"Well, this isn't ideal," Minato muttered, wiping the cold water from his face. He trod water for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the Shipwreck Zone. Around him, the artificial lake stretched out, littered with the skeletal remains of rusted ships and debris. The air smelled of damp metal, salt, and a manufactured scent that did little to comfort him.
That villain, the dark, misty one—Kurogiri—showed up out of nowhere and covered them in darkness. Now, they had ended up in the water. Minato wondered if he had made the right choice, pushing Midoriya out of the way and taking the mist instead of him. He didn't know why; it was instinct.
He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. The sudden transportation had disoriented him, but panic wouldn't help. "Assess the situation," he reminded himself. "Stay calm."
Villains began to appear on the decks of the wrecked ships, their figures silhouetted against the artificial lights overhead. They eyed him like predators sizing up prey, their malicious grins gleaming in the dimness.
"Hey, kid! Lost?" one called out, his voice echoing across the water.
Minato ignored the taunt, his mind working rapidly. "Water everywhere, limited solid ground. Villains are closing in. Not ideal for close combat."
He felt the familiar weight of his kunai at his waist—the tri-pronged daggers he'd designed himself. His quirk, Flash Point, allowed him to teleport to any location marked by seals created by Flashpoint. But teleporting mindlessly could be dangerous, especially in this unfamiliar environment.
"Need higher ground," he decided.
With a swift motion, he pulled out a kunai from his pouch and threw it toward the tallest mast of a nearby shipwreck. The blade embedded itself with a satisfying thud. In the blink of an eye, Minato vanished from the water, reappearing atop the mast.
"Whoa! Did you see that?" one of the villains shouted.
"He's a teleporter! Don't let him escape!"
Minato steadied himself atop the mast, the cool breeze brushing against his damp clothes. From this vantage point, he could see the entirety of the Shipwreck Zone sprawled out beneath him—a labyrinth of twisted metal, corroded hulls, and treacherous waters. The artificial sky overhead cast a muted light, reflecting off the oily surface of the water below.
He took a deep breath, surveying the chaotic scene. Villains swarmed the area, their sinister laughter echoing off the wreckage. His sharp eyes caught sight of Asui—Tsuyu Asui—leaping from one floating debris to another. She moved with agility, her frog-like quirk allowing her to navigate the watery terrain effortlessly. Clinging to her back was Mineta, coughing and sputtering, his face pale with fear.
"Not good," Minato muttered. Several villains were closing in on them, their intentions unmistakably hostile. Asui was outnumbered, and Mineta was in tow, which hindered her mobility.
He assessed the situation swiftly. "New plan: save those two and get out while staying out of the way of attacking villains."
Minato thought momentarily, "Might as well kill two birds with one stop and thin out the hoard as I rescue them."
Minato's gaze locked onto Asui and Mineta as they struggled amidst the debris-strewn waters below. Asui leaped gracefully from one floating piece of wreckage to another, but the added weight of Mineta clinging to her back slowed her down. The boy's panicked flailing wasn't helping either; his eyes were wide with terror, and his grip around Asui's neck was tight enough to impede her breathing.
Several villains were closing in on them, navigating the unstable platforms with practiced ease. One wielded a chain wrapped around his forearm, its end crackling with electricity. Another had elongated limbs stretched and coiled like serpents, ready to trap their prey. A burly and covered in scales, a third villain waded through the water with little resistance, his eyes fixed hungrily on the struggling students.
"Time to act," Minato decided.
He retrieved three kunai from his pouch, each engraved with Flashpoint. With precise aim, he hurled one at the platform directly behind Asui, the second at the mast of a nearby shipwreck closer to the exit, and kept the third in his hand. The blades sliced through the air, embedding themselves exactly where he intended.
"First step, create an escape route."
In an instant, Minato vanished from the mast and reappeared on the platform behind Asui. The wooden plank bobbed under his sudden weight, but he maintained perfect balance. The villains noticed his arrival, their expressions shifting from predatory confidence to surprise.
"Who the hell are you?" snarled the chain-wielding villain, his eyes narrowing.
"Just a concerned classmate," Minato replied coolly.
Asui glanced back, her eyes widening upon seeing him. "Namikaze? How did you—"
"No time," he interrupted gently. "Hold on tight."
