out the window. "We were close."
Hitoshi, finally regaining his composure, shook his head in disbelief. As he turned his gaze toward his friends, a wry grin crept onto his face. "Man, no wonder why those two idolize him," he muttered, the disbelief still evident in his voice.
Once outside, they quickly realized the gravity of their situation. Hitoshi tried his communication device again, but only static responded. The group settled in, watching over Koichi and Izuku, knowing they had no choice but to hold their position until the lines of communication reopened.
-THE FORCE AWAKENS–
The night sky was torn apart by a brilliant flash of light, its intensity burning through the darkness. The explosion flared far in the distance, a searing pulse of energy that lit up the horizon like a second sun. Civilians instinctively turned toward the light, eyes widening in shock.
For a few heartbeats, there was silence—a vacuum, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
Then, the sound came. A deafening roar shattered the fragile silence, rolling through the streets like an unstoppable tidal wave. Seconds later, the shockwave struck—rattling windows, shaking loose debris, and sending tremors deep into the earth beneath their feet. Some of the evacuees gasped, their breaths stolen by the force, clutching each other in a mix of fear and instinct. The distant thunder of the explosion reverberated in their chests, its echoes haunting the night as the danger still loomed just beyond sight.
Some sat on the cracked pavement, their backs pressed against the cold, unyielding walls of what was left of Naruhata General Hospital. Their faces were pale, streaked with soot and sweat, as if the last few hours had bled all color from their lives. Many held tightly to loved ones, clinging to the only certainty they had left in a world that had nearly swallowed them whole. They had come within a breath of death, saved only by the intervention and sacrifices of heroes— and the city vigilantes.
Across the street, a child—no more than five—sat huddled with a stuffed animal pressed tightly to his chest. His wide eyes reflected the fading glow of the explosion in the distance. Beside him, his mother knelt, gently stroking his hair in slow, rhythmic motions, whispering reassurances she didn't quite believe herself. Her voice trembled, though she tried to mask it with soothing words. Every few moments, the boy would glance anxiously toward the horizon, where the flash had erupted just moments before.
"Mama... is it over?" he asked, his small voice barely above a whisper, fragile and uncertain.
His mother swallowed, hesitating for the briefest of moments. "Yes, sweetie," she replied softly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's over now."
But the lingering fear in her gaze told a different story.
An elderly woman, her frail hands trembling, accepted a bottle of water from Moyuru with a grateful nod. She brought it to her lips, sipping slowly, her eyes distant and unfocused, struggling to process the chaos that had unfolded. Though the blinding light from the explosion had faded into the night, the fear clung to her like a heavy weight, constricting her chest with every breath. Her lips moved in a whisper, repeating the same fragile mantra over and over: "We're alive... we're alive..."
But even amid the relief, the cracks were beginning to show.
On the edge of the crowd, a man stood rigid, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His brow furrowed, jaw clenched, the lines of stress etched deep into his face. His eyes stayed locked on the distant horizon, and bitterness gnawed at his voice as he muttered, "Is this what safety looks like?"
The words hung in the air, a challenge more than a question.
"If the heroes were doing their job," he continued, his voice rising, "we wouldn't be here. This whole city wouldn't be in ruins."
A few nearby glanced his way, their expressions a mixture of agreement and guilt. There was a truth in his words that none of them wanted to face—but couldn't ignore.
"How much longer do we keep trusting them?" another voice pierced through the growing murmur. A woman, pale and weary, stepped forward from the back of the group, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if bracing against a cold wind. "Every time there's another battle, more people get caught in the crossfire. More buildings fall, more lives are ruined. Where were the heroes when everything started falling apart?"
Her words sent a ripple through the crowd. Eyes that had once held a flicker of hope began to darken, skepticism creeping into their expressions.
"They saved us, didn't they?" a younger man spoke up, his voice strained and raw with emotion. "We wouldn't be here without them."
"They saved some of us," the woman snapped, her eyes flaring with frustration. "But what about the people they didn't get to in time? What about the ones still out there? Still trapped under rubble, still waiting for help that might never come?"
Her words hit like a slap, silencing the crowd for a moment. People shifted uncomfortably, glancing around as the uncomfortable truth settled over them like a heavy blanket.
"She's right," another man muttered, stepping forward, his voice barely more than a whisper. "My brother… they didn't get to him. He was just—" He trailed off, his gaze distant, haunted.
The crowd's energy shifted, the tension rising like a storm ready to break. The air felt thick with unspoken grievances, fear, and frustration, all teetering on the edge of eruption.
But before the bitterness could fully take root, a sharp, commanding voice sliced through the growing unrest. "That's enough!"
The crowd fell silent, turning to face her with wide eyes. Midnight's usual sultry, playful demeanor was gone, replaced by the fierce determination of a seasoned hero. The exhaustion in her posture seemed to vanish, replaced by an aura of unshakable resolve. She wasn't just asking for their trust—she was demanding it.
