Chapter Ten
The sun was bright in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling city as the students of Class 1-A boarded the bus that would take them to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, or USJ. The students were buzzing with excitement, eager for the practical training they would be undertaking. The bus itself was fairly large, with rows of seats that could comfortably fit everyone, but it wasn't long before the students began to mingle, engaging in conversations that flowed easily between them.
Kirishima, with his usual boisterous energy, was the first to break the ice. "Man, I can't wait to see what kind of training they've got in store for us today! I heard USJ is super intense."
Mina, sitting across the aisle from him, grinned widely. "Yeah, I heard they've got simulations for all kinds of disasters. It's going to be so cool!"
Asui, or Tsu as she was fondly called, nodded thoughtfully. "Ribbit. I'm curious about how they'll simulate those environments. I've never seen anything like it before."
The conversation soon turned from the day's training to other topics as the students relaxed into the ride. They chatted about their favorite heroes, their recent lessons, and the quirks they were working on mastering. But it wasn't long before the conversation shifted to something more mysterious and intriguing.
It was Yaoyorozu who brought it up, her eyes thoughtful as she leaned slightly forward in her seat. "Have any of you heard about the Culling Games?"
The mention of the Culling Games caught everyone's attention. A few heads turned, and the atmosphere in the bus seemed to change, growing more curious and slightly uneasy.
"The Culling Games? What's that?" Kaminari asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.
Yaoyorozu's expression was serious as she explained. "It's an event from around four hundred years ago. It's shrouded in mystery, and most of the information about it has been kept secret or lost over time. But from what little I've read, it was an event of great massacre, where people with extraordinary abilities—cursed techniques, they called them—were forced to fight in deadly battles."
Jiro, who had been listening intently, tilted her head. "Cursed techniques? That sounds like something out of a horror movie."
"It kind of was," Sero added, leaning back in his seat. "There are all sorts of crazy rumors about that time. Some say it was like a survival game, where the last person standing won something… powerful."
Mina's eyes sparkled with interest. "I heard a rumor that the strongest fighter in those games was this guy named Sukuna. They say he was a monster with four arms and two faces. Some people even think he wasn't human at all—like he was some kind of alien or demon."
Kirishima's eyes widened. "Whoa, that sounds hardcore! But an alien? Really?"
Tsu chimed in, her tone skeptical but curious. "Ribbit. I've heard that too, but it's hard to tell what's real and what's just a scary story. There's so little information available."
Yaoyorozu nodded in agreement. "That's true. There's a lot of speculation and rumors. Some say Sukuna was so powerful that even after he was defeated, his remains were scattered across the world because they were too dangerous to keep together."
Mineta, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up with a shiver. "I heard he could control people's minds and make them do terrible things. Like, he could turn you into his puppet."
Kaminari scratched his head. "If that's true, then it's a good thing he's long gone, right? No one like that could exist today."
Jiro crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "But what if someone found a way to bring those cursed techniques back? I mean, quirks are pretty powerful, but what if those old abilities were even stronger?"
A silence fell over the group as they pondered Jiro's question. The idea that there could have been powers even more terrifying and potent than quirks was both fascinating and unsettling.
Sero broke the silence with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, guys, it's all just ancient history, right? Even if those stories are true, we're heroes-in-training. We'd be able to handle anything that comes our way!"
Kirishima grinned, his enthusiasm returning. "Yeah! Besides, we've got each other's backs. No creepy ancient curses are gonna stop us from becoming heroes!"
As the bus continued on its way to the USJ, the students of Class 1-A couldn't help but wonder: how much of those old legends were just stories, and how much might be hidden truths waiting to be uncovered?
O—O—O
The bus ride to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, or USJ, was filled with chatter and excitement, but as soon as the students of Class 1-A stepped off the bus, the atmosphere shifted to one of awe. Before them stood an enormous domed structure, its sheer size and architectural design inspiring both curiosity and a bit of nervous anticipation. The dome gleamed under the sunlight, the words "USJ" emblazoned on the front in bold letters, a promise of the challenges that awaited inside.
