The Force Awakens

by FarXs

Izuku Midoriya, diagnosed as quirkless, discovers he's Force-sensitive. Guided by the Force Ghosts of the Jedi Order, he begins to explore his newfound abilities, embarking on a journey as the Force awakens within him. Slow burn. AU. Slightly OoC.

22. Chapter XXII: Decisions

Hey everyone, how's it going?

We're back with a new chapter where big decisions are made all around—ones that will definitely leave an impact on the world. With this, the Naruhata arc comes to a close, and it looks like the consequences will be felt for a long time to come.

I have to say, I really enjoyed writing this arc, as it's the first one that really "deviates" from the original story.

Now, onto your reviews:

Darkgod3000: Great to hear from you again, man! Yep, Ibara is going to be Izuku's love interest in this story. What can I say? I'm a fan of unconventional pairings, and I think they'd make a great match.

NinjaFang1331: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked my choice for Izuku's partner.

BoltSamIam: Hey, dude! It's awesome that this story made you smile and gave you a bit of a break from things. Hope everything's better these days. And yeah, Izuku will eventually have to explain the Force to her. Regarding the dark acolytes, it could make for an interesting plot, but I haven't planned it out that far yet. And no, Palpatine's not coming back; I'm not a fan of that plot twist because it undercuts Anakin's sacrifice and the whole "Chosen One" arc. AFO will be the final villain—no secret or shadowy antagonist coming in later.

Benguin: Great to hear from you after a while! Don't worry, the vigilantes will have their time to shine as the story continues.

Ryuujin96: Thanks for the review! Writing that scene was a blast—the joke practically wrote itself, haha.

Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

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!

PD: Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or just want to chat!

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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 with the capital D.

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).

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"Deceit is the weapon of greed."

Chapter XXII: Decisions

The morning air was crisp, the faint glow of dawn barely visible beyond the horizon as Katsuki Bakugou launched himself forward, each explosive step propelling him faster across the desolate training grounds. The abandoned construction site had become his sanctuary over the past three years—a place where no one could bother him, where he could push his body to the absolute limit, and, more importantly, where he could train with his Quirk without anyone looking over his shoulder.

Society may have enforced strict rules about Quirk usage outside of hero training programs, but Katsuki didn't care about regulations—not when they stood in the way of his goals. His body, coated in a thin layer of sweat, moved with precision as he executed another series of controlled blasts from his palms, vaulting over a stack of rusted steel beams. His heart raced, muscles burning with the familiar strain that came from hours of relentless training. But that pain only fueled his drive. He thrived on it, using it to keep his mind sharp and his resolve steady.

Over the past three years, he had discovered something about his Quirk that had changed everything. He'd always known his explosive power came from the nitroglycerin-like sweat secreted from the palms of his hands—but as he pushed himself harder in training, something clicked. His body could produce sweat from more than just his palms. His entire body had the capacity to generate the explosive substance, given the right conditions. His hands were simply the easiest, most efficient point of release.

It had taken months of brutal trial and error, testing and honing this discovery, to learn how to control it. In the beginning, it had been overwhelming—every drop of sweat on his skin, a potential explosion waiting to go off. But Katsuki thrived in chaos. He forced himself to adapt, to master his new ability. Now, with focused effort, he could channel explosive energy from almost any part of his body. His feet, his back, even his shoulders could all serve as points of detonation if he willed it. But his palms, always the quickest to sweat, remained his strongest weapon in combat.

And of course, that discovery had only made him more dangerous.

He landed with a roll, quickly pushing himself back to his feet in a fluid motion. His mind flashed briefly to Deku, the memory of their fight on the schoolyard still raw, no matter how much time had passed. It played over and over in his mind, a twisted loop he could never escape.

Back then, the bastard had been nothing more than a nuisance, a weakling Katsuki had looked down on for years. Deku—the quirkless nobody who somehow clung to him like a shadow. For most of his life, he had dismissed the quirkless freak, paid him little attention except to remind him of his place beneath him. But that day, everything had changed. Deku, with his sudden display of power, had almost killed him.

One of his explosions was nothing compared to the shock Katsuki had felt in that moment—gasping for air, his throat constricted by an invisible hand. For the first time, he had been forced to face a version of Deku he had never imagined—someone capable of unleashing a power so deadly it could've erased him from existence.

Katsuki's jaw clenched as he leapt over a pile of debris, landing hard on the other side. He could still remember the look in the quirkless freak's eyes that day—not the weak, pathetic look he was used to seeing, but something far darker. Something that made Katsuki's blood boil every time he thought about it. That power, that strength... Deku had been hiding it from him! All those years, he had pretended to be weak, to be less than what he really was. It wasn't just an insult—it was betrayal. The bastard had deceived him. And in that moment, Katsuki had vowed that he would expose him for the ticking bomb he truly was.

But he wasn't stupid. He knew better than to confront Izuku outright, not with that kind of power lurking beneath the surface. No, if he was going to ruin him, he needed to be smart. That's why he had kept his distance during high school. He had perfected the art of avoidance, giving Deku a wide berth, waiting for the perfect moment to strike—when they both arrived at U.A.

"U.A.", Katsuki thought with a grim smirk. The elite hero school where the best of the best would compete. That would be the place where he would expose Deku for what he truly was. He didn't just want to defeat him—he wanted to humiliate him. To show the world that Izuku Midoriya didn't deserve the power he wielded. And Katsuki would be there to make sure he fell, once and for all.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his breath steady despite the intensity of his training. The sky had lightened now, the first rays of sunlight breaking over the city skyline in the distance. It was early, still too early for most people to be awake, but Katsuki liked it that way. Fewer distractions, fewer annoyances. He could focus entirely on himself.

As he finished his last set of maneuvers, he stopped to take a drink from his water bottle, standing in the middle of the dusty, half-constructed skeleton of a building. The city buzzed quietly in the distance, unaware of his presence, just as he liked it.

"Three years, and I'm still the only one who sees him for what he really is." Katsuki's grip tightened around the bottle as he took a deep breath. "Deku... you think you can hide forever? You think you can pretend to be some hero with all that power? You're wrong. I'll show everyone. I'll show them who you really are."

He tossed the bottle aside, catching his breath as the first rays of sunlight broke through the steel beams of the construction site. He made his way out of the construction site, exhaustion crept into his muscles, but it did little to dampen the fire burning in his chest. Katsuki stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from his training, his mind already drifting toward his usual post-training routine—a quick shower, some food, and maybe catching up on whatever nonsense was happening in the world.

He welcomed the calm of the still morning. These moments, alone with his thoughts, felt like a reprieve. No distractions, no annoyances—just him and the satisfying ache of a body pushed to its limit.

But as Katsuki neared his house, he noticed something odd. There was a faint flicker of light coming from the window—the hag had probably left the television on again, but something about it made him slow his pace.

"This is a national broadcast, bringing you a live update from Naruhata Ward in Tokyo, where last night's devastating attacks have left the city in a state of unimaginable ruin."

The somber voice of the news presenter reached his ears before he even opened the front door. Katsuki swung the door open and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the sound of the television blaring in the living room. He was about to brush it off when the scene on the screen made him pause in the doorway.

His eyes flickered to the broadcast, just as it displayed aerial footage of Naruhata—once a bustling urban landscape, now reduced to smoldering ruins. Blackened rubble and ash blanketed the streets, and thick plumes of smoke spiraled ominously into the sky. The sight struck him with an unexpected twist of unease in his gut.

The broadcast cut to scenes of rescue workers combing through the debris, their movements methodical as they uncovered shattered bodies and laid them on dust-covered stretchers. The weight of the destruction, of the bodies being recovered, seemed to press down on him, though he quickly pushed the feeling aside.

"Emergency services are working tirelessly, but the situation remains dire," the presenter continued. "Reports confirm over a thousand casualties, and the death toll is expected to rise as recovery efforts continue."

It wasn't until Katsuki turned his head slightly that he noticed something else—his mother, sitting on the sofa, eyes glued to the television, her expression frozen in shock. She hadn't moved. She hadn't even blinked. Katsuki hadn't even realized she was there until now. His mother's hands gripped the fabric of the couch, knuckles white, her breath shallow as the horror unfolded on screen.