"I understand how you feel," she continued, her voice steady but unyielding, "But this is not the time to point fingers or let fear control you."
Her eyes swept the crowd again, landing on the man who had questioned the heroes' efforts. "You think we don't care? That we're just running around out there for show? You don't get it—we're fighting every minute to protect this city, to protect you."
The evacuees, who had begun to teeter on the edge of dissent, were now frozen, caught by the intensity of her words. Midnight stepped forward, her presence filling the space, authoritative but not harsh. "You may not have seen us at every moment, but that doesn't mean we weren't there. We are still here. Eraserhead is still out there. And if we weren't, you wouldn't be."
She let the weight of her words sink in before continuing. "Do you think the people who are still out there would want you to turn on us now? We're the ones standing between you and the chaos that's trying to tear this city apart. And if we start tearing ourselves apart from the inside—then we've already lost."
There was a ripple of uncertainty through the crowd, but it wasn't the same bitter anger from before. It was the hesitation of people who wanted to believe but had been shaken too many times.
Before anyone else could speak a new figure emerged from the crowd, cutting through the thickening atmosphere like a blade. Knuckleduster stepped into view, his rugged silhouette contrasting sharply with the nervousness of the civilians. His usual confident demeanor was marred by visible signs of his recent battle. His left eye was shielded by a battered patch, and his clothes were torn and singed, marking the confrontation that had nearly taken him out. He moved with a pronounced limp, but each step was a testament to his grit; he still wore his trademark grin—a stubborn defiance that radiated strength.
"She's right you know? Sure, It's been a rough ride, but let's not forget who's been in the trenches while you've all been keeping warm in your little hospital!" he called out, his voice a mix of laid-back charm and unwavering resolve. The flickering emergency lights caught the bruises blooming on his arms and the soot smudged across his face, a badge of honor from the chaos he had just faced.
Midnight felt the shift as the crowd's murmurs quieted. "Those two vigilantes you're talking about may be out of sight right now, but they're still in the fight," he continued, his tone steady. "Trust me, they didn't just bail on us after a little fireworks show."
Leaning heavily against a nearby wall for support, Knuckleduster surveyed the crowd. His grin widened, radiating confidence even as he winced slightly from the pain in his leg. "You think they'd let a little explosion scare them off? Nah. They're tough. You should know that. You don't step into the ring unless you're ready to get a little dirty."
With every word, Knuckleduster began to make his way through the crowd, a palpable energy growing around him. Each step forward transformed the apprehensive expressions into looks of cautious hope. Knuckleduster could see it in their eyes. "I get it," he pressed on, raising his voice. "Let me tell you something. Heroes, vigilantes. What they've done today, what they were willing to risk for all of us, that's worthy of the number one hero! You want to talk about courage? Talk about sacrifice? These guys have it in spades!"
He stepped forward, his voice steady and filled with conviction, approaching a set of stairs that would elevate him above the crowd. "When the chips were down, when everyone else was running for cover, they stood their ground! When it came time to face the villain and his goons head-on, they didn't hesitate. They confronted them, refusing to back down. They fought tooth and nail, not just for themselves, but for all of you!"
Reaching the top of the stairs, Knuckleduster took a moment to survey the crowd from his new vantage point, the energy surging through him. The evacuees exchanged glances, some of their expressions beginning to soften. They could feel the passion in his words, the fire of belief igniting something deep within them.
"I can't speak for the pro heroes, but let me tell you this: The Crawler and Specter, they are the future of heroes!" Knuckleduster declared, his voice rising, echoing with the kind of certainty that demanded attention. "In a world that's starting to become dark and chaotic, these two are shining examples of what it means to stand up and fight! They don't need a title to prove their worth—they're out there and that's what matters."
He paused, looking directly at the faces in the crowd, his gaze fierce. "I don't care what anyone says. I believe in them, and you should too. No matter what happens next, I know they will emerge victorious. They have that spirit—the heart of a true hero—and they'll fight until their last breath to protect this city!"
Then, with a determined flick of his wrist, Knuckleduster pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He held it up for everyone to see, the faded ink barely legible in the dim light. "This here is a letter I wrote to one of them, a little encouragement for him to keep pushing forward. I thought I'd be giving it to a rising star, someone destined for greatness. I had high hopes, expectations of what he could achieve."
He took a breath, his expression momentarily pensive as he reflected on the situation. "But after today?" He shook his head, a confident grin returning to his lips. "All those expectations? They've been redefined!"
With a swift motion, he tore the letter into pieces, the sound of the paper ripping cutting through the tense atmosphere. He leaned in and laughed loudly. "So, if you see them coming back covered in dirt and bruises, you better not scowl at them. Give them a round of applause, a high-five, or whatever you've got! They're our heroes now!"
With that, he stepped back, letting his eyes twinkle with mischief. "And if anyone's got a problem with that? Well, they can take it up with me! I've got a few punches left in me, and I'm not afraid to use them!"
