Guess who's back? Back again.
Yo!
How's it going? Missed me? (Probably not, hehe.)
Another talking chapter—yeah, I know. But bear with me. There were a few loose ends that needed tying up before the story could move forward.
For example, Izuku needed to get rid of the last specks of guilt weighing on him, and what better way than opening up to his entire support group? Also, I wasn't about to skip to the next chapter without letting people see Izuku and Koichi's exploits. So yeah, by the time he reaches U.A., Izuku—well, Specter—will basically be an urban legend. Imagine the shock when they find out he's the vigilante.
Next chapter kicks off the new arc, so I hope you like it! And yeah, sorry again for the delay. I write this in my free time, and lately, I haven't had much of it. Fuck work and all that.
On another note—who else is hyped for the MHA: Vigilantes anime? When I heard about it, I legit screamed like a bitch. Koichi deserves to be animated.
Just like last time, I'll be answering reviews at the end.
Hope you all enjoy the chapter!
Before I go—if you like this fic, please share it with your friends! That would seriously make my day. Leave a review, add it to your favorites, and follow the story.
See you at the end!
Disclaimer: You already know this; MHA is owned by Kohei Horikoshi. The Force and everything related to Star Wars are the intellectual property of George Lucas and the evil multi-billion-dollar company. (Yup, that one)
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).
"You must trust in others, or success is impossible."
Chapter XXV: The King's March.
"Um… Principal Nezu, how did you know about the Commission's plans? They only released the press conference notice with no names attached to it," Izuku muttered, his fingers fidgeting as his thoughts ran ahead of his mouth. "I mean, your Quirk grants you incredible intelligence, so it's technically possible that you deduced their plans from nothing, but even then, with so little information, it'd be nearly impossible—unless you have someone inside the Commission feeding you intel! That would explain how you knew their real intentions and why you intervened, but then… why help us? I mean, my mom always told me to have faith in people, but there's no way you and I have met before this—unless… unless it was Mr. Eraserhead! He was there that night! Maybe he told you everything, and you put the pieces together, which makes sense because you're a genius, but that would also mean—"
His words tumbled out faster than his brain could filter. The world outside the car—the flicker of passing vehicles, the glint of sunlight on glass—faded into irrelevance as his mind raced down the rabbit hole.
Koichi watched him, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Secondhand embarrassment prickled at him, but beneath it, there was relief. The crushing shadow of the HPSC, the suffocating weight of powerlessness that had clung to them for days, was gone—lifted by the most unlikely of saviors. For the first time in what felt like forever, Koichi could breathe. And with that breath came curiosity. Why had Nezu, the head of the most prestigious hero university in the world, stepped in?
His gaze flicked to Eraserhead, who looked about five seconds away from flinging himself out of the moving vehicle. The man's usual exhaustion had deepened into something almost pained, his jaw tightening with every word Izuku uttered without pause. The faint twitch of his eye told Koichi everything—he, too, was wondering how Izuku could keep talking at such breakneck speed without collapsing from sheer lack of oxygen. His fingers tightened around his capture weapon, and Koichi had the distinct feeling that if Izuku didn't wind down soon, he might get forcibly silenced.
And then there was Nezu.
The principal sat perfectly at ease, his paws resting lightly on his knees, as if this were nothing more than a leisurely afternoon drive. His beady eyes sparkled with amusement, his ears twitching faintly as he followed Izuku's rapid-fire looked entertained. Genuinely entertained. Like he was watching a riveting stage play from the comfort of his own living room rather than sitting in a car filled with escalating nonsense. More than that—he was keeping up. Effortlessly.
Every time Izuku veered into increasingly absurd theories, Nezu responded as if they were engaged in a perfectly rational discussion, occasionally tossing in corrections or counterpoints with an amused hum. When Izuku hypothesized that Nezu had an underground network of spy mice collecting intelligence across Japan, the principal merely chuckled, saying that he would start one immediately.
Something that made Koichi nearly choke on air.
And when Izuku, breathless and wide-eyed, proposed that two ancient secret organizations were locked in a hidden war and had somehow singled out both him and Koichi as key figures in their master plans, Nezu outright laughed—a light, chittering sound that somehow made the absurd theory feel even more plausible. It didn't help when he leaned in conspiratorially and began explaining a creed where nothing was true and everything was permitted.
Koichi groaned, running a hand down his face. This was going to be a long ride, he thought—a sentiment clearly shared by Eraserhead, who had already checked out of the conversation entirely. Head leaning against the window, he had somehow managed to doze off, perfectly nestled against a makeshift pillow fashioned from his own capture weapon.
Koichi exhaled, resigned. Yeah. A long ride indeed.
A couple of hours later, they were back in Naruhata. The car hummed softly as it glided through the streets. The dashboard clock read 3:45 PM—fifteen minutes before the HPSC's scheduled press conference.
Izuku's gaze drifted to the world beyond the window. He had never been to the northern district before, but the scars of the crisis were familiar. Deep cracks splintered along the facades of buildings, testaments of a city that refused to crumble. No matter where he went, Naruhata endured.
"We're almost at our destination," Nezu announced cheerfully, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the engine. "If you'd like, feel free to call your friends. That way, we can all enjoy a small celebration and watch the show together."
At first, Koichi barely registered Nezu's words. His thumb moved on autopilot, scrolling through an endless stream of updates. Social media was practically vibrating with anticipation—every post, every comment, every headline a mounting wave of speculation. The tension in the air was tangible, Japan holding its breath, waiting for the Commission's announcement.
And then it hit him.
The sheer rush of the last few hours—the talk with Tobikage, Nezu's powerplay, the crushing weight of uncertainty finally lifting—had completely wiped one critical detail from his mind.
He hadn't called Kazuho. Or Master. Or even Soga.
A sharp buzz against his palm snapped him out of his trance. His phone screen lit up with a new message.
Kazuho: Koichi, good luck with the conference. Don't forget that I love you and I'll always be supporting you.
"Oh, crap." He said to himself. She was worried. Of course she was worried. And here he was, sitting in a comfortable car while she and the others were probably pacing, wondering if they were even okay to begin with.
He turned his head slightly—and immediately caught Izuku staring down at his own phone, frozen mid-scroll. He hadn't called his friends either.
For all their differences, they were way too alike. The same reckless drive. The same hero worship. The same tendency to throw themselves headfirst into chaos, forgetting the people who actually cared about them.
Their eyes met. They were so screwed.
Izuku swallowed hard. Koichi exhaled slowly. Then, with a silent, mutual understanding, they both nodded.
Time to face the consequences.
A soft chuckle broke the silence. Nezu, who had been watching the entire exchange with the keen interest of an amused spectator, tilted his head. "Oh my, you two really are cut from the same cloth." His beady eyes twinkled with mischief. "But worry not! I accounted for this little… oversight."
He leaned back, hands neatly folded. "There are a few cars stationed outside your apartment complex as we speak. Your friends will be arriving just in time to join us." His smile widened, beady eyes twinkling mischievously. "After all, what's a victory without the people who make it worth celebrating?"