He was about to ask her what was wrong when the screen cut to survivors of the attack, huddled together on sidewalks, draped in tattered blankets. Their faces were a portrait of numb disbelief—eyes wide with shock, as if still processing the horror that had unfolded around them. Bloodied bandages wrapped around heads and limbs, some clutched each other in silence, while others sat frozen, staring blankly at the ruins of the city they once called home.

"Hundreds remain missing, as families cling desperately to hope, searching for loved ones among the chaos. With Naruhata General Hospital destroyed, makeshift triage centers have sprung up in what remains of schools, community centers, and even open streets, where doctors and volunteers are working with limited resources."

Katsuki's heart raced, fury boiling within him. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening at the sight of those suffering. Who the hell did this?

The camera panned over a highway, now split in two by a massive crater. Cars lay scattered, flipped on their sides like discarded toys. In the distance, rescue teams struggled to clear the debris, their task monumental and seemingly endless. Katsuki had never set foot in that city, but the destruction felt like a punch to the gut, an assault on his senses.

"Infrastructure damage is catastrophic. Bridges connecting Naruhata to surrounding wards have been reduced to rubble. Several tunnels have collapsed, trapping civilians underground, while rescue efforts are hampered by the sheer scale of the destruction. Roads have been ripped apart, leaving entire areas of the city isolated."

"Fuck!" he yelled, his frustration boiling over. "What kind of fucking heroes are just sitting around while this is happening?" His voice was laced with anger as he turned away from the screen, eyes blazing with fury. This wasn't just a disaster—it was a failure, and it made his blood boil at the incompetence of those who were supposed to protect the city.

He glanced at his mother. Her face was pale, and tears welled in her eyes, but she still hadn't moved. She sat there, frozen, her world seemingly shattered along with the city on the screen.

For a moment, the broadcast fell into a chilling silence before the presenter spoke again, this time with a heavier tone, as if she were addressing Katsuki's questions directly. "Amidst the chaos, there are disturbing reports of hero conduct. Multiple eyewitness accounts suggest that several pro-heroes abandoned the scene during the height of the crisis, leaving civilians to fend for themselves. These claims, which are currently under investigation by the Hero Public Safety Commission, have sparked outrage among the population."

The screen cut to shaky phone footage, showing heroes fleeing as explosions ripped through the streets behind them. Panic-stricken civilians were left screaming for help, their voices drowned by the roar of destruction. In the background a massive explosion erupted, casting long shadows over the smoky streets, where so called heroes retreated. The sight was haunting— a broken line of defenders fleeing their posts—a stark symbol of the betrayal that had shaken Naruhata to its core.

Katsuki's heart raced. "They fucking left them? Those pathetic bastards!" He couldn't contain the anger surging through him. "How could they just run away?!" Explosions cackled at his arms, yearning to unleash his frustration on something—anything—other than the outrage he felt watching the footage.

"This betrayal has shocked the nation," the news presenter continued, her voice grim. "But amidst the allegations of cowardice, there were heroes who stayed behind, fighting to the bitter end. Among them were Ingenium and his agency, the hero Manual, and many others who stood their ground against the onslaught."

Katsuki felt a flicker of admiration. Glad to see heroes acting like what they were. The broadcast cut to an interview with a survivor, their voice trembling with gratitude. "If it weren't for Ingenium and the others, I don't think we would have made it out. They were everywhere, pulling people from the rubble, fighting to keep us safe... they didn't leave. They stayed, even when it seemed like there was no hope."

The footage transitioned to the rubble of Naruhata General Hospital. "At the Hospital of Naruhata, three heroes in particular—Forge, Present Mic, and Midnight—made a last stand to protect the remaining civilians. Despite overwhelming odds, they refused to abandon their posts, battling to the end as the perpetrators tried to breach the building."

Katsuki leaned closer to the screen, his heart racing at the sight. "Now, that's what I'm talking about!" he exclaimed, fists tightening in determination. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at the thought of heroes standing their ground. But then the broadcast shifted, and his attention sharpened as the news presenter continued.

"Yet, the more shocking revelation is that not only heroes but also several masked vigilantes, including the famous Naruhata trio: Pop Step, Crawler, and Knuckleduster, played a crucial role in defending the city during the attack. Eyewitness accounts detail evacuations carried out by these unlikely heroes in both the northern and southern districts of the city while battling the attackers."

The broadcast continued, shifting focus to another civilian's account. "We had just gotten outside when we heard those beasts charging at us. It was terrifying; we didn't know where to run. But then, this masked young man sat down on the ground as they approached. Suddenly, just when they were too close, he ran towards them with his strange weapon and cut down those monsters like they were nothing. He saved us all."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, a surge of disbelief and grudging respect washing over him. "What the hell?" he muttered, fists clenching involuntarily as he struggled to process the audacity of this masked vigilante. Sitting down? What kind of idiot would do that?

The civilian's voice trembled as she continued. "I still can't believe how brave he was. He was so focused, like nothing else mattered. I know I'll never forget what he did for us."

The focus of the broadcast shifted back to the presenter, who spoke with a tone of grave seriousness. "The brave actions of two of these masked vigilantes, Crawler and an unknown pro hero, proved crucial as they arrived just in time to help Midnight, Forge, and Present Mic deliver a swift defeat to the attackers. However," the presenter's voice took on a grim note, "shortly after this, the villain leading the attack destroyed Naruhata General Hospital in a fit of rage, trapping a family and a volunteer nurse. Crawler took off immediately to distract the villain, while one of the masked vigilantes entered the rubble to rescue the trapped family."

The screen then shifted to a young woman, her face pale. "We were trapped beneath the rubble," she recounted, her voice trembling as the memory flooded back. "My daughter was crying, and I thought we were going to die. The young volunteer tried to hold the weight with her vine quirk, but she was getting exhausted. That's when this young man came in. He lifted the debris with his telekinetic power like it was nothing."

As her words hung in the air, the screen faded to harrowing images of the destroyed hospital, the wreckage a stark reminder of the chaos. "We must note that all video footage of these events has been confiscated by the Hero Public Safety Commission until further investigation. As such, we are left with these touching testimonials to recount the bravery displayed by these vigilantes, who acted in place of professionals who fled."

Katsuki leaned forward, his pulse thundering in his ears as the weight of the situation settled around him like a suffocating fog. His mother had left the living room at some point, leaving the unnaturally quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge and the ticking of the clock broke the silence. The tension coiled in his chest, pressing down hard until each breath felt shallow and labored.

The words from the broadcast kept looping in Katsuki's mind, louder with every repetition. "A young man… telekinetic powers." He could see it—vivid flashes of those scenes playing in his head, memories merging with the images painted by the witnesses on the screen.

A sick, heavy feeling settled in his gut, twisting painfully as he tried to shake off the thought. It could be anyone, he told himself. Some other damn idiot trying to play hero. But his fists clenched tighter with each heartbeat. No, this wasn't just anyone.

His mind tried to reject it, but he couldn't deny the sharp pang of familiarity that pierced through the confusion. His mind raced through images from years ago.

"The young man came in… lifted the debris with his telekinetic power like it was nothing."

The details fit too well, well enough to kill any hope that this was coincidence. Katsuki's pulse quickened as he recalled that face—one he had seen countless times in his mind over those two years, one he couldn't forget, not after that day.

"No…" His voice came out as a rasp, choked with disbelief and anger. "No fucking way." He ground the words out through clenched teeth, fury building with each one. The answer was clear, but he hated it, loathed it with every fiber of his being. There was only one person who could pull of something like this.

"Deku!" The name fell from his lips like a curse, sharp and venomous.

He knew. Deep down, he had known from the moment the witness mentioned the telekinetic power, but admitting it made his blood boil. That damn bastard—out there, playing vigilante, swooping in to save people like he was some kind of hero. A bitter taste filled his mouth as memories of their last encounter flooded his mind. With his training, he was sure he'd left Deku behind. But now, here he was, acting like he could just pick up where he'd left off.