Before the villains could react, Minato placed a hand on Asui's shoulder. Focusing his quirk, he teleported both of them—and Mineta—to the second kunai he'd lodged on the distant mast. The world blurred for a fraction of a second, and then they were perched high above the water, the villains left gaping at the empty space where they had just been.
Mineta screamed, clinging desperately to Asui. "W-what just happened? Are we dead?"
Asui steadied herself, her webbed hands gripping the mast. "We're fine, ribbit. Namikaze moved us."
Minato scanned the area below. The villains were scrambling, shouting orders, and pointing in their direction. The one with the twisting limbs stretched his arms upward, the elongated appendages snaking toward them with alarming speed.
"Hang on," Minato warned.
He threw his remaining kunai toward the exit of the Shipwreck Zone, where solid ground awaited. The blade struck a metal railing, and without hesitation, Minato grabbed both Asui and Mineta by their arms. Channeling his quirk again, they vanished from the mast just as the villain's limbs whipped through the space they'd occupied.
Reappearing at the exit, they stumbled slightly as their feet hit the ground. Mineta collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. "I think I'm gonna be sick!"
Asui placed a comforting hand on his back before turning to Minato. "Thank you, Namikaze. You saved us."
He offered a small smile. "Just doing what I can. Are you both okay?"
She nodded. "A bit shaken, but we'll manage. What about the others?"
Minato's expression grew serious. "We need to regroup with the rest of the class and the teachers. The villains have us separated, and they might try to pick us off one by one.
"They said something about All Might, didn't they? Why would they call him out? It's not like they can beat him, can they?" Mineta says.
Minato looked back toward the Shipwreck Zone. The villains were still scouring the area, unaware of their escape. "They're distracted for now, but we can't assume that'll last."
He then shifted his gaze to the entrance of the USJ. If he recalled correctly, the misty villain—Kurogiri—left the exit. The villain posted up behind that villain with hands gripping his body.
"This is more coordinated than a random attack," Minato said to himself, "They have a plan, and it's centered around All Might."
His eyes scanned the central plaza, and his breath caught. Amidst the chaos, he saw Eraserhead—Aizawa-sensei—holding his elbow. Villains surrounded them. And Midoriya, standing nearby.
Five Minutes Ago
Izuku's body hit the ground hard. His breath was knocked out of him as he sprawled across the cold floor of the USJ entrance. His vision blurred for a moment before sharpening again. The swirling mist of Kurogiri, the dark mist villain, hovered nearby, his form rippling as he manipulated the space around them. Izuku blinked, trying to piece together what had just happened. Minato had pushed him aside, taking the brunt of the mist, and he vanished along with half the class.
Izuku laid there for a second longer, his mind racing, but not with panic—no, it was analysis, calculation. The situation was terrible, but that didn't mean he'd freeze. He couldn't afford to. He forced himself up to his feet and quickly scanned the area.
Aizawa was already engaged with the villains down in the plaza. His scarf whipped through the air as he fought, his eyes glowing as his Erasure Quirk deactivated the quirks of the enemies around him. He was alone against dozens of villains, but Aizawa moved with precision, dismantling them one by one.
But even with all of Aizawa's skill, Izuku could tell he was outnumbered. Worse, half their class had been teleported to who-knows-where, scattered across the USJ's danger zones.
Thirteen was by the entrance. Her quirk was already in play, but Kurogiri was no ordinary villain. From what Izuku could see, Kurogiri was intangible. Parts of him were slipping in and out of space. Izuku knew that trying to fight someone who was practically a living portal would be tricky. The Sharingan could track fast movements, even predict them, but this wasn't just speed. Kurogiri's form flickered in and out of existence. His very nature made physical contact difficult.
Izuku darted toward Thirteen, his mind locking onto the immediate problem. She needed help. Think. He couldn't afford to overreact. He needed to be quick and calculated, like Father had taught him. Always two steps ahead, always seeing beyond the obvious.
Thirteen was already drawing in Kurogiri's misty form with her black hole, but something felt off. Izuku felt some sick feeling in his bones
"Thirteen!" Izuku shouted, but it was too late.