The effect of the impromptu speech was immediate. The once doubtful crowd erupted in applause, their hands clapping and voices rising in a chorus of support for both pro heroes and vigilantes. Present Mic joined in, nodding vigorously, while Forge smiled broadly. Midnight turned to Knuckleduster, softly muttering her thanks to the grizzled vigilante.
Yet, beyond this moment of unity, the reality was far more daunting. In the quieter corners of the city—where individuals stood isolated—the discontent simmered just beneath the surface. Voices of dissent began to rise, echoing the frustrations and fears that had long been buried. Shadows lengthened and darkened, wrapping around the hearts of those feeling forgotten, and a palpable sense of unease settled heavily in the air.
The trust issues weren't over by no means.
-THE FORCE AWAKENS–
Ibara Shiozaki's gaze remained locked on the distant epicenter of the explosion, her usually serene face now a mask of quiet fear. The crowd's murmured conversations and the fading echoes of Knuckleduster's speech barely registered in her mind. Her heart raced with an intensity she hadn't felt in a long time. Each passing second tightened the knot in her chest, as a mixture of fear and uncertainty gnawed at her. Her thoughts were singular, her focus entirely consumed by one person.
"Specter..." The name alone sent a shiver down her spine, conjuring his image—an enigmatic figure cloaked in mystery. She remembered the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he had stood his ground against monsters that threatened to tear the city apart. That unwavering resolve haunted her thoughts now. He had come through for them, had been the shield between the innocents and the chaos. But that blast—it was too close, too dangerous. The knot in her chest tightened.
"Please, please be safe," she silently begged, her knuckles whitening as her fingers gripped the strap of her medical bag like a lifeline.
Her breaths came shallow and uneven, as if every inhale was a fight against the wave of anxiety threatening to overwhelm her. The vine-like tendrils of her hair, always a reflection of her inner state, stiffened slightly as tension built within her. A flicker of doubt wriggled its way into her mind. "Was it foolish to be this concerned? After all, he was a stranger."
Ibara knew nothing about him, not really. They had only exchanged a few words before he dashed off into the chaos, fearlessly engaging the enemy alongside Crawler. Yet, here she stood, paralyzed by fear for his safety, as if they had known each other for a lifetime. It was irrational, she knew that. But ever since he had appeared, standing defiantly in the face of the monstrous threats that swarmed the city, something had shifted within her. It was as if, in that moment, he had reached into her very soul and sparked something—a fragile flame of hope... and perhaps something deeper.
Still, reality held a cruel grip on her heart. The scene of the explosion replayed in her mind in vivid detail: flames licking the sky, thick plumes of smoke curling ominously into the atmosphere. The sheer power of the blast had left the city trembling. She couldn't shake the thought—"what if he didn't make it? What if he was caught in the blast?"
The pit of dread in her stomach deepened. The mere possibility that someone so brave, so selfless, could have been lost was unbearable. She had seen how he fought, how he pushed himself to his limits to protect others, never hesitating, never faltering. That selflessness had left an impression on her, a profound sense of gratitude. Specter had saved her, saved so many, and now here she stood, waiting in the shadows, gripped by the suffocating uncertainty of not knowing whether he had survived.
Around her, the crowd erupted into applause, their cheers and chants of appreciation for Knuckleduster filling the air. But Ibara felt detached, as though she was a mere ghost drifting through the scene. She wanted to join in, to cheer with them, to feel the same relief and hope they felt—but her heart was elsewhere, tethered to the thought of Specter and the gnawing fear that she might never see him again.
She closed her eyes, seeking refuge within her own mind. There, in the sanctuary of her thoughts, she found solace in memories of simpler times. She remembered her quiet mornings, rising before dawn to the soft glow of candlelight. In those still moments, she would say her prayers, her hands clasped in quiet devotion as she sought guidance and strength for the day ahead. The words she murmured every morning echoed now in her mind. "Lord, guide my hands, grant me the wisdom to heal."
Her prayers had always been her anchor, a ritual that grounded her. It was in those moments of quiet faith that she felt most at peace, her spirit renewed by the familiar scent of jasmine tea and the promise of a new day. But today, there was no peace, only chaos. The world around her was unraveling, and all she could cling to was that same prayer, hoping it would be enough to steady her.
Her thoughts drifted further to her work at the local community center. She remembered the joy of giving back, of helping those in need. The laughter of children playing, the warmth of a shared meal, the simple moments of human connection that reminded her why she fought so hard to protect others. Those memories had always been a source of strength, filling her with a sense of purpose. But now, even those precious memories felt fragile in the face of the overwhelming fear gnawing at her insides.
One particular memory floated to the surface—the day her church had organized a community event, a celebration that brought people together through laughter and shared experiences. It was a day filled with games and joy, where families came together, united by the simple act of being present. The glow of their happiness had stayed with her long after the event ended, a quiet reminder of the good that still existed in the world. But now, all she could think about was Specter. Would she ever feel that same sense of fulfillment again if he didn't return?