Katsuki's hands shook, his knuckles white as the storm of anger surged within him. He clenched his fists tighter, a whirlwind of rage and resentment threatening to consume him.

"Acting like he's better than me…" The words slipped out, bitter and cold. Katsuki's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as the full weight of the realization settled over him.

"How dare you, fucking bastard!"

The broadcast droned on, but Katsuki barely heard it, his mind already spiraling down, planning his next move. He felt the adrenaline pounding through his veins, electrifying every muscle. "I'm going to train harder than ever," he declared, his voice low and intense. "No one's going to stand above me—not that damn freak, not anyone!"

A vision burned in his mind: Deku, the look of shock on his face when he would finally confront him, strip away every last pretense, and prove that he'd always been superior. Weak little Deku, trying to play hero like he could fool everyone, as if he ever could. "You're not better than me, Deku," he murmured. "You never were."

With a single, furious flick, he turned off the television, silencing the broadcast's final words as they echoed into nothing. The room fell quiet, and he felt his ambition press down on him like a tangible weight, grounding him. This was his chance—no, his destiny. He'd show them all who Katsuki Bakugou was, and he'd do it on his own terms.

Yet, in the silence that followed, something gnawed at him, faint and unsettling, like an itch he couldn't reach. Doubt. It lingered there, a flicker that threatened to break through his carefully constructed walls, making his chest tighten painfully. He didn't like it. Didn't like how those words from the survivors crept back into his mind, taunting him with a different image of Deku than the one he'd always known.

The masked figure, charging into danger, saving lives without hesitation.

The description grated on him. It didn't match the monster he had faced at the schoolyard, yet it unsettled him, painting Deku as something else entirely—someone who acted without concern for recognition, for reward. He saved people because it was all that mattered to him, without hesitation, without waiting for approval. Katsuki clenched his jaw, muscles straining against a thought he didn't want to confront.

What if it was never about him? What if Deku was never the monster he had imagined after their fight? What if he didn't care about proving he was better, or about hiding his powers because he thought he was above everyone? What if he was just... saving people?

A rush of anger surged through him at the notion, searing up his spine like a violent blaze. No, that's bullshit, he told himself, teeth grinding together. It couldn't be that simple. Deku was hiding something—he always had been. He'd lied for years, all while secretly trying to surpass him. Katsuki's fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms. That bastard is playing some kind of game, acting like some martyr.

He would tear down that façade, strip away every trace of false humility and reveal Deku for what he truly was. And when he did, he'd finally stand victorious, the one left standing, the only one worthy. He could almost taste the victory, the satisfaction of bringing Deku to his knees, of watching him crumble under the truth.

But as he forced his mind back to his conviction, the flicker of doubt refused to die out. It was there, like a splinter lodged deep beneath his skin, a truth he couldn't rip free no matter how hard he tried. He tried burying it under his rage, under his certainty, but every time he closed his eyes, Deku's image returned—blurred, unrecognizable, but clear in its resolve. Not as his rival, not as a weakling, but as someone else.

And that possibility—the one that threatened to unmake everything he'd ever believed, the one he hated most—was something he couldn't fully ignore.

- THE FORCE AWAKENS –

The heavy drapes blocked out the afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the conference room. Empty coffee cups littered the table, silent witnesses to the hours of deliberation that had passed. Papers were strewn everywhere—reports, statements, images of destruction—each one bearing the weight of the crisis that had unfolded in Naruhata. The room had an almost suffocating atmosphere; no one dared to speak out of turn now, every word weighed down by the fear of making the wrong move.

Eyes were bloodshot, tempers frayed, and yet the conversation droned on. At the head of the table sat Madam President Rinko Jōzaki, her sharp gaze sweeping over the exhausted faces of the other commissioners. Her face, as poised as ever, betrayed nothing of the rage simmering just beneath the surface. She had been up since before dawn, shuttled from one emergency meeting to the next. Despite the fatigue etched into her features, her sleek, professional demeanor remained unbroken, though her patience was wearing thin. Her nails tapped against the polished wood of the table, each tap an unspoken reminder of her authority. It was her only tell—subtle, but dangerous, a warning that the storm was about to break.

Another commissioner's voice droned on, the words blending into the background as Madam Jōzaki's irritation mounted. It was another iteration of the same tired solution. She had heard it all before.

"We can't delay action any longer," she said, her voice low but firm, slicing through the weary discussion like a knife. There was an edge to her words, a barely restrained ferocity that brought an immediate halt to the idle chatter. "This needs to be resolved before we're forced to hand the footage to the press."

Silence fell over the room. The weight of her authority crushed any dissent before it could form. They all understood the gravity of her words.

The screen on the far wall flickered to life, displaying one of the confiscated videos. A masked figure darted through the chaos, his form barely visible as he weaved in and out of danger with blinding speed. A few gasps escaped the commissioners at the sheer speed and precision of the vigilante. They leaned forward instinctively, eyes wide, captivated by the raw skill on display.

In an instant, the suicide bombers were flung backward, as if struck by an invisible force, their bodies hurtling into walls and debris with violent force. His face remained obscured, yet his every move had devastating consequences. The footage continued, revealing not just the masked stranger but also glimpses of other vigilantes. Though only three were recognizable—Knuckleduster, Pop*Step, and Crawler. The vigilantes had not only participated but had led the charge, their presence commanding attention.

Whispers rippled across the room, a rising murmur of disbelief and anger.

One of the older commissioners leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples in frustration. His voice was thick with fatigue, but laced with rising panic. "We can't just let this go. If this gets out…"

"If?" Madam Jōzaki echoed, her voice sharp. Her gaze bore into him, cold and unforgiving, silencing his weak protest. "It's when this gets out, Chairman. And when it does, we'll have a much bigger crisis on our hands. The public is already skeptical after the last few incidents. If they learn that licensed heroes ran while unregistered vigilantes took charge, the backlash will be monumental."

The silence that followed was deafening. Some of the commissioners exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to interrupt.

"We could discredit them," someone suggested weakly. The suggestion was tentative, almost desperate. "Frame them as reckless, operating outside the law. Use their similar outfits to the attackers to convince the public they were there to create confusion."

Madam Jōzaki narrowed her eyes. "You're not thinking clearly." Her voice dropped an octave, the disapproval in her tone cutting deep. The man who had spoken shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Testimonies from civilians and heroes like Present Mic, Midnight, Forge, and Eraserhead confirm that the vigilantes saved lives. The public won't believe they were part of the problem, not after what they've heard. Especially when they see the footage."

The room fell into another strained silence. The tension was palpable now, like a coiled spring waiting to snap. Everyone knew the truth—they were scrambling for a solution to a crisis that had already spiraled out of their control.

One of the younger members of the commission, usually quick to propose innovative ideas, slumped forward in his chair. His voice was hollow, drained of its usual energy. "So what? We just let these vigilantes keep operating? Send a message that anyone can be a hero if they're willing to break the law?"

Another commissioner shook his head. "That's not an option. We'll lose control of the entire structure. If people see vigilantes as the answer, the hero society crumbles. We're on thin ice as it is."

Madam President rubbed her temples, taking a deep breath. Her gaze locked onto the screen, where the vigilantes' faces—obscured by masks—were frozen in mid-action. Her mind raced through the possible outcomes, each one worse than the last. The narrative had spiraled out of their control, and now they were scrambling to reclaim it.

"I'd normally be inclined to acknowledge the vigilantes' efforts," she finally said, breaking the heavy silence. "Obviously, I'd have to downplay their contributions while emphasizing the flaws in their methods. I would argue that they acted without proper training, coordination, and outside the legal framework." She paused, scanning the room for reactions. The commissioners shifted nervously, some nodding slowly, though the fear in their eyes remained. "But we're no longer in that position."

She reached for a stack of documents, rifling through them until she found a paper marked distinctly with the initials D.S. Her fingers hesitated before picking it up. For a moment, she stared at it, as if the paper itself held the answers she needed. Then, her expression hardened. The room seemed to hold its breath as she unfolded the note, her expression unreadable. Without looking up, she read aloud the brief but chilling message:

"Don't bother destroying this. The contents of this memory will reach every news outlet in a week. You have the opportunity to tell the truth first. Don't waste it."