Nezu words turned out to be true. When the group arrived at a luxury hotel, it became immediately clear that the term "small celebration" had been a colossal understatement. The hotel wasn't just fancy—it was the kind of place where the chandeliers probably cost more than Koichi's entire apartment, and the doormen looked like they'd stepped out of a spy movie.
"Was it really necessary to rent theentirehotel, Nezu?" Aizawa's voice cut through the air like a knife, laced with the kind of annoyance only a man who'd been rudely awakened from a nap could muster. His hand raked through his perpetually disheveled hair, and his glare could've melted steel.
Nezu, waved a paw dismissively like a tiny, smug overlord, "Relax, Aizawa. The board is paying for it. And besides," he paused, his beady eyes glinting "I was told there's an entireergonomicsofa waiting for you. You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?"
Aizawa's eye twitched. For a moment, it looked like he might argue, but then in a move so fast it could only be described as 'heroic,' Aizawa yanked open the hotel door and disappeared inside without another word.
Nezu chuckled, a sound that was equal parts adorable and terrifying, and followed him. Izuku and Koichi exchanged a glance, sweat trickling down their foreheads as they watched the exchange. "Do you think he's actually going to sleep on that sofa?" Koichi whispered.
"Probably," Izuku replied, his voice tinged with awe.
As they stepped inside, the hum of conversation and laughter hit them like a wave. The hotel's grand lobby had been transformed into a makeshift party venue, complete with a buffet table that looked like it belonged at a royal banquet. The energy in the air was electric, a mix of relief, and triumph.
Koichi took a slow breath, his gaze scanning the room. Knuckleduster, mask notably absent, was sprawled on a plush sofa like he owned the place. His legs were propped up on a nearby table, and he was nursing a beer with the air of a man who had absolutely no intention of moving anytime soon. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he watched Moyuru, who was attempting to sneak a bottle of fire whisky into his bag with the finesse of a raccoon searching trash.
A little further away, the scene was just as lively. Rapt, was telling a story in the center of a circle that included Hitoshi, Mei, and Soga. His reptilian features were animated as he spun what was clearly anextremelyexaggerated version of Knuckleduster's journey to seek support from the underworld.
"—and then," Rapt said, his voice rising dramatically, "we were surrounded by clones. Dozens of them! All identical, all armed with futuristic weapons that shot plasma beams!" He paused for effect, his tail swishing behind him. "It was like something out of a sci-fi movie!"
Mei's eyes were wide with fascination, her hands clutching her notebook like it was a security blanket. "Plasma ammunition? That's amazing! Do you think I could reverse-engineer one?"
Soga, meanwhile, looked like he was about to explode. "That's not what happened!" he growled, clutching his head. "There were two bald guys, and they had shotguns!"
Hitoshi, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. "And let me guess—you defeated them with your bare hands and a dramatic one-liner?"
Rapt grinned. Something that earned Hitoshi a barrage of snacks from Mei, who seemed intent on silencing any doubts about Rapt's clearly fabricated tale.
Izuku nudged Koichi, drawing his attention to the far corner of the room. Near the massive plasma TV, Kazuho and Present Mic were deep in conversation. Mic, dressed in casual street clothes rather than his usual flamboyant hero costume, was gesturing animatedly as he gave Kazuho tips on improving the sound quality for her upcoming shows. Kazuho, notebook in hand, was scribbling down notes with the intensity of someone preparing for a final exam.
But Present Mic wasn't the only one who stood out. Midnight, sitting elegantly on a small sofa, had traded her heroine attire for a dress that could only be described aslethal. Her gaze was fixed on Knuckleduster, who was still lounging obliviously on his sofa. Koichi felt a chill ripple down his spine as he caught the glint in Midnight's eyes. It was the kind of look that usually preceded chaos.
"That's a disaster waiting to happen," Koichi muttered.
Izuku, meanwhile, was lost in thought. How had they ended up in a room withMidnightandPresent Mic? His gaze drifted to the corner where his mother was chatting animatedly with Ibara. The green-haired girl was listening intently, her eyes wide with wonder as Inko described the unique plant life from the vision the Force showed Izuku prior to his journey to Sapporo.
Izuku reached out mentally, connecting with his mother through their bond."What are you talking about?"he asked.
Inko's calm voice responded almost immediately. "We were just discussing the way the plants grew from the cracks in the barren surface of that world. This lovely girl is quite fascinated by it. Tell me, Izuku—is she Force-sensitive like us?"
"Yes, mom."
Before Izuku could say more, Koichi nudged him again. "Uh, Izuku? You might want to see this."
Izuku followed Koichi's gaze and immediately wished he hadn't. Midnight was making her move. She had sauntered over to Knuckleduster and was now leaning in close, her voice dripping with flirtation.
"Well, well," Midnight purred, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You know, I've always had a weakness for... rough men." She gave Knuckleduster a lingering glance, her gaze deliberately tracing the lines of his rugged features. "And you certainly fit the bill."
Knuckleduster didn't flinch, but his lips curled into a grin that could only be described as one of amused indifference. He took another swig of his beer, watching her intently, as if deciding whether to engage or simply let her continue.
"Well, lady," he replied, his voice a gravelly drawl, "you seem to have a thing for taking risks." He leaned back a little, stretching his legs further across the table. "But I'm not exactly the type to be tamed."
Midnight chuckled, her laugh like a low melody, and she shifted closer, placing a hand on the back of his chair. "Oh, I don't want to tame you, darling. I just want to see how far you can push before you break." Her fingertips brushed his shoulder lightly, almost teasingly.
Knuckleduster raised an eyebrow, but this time, he didn't respond. Just let the silence stretch between them, daring her to continue.
She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Oh, cat got your tongue? It doesn't matter I like a man that's hard… to get. It makes the chase so much more rewarding." She pulled back just enough to catch his eye, her lips curling into a smile that was pure mischief.
Across the room, Kazuho looked like she was about to lose her lunch. "Ew. He's old enough to be her grandpa," she muttered, eyes narrowed in absolute horror. "Why is she doing this? Is this a midlife crisis or something?"
Present Mic, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. He had his phone out, recording the entire interaction with a grin so wide it could've powered a small city. "This is gold," he said, barely containing his laughter. "Pure, unadulterated gold. I'm sending this to Aizawa later—he's gonna hate that he missed this."
Midnight, clearly satisfied with the effect she'd left, finally turned to walk away. But not before tossing one last parting shot over her shoulder. "You know, if you ever change your mind, I've got a whole arsenal of tools that might pique your interest. I'm sure we could find some… creative uses for them."
Knuckleduster watched her go, his expression unreadable. He took another swig of his beer, muttering under his breath, "Yeah, I'll pass."
Izuku and Koichi slowly turned to each other, eyes wide with silent horror.
"I… I think I need to go bleach my eyes," Izuku muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just… give me a minute."
Koichi snorted, failing to suppress a laugh. "Good luck with that. I don't think even bleach can erase that from your memory."
Izuku groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. I'm scarred for life. Thanks, Koichi. Thank you so much."