Kurogiri opened a portal right in front of her, and before Thirteen could react, her black hole was redirected—another portal opened behind her, sending her power back toward her. The force ripped into her suit, tearing it open. The moment the suit was compromised, Thirteen collapsed, incapacitated, her quirk suddenly spiraling out of control.
Uraraka rushed to Thirteen's side, her face pale with fear, but she kept moving. She was focused. "Thirteen, are you okay?!"
Izuku's heart raced, but he forced himself to breathe. Thirteen was down. Kurogiri was intangible, and a direct fight wouldn't work, but what use would it have been if he couldn't land a hit?
"Iida!" Izuku turned his head. Standing just a few feet away was Iida, looking stunned. He stared at Thirteen body lying on the floor.
Izuku ran over, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Iida, listen to me!" Izuku shouted, knocking out Iida's trance.
"You're the only one who can get out of here fast enough. We need help, and you need to go."
Iida shook his head, eyes wide behind his glasses, "I can't just leave my classmates here—leave you here! What if—"
"Iida!" Izuku interrupted, tightening his grip on his armor.
"Thirteen's down, Aizawa-sensei is fighting alone, and half of us are scattered. We need help. Now."
Iida's jaw clenched, "But..."
"No buts," Izuku said firmly.
"You're the class president, right? This is your responsibility. We need you to get back to the school and get the pros. If you don't, more of us could get hurt. Aizawa-sensei can't hold them off forever."
Iida's breath hitched, his fists trembling slightly. He was conflicted. Izuku could see it—of course, some good-natured as Iida didn't want to leave anyone behind, but the cold truth of what had to be done was undeniable.
Izuku's tone softened, "Be the leader we need right now. You can get help, and we'll hold things here."
There was a pause, a heartbeat of hesitation, and then Iida nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll do it."
Izuku exhaled, relieved but focused. "Good. I'll give you a distraction. Wait for my signal." He glanced toward the exit. Kurogiri was probably hovering near it, ensuring no one could leave. It was apparent now. The villains had been too coordinated, too precise in scattering them. Kurogiri was the key, the one standing between them and escape.
Izuku's mind worked fast. He needed a plan—Kurogiri was intangible but not all-powerful. There had to be a way to distract him long enough for Iida to break through, maybe if Izuku drew him into an attack. But how?
Izuku donned his dog mask and activated his Sharingan, its glow hidden by the mask. His eyes flickered to life as he scanned the battlefield. Every detail sharpened, every movement registered. He needed to predict Kurogiri's next move and exploit it.
"Wait for my signal," Izuku repeated, "The window will be small, but I can guarantee it." His voice was steady, and for a brief second, Izuku wondered if this was what being a hero felt like. Not the fighting, not the powers—just making the hard choices.
Iida looked at him, determination set in his face now. "I trust you, Midoriya. Just say when."
Izuku nodded and turned back to the battlefield. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Everything hinged on timing. One mistake and Kurogiri would stop Iida before he ever reached the exit.
Think like a Uchiha, Izuku reminded himself. Cold, methodical, and always anticipating. Kurogiri's weakness was that he had to open portals. He had to materialize, even briefly, to use his quirk. That was the moment Izuku needed.
Izuku took a deep breath and stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he watched Kurogiri. The mist villain noticed him, his attention shifting. That's good. That's what Izuku needed. He raised his hand slightly, the Sharingan spinning in his eyes.
"Hey," Izuku called, "why don't you come here and try me?" Izuku strolled calmly toward Kurogiri, moving close.
Kurogiri's form shifted, the mist darkening around him. "Ah, the young Midoriya, or should I say your Uchiha?" Kurogiri said, whispering that last part.
Izuku froze. But there wasn't that usual guilt whenever he heard the Uchiha name. It was firey anger that flared in his heart. Izuku's heart slammed against his ribs as Kurogiri's words cut through him. The villain's voice slithered like dark smoke, and Izuku's blood ran cold. He knew. But there wasn't time to dwell on how—his mind didn't have room for that. Not now.
The battlefield shrank. He couldn't hear anything, not Aizawa fighting. Not Uraraka whispering to Thirteen. Not even the thundering beating of his heart. It shrank only to Izuku and Kurogiri. The mist around him flared, twisting, listening to their master.