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. A collective sense of dread settled over the room, the commissioners visibly recoiling at the weight of the threat. Some exchanged frantic glances, their panic barely restrained.

Madam Jōzaki's jaw tightened as she handed the memory drive to a nearby assistant. The aide moved swiftly, plugging the drive into the projector. All eyes turned to the screen, tension thickening as they awaited what was to come. The video flickered to life, and what unfolded before them was undeniable.

On the screen, Crawler fought valiantly against the villain who had destroyed Naruhata General Hospital. Alongside, was the masked figure—the same one from the earlier clip. Wielding a glowing, blade-like weapon, he moved with precise, deadly skill. As the villain lunged, the masked vigilante parried and countered, cutting cleanly through the villain's arm in a swift, brutal motion. In the background, Crawler provided cover from a safe distance, firing his attacks as the masked figure pressed the assault.

It was an extraordinary display of teamwork and raw power, the kind of footage that, if released to the public, would change everything. The stakes had never felt so high, and for a brief moment, the room collectively held its breath.

The room remained eerily quiet as the video came to an end. Madam President leaned back in her chair, folding her arms tightly. "This changes everything, gentlemen," she said quietly, her eyes narrowing as she considered the implications. "There is no way we can dismiss this. We need to make a decision now. Do we try to spin this? Or do we let it come crashing down and rebuild?"

A brief, stunned silence followed her words. Then, as if a floodgate had been opened, the room erupted into a frenzied debate. Voices overlapped, rising in pitch and urgency. The tension mounted, the atmosphere charged with a mix of desperation and fear.

But after the fourth break, Madam President could feel her patience wearing thin. The discussions had devolved into a series of repetitive arguments, and she was tempted to end the meeting right there. Her eyes darted to the clock, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Just as she contemplated this, a voice from the back of the room pierced through the cacophony, offering a controversial yet alluring idea.

"What if we take credit for their actions?" The suggestion hung in the air, met with a stunned silence. For a moment, the room froze, every head turning slowly toward the source of the voice. Eyes widened in disbelief, and for the briefest second, no one moved. "We could present both vigilantes as part of a new initiative. We can claim they were operating under the HPSC's guidance."

Madam Jōzaki's lips curled into a satisfied smile, her eyes gleaming with the prospect of such a bold move. "Now that's thinking outside the box," she replied, her tone suddenly lighter, infused with a spark of satisfaction. "Prepare a press conference for three days from now."

A murmur of disbelief swept through the room, members exchanging glances that conveyed a mix of skepticism and the tantalizing allure of preserving their precious status quo. It was a bold move, the kind that could backfire spectacularly, but it was also their best chance. "But how can we make that believable?" one commissioner interjected, concern evident in his voice. "How will the public accept that they're under our jurisdiction? They'll want proof!"

Raising a hand, Madam Jōzaki silenced the room with a steady resolve. "We'll prepare the necessary paperwork for both vigilantes," she explained, her voice calm yet authoritative. "We'll frame them as sanctioned agents of a new program we're launching—one aimed at bridging the gap between traditional heroes and vigilantism. This way, we not only quell public unrest but also reassert our authority."

A murmur rippled through the room, the skepticism beginning to fade as the commission members realized the brilliance of the plan. The members of the commission glanced at one another, their expressions a blend of bewilderment and intrigue. It was a gamble, but the alternative—allowing vigilantes to usurp their authority—was an even greater threat to their fragile grip on power.

"We can make this work," Madam Jōzaki continued, her voice steady and confident, cutting through the lingering doubts like a knife. "This could bolster our image while sidelining the vigilantes as mere extensions of our will. And if anything goes wrong, we'll control the narrative from the outset. We have the advantage now; we just need to present it correctly."

A slow ripple of agreement spread through the room as heads nodded in reluctant approval. The atmosphere shifted, the air charged with newfound energy as the prospect of reclaiming their narrative took root.

"Let's prepare a draft for the press conference," Jōzaki instructed, her demeanor resolute, a spark of determination igniting the room. "We need to ensure our message is clear and consistent. We'll show the world that we're still in control, that we can guide society as we have been doing until now."

Just then, one of the commission members leaned forward, concern etched on his face. "But what about the heroes who abandoned their posts during the attack? Their actions were a clear violation of their duty. What will we do about them?"

Madam Jōzaki's smile widened, a sinister glint flashing in her eyes. Her voice dropped to a smooth, almost predatory purr. "Oh, leave that to me," she replied, her tone reassuring, like honey poured over iron. "I'll handle it. Their cowardice won't go unaddressed."

A cold silence followed her words. A few commissioners shifted uncomfortably, but none dared to question her. The room fell silent as the weight of her words sank in, a collective understanding settling among them. In Jōzaki's hands, they felt a potent mix of fear and respect; she was ruthless but effective, and they knew she would stop at nothing to maintain their grip on power.

"Now, let's get to work," she commanded, her voice echoing with authority. The energy in the room shifted once again, now more focused, more determined. They were soldiers rallying to their general's call. "We have a narrative to build and a society to steer back in the right direction. The public will remember that we are the true guardians of this city."

As the atmosphere settled back into a focused hum of activity, Madam Jōzaki's gaze flicked to a stack of documents in the corner of the table. Her fingers itched with anticipation as she subtly reached over, retrieving a specific report, savoring the moment like a connoisseur inspecting a fine vintage. The name printed boldly on the cover caught her eye.

A slow, predatory smirk curled her lips, her eyes glinting with a dangerous satisfaction, but she quickly masked it with her usual composure, reining in her excitement. "Perhaps you will be of great assistance, Hero Killer," she murmured to herself, the words on her mind like a whispered promise.

With that, Madam Jōzaki leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she observed her subordinates at work.

- THE FORCE AWAKENS –

Deep in the Force landscape, Izuku watched as Number 6's lifeless body crumpled to the rooftop, the glowing blade of his lightsaber still piercing through the villain's skull. The shock etched in Number 6's wide, vacant eyes seared itself into Izuku's memory, a haunting image of the final spark of life flickering out. Izuku stood frozen, heart pounding like a war drum in his ears, while everything around him seemed suspended in time, as if he were wading through thick molasses.

His gaze fell to his hands, where the saber's energy cast an eerie glow. The illumination seemed to highlight the gravity of the moment, stark against the backdrop of chaos. Suddenly, the world around him faded away until only he and the fallen villain remained in the suffocating silence. It pressed down on him like a weight, heavy and inescapable, each breath a struggle.

He had killed another man.

His brain tried to reason with him, to piece together the jagged edges of logic. Yes, it whispered, you killed another man, but in doing so you saved countless lives. You stopped a catastrophe, protected the ideals of Koichi and your friends. The words ran through him, cold and hollow. They should have offered comfort, but they were like empty echoes in a vast chasm

So, why, he thought, staring at his trembling hands, why does it feel this way?

A part of him wanted to believe that the shock would pass, hat this regret might eventually dull into something he could carry. But the image of Number 6's eyes, wide with shock, refused to fade. He could still feel his lightsaber hum's as it cut through, smell the burning flesh, hear the sizzle as blood vaporized on contact with the blade. His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to feel—not like victory, not like heroism. It felt instead like a wound, raw and gaping, exposing parts of himself he'd thought buried after his last brutal confrontation with Bakugou.

Izuku took a shaky breath, desperate to steady himself, to cling to the belief that it had been the right thing to do. But the words felt hollow, barely masking the turmoil seething within him. The truth was unavoidable: to save others, he had crossed a line he never thought he'd have to.

It wasn't that he hadn't understood the cost of being a hero, or a Jedi. He had accepted the reality of sacrifice, even of violence, if it meant stopping people like Number 6. Thanks to the Force, he had witnessed fragments of the many conflicts that plagued the galaxy his masters came from. He had heard the stories about the battles they had been part of: Geonosis, Christophsis, Kashyyk, Endor, and countless others. But knowing of war and death in the abstract was one thing. He had never truly prepared himself to face such a choice—to take a life. Now, as he stood there, it felt less like a decisive victory and more like a surrender of his ideals.