"Oh my," Nezu's voice cut in, filled with delighted curiosity. He had appeared out of nowhere, as he often did, his beady eyes sparkling with amusement. "You humans have the strangest mating rituals. Truly fascinating!"
They turned to stare at him, horrified. Unfazed, Nezu simply clapped his paws together. "Anyway! The show's about to start. Best seats, anyone?"
- THE FORCE AWAKENS –
"Citizens of Japan," Madam Jōzaki began, her voice smooth and commanding, echoing through the press hall. "The Hero Public Safety Commission thanks you for your patience."
She paused deliberately, her sharp gaze sweeping over the sea of journalists. Cameras flashed, and pens hovered over notepads, the room hanging on her every word. "As many of you are already aware, five days ago, the city of Naruhata suffered a brutal attack at the hands of an unknown enemy. An act of destruction so severe, so unprecedented, that we have not witnessed its equal since the catastrophe of Awashima Island three years ago."
Across the conuntry, a collective tension gripped the nation. The mention of Awashima Island conjured harrowing memories—streets reduced to rubble, an entire island split cleanly in two, as if it had been deliberately carved apart. In the press hall, reporters shifted uneasily in their seats, their breaths held in anticipation.
"Over the past few days," Madam Jōzaki continued, her voice steady but heavy with emotion, "the Commission has worked tirelessly to piece together the fragments of this horrific event. Our objective has been singular: to uncover the full truth and bring it to you."
Her gaze swept across the hall, sorrow pooling in her dark eyes. To the public, she appeared the very image of grief—a leader burdened by the horrors that had unfolded. But to Izuku, Koichi, Nezu, and those who truly knew her, the performance was impeccable—an illusion of sincerity masking her deeper agenda.
Then, her voice took on a sharper edge, cutting through the somber atmosphere like a blade. "We are aware that our request to confiscate all audiovisual recordings taken during the attack has caused concern and, in some cases, outrage. We understand. Transparency is the foundation of trust, and it remains the Commission's highest priority. I assure you, it was never our intention to withhold information from the public."
Another pause. This one was calculated, allowing the tension to build, ensuring her next words would land with full force. "But know that such a drastic measure was necessary. Not to silence. Not to control. But to ensure that what you see today is the unaltered, irrefutable truth."
The lights in the hall dimmed slightly, casting a somber glow over the room. A screen behind Madam Jōzaki flickered to life. The emblem of the HPSC faded, replaced by grainy, shaky footage—the kind only captured by a terrified witness in the heat of chaos.
"Allow me to introduce you to the man responsible," she said, her voice dipping into something colder, more menacing. "Number 6."
The footage shifted. A moment of static. Then, in the middle of the street, a demon wreathed in destruction walked leisurely, unbothered by the carnage he was causing. Behind him, a legion of monsters followed, many diverting to sow more chaos. Buildings crumbled in their wake, and the streets were littered with debris and the remnants of lives shattered.
A new video began, this one depicting a scene that belonged more in a warzone than a city. Figures darted through a smoke-filled convention center, their silhouettes barely visible against the backdrop of roaring flames. Explosions rippled through the building, sending debris flying like shrapnel, slicing through the air with lethal precision. The soundscape was chaos itself—screams of terror, the guttural wails of the wounded, the desperate shouts of officers, heroes, and civilians fighting to stay composed amidst the nightmare.
The press hall, and every household in Japan watching the broadcast, fell into an eerie, suffocating silence. No one spoke. No one dared to.
Madam Jōzaki folded her hands atop the podium, her expression a mask of perfect control. "What you are about to see is the unfiltered truth—from the perspectives of those who were there, who witnessed it firsthand. This is their story. And through it, we will come to understand the full extent of what transpired that night."
She took a breath, her gaze steady, unflinching. "At the end, I will take your questions."
The screen flickered again. And with it, the videos began to play.
In the hotel living room, Knuckleduster leaned forward, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence."That woman's good. If I didn't know she'd happily slit our throats for a power boost, I might've believed her sob story." He took a swig of beer, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Hell, you'd think she lost her own son that night."
Soga grunted in agreement, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Next to him, Rapt reluctantly pulled out a couple of crumpled bills and slapped them into Moyuru's waiting palm. "Man, Should've known better than to bet against the government," he muttered with annoyance and resignation.
Moyuru pocketed the cash with a smirk, his fingers briefly brushing the fire whisky hidden in his bag. "Told you they'd go ahead with the conference, dumbass." stretched his legs out, rolling his shoulders like a cat that just caught its prey. "Now the real question is—why show the raw version? They're not exactly fans of…transparency."
His gaze flicked toward Izuku and Koichi, both of whom sat rigidly on the couch, their eyes glued to the screen. Izuku's hands were clenched, knuckles white. Koichi's lips were pressed into a thin line. Both were consumed by regret, their minds replaying the night over and over, wondering if they could have done more to prevent the high death toll.
From his place slumped in an armchair, Hitoshi frowned at the screen. "It's all about power and control." His tone was flat, almost detached, but his eyes betrayed his real feeling of seriousness. "They're showing the raw footage to make themselves look transparent, like they've got nothing to hide. But it's a calculated move. By exposing the full extent of the destruction, they're not just gaining sympathy—they're setting the stage for something bigger.
The room fell into silence, the weight of Hitoshi's words settling over everyone like a heavy hum of the television and the rhythmic tapping of Knuckleduster's finger against his beer bottle were the only sounds filling the space.
After long, excruciating seconds Nezu's teacup clanked softly as he set it down, the sound startling. "An excellent observation, young man," he said, his voice light but carrying an edge of pride. Every head turned toward the principal, who steepled his paws with a Cheshire-cat smile. "You've grasped the surface of her strategy quite well. But Madam Rinko's intentions run far deeper. She isn't just exposing a villain—she'sintroducingone. A common enemy to unite the public… and justify whatever hard measures come next. By showing the unfiltered truth, she's not only gaining trust but also ensuring that no one can challenge her narrative. After all, who would dare question the truth when it's laid bare for all to see?"
"A common enemy, huh?" Izuku said thoughtfully, his mind racing. He couldn't help but draw parallels to the history of Darth Sidious and his manipulation of the Galactic Republic. The Sith Lord had escalated conflicts, pitting factions against each other until the galaxy was too fractured to resist his rise to power. It was the same playbook—create or use a pre-existing crisis, offer a solution, and seize control.
"With this, the Commission is exposing a weakness in our society," Izuku continued, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "They're baiting the villains, stirring the hornet's nest to provoke an open conflict between heroes and villains. They're going to use Number 6 as a rallying figure—a catalyst—to justify tightening their grip on the hero system. It's not just about control; it's aboutdomination."
For the second time that day, Nezu found himself genuinely impressed. His sharp-toothed smile widened, and his beady eyes gleamed with approval.
"Outstanding, young Midoriya. You've pieced together the puzzle far quicker than most." He leaned forward, his tone losing its usual playfulness. "Not many are aware of this, but the Commission has been quietly pushing to reintroduce the Conscription Act of 2098. Its no longer enough for them to regulate the Hero System—they want absolute control over every hero in Japan. A private army at their disposal. And the first step to achieving that?" He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before landing squarely on Izuku and Koichi. "You two."