"What if he hadn't escaped the explosion?" The thought struck her like a physical blow, threatening to pull her into a downward spiral of despair. And yet, somewhere deep within her, there was a whisper of hope. It was an inexplicable feeling, a quiet certainty that refused to be silenced. Despite all logic, despite the fear gripping her heart, she felt it in her bones.
"He's alive."
It was as if the universe itself was reassuring her, nudging her toward hope even when it seemed impossible. At first, it didn't make sense. There was no tangible reason for her to believe he had survived. But the more she thought about it, the more she found herself trusting that instinct. She had seen the way he stood against the odds, how he faced danger head-on without a second thought. He was a fighter, and fighters didn't give up that easily.
Her hand instinctively moved to the small rosary she kept in her pocket, the feel of the familiar beads grounding her in the present. It was a habit of hers, something she did whenever the weight of the world felt too heavy to bear.
"Focus," she whispered to herself, forcing the panic down. There were people who needed her right now. She had responsibilities—there were people depending on her. Specter had fought for them, risked everything to protect them. Now it was her turn to honor that courage. She couldn't afford to let her worries consume her. Not when there were still so many she could help.
"I can do this," she murmured under her breath, her resolve hardening. "I will help them."
With renewed purpose, Ibara moved through the crowd, her eyes scanning the faces around her. She knelt beside the injured, tending to their wounds. Each person she helped reminded her of why she was here, of the calling that had brought her to this moment. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on the task at hand, her mind kept drifting back to Specter. Was he still out there? Was he hurt, alone, or worse?
She shook the thought away, determined to stay present. But as she finished wrapping a bandage around a man's arm, a familiar voice whispered in her mind again. "You must find him."
The thought lingered, growing louder with each passing moment. As she spotted vigilantes—those who had fought alongside her hero—huddled together, away from the crowd and the injured, the voice was insistent now. "These people are out of danger. If you want answers, go to them."
And so, with a final glance at the crowd, Ibara made up her mind. She would find Specter, no matter what.
-THE FORCE AWAKENS–
Pop Step leaned against a crumbled wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes flitting between her companions. She wore her irritation plainly, her brow furrowed as she tapped her foot against the concrete.
"That old man, always the dramatic type," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes in a way that tried to disguise the worry gnawing at her. "You'd think he was running for mayor with all that shouting."
Soga let out a low chuckle, glancing at her sideways. "Yeah, he's a real crowd-pleaser. I half expected him to call us all idiots and storm off."
Rapt, lounging with his usual air of relaxed indifference, chimed in. "At least he's still got that fire in him. Passion's good, right?"
Pop shook her head, flicking her ponytail dismissively. "Maybe, but passion doesn't help us figure out where Koichi or the others are." Her voice wavered, and for a moment, the crack in her armor showed. It was brief, just a flicker of emotion quickly buried under a smirk, but the group wasn't blind. They could feel the tension. Koichi wasn't just another ally to her—he was something more, though she would never say it aloud. Not now, anyway.
Mei stood a little apart from the group, her hands constantly fiddling with the small communicator in her ear. She had been trying to reach Koichi, Izuku, Hitoshi, or even Eraserhead for what felt like forever, and the lack of response was beginning to fray her nerves. Mei was always composed, always thriving in chaos, but the silence was deafening.
"Come on... Come on!" she muttered through clenched teeth, her fingers working with increasing desperation. She cursed under her breath when yet another attempt failed to connect. The pink haired inventor wasn't used to feeling helpless, and it showed in the way her frustration built with every passing second.
Soga noticed her agitation and nudged her gently. "Any luck?"
Mei shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing in irritation. "No! Nothing! It's like they've vanished off the grid completely, and I've tried every frequency I know." Her voice, usually laced with unshakable confidence, cracked with a rare edge of panic.
"Maybe they're in an interference zone," Moyuru Tochi offered, his normally fiery enthusiasm simmered to embers. "You know, underground or something." He shrugged, trying to sound casual, but even he couldn't shake the tension. "But they'll be fine. Koichi and Midoriya are our heavy hitters, together they are practically unstoppable, right?"
The pink haired inventor shot Moyuru a sharp glare, her frustration clear. She crossed her arms tightly, as if trying to contain the growing tension.
"Did you forget something?" she snapped, her voice edged with concern and irritation. "Hitoshi went to the explosion site too. He left right before everything went down, and I haven't been able to reach him either."
The weight of her words settled heavily over the group. Soga's smirk faded as he uncrossed his arms, realizing the situation was even more serious than they thought. Pop Step's anxious fidgeting intensified, her foot tapping the ground rapidly as her eyes flickered with unease. She couldn't help but think back to how Koichi always threw himself into danger without hesitation. It was part of what made him a hero in her eyes, but it also terrified her.
"Way to go, dumbass." Rapt added dryly, but beneath his carefree expression, his smile faltered slightly.
Moyuru blinked, the realization sinking in. "I... I didn't know." His previously carefree tone was gone, replaced by a quiet, somber acknowledgment.