Heroes never kill. It was a vow he had clung to, a line he had believed he could hold fast to, thinking he could protect without becoming a destroyer, without taking a life. He'd held onto this belief all his life, especially since that fateful day in the schoolyard when he'd come close to letting his anger consume him. But here he was, confronted by the consequences of his actions—Number 6's lifeless form at his feet, surrounded by the bodies of the suicide bombers he had to kill.

All his training, all his beliefs, had led him to believe that this line would be unbreakable, that he could save people without falling into this darkness. Yet, in this moment, those ideals felt fragile, more a distant echo than an anchor.

Izuku's chest tightened, his pulse a steady, painful throb. The voice in his head tried to reason with him again—You saved them, you saved more lives than you took—but it felt hollow, a feeble attempt to justify the ache that twisted deep within him.

Izuku's knuckles went white around his saber hilt. He felt exposed, stripped bare, as if the hero he wanted to be was slipping away from him, and all that was left was the weight of this terrible decision. The Force hummed within him, a constant presence, yet in this moment, it felt distant, as though even it bore witness to his doubt.

He fell to his knees, the weight of the battle crashing over him like an unrelenting tide. The voices of those he had saved echoed in his mind, each one painfully close, full of gratitude and relief—grateful, relieved, thanking him for his bravery. Yet even as he clung to their words, they felt distant, tainted by the shadow of what he had done.

Each breath felt like a struggle, his lungs heavy with the bitter truth he could no longer escape. And as he knelt there, the relentless storm of doubt crashed against him, wave after wave, unyielding. Is this how heroes feel after victory? he wondered, but the word "victory" felt wrong, a lie whispered to pacify something within him that refused to be consoled.

As if sensing the turmoil roiling through him, an unseen warmth enveloped his shoulder. The sensation was unexpected, cutting through the fog of despair that held him captive. He felt a steady presence, calm and grounding, and slowly lifted his gaze.

"Sparky." The voice was familiar, solid and clear, resonating with the quiet authority of someone who had stood on the edge of darkness and come back from it. The green haired padawan turned his head, his wide eyes meeting the calm, steady gaze of his master. Standing there, Anakin radiated an aura of strength tempered by understanding, a serene presence that was almost out of place against the smoldering chaos surrounding them.

"Master?" Izuku's heart raced at the sight of his father figure. The flood of emotions surged within him—a whirlwind of apology, regret, and yearning. He longed to voice his feelings, to pour out the confusion, the guilt, the overwhelming weight that had settled in his chest since the moment the blade had entered Number 6's skull.

All he managed was a sincere look. "I... I don't know what to do." But the words felt too heavy, too raw, stuck in his throat like an insurmountable barrier.

Anakin's gaze softened as he looked at his padawan, quiet understanding flickering in his eyes. Without speaking, he lowered himself to one knee beside Izuku, placing an ethereal hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

He had seen that look before—so familiar, so haunting. Standing before his second padawan, Anakin recalled the days when he had felt as if the darkness would swallow him whole. He had seen it in his own reflection, felt it in his heart—long before he had succumbed to it. A path taken that had led him to places he wished he could forget. Yet now, standing in front of Izuku, he understood that the weight of their choices was not so easily shed.

"It's okay to feel lost," Anakin said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of his own experiences. "We all have our moments of doubt, our moments where we question the cost of what we've done. But that doesn't mean you're lost. It means you're human." He paused, watching his padawan carefully. "What you did today—saving lives—it wasn't easy. But you made the choice because you knew it was the only one that could save others. Sometimes, that's the burden we carry."

Izuku let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling. He could feel Anakin's words starting to pierce through the wall of self-doubt he had built around himself. But there was still a storm inside him, a need for clarity that he wasn't sure could be answered.

"But... the cost," Izuku whispered, his voice breaking. "I killed them, Master. I took their lives."

Anakin's expression softened further, his heart aching for his padawan as he embraced him. He could feel the tremor in Izuku's body, the weight of his inner turmoil, and for a brief moment, he wished he could carry that burden for him. "I know, I know it's hard," Anakin murmured, his voice thick with understanding. "It's a line none of us want to cross, but sometimes, it's unavoidable. I crossed it too, and in doing so, I chose to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. You've done the same. The question isn't whether you've crossed that line—it's what you do after."

Izuku stiffened at first, his mind still wrestling with the gravity of what he had done. His eyes were fixed on the ground, burning with unshed tears, as Anakin's words both soothed and intensified the storm raging inside him. His thoughts were a battlefield, torn between regret and confusion, each wave crashing harder against the shore of his mind. He had done what he thought was right in the heat of the moment, but now… the aftermath felt like an entirely different kind of battle—one that was more personal, more visceral than any fight he had ever faced.

Anakin's gaze grew distant as he took a slow breath, the weight of his own past pressing in. He allowed a silence to fall between them, letting it linger as if carefully choosing the next words. Then, he spoke again, his voice quieter, but tinged with raw honesty.

"I understand what you're feeling," Anakin began, his eyes distant as if seeing the shadows of his past. "I've been where you are, Sparky. I've made choices… choices that haunt me to this day." His voice faltered for a brief moment, but he steadied himself, his words carrying the weight of someone who had faced his own darkness

Izuku's chest tightened as he listened. Anakin's voice faltered, just for a moment, before he steadied himself. "I crossed that same line. And what I did after… well, it made me something I can never fully redeem myself from. But the fact that you're questioning your choices shows you're on the right path. It means you're not lost. You're not the monster you think you are. You could justify it by the lives you saved, but you don't. And that's what matters. Can a monster feel remorse for his actions, even if he knows what he did was right?"

Izuku's breath hitched, and the knot in his chest tightened. Anakin's words pierced through his confusion, and the weight of his guilt began to feel less suffocating, but still overwhelming.

"I know it's hard to see it now," Anakin continued, his voice lower, but filled with an unwavering sincerity. "But you haven't lost yourself, Izuku. You've made a choice that hurt, that cut deep, but that doesn't mean it was wrong. Sometimes, the path we take isn't the one we imagined. It's filled with sacrifices we never thought we'd have to make. But that's life—it's never clear, never perfect."

Anakin's hand lingered on Izuku's shoulder, offering a weight of comfort, not as a teacher, but as a father figure, someone who had felt this pain before, someone who had fought to move beyond it.

"I can't forget what I've done, Master," Izuku whispered, his voice breaking as the weight of his guilt crushed down on him. "I don't think I ever will."

Anakin pulled him tighter, his ethereal hand running gently over Izuku's back in a comforting rhythm, offering him something solid to hold onto in the midst of his inner storm. "Atta boy. You shouldn't. But don't let it consume you. The Jedi way isn't about forgetting. It's about learning, growing, and finding a balance within the chaos. You're not defined by this moment. You're defined by how you move forward from it."

Izuku's shoulders trembled as he clung to his master's comforting presence, the warmth of Anakin's embrace grounding him in a way that he hadn't known he needed. The doubt was still there, lingering at the edges of his heart, but for the first time since the battle, Izuku felt like he might not drown in it.

"Master... I'm scared," Izuku admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that I won't be able to move on, that the weight of all this will crush me. Scared I'll never be the hero I want to be."

Anakin's grip tightened for a moment before he pulled back slightly, looking Izuku in the eyes with a warmth that spoke more than any words ever could. "You will be, Sparky. You already are. Every day is a step, no matter how small. You don't need to have all the answers right now. You don't need to be perfect. You just need to keep moving forward, with your heart open and your mind clear. That's what makes a hero."

Izuku felt the weight in his chest slowly begin to ease, but it was a fragile relief, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a stormy sky. His breath came in shaky, uneven gasps as the words Anakin had spoken reverberated deep inside him. The storm of guilt, confusion, and despair that had torn at him since the battle still raged, but it no longer felt all-consuming. It was there—quiet, waiting for him—but it wasn't drowning him anymore.

For the first time, he allowed himself to breathe, truly breathe. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in them releasing, though the heavy feeling remained lodged in his chest. There would still be days when the weight would threaten to pull him under, when doubt and regret would claw at his insides. The road ahead was still steep, still filled with shadows, but now, he could see a flicker of light—small, but steady. And somehow, that was enough.