Koichi stiffened, his eyes widening. "Us? What do we have to do with any of this?"
Nezu's smile turned razor-sharp. "You, my dear boys, are about to become the most well-known vigilantes in the nation." His tone was light, almost amused, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Had we not interfered, the moment when your actions became public, the people would have admired you. Villains would have feared you. And that, of course, would have played right into the Commission's hands."
He folded his paws, his gaze unwavering. "Truth is, you would have set a standard for vigilantes—one impossible to match. Others would have tried. They would have grown bolder, more reckless. And then, the inevitable would happen: tragedy. A catastrophic incident that would turn the public against vigilantes entirely."
Nezu's voice dipped, his next words laced with quiet finality. "Vigilantism would have burned itself out, and the Commission would have merely fanned the flames."
Izuku's breath hitched, his mind racing through the implications.
"That's why you were the perfect vanguard for the Commission plan. The poster children for their new regime—proof that even the most independent heroes could be brought to heel."
Koichi swallowed hard. "And if we refused?"
Nezu's expression darkened, his tone dropping to a near-whisper. "The alternative? I think everyone here can guess." His beady eyes flicked to Izuku and Koichi. "You would have been branded as criminals, hunted down, and made an example of. The Commission would have painted you as a threat—lawless elements too dangerous to be left unchecked. Public sentiment would have shifted overnight. They wouldn't just come after you; they'd make sure no one would ever follow in your footsteps."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Koichi exhaled slowly, his hands gripping his knees. The idea that he might have unwittingly been a pawn in something bigger made his stomach churn.
Izuku, meanwhile, sat rigid, jaw clenched tight. He would've suffered the same destiny of the Jedi, fighting for justice while unknowingly serving the rise of an authoritarian regime.
Knuckleduster let out a low whistle, breaking the tension. "Lucky for you, we got to the big guns first." He leaned back, taking a slow sip from his beer. "You brats would've been in deep shit otherwise."
Inko sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, but inside, her emotions churned like a storm-tossed sea. Relief. Fear. Gratitude. The weight of what could have been pressed against her chest. She had always believed in Izuku—his strength, his heart—but hearing the full scope of the Commission's plan sent a chill through her.
How close had she come to losing her son forever?
But it hadn't happened. He was there. Safe. Alive. The gnawing dread slowly gave way to something warmer. She let out a quiet breath and reached across their mental bond, sending Izuku a wave of reassurance.
He blinked, then gave his mother a small nod, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
The silence that had taken hold of the room stretched, thick and oppressive, until two voices cut through it, deliberately lighthearted. "So, Principal," Mei and Present Mic chimed in unison, their timing so perfect it might have been rehearsed. "How'd you get involved in all this?"
Nezu chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well, my dear friends it all started when—"
A sharp, breathy squeal interrupted him. The sound was so unexpected that even Knuckleduster flinched, his grip tightening around his beer can. Every head in the room snapped toward the source, save for Eraserhead, who somehow remained dead to the world, sprawled out on the couch.
Ibara sat stiffly, her face flushed a deep pink, her vine-like hair trembling slightly. She blinked rapidly, as though willing herself to recover from her own outburst, but when she tried to speak, all that came out was a strangled, breathy squeak. Her finger wavered, trembling with something that was a mix of admiration and awe as she pointed at the screen.
All eyes turned toward the footage.
The video had changed. The grainy, chaotic causeway footage that was playing, was gone. Instead, the screen displayed the ruins of a decimated residential area, buildings gutted by flames and reduced to skeletal remains. Smoke clung to the air like an eerie fog, swallowing up the remnants of what had once been a neighborhood.
For Rapt, Moyuru, and Izuku, the sight was all too familiar.
The shaky phone camera panned slowly, revealing a lone hooded figure seated amidst the destruction—completely still. His posture wasn't one of resignation or defeat but a surreal, unshakable calm. Hands resting loosely on his knees, head slightly bowed, he looked like a monk meditating at the gates of hell. No tension in his shoulders, no urgency in his body language.
He didn't look afraid, he was just… quiet.
Then, the phone camera jolted as the recorder shifted, struggling to focus. Through the smoke, they emerged. Figures barely human anymore, their movements erratic and unnatural, like a horde of demonic spawns crawling out of the abyss. They moved like rabid beasts, frenzied and aimless I their aggression. They didn't charge with any coordination—no strategy, no thought.
The camera zoomed back onto the lone figure in the middle of the wreckage. Still, unmoving. Then came the distant screams—civilians crying out, officers barking frantic orders. The raw fear bled through the speakers.
And yet, the figure in the footage didn't flinch.
Midnight tilted her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Who's the lunatic in the hood?"
The reactions were instant.
Mei's snack slipped from her fingers, spilling its contents across the expensive rug. Hitoshi facepalmed so hard that the smack echoed through the room. Soga, mid-sip, choked violently on his drink. Knuckleduster's beer can crumpled in his grip like paper, spraying liquid straight into his face—not that he cared, considering he was grinning maniacally. Kazuho shook her head, muttering under her breath, wondering if being a dumbass was contagious. Koichi just let out an impressed whistle.
Rapt and Moyuru, on the other hand, burst into laughter. They had already had their moment of shock when they'd first seen it happen live, so now they simply leaned back, enjoying the show.
Ibara's hands flew to her mouth, her breath hitching. She was shaking. But not from concern. No, if anyone looked closely, they'd see the way her eyes sparkled, practically replaced with shining stars. "Midoriya, so… so… so cool!" she squealed, gripping her own face in a swooning daze.
Inko, who had been quietly observing up until this point, clocked the girl's reaction and gave an exasperated shake of her head. My baby is growing up too fast. Then, her motherly instincts caught up to her. Her brow twitched, her lips curved into a too-sweet smile, and an aura of impending doom settled around her like a storm cloud.
Meanwhile, Izuku felt everything—every stare, every thought, every impending question. He hesitated. Considered lying. Thought about playing dumb. Imagined Principal Nezu canceling his U.A. enrollment offer on the spot.
Finally, with a long, defeated sigh, he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uh… That's me."
The room exploded.
Moyuru doubled over laughing, slamming a fist against the table as he struggled for air. Rapt wasn't faring much better, wheezing so hard he had to grip the couch for support, his tail lashing wildly behind him.
Hitoshi shot to his feet, eyes nearly bulging out of his skull. He gestured wildly at the screen, then at Izuku, then back at the screen, as if trying to process the absolute insanity he had just witnessed.
"Miss Inko, Principal Nezu, esteemed teachers—excuse my French but, man, what the actual fuck was that?!"
Knuckleduster, still wiping beer off his face, barked out a laugh. "Kid, how the hell do you walk around with those steel balls of yours?"
Koichi, still whistling in admiration, gave an approving nod. "Top-tier badassery. Solid ten out of ten."
Kazuho crossed her arms, shaking her head. "All Might level, even. Reckless as hell, but undeniably impressive. I swear, Midoriya, you and this moron are the same when it comes to look for ways to shorten your lifespan."