Anger flared inside Izuku's chest, hot and burning, tightening his fists until his knuckles whitened beneath his gloves. That name—the name that haunted him every night, the name tied to everything he had lost—was spat back at him, taunting him like a scab ripped open. His family's name, Itachi's, had no place in the hands of a villain. How dare he?
"I don't know what you think, you know," Izuku said, forcing his voice steady and forcing himself to breathe through the rage bubbling inside him, "but it doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you're standing between me and my goal."
Izuku stepped forward, the Sharingan glowing faintly beneath his mask, eyes locked onto Kurogiri. Every instinct screamed for him to move, charge, and rip that smug mist apart with his bare hands. But he couldn't. He had to play this smart—at least, smart enough to ensure Iida could escape. He needed to keep Kurogiri distracted long enough for Iida to run. He couldn't let the villain outthink him.
But the fire inside him burned hotter, twisting his focus.
"Is that anger I hear in your tone, young Midoriya?" Kurogiri's mist shifted, "I would have thought your Father would teach you better than to let such emotions cloud your judgment. After all, the Uchiha were nothing if not... methodical."
The fire ignited into fury.
Izuku's pulse roared in his ears, everything else fading away. Kurogiri's words blurred in his mind, fanning the flames higher. Izuku clenched his jaw, the blood rushing through his veins faster and hotter. His muscles tensed, and for a split second, he almost forgot his plan and why he was there.
Almost.
But Izuku couldn't afford to lose control—not now. He couldn't let Kurogiri win like that. He had to stay sharp. His anger was a weapon, but only if he wielded it, not the other way around.
Izuku's eyes darted, calculating the distance between them, searching for openings, timing Kurogiri's movements. The mist villain hovered between him and the exit, an impassable wall of shadows. If Izuku charged mindlessly, Kurogiri could portal him away instantly—game over. But if he waited for the right moment, the exact second that Kurogiri needed to materialize.
He had to bait him. Izuku knew that much. He had to make Kurogiri focus on him and make the villain believe that Izuku was about to make a reckless, angry mistake.
Maybe he already was.
"Funny," Izuku spat, stepping forward deliberately, his voice rising with each word.
"For someone so obsessed with All Might, you sure spend a lot of time running your mouth. Do you think mentioning the Uchiha makes you special? It makes you weak."
Kurogiri's mist thickened, swirling ominously, "Oh? Do go on. I find your defiance entertaining."
The rage inside Izuku was barely held in check, threatening to spill over, but his mind worked faster now, fueled by it. He had to push Kurogiri's buttons to make him slip. Just enough.
Izuku took another step, letting his mask hide the raw intensity burning through him. He let his Sharingan track the tiniest shifts in the mist, waiting for that moment.
"You think you can beat All Might? You can barely handle a bunch of kids."
He needed to push harder
The mist shifted again, this time subtly coiling tighter. Izuku knew he was getting to him.
"You're nothing," Izuku growled, "You're a coward hiding behind tricks. And I'm going to break you."
It worked.
Kurogiri's form surged, the mist expanding and darkening as if enraged by Izuku's words. His voice hissed out, filled with cold malice.
"You'll regret that."
There. A silver gleams with the mist. That was his target. For the briefest moment, Kurogiri had to pull himself together, his mist coming together just enough to make an attack.
Izuku moved when he saw the shimmer, the telltale sign that Kurogiri was condensing his form. The mist villain's swirling tendrils of darkness tightened like a snake preparing to strike, but Izuku's eyes could see it all in perfect clarity. The world slowed around him, each particle of Kurogiri's mist visible, each shifting movement noted in his mind.
Kurogiri lashed out, his mist forming long, dark tendrils that snapped toward Izuku. But Izuku was already moving, dodging to the side with lightning-fast reflexes. He pivoted, his body twisting as the tendrils missed him by mere inches, crashing into the ground where he had just stood. The tendrils left deep grooves in the polished floor, the force of Kurogiri's attack far greater than it appeared.
"You're fast," Kurogiri hissed, his voice seeming to come from everywhere.
Izuku didn't respond. He couldn't afford to waste his breath. Every fiber of his being was focused on reading Kurogiri's movements, anticipating where the next attack would come from. His Sharingan spun in his eyes, the world around him shifting into sharper detail. He could see the faint shimmer of Kurogiri's mist as it moved, and more importantly, he could see the weak point—the metal collar that contained Kurogiri's real body. It was small, almost hidden within the swirling darkness, but it was there. If he could land even a single blow on that collar, he might be able to disrupt Kurogiri's control over his portals.