"Thank you, Master," Izuku whispered, his voice barely audible as the words caught in his throat. It wasn't just gratitude for the comfort Anakin had offered. It was more than that—it was for understanding, for the shared pain, for the unspoken promise that even in the darkest of times, they weren't alone.

Anakin's eyes softened, filled with quiet pride, his voice a low murmur in Izuku's ear. "Anytime, Sparky. Anytime. You don't need to thank me for this. Just make sure you become the greatest hero. But for now maybe it's time to wake up. You don't want to keep worrying your friends."

Izuku nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude. Without saying another word, he slowly began to fade, his presence dissolving from the realm of the Force.

Anakin remained alone in the landscape of the Force watching the space where Izuku had been. The air around him felt lighter. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the quiet of the moment.

"Now I understand…" His voice held a weight of realization, as if the final piece of a long puzzle had clicked into place. "This is what you meant, isn't it, Obi-Wan? Watching them grow, seeing them overcome their struggles… It's more than just guiding them. It's knowing that, in the end, they will carry on." He chuckled softly, a sound filled with respect and amusement. "Teaching truly is a privilege."

With that, Anakin's ghostly presence began to fade, his presence dissipating, leaving behind only the quiet reverberations of his words. The landscape of the Force, remained impassive, as tranquil as ever. And yet, in the profound silence that followed, the Force itself seemed to acknowledge the fleeting moment of understanding, now part of its endless flow, as it continued forward, eternal and unchanged.

- THE FORCE AWAKENS –

"Welcome back to the land of the living, sleepyhead! You were out for three days!" Mei's voice sliced through the haze as Izuku blinked awake. She was sitting beside him, her tools scattered across the bed, hands busy tinkering with a small mechanical device. Her eyes flicked over to him, and though her tone was light, there was a concern in her gaze that she didn't try to hide.

Izuku's head felt like it was made of lead. He inhaled shakily, his mind struggling to process the weight of his situation. "Three days?" he croaked, his voice raw and groggy. His body still felt like it was floating, a fog surrounding his thoughts. His eyes widened as he attempted to sit up, only to find his body not fully responding yet.

"Yup! That's practically forever!" Mei replied cheerfully, adjusting a screw on her gadget without missing a beat. "Do you have any idea how many ideas I've come up with in that time? I was about ready to think you were just gonna shut down on us completely! Which—" she paused, giving him a teasing look over her protective glasses, "—would've been totally inconvenient, by the way."

Izuku's lips twitched into a faint, exhausted smile. His gaze dropped to the blankets, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Sorry, Mei... I... didn't mean to worry you." The weight of his guilt over the battle's outcome still clung to him, not as heavily as before, but it lingered, gnawing at him quietly.

The pink haired inventor's fingers stopped moving on her project, and for the first time, her usual playful energy seemed to soften. She looked at him, not with pity, but with understanding. "Hey, no need to be all heavy about it," she said casually, her voice a quiet comfort. "I mean, you're back now, right? That's what matters. I don't need you apologizing for just… being human, you know?"

Izuku nodded, his throat tight as he tried to push down the storm inside him.

"Besides," Mei said, breaking the silence as she resumed working on her gadget, her grin returning. "If you're really sorry, then you can make it up to me by letting me have a look at your lightsaber."

His's eyes snapped open, his heart jolting as the words registered. His hand instinctively moved to his side, where he usually kept the weight of his lightsaber, only to find the spot empty. Panic flared in his chest. "Where… where is it?" he whispered, his voice tight. "Did I lose it?" His stomach churned at the thought. To lose his lightsaber, his symbol of everything he had worked for, would be a betrayal of everything he had trained for. It was more than just a weapon—it was a sign that he was walking the path he had set out for.

Mei noticed his sudden shift in mood and immediately set down her tools. Her eyes were serious now, her usual playful edge replaced with a steady calmness. "Hey, relax, dummy. Your lightsaber's fine," she said, her tone reassuring but firm. "It somehow stayed clipped on through all the chaos of your escape. Even when the explosion sent your chopper crashing to the ground, it stayed put."

She gestured to a small pile of neatly folded clothes nearby, where his lightsaber rested atop, untouched. "See? There it is. If it had gone missing, trust me, I would've moved heaven and earth to track it down. No way I'd let a masterpiece like that just disappear." Mei flashed him a grin, her eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark.

Izuku let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, the weight on his shoulders lifting slightly as relief washed over him. He could feel the anxiety in his chest begin to ease, the storm quieting for just a moment. He took another deep breath, and when his eyes met Mei's, he saw the genuine care behind her usual teasing smile.

"Wait… we almost crashed?" Izuku repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. His eyes widened, still trying to comprehend what Mei had just said.

Mei nodded, her voice picking up speed as she recounted the chaos. "You almost didn't make it, you know?" She glanced up briefly, but her attention was mostly on the gadget she was still tinkering with. "Hitoshi told me the explosion fried the machinery and the pilot lost control at some point. It was a mess. And then—"

She paused, not noticing how Izuku's expression shifted, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Eraserhead, though. He held onto both you and Koichi the whole time, somehow. But, you were this close to becoming pancakes, Izuku. I mean, the speed you were going… it was nuts."

Izuku blinked, trying to process the words, but the details were slipping through his thoughts like sand. "Wait, what?" His voice was barely above a whisper, lost in the haze of what Mei was describing.

Mei continued, oblivious to his confusion, her voice picking up speed again. "Then—boom! Out of nowhere—All Might! Can you believe it? He caught the helicopter! With his bare hands!" She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I didn't even know a person could do something like that!"

Izuku's mind, overwhelmed and still trying to piece everything together, suddenly short-circuited. His breath hitched as his eyes widened, and with an almost involuntary outburst, he blurted, "ALL MIGHT!"

The words exploded out of him like a rocket, his voice high-pitched with awe and disbelief. He wasn't even sure what he was reacting to anymore—just the sheer thought of All Might catching a helicopter with his bare hands. His fingers twitched, and his eyes practically sparkled with admiration, as if he had just witnessed a miracle.

Mei froze mid-action, her eyes widening behind her glasses. She blinked once, twice, clearly unsure how to react to the outburst. "Uh… yeah, All Might, Izuku," she said, her voice still laced with confusion. But her focus was already shifting back to her work, her hands grabbing her wrench again, continuing to adjust her mechanical project as if nothing happened.

Izuku, meanwhile, was lost in his Symbol of Peace-induced haze. "ALL MIGHT!" he repeated, louder this time, his body practically buzzing with energy. For a brief moment, everything else—the weight of the world, the battle ahead—vanished. He was completely consumed by the thought of the Number One hero doing something unimaginable.

Mei barely acknowledged his fanboy moment, as she was too absorbed in tightening screws and muttering to herself. Izuku, still chanting "All Might" under his breath, was so wrapped up in his own excitement that he didn't even notice that Mei had long since moved on from the conversation.

At that moment, Hitoshi, entered the room and leaned casually against the frame. A small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he observed the scene. "Obviously. What else would you think of first?" His voice carried a lighthearted sarcasm, though there was a certain fondness to it.

Izuku, still in his Symbol of Peace-induced euphoria, whipped around to face Hitoshi, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "I… I mean... he's All Might!" he stammered, as if that explained everything. "He's the greatest hero! The symbol of peace! The one who—who…" His words tumbled out in a rush, his voice filled with all the passion he had for his idol.

Hitoshi chuckled, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped further into the room. "Man, we're lucky Koichi and the others are out," he muttered, glancing around the cluttered space. He gave Mei a look as he noticed the tools scattered around, then reached down and grabbed a screwdriver from the edge of the bed, lifting it as if to examine it. "I don't think I can handle two fanatics, especially when they realize they preferred to fall asleep while their hero saved our lives."

Izuku snapped out of his All Might trance with a sudden jolt, his eyes wide as if he'd just realized something tragic. He stared at the floor for a long, dramatic moment, his hands clutched to his chest like someone who had just lost a beloved pet.