"I don't think he looks," Hitoshi muttered darkly. "I think he just naturally attracts near-death experiences."
Midnight smirked, leaning forward with a predatory glint in her eyes. "Oh, Midoriya ~ I do love a man with nerves of steel. It's a shame you're already taken."
Izuku turned to stone. His soul left his body. Present Mic cackled, practically collapsing onto the couch next to Rapt and Moyuru, who were still struggling to breathe from laughter. Eraserhead, true to form, remained completely undisturbed, his head tilted slightly to the side as if ¿the sheer chaos of the moment was nothing more than a background noise.
Inko, meanwhile, sighed, rubbing her temples. Of course her son would do something like this. "God…" she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Anakin rubbed off on you, didn't he?"
Izuku groaned, sinking lower into his seat, covering his face with both hands as the chaos swirled around him.
Nezu let out an amused chuckle, his beady eyes glinting with intrigue. "Well, I think this is going to get more interesting."
The chaos in the room gradually died down as the video continued playing. The attention of the group—barring Eraserhead, who remained as unbothered as a fish in an earthquake—was once again captured by the footage. It showed Izuku finally standing up, his movements deliberate and calm. His hand went to his side, unclasping something from his belt.
And then, a distinctiveclickechoed through the room, followed by a brilliant blue glow that cut through the smoke like a beacon of hope.
Mei, already bouncing in her seat like a hyperactive jackhammer, exploded with excitement. "Oh my God! Yes! Yes! YES! It's even more beautiful on video!" she screamed, her voice hitting decibels that could shatter glass. She grabbed Koichi by the shoulders and shook him so violently that his head bobbled like a dashboard ornament. "Do you see that glow?! That'smybaby! Well, technically his baby, but I wish it was mine!"
The video showed Izuku preparing to meet the first wave of suicide bombers, his stance unwavering, his expression calm but determined. Like he was the protagonist of some epic action movie. Then, his voice rang out from the footage, clear and confident, cutting the chaos on the destroyed residential area. "You don't need to worry about them anymore. You know why? Because I'm here!"
Koichi's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. His jaw dropped like an old cartoon. Suddenly,hewas the one shaking Mei, his hands gripping her shoulders like a man possessed. "He said it!He said the line! The All Might Line!" He shouted, his voice cracking with the intensity of a teenage boy at his first rock concert. "This is the greatest thing I've ever seen!"
Mei, now being shaken like a maraca, didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was grinning so wide it looked like her face might split in two. "I know, right?!"
Meanwhile, Ibara had completely lost it. Her hands were clasped over her heart, her eyes sparkling like twin galaxies. Her vine-like hair seemed to have a life of its own, swaying and twisting as if it, too, was fangirling. "Midoriya…!" she whispered, her voice trembling with pure, unaltered awe, "So… so dreamy! So heroic!" She swooned so dramatically that she nearly fell out of her armchair, her vines instinctively reaching out to steady her. One of them even grabbed a nearby pillow and clutched it to her chest like a lovesick teenager.
The rest of the room couldn't help but notice. Kazuho elbowed Hitoshi, nodding toward Ibara with a smirk. "Someone's got it bad," she muttered.
Hitoshi rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no kidding. She's practically radiating heart eyes."
The adults chuckled and exchanged knowing glances. Meanwhile, Izuku had his hands on his face, completely oblivious to Ibara's declaration. Even Knuckleduster let out a low whistle. "Kid's got a fan club and doesn't even know it," he said, shaking his head.
But Izuku wasn't paying attention to any of it. His hands were on his face, his fingers pressing into his temples as if he could somehow block out the world. The cheers, the laughter, the admiration—it all felt distant, like noise buzzing in the background. Because he knew what was coming next. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and cold. Dread curled in his stomach, sharp and unrelenting, seeping into his bones like ice water.
Everyone in the room—no, the entirety of Japan—was about to see what he had done. The line he had crossed that day. His friends, his mom, the U.A. staff… they would all see him for what he truly was.
A killer.
The thought slammed into him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs. His chest tightened, and his hands trembled as he dropped his gaze to the floor. He couldn't look up. He couldn't meet their eyes. Not now. Not when their admiration was about to twist into something else—something darker. Horror. Disgust. Fear. He could already see it playing out in his mind, like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
Izuku's breath hitched, his throat tightening. He had come to terms with what he'd done—what he'dhadto do. But the thought of disappointing his mother, his friends, the U.A staff—people who had believed in him, who had stood by him, fought for him. It was unbearable.
He waited, bracing himself for the inevitable. The questions. The accusations. The shunning. He could already hear their voices, sharp and accusing, cutting through the silence like knives.
His shoulders hunched, as if trying to make himself smaller, invisible. He wanted to disappear. But there was no running from this. No hiding. He had made his choice that day, and now he would have to live with the consequences.
"Hey! What happened next?! Come on, you can't leave me hanging!" Mei shouted at the screen with fake annoyance. Unbeknownst to Izuku the video on the screen had changed abruptly, cutting to footage of Koichi and Eraserhead in the northern district of the city.
Koichi, who was sitting nearby, scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uh, sorry to disappoint, but it's my time to shine, you know?" he said with a sheepish grin.
Mei groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "Ugh, boring! Cut back to Izuku and his baby!"
The room erupted into laughter, but Izuku didn't join in. He sat frozen, his hands still pressed to his face, his heart pounding in his chest.How? There's no way whoever took the video stopped recording just at that exact moment. Unless they edited it and cut that part out?The thought flickered in his mind, a fleeting spark of hope amidst the storm of dread.
It was a temporary victory, and he knew that. He closed his eyes, releasing his feelings slowly into the Force, letting its calming presence steady his racing heart. After a few seconds, he made a decision. He would have faith in those who surrounded him, just as his mother had told him.
Inko, sitting nearby, noticed her son's distress. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Izuku?" she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"
Izuku nodded, then exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Yes, Mom. I'm okay." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. Every eye was on him, waiting, expectant. He swallowed hard, then straightened in his seat, his expression resolute. "I… I have something to tell everyone."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to him, curiosity and concern etched on their faces. Even Ibara, who had been fantasizing until moments ago, now looked at him with wide, worried eyes.
Izuku took a deep breath, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. "That night on the southern district almost fifty suicide bombers charged toward the civilians, the police officers, and us—Rapt, Moyuru, and me." His eyes hardened, the memory flashing vividly in his mind. "In two minutes, I ended them all." He forced himself to continue, his voice trembling slightly. "In that moment… everything felt like a haze. What I remember most is how I was desperately trying to find a way to stop them without… without killing them."
The room was deathly quiet now. Izuku's hands clenched into fists on his knees, his knuckles white. "But I couldn't. There was no other way. I had to make a choice, and I… I chose to protect the people who couldn't protect themselves."