But Kurogiri was no fool. He kept his collar well-protected, surrounded by the thickest part of his mist. Getting close would be dangerous, especially if Kurogiri opened a portal right before him.
Kurogiri lashed out again, sending a wave of mist toward Izuku. This time, the tendrils split into multiple directions, each aiming for a different part of Izuku's body. Izuku ducked low, spinning to avoid the attack. His feet slid across the slick floor, his momentum carrying him in a smooth arc as he narrowly dodged the incoming mist. The tendrils whipped past his head, their force sending a rush of wind through his hair.
He couldn't keep dodging forever. His body was already beginning to feel the strain of constant movement, and he could feel the familiar burn of exhaustion creeping into his muscles. But he couldn't stop—not yet. Iida needed time, and it was up to Izuku to buy that time.
"I see now," Kurogiri's voice slithered through the air, "You're stalling. Trying to buy time for your little friend, aren't you? How noble. But ultimately futile."
Kurogiri's mist surged forward, expanding like a tidal wave, consuming the space around them. It moved with a relentless force, a swirling mass of darkness that threatened to engulf everything in its path.
Izuku's eyes darted to the side, catching a glimpse of Iida near the exit. He was almost there. Just a little longer. Just a little more time.
"Iida!" Izuku shouted, his voice straining as he dodged another barrage of tendrils. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain, his movements becoming more desperate as Kurogiri's attacks grew faster, more precise.
Iida looked back, his eyes wide with determination. He knew what was at stake. He ready his legs. The engines began crackling with noise. And then Iida readied himself. With a giant burst of speed, his engines roared to life, and he rocketed toward the exit, his legs blurring as he accelerated.
Kurogiri's mist twisted, sensing the escape. "No!" Kurogiri growled. He shifted his attention toward Iida, his tendrils shooting out like spears, aiming to intercept him before he could reach the doors.
But Izuku was ready. He grabbed a kunai from his pouch and hurled it toward Kurogiri's mist in one fluid motion. The projectile wasn't meant to cause damage but to disrupt. The kunai strikes his collar, and the metal reverberates.
Kurogiri's mist flinched, the tendrils recoiling just long enough for Iida to slip past them.
"Go, Iida!" Izuku shouted.
With a deafening roar, Iida crashed through the doors of the USJ, his speed so intense that the glass doors exploded outward on impact. The force of his escape sent echoes through the building, sending shards of glass flying through the air.
For a moment, everything was still. The villains paused, stunned by the sheer force of Iida's exit. And then, slowly, Kurogiri's mist began to swirl again, more violently this time, as if the air itself had grown heavier with his rage.
"You... dare..." Kurogiri's voice was low, a dangerous rumble that sent a chill down Izuku's spine. The mist around him thickened, growing darker and more oppressive. "You will regret this, boy."
Izuku's heart pounded as Kurogiri's form swelled, the mist expanding rapidly. It was like watching a storm gather strength, a dark, roiling mass of fury. The tendrils of mist lashed out wildly, thrashing against the walls and floor with a force that shook the entire building.
Before Izuku could react, Kurogiri's form surged toward him like an unstoppable tsunami. The mist enveloped him, wrapping around his body like a vice. For a moment, Izuku felt weightless, the world around him twisting and distorting as Kurogiri's portals opened beneath his feet.
The ground disappeared. The USJ entrance faded away.
In an instant, Izuku was ripped from the scene and thrown through space, his body hurtling through the void. It felt like being caught in a violent current, pulled in every direction at once. He couldn't see or breathe—everything was dark, swirling around him like a vortex.
And then, with a gut-wrenching thud, he was spat out into the central plaza of the USJ, crashing into the ground with bone-jarring force. He skidded across the cold concrete, his body slamming into the water fountain.
Izuku groaned, his body trembling as he pushed himself upright, leaning heavily against the edge of the fountain. The world spun momentarily, his vision swimming with the aftereffects of being thrown across space by Kurogiri's quirk. His head throbbed where he'd hit the ground, and he could feel the sting of fresh bruises forming along his arms and legs. Everything hurt, but the pain was a secondary concern now.