Soga finally stepped forward, his usual sarcastic air replaced with a more measured tone. "Look, you're all stressing out, but let's be real. The four of them—Hitoshi, Izuku, Koichi, and Eraserhead—they're either already heroes or are training to be. They know how to handle themselves in situations like this. An explosion isn't going to slow them down."
Mei clenched her fists, still tapping at her communicator with diminishing hope. "This isn't just some explosion. I saw the blast—half the block's gone! That's not something you just 'walk away' from."
Pop nodded in agreement, her voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability. "They're strong, but everyone has their limits."
Rapt, leaning against a slab of broken concrete, sighed deeply. "Look, we all want to believe they're fine, and they probably are. Koichi's always been resourceful. You know that better than anyone, Pop. And Midoriya? He strikes me as a kid that never stays down. They'll make it."
But despite his words, a heavy silence settled over the group. Each of them wore their uncertainty plainly now, no one bothering to mask the anxiety clawing at their hearts. The silence from their friends felt too long, too eerie to dismiss with easy reassurances.
Mei's frustration flared again, her voice sharp as she blurted out, "If I don't hear from them soon, I'm going after them myself."
Moyuru, sensing her urgency, quickly stepped in front of her, raising his hands in a calming gesture, though his tone carried its usual laid-back vibe. "Whoa, whoa, slow down, Hatsume. I get it, you're worried—believe me, I am too—but you rushing off half-cocked isn't going to help."
Mei shot him a glare, her determination undeterred. "You expect me to just sit here when Hitoshi might be in trouble? When Koichi—"
Before she could finish, Rapt held up his hand, eyes narrowing as he spotted a figure that was headed their way. "Hold up. We've got company."
The figure approached through the rubble, her silhouette sharp against the backdrop of destruction. It was Ibara. The group turned their eyes to her, curiosity and apprehension flickering across their faces. She looked worn but determined, her eyes burning with purpose. Her unfamiliarity was palpable; she didn't belong to this tight-knit team, and yet there was a shared urgency that pulled her forward.
"Who are you?" Moyuru asked, his tone cautious but probing, though a spark of curiosity laced his voice.
The group stared at him in disbelief, as if he'd just sprouted a second head. Pop shot him a sharp glare, her eyes narrowing with exasperation. "Seriously, moron? Can't you see the uniform? She's a nurse!"
"Yeah, I get that," Moyuru huffed, folding his arms defensively. "But that doesn't explain why she's here."
The girl halted a few steps away, her brow furrowing. "I'm Ibara Shiozaki," she introduced herself, her voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. "I'm looking for someone… His name is Specter. Do you know anything about him?"
The group exchanged glances, curiosity mingling with hesitation.
"Why specifically him?" Pop asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you know him from somewhere?"
Ibara's expression softened, her eyes momentarily unfocused as memories of that night resurfaced. The way Specter had moved through the chaos—calm, collected, and fearless—was still imprinted in her mind. Her breath hitched as she spoke, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. "Because… he saved my life in the hospital," she said quietly, her voice tinged with admiration. "He helped me escape when debris fell over me." She hesitated, her heart quickening as she recalled his firm yet gentle grip when he pulled her to safety. "He's brave and… I'm worried about him, even though I don't really know him."
Her voice wavered slightly on the last words. Her gaze dropping for a brief second before she looked back up. "I know it sounds strange, but there was just something… different about him."
Mei's expression tightened as Ibara spoke. Her usual bright energy seemed dulled, her fingers hovering tensely over her communicator. "That… sounds like him," she said softly, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. She swallowed, glancing at her communicator with a worried frown. "But there's something you need to know." Mei's brow furrowed, and her words came slower, weighed down by unease. "We've been trying to reach him—or Crawler, Eraserhead and Echo—for a while now. No response. It's like… they've disappeared."
Ibara felt her heart twist painfully at the younger pink haired girl's words. It was as if the ground beneath her had shifted, threatening to swallow her whole. The idea of Specter disappearing—of him being hurt or worse—gripped her with a cold, suffocating fear. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt like she couldn't breathe. How could someone like him, so strong and resolute, just vanish? The thought alone made her stomach churn.
But as the fear surged, a calm, quiet voice in the back of her mind cut through the panic. It was steady, certain, and it told her something that, deep down, she already knew.
"He's alive, child."
The feeling was undeniable. There was that unshakable conviction again —something she couldn't explain but trusted wholeheartedly. Ibara swallowed hard, forcing herself to steady her breathing. She had to tell them—make them understand what she felt, even if it sounded irrational.
"He's not dead," she said suddenly, her voice stronger than she expected, cutting through the heavy silence. The group turned toward her, startled by the firmness in her tone. Ibara met their gazes, her expression resolute despite the turmoil swirling inside her.
"I just… I know he's still out there," she continued, the certainty in her voice growing with each word. "I can feel it. Something inside tells me he's alive."