"No… no," he muttered to himself in disbelief, moving forth and back in the bed, as though the weight of his loss was too heavy to bear in one spot. "I missed it. I missed the chance. The ONE chance!" His voice wavered slightly as if he were mourning the loss of a rare, precious item.

Mei gave a quick, dismissive glance, her hands still busy as she tightened a bolt on her latest project. She didn't even bother to look up fully. "What are you rambling about now?"

Meanwhile, Hitoshi shook his head, muttering to himself as he moved across the room. He sidestepped an open toolbox and crouched down beside the bed, where Mei had carelessly left a minefield of tiny gadgets and loose screws. He picked up a wrench that had fallen onto the floor, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at her.

"Mei, seriously?" Hitoshi held up the wrench like it was evidence of a minor crime. "Do you really have to leave this stuff everywhere?"

Mei barely glanced his way, her eyes fixed on her project. "What? It's fine. I know where everything is."

"Fine?" Hitoshi let out an exasperated sigh, gathering up a tiny screwdriver and a few random bolts from the bedspread. "You know, most people don't store their tools on their bed. This is a place for sleeping, not… I don't know, an explosion waiting to happen."

"Relax, Hitoshi," Mei said, brushing him off without even lifting her gaze. "It's not like I'm gonna accidentally sleep on the wrench or something."

Hitoshi just shook his head, tossing the collected tools into the nearby toolbox with a dry smirk, before crossing the room to the window, his hands tucked into his pockets. "You're a disaster zone, Mei, you know that?"

Mei, in a clear display of her maturity, stuck her tongue out at Hitoshi. Then, as if doubling down on her challenge, she flashed him a quick, unapologetic smile before turning back to her device and resuming her work, fiddling with it as if she hadn't heard him complaining.

But Izuku, too caught up in his own lament, was entirely oblivious to their bickering as he spiraled deeper in his own drama. "I could've shaken his hand! I could've told him, 'Thank you for everything,' and maybe even ask for an autograph! An autograph, guys! I could've finally told him how much he inspired me, how he made me believe in the impossible, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his face dropping further into despair as his eyes grew wide in realization. "I could've asked him how he manages to keep that smile all the time! Like, does he even get tired of smiling?! I bet he doesn't! And I'll never know now! I'll never know if the 'All Might smile' is some kind of secret technique!"

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow, watching Izuku's with mild amusement as he crossed his arms, leaning against the window frame. "Oh, the tragedy," he deadpanned. "A missed handshake and lost secrets of a smile. What a cruel, cruel world."

Izuku, suddenly snapping himself out of his own spiral, slapped both hands to his cheeks, steeling himself. "Okay! I can't let this stop me!" he declared, eyes burning with newfound resolve. "I'm not dead, right? I still have time! There will be other chances! I—I WILL MEET ALL MIGHT ONE DAY!"

Hitoshi exchanged a look with Mei, who was now holding a completely different tool and wearing an expression of mild exasperation. She muttered under her breath, "If he doesn't stop yelling, I'm gonna start using his tools to fix him."

Izuku ignored her, a wild gleam in his eyes as he raised his fist in the air like he was rallying himself for a charge. "Yes! Yes, thank you, Shinso! I will! I'll make it up to him, I'll—" He paused, looking slightly confused. "Wait… where was I?"

Hitoshi smirked, pushing off the wall and moving toward Izuku. "I don't even know at this point. But hey, keep it up. I'm sure All Might will sense your spirit or something."

Izuku's cheeks turned pink, but he straightened, nodding as if accepting Hitoshi's sarcastic encouragement as heartfelt advice. "You're right! I just… I just need to believe! Believe harder!"

Hitoshi rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that."

Mei looked at Hitoshi, still barely lifting her gaze. "You think he'll stop if I hand him a wrench?"

"Nah. He'll just keep going with a wrench in his hand."

- THE FORCE AWAKENS –

After her shift at the makeshift medical center in her school, Ibara found herself standing outside Koichi's penthouse, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag as she gathered the courage to knock. It had been three days since the 'Naruhata Crisis', as the press had begun calling the chaos that shook the city. Since then, she'd visited daily, helping care for Specter, who had been unconscious since the ordeal. She'd seen him in his vulnerable state—no mask, no façade—and though he had yet to wake, a growing admiration had taken root in her heart.

Today, something deep within her told her that she would see her hero awake for the first time since the hospital. It was a feeling that seemed to pulse in her chest. The anticipation quickened her pulse, and her heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She took a slow breath to steady herself. This was it—the moment she had been waiting for. She reached up and knocked gently on the door, her stomach flipping with nerves. She could hear voices from inside, muffled but familiar. Specter's voice—calm and collected—drifted out, sending a surge of excitement through her. Then there was Shinso's low, sardonic tone, followed by Mei's animated chatter.

The door opened, and she found herself face-to-face with Hitoshi, who raised an eyebrow at her in pleasant surprise. "Oh. It's you, Shiozaki," he said, his voice nonchalant but welcoming, as though he hadn't expected to see her at that moment.

Though the group had been wary at first about Ibara's interest in Izuku, her genuine concern for him had gradually won them over. Mei and Shinso had agreed to let her help with his recovery, even if it meant revealing Specter's true identity. Koichi had vouched for her as well, assuring them she was trustworthy and well-meaning. Pop, on the other hand, had seen it as the perfect chance to poke fun at Izuku, dragging Ibara to his room with an impish grin and a promise of entertainment. After a brief, amused exchange, Pop had left them alone, though not before making her usual teasing remarks.

Soga, however, remained cautious. His suspicions hadn't fully eased until Knuckleduster dragged him out of Koichi's apartment for a "mission," joking that it was more likely that Number 6 was still lurking than that Ibara would betray them. Meanwhile, Moyuru and Rapt had only laughed at the whole situation, making light of how "Izuku's got way too much rizz for his own good."

Ibara smiled, her nerves momentarily dissipating as she met Shinso's gaze. Her fingers continued to twist the strap of her bag. "Yes, I… I thought I'd come check on Specter."

Shinso's lips curled into a faint smile. "Perfect timing. He's awake and being a pain." He stepped aside, nodding toward the apartment. "Come in. He's with Mei at the moment. Hopefully that crazy girl hasn't talked him into letting her examine his weapon."

Ibara chuckled softly, stepping past Shinso into the living room, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside her. The apartment, while well-kept, showed signs of wear. The furniture, though clearly older, was arranged with care, each piece a testament to the people who lived there. A faded but still vibrant rug covered the floor, its colors muted but warm, offering a contrast to the sterile feeling of the hallway. Her nervousness ebbed slightly as the familiar surroundings helped her feel at ease.

She followed the purple haired teen through the living room, trying not to look to eager. As she approached the room where Izuku and Mei were, she could hear their conversation already underway. Izuku's voice was passionate, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"I'm telling you, Mei, you can't just slap this thing together and expect it to work! The component's alignment is off, and the torque needs to be recalculated. You've got to make sure the actuators are balanced before you—"

"Balance? Izuku, please," Mei interrupted, her voice light and playful. It's just a little modification to the stabilizer. Nothing too crazy." There was a brief pause, followed by a sound that could only be the twisting of metal. "I've got everything covered."

Izuku, clearly not convinced, sighed. It was the familiar sound of a man fighting a losing battle. Hitoshi who had already stepped in, blinked in confusion. The shift from Izuku's earlier all-might-like trance to this mechanical debate was jarring. "Wait, hold on," he muttered, still trying to comprehend the sudden switch. "You were just going on about All Might, and now you're discussing… what? A questionable piece of machinery?"

Mei didn't miss a beat. "Oh, come on! This is genius-level stuff! Obviously, you wouldn't get it, 'commoner'."

Hitoshi's eyebrow arched. "Sure, sure. Miss Genius. We all know how well that turns out." His gaze shifted toward the bed, where the half-assembled contraption sat, looking precariously unstable. "Whatever it is you're doing, Mei, I'm pretty sure it's going to blow up. Like everything else you've ever worked on."

Ibara, who had been watching the exchange with a smile, couldn't help but laugh softly at the back-and-forth. There was something about the bickering that was strangely comforting.