His eyes flickered around the central plaza of the USJ. The grand fountain he had crashed into stood in the center, water still trickling peacefully from its spouts despite the chaos surrounding it. But all around him, the peacefulness of the scene was shattered by the dozens of villains that filled the area, standing in a loose formation, their eyes gleaming with malice.
Aizawa stood a few feet away, surrounded but utterly composed. There wasn't a drop of sweat marring his forehead, and there was no sign of fatigue. He moved with cold efficiency, tossing a burly, bear-like villain over his shoulder with a resounding crash. The villain's massive frame skidded past the fountain, coming to rest in a heap several yards away.
Aizawa's capture scarf snapped through the air like a whip, its movements precise and controlled. It ensnared another villain by the leg and sent him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. A crescent of villains surrounded Aizawa, but none dared get too close. Bodies littered the ground around him, knocked out or incapacitated, and the remaining villains hesitated, clearly reluctant to challenge him directly.
Izuku blinked, still struggling to shake off the disorientation. He couldn't help but be awed by Aizawa's skill. He fought like a whirlwind, his movements smooth and practiced, every attack designed to incapacitate in the most efficient way possible. But Izuku could see the faintest flicker of concern in Aizawa's eyes as he glanced toward him.
"What the hell are you doing here, Midoriya?" Aizawa shouted, "You should be with Thirteen! You're not ready for this fight!"
Before Izuku could respond, a familiar dark mist began swirling behind the crowd of villains. Kurogiri's form coalesced at the plaza's edge, and a man with wild, unkempt white hair stood beside him. His face was obscured by a hand gripping his head, with more dismembered hands clinging to his arms and body. The sight sent a chill through Izuku's spine—the air around the man seemed to crackle with malice and chaos.
Kurogiri's form solidified as he drifted closer to the man. "Shigaraki," Kurogiri said, his voice as calm as ever, though there was an undertone of tension. "It seems we had some... complications. One of the students managed to escape. I apologize."
Shigaraki's head twitched slightly, his fingers curling as he dug his nails into the palm of his hand. "You let one of them get away?" His voice was sharp, like nails scraping across the glass, "I thought you had this under control, Kurogiri."
Kurogiri's mist rippled slightly, but he remained composed. "It's unfortunate, but it doesn't matter in the end. We're here for All Might, after all. Killing him is the goal. And besides..." Kurogiri's glowing eyes narrowed as they focused on Izuku, "All Might would hate it if we killed one of his precious students in the meantime, wouldn't he?"
Shigaraki's eyes gleamed with a sick sort of excitement. "You're right. Let's see if I can ruin his day before he shows up." In an instant, Shigaraki lunged toward Izuku, his speed surprising for someone so lanky and uncoordinated-looking.
Izuku's body moved on instinct, adrenaline surging through him, but Aizawa intercepted before he could even brace himself. The sound of Aizawa's boot connecting with Shigaraki's midsection echoed through the plaza, the force of the impact sending Shigaraki flying back. He crashed to the ground, but to Izuku's shock, he instantly recovered, rolling to his feet with an eerie, unnatural grace.
The glee in Shigaraki's eye never faltered.
"So cool, Eraserhead," he said softly. I've heard so much about you. You really live up to your reputation." His eyes flicked toward the fallen villains littering the plaza. "But I wonder... how long can you keep this up? You specialize in taking down villains one-on-one, right? You're a covert fighter, but you're surrounded by so many here. You are going to lose."
Aizawa didn't respond, his gaze narrowing as he studied Shigaraki's movements. The tension in the air thickened. Shigaraki seemed unpredictable, and Izuku could see that Aizawa was calculating, measuring every step and every breath.
Then, without warning, Shigaraki lunged again, his fingers outstretched, the dismembered hands twitching unnervingly as he reached for Aizawa's face. Aizawa's scarf whipped out, wrapping around Shigaraki's wrist, and with a swift tug, he yanked him off-balance. As Shigaraki stumbled, Aizawa's elbow shot up, driving into his ribs with enough force to elicit a sharp gasp.
The blow echoed through the plaza, but something was wrong. Shigaraki's hand had caught Aizawa's elbow mid-strike, and for the first time, Aizawa's expression shifted.