Pop raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear, but she didn't interrupt. Mei, still clutching her communicator, stared at Ibara with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Soga's gaze lingered on her, as if weighing her words carefully.
"You're really sure about that?" Moyuru asked, his doubt evident. "I mean, how can you know?"
Ibara didn't have a concrete answer, but she shook her head anyway. "I don't know how," she admitted. "But I feel it. It's like… no matter what's happened, there's this pull. I can't explain it, but I'm certain Specter's alive. I have to believe that."
Mei studied her for a moment longer before speaking. "You know," she began softly, her voice cutting through the tension, "you sound a lot like Specter right now." Ibara blinked, surprised by the sudden comparison, but Mei's gaze stayed steady. "He's always been like that—feeling things, sensing things that no one else can explain. It's like... he just knows when something's wrong, or when someone needs help."
Ibara's breath caught in her throat as Mei's words hung in the air. A strange warmth spread through her chest, confusing and overwhelming. She hadn't even realized how much she had in common with him—or that others could see it so clearly. Her pulse quickened at the thought, but she remained silent, absorbing the girl's observation.
"He never explained it either," Mei continued, a faint smile touching her lips. "Sometimes, he'd just say, 'I have a feeling,' and that was enough for us. More often than not, he was right." She glanced at the others, who were listening intently now, and then back at Ibara. "So, if you've got a feeling, I think we should listen."
Pop raised an eyebrow, though this time it wasn't with skepticism but curiosity. "You're saying Shiozaki's got the same weird sense as Specter?"
Mei shrugged lightly. "I'm just saying, sometimes you don't need a reason to know something's true. Specter's always trusted his gut, and I think maybe Ibara's doing the same thing here."
The vine haired girl's cheeks flushed at the unexpected praise, and a flicker of something deeper stirred in her—a growing connection to Specter she still didn't fully understand. She wanted to argue that it was more than just a gut feeling, but the truth was, she couldn't explain it. And that was exactly the point.
Soga nodded slowly, taking in Mei's words. "Alright. We'll follow that instinct then," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But like I said, instincts won't be enough. We're all going to find them. Those idiots wouldn't leave us behind, so we're not leaving them either."
Before the group could continue, Rapt stretched his limbs lazily, flashing a mischievous grin in Soga's direction. "You know," he drawled, "you just called Eraserhead an idiot."
Moyuru snorted, and even Pop tried to stifle a laugh, her tense expression momentarily lightening. Soga sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration.
Ibara's heart swelled with a rush of gratitude. These people—Specter's friends—they were willing to risk everything to find him and his team. And now, they were willing to trust her too.
Just as the group began to move, the sudden crackle of static pierced the air. Everyone but Ibara instinctively reached for their communicators, and a familiar voice, rough yet controlled, came through.
"Can you hear me?" It was Eraserhead.
Ibara froze, her heart skipping a beat as the rest of the group stopped in their tracks. Their expressions shifted from surprise to alertness as the erasure hero's voice continued.
"Hey, are you sure this toy of yours is working?" Eraserhead's gruff tone turned slightly annoyed as he addressed someone in the background.
A second voice chimed in, this one younger but confident, with a hint of sarcasm. "Yes, I'm sure. And you might want to stop calling it a 'toy,' considering the person who made it is probably listening in."
Moyuru let out a low chuckle. "Echo," he muttered, recognizing the voice.
On the other end, there was a heavy sigh from Eraserhead. "Fine. Look, the helicopter we were in went down due the explosion. We're near the southern district—close to some residential area."
Ibara's pulse quickened. Specter. He was alive—somewhere out there. Her mind raced, and the knot of worry in her chest slowly began to unravel. She clenched her fists, focusing on every word coming from the communicator.
Mei shot a glance at Soga, her face lighting up with cautious optimism. "They're close. We can reach them," she whispered.
Rapt raised an eyebrow. "So, they survived a helicopter crash and an explosion. I'm not even surprised at this point."
Soga, however, remained calm, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "Eraserhead," he said into his communicator, "we're on our way. We'll head toward the southern district, how are you?"
The pro hero's voice crackled back through the communicator, steady despite the urgency of the situation. "We're okay—at least for now. Both Specter and Crawler are unconscious, but it's thanks to All Might that we survived. We took a hard hit after the explosion, but he caught the helicopter just before we hit the ground. Without him, we wouldn't have made it."
Ibara's heart twisted again. Relief battled with anxiety in her chest as she processed the information. Beside her, Pop's expression shifted; her brows knitted together in deep concern. The tension was palpable, wrapping around them like a thick fog.
There was a brief pause before another voice came through—Hitoshi, calm but serious. "We'll be waiting here. You need to get here as soon as possible so we can move them safely. We don't know how long they'll stay out."
Soga stepped forward, his demeanor shifting into one of focused leadership. He glanced around, taking stock of their surroundings. Though worry was evident in his eyes, he didn't allow it to overshadow his resolve. "We need to hurry then," he declared, his gaze settling on Mei. "Can you find their position?"