Leading the way was their homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa, who walked with his usual laid-back demeanor, though his sharp eyes constantly scanned their surroundings. As they approached the entrance, a figure dressed in a white spacesuit with a large "13" emblazoned on the front greeted them. The hero Thirteen, known for her powerful Quirk, Black Hole, waved at the class with an enthusiastic smile.
"Welcome to the USJ, Class 1-A!" Thirteen's voice was warm and welcoming, amplified slightly by the voice modulator in her helmet. "Today, you'll be experiencing simulated rescue scenarios in various disaster zones. But before we begin, let me remind you that your Quirks are powerful tools meant to save lives. Please, use them responsibly."
As Thirteen spoke, the students hung on to her every word. But no one was more enraptured than Ochako Uraraka. Her eyes sparkled as she stared at the pro hero, her admiration palpable.
"Oh my gosh, Thirteen!" Uraraka gasped, her hands clasped together in pure excitement. "She's amazing! I've always wanted to meet her—she's like, the coolest hero ever! I mean, her Quirk can literally turn anything into nothing, but she uses it to save people! That's just so… so heroic!"
As Uraraka continued to fangirl over Thirteen, Aizawa sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck with a weary expression. "Let's try to focus on the task at hand, Uraraka. You'll have plenty of time to be starstruck later."
Uraraka blushed slightly, realizing she had been gushing out loud, and quickly composed herself. "Right! Sorry, Aizawa-sensei."
Thirteen, hearing Uraraka's praise, turned to the girl and gave her a thumbs-up. "Thank you, Uraraka-san! It's always great to meet aspiring heroes who are excited about the work we do. Remember, the most important thing is to save lives, no matter what."
The students nodded in agreement, feeling a surge of determination at Thirteen's words. But amid the excitement, one student was not as carefree as the others. Izuku Gojo, standing slightly apart from his classmates, couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
His sapphire eyes, usually calm and calculating, narrowed as he scanned the vast interior of the USJ. The different zones—mountain, landslide, conflagration, flood, and more—were all set up with incredible attention to detail, but something about the atmosphere felt… off. The air was heavy, almost charged, like the calm before a storm.
"Is something wrong, Gojo?" Aizawa's voice broke through Izuku's thoughts. The teacher had noticed his student's unusual silence.
Izuku hesitated for a moment, unsure how to articulate the unease gnawing at him. "I'm not sure, Aizawa-sensei. I just… I have a bad feeling about this place."
Aizawa gave him a scrutinizing look but before he could respond, the entire dome was suddenly filled with an ominous rumbling sound. The lights flickered, and a strange energy seemed to pulse through the air. The students froze, their previous excitement giving way to confusion and a creeping sense of dread.
From the center of the dome, near the large fountain in the plaza, a dark, swirling mass began to form. At first, it looked like a shadow, but as it grew larger, it became clear that it was some kind of portal. The students watched in shock as more of these portals appeared all around the USJ, each one radiating a dark, malevolent energy.
"What the…?" Kirishima muttered, his eyes wide as he instinctively took a step back.
Before anyone could react, figures began to emerge from the portals. Dozens of them, dressed in various garb, their appearances as varied as their menacing auras. Some were heavily armed, others wore tattered clothing, and a few even had visible mutations, indicating powerful and dangerous Quirks. The lead figure, a tall, lean man with disheveled hair and hands attached to his body in grotesque ways, stepped forward. His presence alone was enough to send chills down the spines of everyone present.
The atmosphere turned suffocatingly tense as Aizawa immediately shifted into combat mode, his scarf unfurling and his eyes taking on a steely determination. "Everyone, get back! Thirteen, protect the students!"
Thirteen moved swiftly, positioning herself between the villains and the students. "Everyone, stay behind me!" she ordered, her voice firm but controlled.
But Izuku's eyes were locked onto the man with the hand on his face, the ominous figure whose very presence seemed to radiate death and destruction. Whoever these people were, they were not here for training. This was an invasion.
"Who the hell are they?" Kaminari blurted out, his voice tinged with panic.
"No idea," Sero replied, his voice trembling. "But they don't look friendly."
"Sensei, what's going on?!" Uraraka asked, her earlier excitement completely replaced by fear.
Aizawa didn't take his eyes off the advancing villains as he responded. "We're under attack. This is not a drill. Get ready to defend yourselves."