Shigaraki's eyes glinted with dark amusement, "So cool," he whispered again, "But there's one thing you couldn't hide." His grip on Aizawa's elbow tightened, and his fingers twitched.
"Six... five... four..."
Shigaraki's fingers twitched as they closed around Aizawa's elbow, and at that moment, Izuku's heart dropped. Aizawa couldn't pull away. His grip was too strong. Somehow, Shigaraki found out Aizawa's weakness.
"...Three... two... one..."
The effect wasn't immediate. The part of the suit surrounding the elbow ebbed away, and the skin started to flake away in small, fine particles. Then, red blood muscles began to show as Izuku saw tendons. Aizawa's expression flickered, realizing that he was in pain.
Aizawa's elbow began to crumble.
Aizawa's boot slammed into Shigaraki, his body recoiling from the desperate hit, rag dolling across the floor, yet Shigaraki began laughing dryly.
Aizawa gritted his teeth as his arm flared with searing pain, his vision blurring slightly from the sheer intensity. His elbow was crippled, crumbling like dry sand under Shigaraki's Decay quirk. Blood trickled down from the mangled elbow, but even as the pain threatened to cloud his focus, Aizawa's mind worked fast. He couldn't afford to show weakness, not now—not in front of his students or the villains. His gaze never wavered from Shigaraki, even as his body screamed for relief.
Shigaraki's laugh echoed through the plaza, chilling and sharp, like broken glass grinding underfoot. He pushed himself up from the ground, dusting himself off as if he hadn't just been flung halfway across the plaza. His movements were casual, unhurried, as though he knew he had all the time in the world. The look in his eye was one of pure, unhinged glee.
"You're slipping, Eraserhead," Shigaraki sneered, tilting his head like a predator studying its prey. His fingers twitched, flexing as though eager for more destruction, "Did you think you could take me down so easily? I've been watching you, y'know."
Aizawa stood tall, his eyes burning with determination, but a creeping dread gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He needed to keep Shigaraki's attention on him, to buy time for the students, for reinforcements to arrive—even if it cost him everything.
Shigaraki's grin widened as he sauntered forward, his dismembered hands twitching unsettlingly on his shoulders and arms. "You're good, Eraserhead. I'll give you that. But I've figured out your little trick."
Aizawa's breath hitched, and he instinctively prepared for whatever came next. His scarf fluttered, ready to strike, but something about Shigaraki's demeanor had changed. There was a new confidence, a sick kind of satisfaction in his voice like he was on the verge of unveiling some grand revelation.
"Your quirk," Shigaraki continued, "Every time you use it, your hair floats. You know that, right? It's like a little warning system for anyone paying attention."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed, trying to gauge where Shigaraki was going with this. He stayed silent, knowing that villains like Shigaraki loved to hear themselves talk. Every second he kept him monologuing was another second the students had to regroup.
"But here's the thing," Shigaraki's smile turned wicked, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with twisted amusement, "I've been watching you since this fight started, and I noticed something interesting. You can't keep your quirk active forever, can you? The time your hair floats—it's been getting shorter."
Aizawa's heart skipped a beat. He had hoped that Shigaraki wouldn't pick up on that. His quirk was powerful, but it was far from limitless. The longer he used it, the more strain it put on his eyes, and eventually, the signs of fatigue would show. His hair would stop floating, his eyes would burn, and his vision would blur. He needed time between each activation to reset and recover. But Shigaraki had been watching him closely, noticing every detail, every moment his quirk faltered.
"How long can you keep it up, huh?" Shigaraki taunted, "A minute? Two? Maybe three at most before your eyes give out? You can't keep me down forever, Eraserhead. And when you slip—when you blink—that's when I'll tear you apart."
Aizawa's jaw clenched, sweat dripping down the side of his face. He couldn't deny it—Shigaraki had figured out his weakness. The longer this fight dragged on, the more he was at risk of losing control and giving Shigaraki the opening he needed to strike. He couldn't keep his eyes open indefinitely. He wasn't invincible.
Shigaraki's smile widened as if sensing Aizawa's inner turmoil. "You should've been more careful, Eraserhead. You underestimated me." His fingers twitched again, his body coiling with a predatory energy. "And now you're going to pay for it."