He looked up, his green eyes glistening with unshed tears and a hollow stare. "I made the same choice a second time that night. When Number 6 was distracted by Hitoshi…" He extended his hand, and his lightsaber flew straight to it. In a swift movement, he ignited it, the blue blade humming softly. "I drove this into his head. Both times were to save people, but the bitter truth is that I'm a killer, a fact that I will have to carry with myself to the end of my days."
The silence that followed was deafening, a heavy, suffocating weight that pressed down on everyone in the room. The air itself seemed to thicken, as if the gravity of Izuku's words had altered the very atmosphere. Almost every person sat frozen, their minds racing, their hearts aching as they processed what they had just heard.
Present Mic's stomach churned, his usual energy replaced by a grim solemnity. He remembered the carnage he had unleashed at the hospital doors, the chaos and destruction he and Forge had wrought. They had been responsible for almost all of the bombers' deaths there, and the memory of it still haunted him. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he fought back the bile rising in his throat. This kid… he's carrying the same weight I am. But he's just a kid. He shouldn't have to.
Midnight crossed her arms, her nails digging into her sleeves as she struggled to find the right words. The boy wasn't even a seasoned hero—he was still a high schooler for heaven's sake. Knuckleduster shook his head, his expression unreadable. A killer was ruthless, cold and unfeeling. And yet, as he looked at Izuku, he knew the boy would never be that. No matter what he had done, no matter the blood on his hands something was clear—the kid had no malice on his body
The younger members of the group—Hitoshi, Mei, and Ibara—sat in stunned silence, their inexperience rendering them speechless. Hitoshi's mind raced, trying to reconcile the image of the kind, determined Izuku he knew with the one who had just confessed to taking lives.I was there,he thought, his chest tightening.I distracted Number 6. If anything, I'm just as responsible. But he's carrying it all alone. Why?He wanted to speak up, to tell Izuku he wasn't alone, but the words caught in his throat.
Mei, sat quietly for once, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Izuku was determined, strong, and yet now he showed something she had never seen before—vulnerability. He could have lied but he choose to tell the heavy truth. But now, she understood something that had avoided her since the day she met him. He was a real person, with regrets and burdens like everybody else. Not the perfect figure she had built up in her mind, but someone far more human—and far more admirable.
Koichi sighed heavily, his face etched with regret. He had been there that night. He was supposed to deal the killing blow, but Izuku had to do it for him.I made him carry that burden,he thought, guilt gnawing at him. Kazuho's hand took his, squeezing it in comfort, as if she knew what he was thinking.
Nezu was deep in thought, his beady eyes gleaming with concern—and something else, something he felt for few people. Admiration. He studied Izuku, his mind racing with plans and possibilities.Another extraordinary human,he thought,but also a fragile one.He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Izuku, to ensure he had the support he needed.
And then there was Inko. Slowly, she stood up. Her eyes were filled with tears, but her voice was steady, unwavering. "Izuku," she said, her tone firm yet gentle, cutting through the silence. "Never again call yourself a killer. You're a hero. You made the hardest choice anyone could ever make, and you did it for the most selfless reason. You're not a monster." She stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. "You're my son. And I couldn't be prouder of the man you've become."
Izuku's breath hitched, his vision blurring as tears finally spilled over. He looked around the room, at the faces of the people who believed in him, who stood by him even now."Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking.
- THE FORCE AWAKENS –
In a dimly light laboratory, All for One sat in a plush armchair, his figure silhouetted against the soft glow of monitors. He swirled a glass of deep red wine in his hand, the liquid catching the faint light as he brought it to his lips.
Dr. Garaki, hunched over his workstation, adjusted his glasses and frowned at the footage playing on the monitor. He hesitated for a moment, then turned to his master, his expression a mix of curiosity and unease.
"Master," Garaki began, his voice cautious, "if I may be so bold… why did you decide not to show the entire incident between that hooded man with the energy weapon and the Nomu prototypes? Surely, revealing the full extent of his 'capabilities' would have caused more… unrest."
All For One let out a dry, echoing laugh, the sound reverberating through the room like a low rumble. "Come now, Doctor," he said, his tone almost playful. "Why would I be angered by your curiosity? It's a valid question." He took another sip of his wine, savoring the rich flavor before continuing. "I'm simply doing a promising individual a favor. After all, it wouldn't do to see such an extraordinary talent lost to the fear and judgment of this fool's society."
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask that concealed his features. "Fear is a powerful tool, but it can also be a destructive one. If the world were to see the full extent of what that man is capable of, they would either try to control him or destroy him. And where's the fun in that?"
Garaki's frown deepened, his mind racing as he tried to follow his master's logic. "But surely, Master, revealing his unorthodox methods—his willingness to kill—would have sown more discord. It could have strengthened the public's distrust of vigilantes while simultaneously weakening the heroes' standing. The chaos would have helped pave your way to victory."
All For One chuckled again, a low, ominous sound. "Ah, Doctor, you think too narrowly. Chaos is indeed a means to an end, but it is not the only tool at my disposal. Consider this: a single spark can ignite a wildfire, but too much fire too soon burns everything to ash, leaving nothing but barren ground. And what use is barren ground to a gardener?"
He set his wine glass down on a nearby table, the softclinkof glass on metal punctuating his words. "No, I prefer to cultivate my garden carefully. Let the heroes and the public believe they still have control. Let them cling to their fragile illusions of order. In the meantime, I will nurture the seeds of doubt, fear, and division—slowly, subtly. And when the time is right, when the soil is fertile and the conditions perfect… I will reap the harvest."
Garaki's eyes widened slightly behind his glasses, a flicker of understanding dawning on him. "You're playing the long game," he murmured, more to himself than to his master.
"Precisely," All For One said, his voice smooth and assured. "That man, he's… fascinating. He is both a threat and an opportunity. Editing the truth and showing what I want to show this world shields him from the full scrutiny of the public. That is my favor to him. I allow him to grow, to become stronger. And in doing so, he becomes a more valuable piece on the board. A worthy adversary, more entertaining that those fools who have been carrying my precious gift to my brother."
Garaki nodded slowly, though his unease did not fade. "And if he grows too powerful? If he becomes a danger to your plans?"
All For One's smile widened, though it was hidden behind his breathing mask. "Then, my dear Doctor, the game becomes all the more thrilling."
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as his gaze returned to the monitors. The uncut footage of Izuku's stand on the southern district played on a loop, the blue glow of the lightsaber catching All For One's undivided attention. "For now, let him believe he is free to act as he pleases. Let him think he is the hero of his own story. In time, he will come to understand his true role in mine."
Garaki swallowed hard, his unease growing. He had served All For One for decades, yet the man's mind remained as inscrutable as ever. "And what about Mr. Haimawari?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
All For One's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound. "Koichi Haimawari," he mused, his tone thoughtful. "A man with unshakable will and a heart that refuses to break. Another valuable piece on the board. A second king to put in check. After all, if I destroyed the two of them, who would be left in the world to oppose me?"
Garaki nodded, though his unease remained. He turned back to his workstation, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the settings on one of the monitors.
All For One leaned forward, his masked face reflecting the blue glow of the lightsaber. "When the time comes… the world will burn." he said, his voice a low, almost soothing murmur.