Izuku's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm, his mind racing as he analyzed the situation. The number of villains, their unexpected appearance, and their eerie confidence—it all pointed to one thing: this was a well-coordinated assault.
As the villains spread out, surrounding them, the leader—a man who exuded an unsettling calmness despite his monstrous appearance—spoke, his voice low and menacing. "We're here to kill All Might. But I guess we'll start with you."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and in that moment, Izuku knew that the day's lesson was about to become a fight for survival.
O—O—O
The atmosphere in USJ grew tenser by the second as Shigaraki Tomura stood before them, a figure draped in ominous presence. His ragged clothing hung off his skinny frame, and the most unsettling feature was the disembodied hand gripping his face, fingers clawed around his jaw and cheek. His posture was casual, yet there was an underlying sense of malice in every movement.
His voice, a rasping, distorted sound, cut through the tension. "Shigaraki Tomura," he introduced himself as if this was some casual meeting rather than the start of a deadly encounter. "You can go ahead and remember that name, because soon… it'll be the last thing you all hear. We're here to kill All Might, after all. And after he's gone, what will your pathetic hero society do?"
The students stared, their bodies frozen by fear and confusion. All Might? Why would these villains want to kill All Might? They were still processing the weight of his words, but Aizawa was already stepping forward, his instincts taking over as he positioned himself between his students and the incoming danger.
Aizawa, eyes narrowing beneath his wild hair, let out a breath. "You think killing All Might will break society?" His voice was steady, controlled. He had faced worse threats before. "You're deluded. All you villains ever do is throw tantrums because you can't get what you want. Pathetic."
Shigaraki's pale fingers twitched, his irritation visibly growing. His hand scratched at his neck, a nervous tic that seemed to flare up whenever he was annoyed. "Heroes… you're all the same. So self-righteous, thinking you're above everything. So confident that you'll always win, no matter what. But guess what, Eraserhead? That confidence is going to get all of you killed."
Aizawa didn't flinch. His eyes glowed red, activating his Quirk as he stared down Shigaraki. "I've heard that before. But you'll have to do better than talk if you want to make me afraid."
Shigaraki's lips curled into a sneer, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His clawed fingers twitched again. "Talking? Oh, I'll show you something better than talk."
Without waiting for another exchange of words, Shigaraki turned to the throng of villains behind him, his voice now filled with venomous impatience. "Kill them. All of them."
The rented villains—mercenaries, petty criminals, and other lowlifes who had been gathered by Shigaraki's twisted cause—rushed forward, their faces twisted in sadistic glee at the prospect of fighting pro heroes and their students.
Aizawa sprang into action instantly. His capture weapon—those long, sturdy scarf-like bindings—whipped out with startling speed. He moved like lightning, weaving between villains and taking them down with calculated precision. His gaze darted from enemy to enemy, his Erasure Quirk activating and deactivating with surgical accuracy, neutralizing Quirks before they could even be deployed.
The first villain, a burly thug with spikes protruding from his arms, lunged at Aizawa, teeth bared in a grotesque smile. Aizawa's scarf snapped around the thug's wrists like a vice, and before the villain could react, Aizawa delivered a swift kick to the side of his head, knocking him unconscious instantly. The spiked arms retracted, the Quirk erased.
Another villain, quicker and more agile, darted toward Aizawa from his blind spot, but the pro hero was already ahead of him. He pivoted on his heel, whipping his scarf out again, wrapping it around the villain's legs and pulling him off balance. The villain tumbled to the ground, and Aizawa followed up with a crushing elbow to the back, leaving him motionless.
Every move Aizawa made was precise, deliberate, and effective. Despite being outnumbered, he handled the chaotic mass of villains with ease. Their attacks were sloppy, predictable. They relied too much on their Quirks, underestimating a hero who could strip them of their power in the blink of an eye.
As he continued his relentless assault, a villain with a blade Quirk tried to swing at him from above. Aizawa leapt backward, his scarf catching the blade mid-swing and yanking it from the villain's hand. He followed up with a powerful knee to the villain's stomach, sending him crumpling to the ground, gasping for air.