The pink haired inventor nodded, determination sparking in her eyes. "Already on it. I'll triangulate their location." She quickly began tapping away at her device, her fingers a blur across the screen, each beep and click igniting a flicker of hope in the air.
"Good," Soga replied, his voice steady. He turned to Rapt, tossing him his rifle scope with a flick of his wrist. "Go ahead and get me visuals from the rooftops. See if you can spot anything with that eyes of yours."
Rapt caught the scope deftly, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he sprinted toward a nearby building. With a fluid motion, he scaled the debris, his Quirk enabling him to ascend with the ease of a seasoned pro. "I'll have eyes on the area in no time!" he called back over his shoulder, disappearing onto the rooftop.
Moyuru stepped closer to Ibara and Pop, his voice low but firm. He placed his hands on both their shoulders "Are you okay? We're going to find them in no time. Nothing is going to happen to them."
Both nodded, though uncertainty flickered in their eyes.
"Got it!" Mei suddenly exclaimed, pulling their attention back to her as the screen on her device flashed with data. "I've pinpointed their last known location! They're over two miles from here. We need to move faster. The longer they're down, the more dangerous it becomes."
Ibara's heart raced, hope sparking in her chest. "We can reach them!" she thought excitedly, adrenaline pumping through her veins.
Soga took a deep breath, glancing at each member of the team. "Boga, keep us updated from the rooftops. Let's move!"
Pop and Ibara exchanged glances. "Koichi!" they thought simultaneously, voices ringing on their minds with unwavering certainty. "Specter, we're on our way!"
-THE FORCE AWAKENS–
After what felt like an eternity of tense minutes, the group—Pop, Soga, Rapt, Moyuru, Mei, and Ibara—finally arrived at the site where All Might had stopped the plummeting helicopter. As they rounded a corner, the sight before them caused a wave of relief to wash over the weary team. There, beneath the fading twilight, stood All Might, tall and unshaken. Flanking him were Hitoshi and Eraserhead, both visibly exhausted. Lying unconscious nearby were Koichi and Izuku.
"Look!" Moyuru exclaimed, pointing with a mix of disbelief and joy. "They're here! They're safe!"
Pop didn't waste a second. She dashed forward, her heart pounding with anticipation. "Koichi!" she cried, her voice cracking as she knelt beside him, tears stinging her eyes. Seeing him lying there, pale but alive, filled her with overwhelming relief after the chaos they had all endured.
At the sound of her voice, Koichi's eyes fluttered open, though still unfocused and heavy with exhaustion. "Pop?" he mumbled, a weak smile tugging at his lips.
"Don't you dare fall asleep on me, you moron!" she scolded, her grip tightening around his hand as tears welled up in her eyes. "You scared me half to death!"
"I'm okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "We made it…"
Soga, Rapt, and Moyuru soon joined her, crowding around Koichi with a mix of worry and relief. Moyuru crouched down, grinning despite the tension still hanging in the air. "You really had us going, man," he said, shaking his head. "What were you thinking, jumping right into that mess?"
"Just… trying to save everyone," Koichi muttered, his eyelids heavy as fatigue dragged him down. He glanced up weakly, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of the towering figure standing nearby. "Wait… is that All Might?" His words trailed off as exhaustion overtook him, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Ibara, meanwhile, had knelt beside Izuku. She called out softly, "Specter, wake up." Her voice was filled with quiet urgency as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She checked for a pulse, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. Relief flooded her chest as she exhaled slowly. "He's alive," she murmured, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him.
Mei, who had been watching from the side, turned sharply toward Hitoshi, her frustration bubbling over. "If that idiot dies, I swear I'll find a way to bring him back just to kill him again! What was he thinking, being so reckless?"
Hitoshi smirked, leaning against the damaged helicopter. "He's not going to believe us when we tell him he passed out while All Might was standing right next to him, you know?"
"Oh, I'll make sure he remembers," Mei retorted, crossing her arms defiantly, though there was a flicker of worry in her eyes.
All Might chuckled softly, his presence calm and reassuring as he watched the banter unfold. "Even in the midst of chaos, the bonds of friendship are our greatest strenght." he remarked quietly to Eraserhead, his voice warm with admiration.
Eraserhead, ever the pragmatist, gave a small roll of his eyes, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Always the optimist, aren't you?"
Suddenly, Soga tapped the radio strapped to his belt and spoke into it. "We've located them," he reported. "What's the ETA on the medics?"
A crackle of static came through, followed by a clear response. "We've got your position. We're en route and we should arrive within minutes."
Pop let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her fingers brushing a lock of hair from Koichi's forehead. "Thank goodness…" she whispered, her voice trembling with relief.
Mei, though still irritated, relaxed visibly. "Guess we wait it out now," she said, her tone softer than before.