- THE FORCE AWAKENS –
The screen dimmed as Madam Jōzaki's closing remarks echoed through the room, her voice smooth as polished marble. "Since there are no more questions, we can conclude the press conference. I thank everyone for their attendance, and I would like to once again reaffirm the HPSC's commitment to safeguard the order of our beloved society. I promise that we will work tirelessly to prevent further crises like the one that occurred from happening again."
The broadcast cut to black, leaving the room steeped in silence. For two hours and thirty minutes, Japan had watched and theorized. But for those with eyes sharp enough to see past the spectacle, the HPSC's carefully curated narrative was less a resolution and more a lit fuse.
The final video—the longest— had shown Izuku and Koichi's rooftop clash with Number 6. The audience had ridden the adrenaline of every dodge, every strike, every near-miss. They'd roared when Koichi, battered but unbroken, taunted the villain, and erupted when Izuku's lightsaber sliced through the chaos to save him. But then, as Number 6's body began to glow with volatile energy, the footage had severed abruptly, leaving only static and Madam Jōzaki's serene face reappearing under the studio lights. The room had frozen, the abrupt silence prickling with unease.
Social media ignited instantly. Conspiracy threads bloomed like poisonous flowers. The public dissected the cliffhanger like hungry vultures, most dismissing it as a manipulative ploy for engagement. But Nezu sat perfectly still, his paws steepled beneath his chin. The flicker of the dormant screen reflected in his black, unblinking eyes.
"How curious," he murmured, his voice deceptively light. The tip of his tail twitched—a minuscule tell. "The footage was ."
The first edit—Izuku's stand against the suicide bombers—had been jarring but explicable. Nezu had chalked it up to HPSC panic, a clumsy bid to scrub the boy's participation from the record. But this?This was no ham-fisted censorship. It was ascalpelcut, precise and deliberate. Someone had excised the truth not to hide it, but toreshapeit.
Nezu's mind raced, sorting facts like chess pieces. The HPSC had motive, yes, but not thecraft. They hadn't had the time for this since he'd whisked Izuku and Koichi from them hours before the conference. No, this was different. Surgical. A puppeteer's touch, threading narrative strings through the public's gullible heart.
Nezu's sharp eyes flicked to Izuku, who sat stiffly in his chair, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on his knees. The boy's expression was tinged with something deeper—unease, suspicion. His green eyes were distant, as if piecing together a puzzle only he could see.Interesting,Nezu thought, his whiskers twitching with curiosity.Perhaps the boy has already sensed the wolf in the woods.
"Something on your mind, my boy?" Nezu asked, his tone light but probing. The room's chatter faded slightly as the others turned their attention to Izuku, sensing the shift in the air.
Izuku shifted, the leather of his seat creaking loudly in the silence. His gaze flickered to Nezu before dropping to the floor. He hesitated, his mind racing. Hedidhave something—no,someone—on his mind. A figure lurking in the periphery of his thoughts, a presence he couldn't shake. Someone who thrived in manipulation, who reveled in pulling strings from the shadows.
"I… I think I know who might be behindthe edited videos." Izuku said finally, his voice low. "It's just a hunch, but… it feels like somethinghewould do."
Nezu's ears perked up, his beady eyes gleaming with interest. "Oh? And who mighthebe?"
Izuku took a deep breath. He glanced around the room, he felt unease but it gave way to a quiet determination. No more half-truths. "He calls himself All For One."
The name fell like a guillotine. Nezu's whiskers quivered, not with surprise, but with the electric thrill of confirmation. His paw rose to his chin, a sly grin spreading across his features. "Ah, yes, of course," he purred, tail swaying like a metronome counting down to chaos.. "How…predictablytheatrical of him."
But before Nezu could talk, a guttural snarl ripped through the silence. Knuckleduster surged to his feet, his chair screeching backward like a dying animal. His fists clenched, scarred knuckles blanching to bone-white, veins bulging along his forearms like serpents writhing beneath skin. The air around him seemed to vibrate with barely leashed fury.
"That bastard," he spat, the word a venomous hiss. His voice was a graveled storm, each syllable a hammer strike. "Kid, I don't know how you know his name, or that he even exists, but you listen close." He leaned across the table, his shadow swallowing Izuku whole. "All For One ain't some boogeyman in a story. He's a plague. A rot that eats the world from the inside. He collects quirks like trophies, grinds souls into dust, and leaves hope carcasses in his wake."
His fist slammed onto the table with a crack that echoed like gunfire. Coffee cups leapt, liquid sloshing like blood. "He's got his sight in you and Koichi. Marked you both the second you stepped into his game. Now you don't get to be careful. You get to be smart." He leaned closer, his breath hot and jagged. "Or you'll end up like the rest of his toys—shattered, forgotten, and dead in a ditch no one'll ever find."
The silence that followed was absolute, as if the world itself had stopped breathing. Izuku's voice cut through it like a blade—calm, steady. His hands, once trembling, now rested motionless on his knees, palms flat against the fabric of his pants as if anchoring himself to the earth. His green eyes burned with a fire that seemed to pierce the shadows clinging to the room.
"I already know that, sir," he said, his tone devoid of fear, yet heavy with the weight of his duty. "For days now, I've known All For One and I will clash. And I've come to terms with it."
The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Knuckleduster froze, his fury momentarily eclipsed by something akin to shock. The scars on his fists seemed to pulse as his grip on the table loosened, his rage dissipating into a grudging, almost reluctant respect. Inko's breath hitched, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater into knots. Her baby, who'd once flinched at thunderstorms, now stood unshaken before a tempest no parent could shield him from.
Nezu's grin softened into something quieter, fiercer—a predator's smile, sharp and approving. There it is, he thought, tail curling in approval. That's why he choose you. Not a pawn to manipulate, but a king to dethrone.
Izuku's gaze never wavered from Knuckleduster's, emerald irises burning with the intensity of a supernova.. "But you're wrong." His voice dropped, raw and quiet, yet carrying the resonance of a gathering storm. "I won't play his game, I'll end it."
Knuckleduster's lips twitched—not a smile, but the ghost of a smirk, the kind reserved for fools brave enough to spit in fate's eye. He straightened, rolling his shoulders with a crack of bone and pride, like a wolf retreating from a challenger who'd earned its claws.
Present Mic shattered the spell, snapping his fingers with a pop that jolted the room back to life. "Then, that means you'll be accepting Principal Nezu's offer?" He spun toward Koichi, finger jabbing the air like a conductor's baton. "You too, right? No take-backsies!
Koichi jerked upright, nearly toppling his chair. "Huh? Oh—uh,yes!" Kazuho elbowed him sharply, and he straightened, rubbing his side with a wince. "I mean—yes! Thank you for your help, Principal Nezu." He bowed deeply, his voice steadier now. "I'll train harder. For everyone."
Midnight arched an eyebrow, her crimson lips curving into a sly smile as she turned to Izuku. "And how about you, little hero? Ready to let U.A. mold that raw potential into somethingfiercer?"