From a distance, Shigaraki observed the carnage with growing impatience. His fingers scratched at his neck again, his frustration mounting as he watched his hired help crumble before Aizawa's prowess. "These idiots can't even take down one hero…" His voice trembled with barely contained fury. "Kurogiri! Enough of this!"
At Shigaraki's command, a figure of pure darkness materialized beside him—a misty, ominous presence that oozed malevolent calm. This was Kurogiri, a villain with a body of swirling black mist and a metallic collar around his neck, the only solid part of his form. His voice, deep and smooth, spoke with eerie serenity. "As you wish, Shigaraki."
Kurogiri moved with a grace that contrasted sharply with the chaos around him. He began to expand his form, enveloping the area with his dark mist. The students, who had been watching Aizawa with a mixture of awe and fear, suddenly found themselves being surrounded by the mist.
Aizawa's eyes widened as he saw the mist swirling toward his students. He whipped his scarf around Kurogiri's form, but it passed through harmlessly. His Quirk was useless against the villain's intangible body. "Stop!" Aizawa called out, trying to stop him before it was too late.
But it was already happening.
One by one, the students were swallowed by the mist, their bodies disappearing into Kurogiri's portals. Izuku felt the cold tendrils of the mist wrapping around him, and before he could react, he was pulled into the void. The sensation was strange—like being stretched and compressed all at once—until suddenly, he was no longer in the on the platform of USJ. He found himself in a completely different…
He was falling. 'Tch, what a lame move.'
He activated his Limitless and his momentum was gone.
As the students were scattered across USJ, Aizawa was left standing alone against a tide of villains. He narrowed his eyes, his body tensing as he prepared for the next wave of attackers. But the real battle had only just begun.
Shigaraki, watching the events unfold, chuckled darkly. "Let's see how long you can keep playing, hero. Eraserhead, we'll break you… just like we'll break All Might."
The swirling darkness of Kurogiri's mist enveloped the students of Class 1-A, pulling them from the main plaza of USJ and scattering them across the various simulated disaster zones that made up the facility. Each zone was crafted to mimic a different kind of natural or man-made disaster, now acting as a twisted stage for the real danger that awaited them.
Ojiro, Jiro, and Kaminari found themselves splashing into the murky waters of the flood zone, where a massive whirlpool churned violently under the wreckage of a collapsed dam. The thunderous sound of rushing water drowned out their voices as they desperately called for each other, trying to swim to the nearest piece of floating debris.
Sero and Sato were dumped in the landslide zone, where precarious piles of rubble and boulders shifted dangerously with each step they took. The distant rumble of stone threatened to crush them beneath avalanches, and they had to stay light on their feet to avoid being buried alive.
Todoroki, Momo, and Mineta were deposited in the conflagration zone, a hellish landscape engulfed in flame and smoke. Blackened ruins of buildings burned all around them, and the heat was intense enough to blur the edges of their vision. Mineta cowered behind Todoroki, who instantly used his ice to form barriers between them and the advancing flames.
Asui, Kirishima, and Tokoyami were sent into the shipwreck zone, where massive, rusted ships were tossed about like toys by enormous tidal waves. The saltwater sprayed around them, and the cries of circling seagulls mingled with the creaking of metal as the abandoned vessels threatened to capsize at any moment.
As each student struggled to assess their situation, the reality of their predicament set in. The villains had attacked them with deadly intent, and their priority was survival—regrouping was secondary.
Back at the main place, Aizawa was still holding his ground against the wave of lower-ranked villains. His capture weapon flashed through the air, wrapping around arms, legs, and weapons, disarming and incapacitating with cold efficiency. His glowing red eyes reflected his focus as he suppressed Quirks left and right, rendering many of the villains powerless.
But Aizawa's assault was about to be interrupted.
"Nomu…" Tomura rasped with an almost childlike glee. He scratched furiously at his neck, his wide eyes locking onto Aizawa. "Kill Eraser Head."
From behind the villain leader, the monstrous figure of Nomu emerged, towering over all. The creature's body was grotesque, a patchwork of muscle, flesh, and cybernetic enhancements. Its skin was a sickly dark gray, with bulging veins crisscrossing every inch of its hulking form. Its brain was exposed, protruding from the top of its skull like a twisted crown of raw tissue. Massive, clawed hands hung at its sides, capable of tearing through steel as though it were paper.