The group settled into a brief moment of peace, the air filled with the quiet hum of their collective relief and exhaustion. Dark clouds drifted overhead, the night sky contrasting with the faint glow of distant fires still flickering in the ruined parts of the city. It was a stark reminder of the battle they had survived.
As the group began to settle, a soft glow appeared in the air nearby. At first, it was faint, like wisps of light barely visible to the naked eye. But within moments, the shimmering light grew stronger, and the ethereal figures of five ghostly beings materialized afar.
Anakin, Obi-Wan, Yoda, Luke, and Leia—the Ghostly Council—stood there, their presence both powerful and serene. Their luminous forms cast a faint glow over the darkened street, adding an air of quiet calm amid the chaos.
Anakin, ever the rogue, smirked as he focused his gaze on Izuku. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he teased, crossing his arms as he glanced toward Ibara, who was still kneeling by his padawan's side. "Looks like Sparky's got himself a sweetheart."
Obi-Wan sighed, though a trace of amusement softened his usual calm demeanor. "Must you always be so childish, Anakin?" he chided, his voice carrying the familiar tone of long-suffering patience. But even he couldn't fully suppress the hint of a smile at Anakin's antics.
Yoda chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement, nodded in Ibara's direction. "Concern for him, she shows," he mused, a playful gleam in his gaze. "Strong in the Force, she is. But hmm... perhaps more than concern, her feelings are?" His voice was laden with playful insinuation, hinting at something deeper in Ibara's worry.
Anakin's grin widened, clearly relishing the moment. "See? Even Master Yoda can sense it. She's practically hovering over him like a guardian angel. Maybe she's the one who should be training him."
Luke exchanged a knowing glance with his twin sister, a soft, teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Father's got a point," he added gently, but with a teasing tone. "She does seem to care for him a lot. And that's always a good sign."
Leia, arms crossed and a smirk playing on her face, chimed in with her own dry humor. "Maybe it's about time he wakes up and realizes that, don't you think? It's not polite to keep a lady waiting."
Ibara's brow furrowed in confusion as unfamiliar voices echoed in her mind. Yet, a soft blush crept up her face at their teasing remarks. The voices didn't belong to anyone nearby—there was something otherworldly about them, their tone light-hearted yet infused with an undeniable sense of wisdom and power. Her heart quickened, and a strange energy hummed in the air around her, prickling her senses.
She looked up, her gaze instinctively sweeping across the scene, scanning for any sign of the source. But all she saw were her companions.
"What's going on?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible as she continued searching for the source of the voices. The feeling was strange, otherworldly, yet oddly comforting.
Obi-Wan's gentle voice broke through Ibara's racing thoughts. "Let him rest for now," he advised, his ghostly figure moving nearby, bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. His presence was both calming and commanding. "He's earned it."
Ibara's breath caught in her throat as her gaze landed on the glowing form of the bearded master. Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening in shock. The resemblance to the religious images she'd grown up with was uncanny.
"Lord Jesus?" she whispered in awe, the word slipping out of her lips before she could stop herself. Her voice, soft but filled with reverence, cut through the stillness, drawing the attention of everyone around her.
Anakin doubled over in laughter, his amusement echoing across the scene. "Oh, that's priceless!" he gasped between chuckles, wiping at his eyes as he watched the confusion play out.
Obi-Wan, remained composed, offering the vine-haired girl a gentle, understanding look. His lips curved into a slight smile as he replied calmly. "I've been called many things," his tone was respectful, not dismissive, as he acknowledged her confusion, "but that is certainly a first."
Ibara's mind swirled. Spectral figures, glowing with an otherworldly presence? She couldn't wrap her head around it. Before she had a chance to say more, her vision began to blur, the world around her tilting dangerously as the shock overwhelmed her. Without another word, her legs gave out, and she fainted, collapsing gently beside her hero.
Luke shook his head with a soft chuckle, his eyes warm as he looked down at the unconscious girl. "The Force works in mysterious ways," he said, smiling knowingly at his sister.
Leia crossed her arms, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation as she watched the scene unfold. Behind her, Anakin's laughter echoed loudly
"She'll have quite the story when she wakes up," Leia remarked dryly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She cast a sidelong glance at her father, whose laughter still echoed lightly through the air. Even as a Force Ghost, it seemed, Anakin Skywalker couldn't resist a bit of playful trouble.
And there you have it.
It's interesting that AFO doesn't have a first name in the manga/anime, just a last name. So, I decided to give him a bit more background and a name: Datsuichi (奪壱), which means "He who takes everything"—a fitting name for a quirk collector. I also decided to portray him a bit differently than in the manga/anime.
He's still inherently evil, but here he's also bored and seeking a new thrill. In his mind, he's already won; it's only a matter of time before his plans come to fruition. But when he witnesses the appearance and resilience of Koichi and Izuku—who, despite being totally outmatched by Number 6, not only stand up to him but actually defeat him—AFO's interest is piqued. Koichi's seemingly minor quirk and Izuku's unique abilities add a layer of intrigue, making his "game" a little more exciting.
But 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.