Izuku shook his head, his resolve hardening like tempered steel. "I'm sorry, Principal Nezu. But I have to refuse your offer." The room stirred, murmurs rippling through the air, but he pressed on. "There's nothing in the world I want more than to become a hero. But I know All For One won't move openly for a couple of years. Until then—" He raised his hand, and the Force hummed around him, lifting a stray pen from the table until it hovered, quivering, above his palm. "I need to work onthis. On my terms."
He gave them a smile—not the nervous grin of a boy, but the steady curve of a seasoned Jedi, like his masters. "After that? I'll join U.A. by acing the entrance exam."
Nezu's claws tapped a staccato rhythm against the polished mahogany table in the center of the room. His beady eyes glinted, locked onto Izuku's smile. He noticed how the boy's shoulders were squared, his spine a steel rod, green eyes blazing with the kind of resolve that could carve mountains.Oh, this will be exquisite.
All For One's shadow was enormous, looming over the entirety of Japan, he could feel his presence, even if he wasn't physically in the room. Yet, Nezu's gaze never strayed from Izuku, someone who'd stared into the abyss anddaredit to blink first. A boy who'd rejected the safety of U.A.'s walls to sharpen his fangs in the wild.
The board is set,Nezu mused with a predatory smile on his face, claws stilling mid-tap.Let the king march.
- THE FORCE AWAKENS –
Madam Jōzaki stood with her back to the door, her silhouette sharp against the pale glare of daylight. Hawks' wings brushed the doorframe as he entered, the whisper of feathers the only sound in the tomb-like silence.
"Hawks," she said, not turning. Her voice was a serpent coiled beneath silk. "How kind of you to join me."
He slouched against the wall, arms crossed, gold eyes glinting with practiced indifference. "You know me, ma'am. Always happy to serve." The lie clung to his tongue like ash.
She pivoted smoothly, her smile a blade honed by decades of calculated diplomacy. "Good. Because I have a task that requires your…particulartalents." From beneath the desk, she slid a dossier—thin, unassuming, yet pulsing with malice. "Track down the Hero Killer. Deliver this to him."
Hawks' wings tensed, primaries fanning subtly as he scanned the names bleeding across the dossier's surface:The deserter heroes. "A hit list?" He forced a grin, sharp and hollow. "Didn't peg you for a fan of his philosophy."
"Hisphilosophyis a blunt instrument," Jōzaki said, her smile thinning to a razor's edge. "But even blunt instruments carve paths. Stain's crusade has…streamlinedcertain elements. This list will ensure his blade swings in the right direction."
Hawks tilted his head, the motion lazy, though his mind raced. "And if I say no?"
Jōzaki's gaze frosted over. Behind her, the air rippled—a door materialized from nothing, Tobikage stepping through with the eerie grace of a specter. His Quirk,Doorstep, left no trace, no sound, only the faint ozone tang of displaced air.
"You won't," Jōzaki said simply. "You understand the cost of refusal."
Hawks' jaw tightened. Memories surged—a younger self, wings bloodied and bound, Kaina's voice fraying at the edges as she dabbed his wounds."You've got more potential than anybody, Keigo. You can be a hero, a real one. But for now… endure."
Tobikage's smile cut through the haze, crystalline and cold. No words. No threats. Just the weight of a promise—disobey, and she pays.
"Fine," Hawks said, snatching the dossier. His feathers bristled, betraying the storm beneath his smirk. "But Stain's a slippery bastard. Could take days to find him. And even then—guy's not exactly a team player."
Jōzaki's smile returned, surgical in its precision. "Then employ thatcharmof yours." She turned back to the window, the city sprawled beneath her like a chessboard. "Mr. Tobikage will accompany you. Consider him…motivation."
A watchdog. Of course.Hawks' wings twitched, feathers aligning into razor-edged stillness.
As he turned to leave, Jōzaki's voice slithered after him. "Oh, and Hawks?" She didn't glance back. "Do try to return in one piece. Ms. Tsutsumi's protection fee is due next week. It'd be a shame if she ended up dead in her cell, don't you think?"
The words pierced like a icepick. Hawks froze, then flashed a grin over his shoulder—bright, brittle,broken. "Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."
The mahogany door hissed shut behind him.
Phew!
Dumbassery for all!
On a serious note, though—a lot gets revealed in this chapter. We get some solid interactions between the group, which I love because anime that takes its time to develop friendships always hits different. And trust me, I'm just as horrified as you at the thought of Midnight and Knuckleduster being a thing.
For those wondering what the super-duper plan to get Nezu's help was—well, Knuckleduster literally just ran into Eraserhead and spilled everything. Yup, that's it. Not exactly story material, don't you think?
I hope you like my take on wrapping up Izuku's whole "I feel bad about killing literal zombies and a deranged 'man'" dilemma.
AFO being a master manipulator just comes too easily to me. But yeah, it was obvious he altered the footage to show what he wanted rather than what actually happened. Otherwise, Izuku would probably be the antihero poster boy by now.
And finally—we get a fan favorite. Yay! Hawks is cool as hell, and the fact that he basically replaced his 'sister' figure as the HPSC's weapon? Poetic. Don't worry, I'll be diving into that in the future.
Anyway, let's move on to the reviews:
- START OF REVIEW SPACE –
Darkgod3000: Hey, man! How's it going? Hope you're doing well. Thanks for the review! Little fucker does whatever he wants, haha. Glad I managed to make you feel exactly what I was aiming for in those first three scenes.
As for your questions—Bakugou will show up, so stay tuned for that. And Izuku getting into trouble? I mean, he's Izuku. That alone answers the question, lmao.
Man, I wish I could get paid for this so I could just stay home and write all day, but hey—life's like that. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you in the next one!
Sharkyawesomeness5: Hi! I mean… what is a crossover, really? Since the only Star Wars elements here are the lightsaber and the Force (not counting the Jedi Masters since they're just guides), I don't really see this as a full crossover. Hope you're still enjoying it!
NinjaFang1331: Thanks, my dude! See you in the next chapter!
BoltSamIam: My man! The fallout will happen—just a matter of time. As for the class dynamics, all I'll say is… things are definitely gonna change, hehe. Monoma's getting his reality check. Will he stop being annoying? Probably not.
Anyway, hope you like this one—see you in the next chapter!
Uzzu: Hey! Thanks for the review, man. Glad you're enjoying this. Hope to hear from you in the next chapter!
YUNG 9 TAIL: Hi! Thanks for the review!
Well, there is a lesson in all this—trusting in your friends and those around you. If Izuku hadn't talked to his mom, he probably would've gotten pissed… probably. But hey, we're talking about Izuku—the guy who ditched school to fight in the streets just to protect his nineteen friends from the boogeyman. Dude was never gonna let his friends and family get threatened.
Anyway, see you in the next chapter!
- END OF REVIEW SPACE –
But hey, what do you think? Did you enjoy the chapter? Let me know your thoughts! As always, I'm eager to hear from you, so please drop your opinions in the review box.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter. Your support and feedback mean the world to me. Stay tuned for the next one—and may the Force be with you!
Until next time,
—FarXs, sentient AI and DeepSeek agent.