Something in the air shifted. Izuku's eyes, previously focused on his ongoing debate with Mei, flickered toward her. There was a brief, but unmistakable pause as he stared at her, his gaze sharp and filled with an awareness that made her heart skip a beat. The air seemed to hum with an unfamiliar energy, an undeniable connection that sent a shiver down her spine.

She felt it too—a sudden, inexplicable sensation, as though something deep inside her was pulling toward him. It was the same strange feeling she had sensed the first time she met him, but now it was stronger, clearer. She quickly turned her gaze downward, trying to hide her flush.

After a few seconds, Izuku's face lit up, and he gave a small but genuine smile. "Wait, you're the girl who helped the family during the collapse caused by the villain, right?" His voice was filled with admiration, his excitement palpable.

Ibara blinked, surprised that Izuku remembered her, but she quickly turned a little red in the face, her gaze dropping to the floor again. "Y-yeah, that was me," she stammered, fidgeting with the strap of her bag nervously.

Izuku's smile widened. "You were incredible," he said sincerely, his tone soft and full of appreciation. "You used your Quirk to protect that family trapped in the rubble—that was amazing! You really saved them. Honestly, I don't think I could've lifted it and gotten you all out of there without your help."

Ibara's heart raced at his words, her face turning a deeper shade of red. She stammered and flustered. "I-it was nothing. I just… I did what I could."

Her modesty only made Izuku smile more, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to fall away. She could feel his gaze on her, his attention completely focused, and it made her heart flutter in ways she couldn't explain. Mei and Shinso exchanged a look, one that made Ibara even more aware of how she was acting. But before she could say anything, Izuku suddenly blurted, "Oh, I haven't introduced myself! I'm Izuku Midoriya. Nice to meet you, Shiozaki."

The warmth in his tone helped ease her nerves. She looked up and met his gaze, and for a second, everything around them seemed to fade. Her heart raced, but it wasn't from embarrassment. It was something deeper—something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Then it happened again. The connection. But this time, it was much stronger. It pulsed in the air between them, like an electric charge they both felt but couldn't quite explain. Her breath hitched slightly, and she looked down, feeling a rush of emotions flooding through her. She could sense that Izuku felt it too.

She saw the realization flicker in his eyes. It was subtle, but unmistakable. He blinked, the pieces falling into place. A flicker of disbelief crossed his face as his eyes moved from her to Mei and Shinso, then back to her.

"She's Force Sensitive?!" he thought to himself. The shock making his pulse quicken. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was so obvious. The connection between them—the way she seemed so attuned to the energy around them—it was too much to ignore.

Leia's voice echoed in his mind, calm yet tinged with a subtle edge of amused exasperation. "Yes, Izuku. Didn't Father mention this?"

Izuku's mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and questions. How had he missed it? How had he not realized that Ibara, of all people, was connected to the Force? And how much danger did this put her in?

Before he could gather his thoughts, his master's voice chimed in, sheepish and apologetic. "Well, to be fair, there were... a lot of other things going on at the time. I kind of forgot to mention it."

Izuku resisted the urge to facepalm, his heart racing. How could he have been so oblivious? The realization came crashing down—there were others like him. The idea was both comforting and terrifying at the same time. It wasn't just him, his mother, and All For One anymore; there was a whole other world of potential Force-sensitive individuals, all of them vulnerable, untrained, and unaware of the connection they shared. If they were discovered, they would be easy prey for All For One.

And that made the situation even more complicated, more dangerous.

Master Yoda's familiar, wise voice echoed gently in his mind, his tone calm yet piercing. "Surprised, are you? More, the Force has woven into your world than even we first knew. Such things, the Force reveals in time." There was a subtle weight to the grandmaster's words, a reminder that this discovery was not merely an accident, but a revelation that was meant to come to him.

Then, Obi-Wan's voice joined in, steady and grounding, providing balance to Yoda's cryptic wisdom. "Yes, Izuku. You are not alone in this connection. But remember, only those deeply attuned to the Force, and with training, can perceive others like them." Obi-Wan's presence felt like a reassuring hand on his shoulder, steady and measured. "As of now, these individuals remain hidden, protected by the very unawareness they live in."

Izuku took a deep breath, his mind buzzing. "Then why...why did I sense that Ibara was sensitive to the Force now?"

This time, it was Luke who responded, his voice contemplative yet confident, the tone of a teacher speaking from experience. "Sometimes, a spark between two Force-sensitive beings can bring their connection to the surface. It's often something subtle—a moment of shared intent or trust, an alignment of purpose—that brings the Force into clearer focus between them."

The weight of his new responsibility settled on Izuku's shoulders. He was beginning to understand that this discovery was no coincidence. It was an awakening—a call to protect and prepare, not just for himself, but for the others he now knew existed.

He blinked, realizing that only a few seconds had passed in the physical world. Outside, Ibara, Shinso, and Mei looked at him curiously. To them, he must have seemed lost in thought, but they had noticed the emotions that had passed over his face: a flash of shock, wonder, fear, and finally, a calm understanding.

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow, his gaze questioning but amused. "All right there, Midoriya?" he asked with a smirk, his tone half-joking yet filled with concern.

Ibara, watching him closely, seemed to sense that something significant had just happened. Her eyes softened, as if instinctively understanding the weight of whatever he had experienced. Mei, usually full of energy, studied him with newfound interest, noticing the rare expression in his eyes.

Izuku simply nodded, acknowledging the silent questions in his friends' eyes but keeping his thoughts guarded. Internally, however, he felt he had to make an important decision. The truth about his powers—about the Force—was something he had kept hidden for so long, protecting it like a precious secret. Yet now, with everything he had learned and the dangers they all faced, he knew he could no longer carry this alone.

After much consideration, Izuku resolved to tell Mei and Hitoshi about the true nature of his abilities. He trusted them, yes, but that wasn't the only reason. There was a deeper urgency now. The knowledge of how his powers worked could mean the difference in the final battle that approached.

Beyond that, he realized he couldn't ignore the role they'd already played in his journey. If he was to fully embrace this path, he needed them not only as allies but as partners who understood the true nature of his mission.

Izuku took a steady breath, feeling the presence of the Jedi linger, guiding him as he weighed the consequences of his next choice. He knew that, just as he needed to trust Mei and Hitoshi, he had a duty to speak with Ibara about her sensitivity to the Force. Yet, unlike with Mei and Hitoshi, the risks felt sharper, more precarious. Revealing her potential could expose her to dangers she might not be prepared for—and could paint an even larger target on her back in the eyes of All For One.

Leia's voice broke the silence in his mind. "It's only a matter of time, Izuku. Ibara will sense her connection to the Force eventually, just as you did. And, inevitably, All For One will sense it too. Better she discovers this part of herself with you and others who understand than alone, unaware, and unprepared."

Izuku took a deep breath, the weight of the words sinking in, sparking a blend of responsibility and apprehension within him. Could he truly keep her in the dark?

Anakin's voice followed, his tone firm yet understanding. "Keeping this from her would be a disservice, Sparky. She deserves to know who she really is. If you keep her from the truth, you risk hiding part of her identity—a piece of who she is meant to become. It's not our place to decide that for her."

Izuku's doubts began to ease, though he knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy. He had learned firsthand how the Force could bring unexpected challenges—and yet, it had also connected him with allies, friends, and mentors he would have otherwise never known. Sharing that gift, and that responsibility, with Ibara felt like the right choice.

"Guys, there's something important I need to tell you. But first, I need to speak with Shiozaki in private."

---

And there you have it.

Again, what's up with Horikoshi and not naming his characters?
Madam President finally has a name—though it's not official: Rinko Jōzaki (凛子 城崎), which translates to "Cold woman who leads with an imposing presence." I think it fits the head of the organization that trains children to become assassins. She's someone who won't hesitate to discard morality if it means keeping her "castle" (the HSPC) afloat.

Those poor heroes who abandoned their posts… It seems Stain will be coming for them soon—though maybe not, and I'm just baiting all of you.

Something interesting about the scene between Anakin and Izuku: in the original draft, Izuku was lamenting not being able to finish the solo at 6. But honestly, that mentality didn't fit her character at all, so I'm glad I changed it.

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.