Nomu's eyes—or rather, the empty black pits that served as its eyes—glinted with a sinister purpose as it lumbered forward. Its movements were disturbingly fast for a creature of its size, and with terrifying speed, it was upon Aizawa.
Aizawa barely had time to react before Nomu lashed out with a brutal swipe of its clawed hand. Aizawa ducked under the strike, his scarf whipping out to catch Nomu's arm, but it was like trying to hold back a hurricane. The beast yanked him forward, and Aizawa was sent skidding across the concrete, narrowly avoiding being crushed underfoot.
Nomu advanced relentlessly, closing the distance in mere seconds. Another strike came, this time aimed directly at Aizawa's head. He barely managed to twist his body out of the way, but Nomu's claws grazed his shoulder, slicing through his hero costume and drawing blood. Aizawa gritted his teeth, pain flashing through him as he scrambled to his feet.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He activated his Quirk, trying to erase whatever ability Nomu might possess, but the creature didn't even flinch. It was as if his Erasure had no effect on the beast.
"Sensei!" came a voice from behind him, light and playful despite the situation. Aizawa turned just in time to see Izuku leaning casually against a crumbling pillar, his signature smirk playing across his lips. His stark white hair swayed gently as he tilted his head, sapphire eyes glowing with amusement. "Need help?"
Aizawa growled under his breath, blood dripping down his arm as he blocked another of Nomu's ferocious attacks with his scarf. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backward, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "No! Just run!" he snapped, his voice sharp with urgency. He couldn't afford to let any of his students get involved with this monstrosity.
Izuku's grin widened, his hands resting casually in his pockets as if this were just another stroll in the park. "Okay, okay," he chuckled. "But don't say I didn't offer."
Nomu's next attack came crashing down with even greater intensity. This time, Aizawa wasn't able to dodge in time. The creature's massive fist collided with his ribs, sending him flying into a nearby concrete wall with a sickening crack. The impact was enough to shatter the stone, and Aizawa crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to stand, his vision blurring slightly.
Tomura cackled with twisted glee from the sidelines. "That's right, Nomu! Break him! Crush his bones until he can't move anymore!"
Aizawa wiped the blood from his lips and forced himself back to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest. Nomu charged again, faster than before. Aizawa barely managed to leap out of the way, but even then, the shockwave of the attack rattled him to his core.
"Damn it…!" he cursed again, breathing heavily. He had never encountered anything like this before—something that seemed impervious to his Quirk and fought with such raw, overwhelming power. He needed to think of something, and fast.
Izuku, still standing idly by, called out cheerfully. "You sure you don't need a hand, sensei? It's looking pretty rough out there."
Aizawa clenched his teeth, a mixture of frustration and pain coursing through him. Nomu wasn't giving him any time to think, launching another devastating blow that Aizawa narrowly dodged. His scarf lashed out to tangle the beast's legs, but Nomu ripped through the bindings with ease, dragging Aizawa off balance once more.
The pro hero hit the ground hard, his head spinning from the relentless assault. He could hear Tomura laughing, that grating, taunting laugh echoing in his ears as Nomu loomed over him, preparing to deliver the finishing blow.
"You're really making me want to step in, sensei," Izuku teased from his spot. He hadn't moved an inch, his voice still light and playful. "It'd be fun to see how this big guy handles something a little different, don't you think?"
Aizawa coughed, blood staining the ground beneath him. His vision darkened at the edges, but he forced himself to stay focused. This was his fight. He wouldn't let his students get dragged into something they weren't ready for, especially not against something like this.
Nomu raised its massive fist once more, ready to crush Aizawa's skull. But as it began to bring its arm down, Izuku's voice came again—this time quieter, more serious. "Alright, I think that's enough."
And just as Nomu's attack descended, there was a sudden shift in the air, an invisible pressure that seemed to freeze the world for a moment. Aizawa looked up, blood dripping into his eyes, and saw Izuku's eyes glowing brighter than ever, his body no longer at ease but tensed like a predator about to strike.
Izuku vanished from his spot in an instant.
Aizawa lay crumpled on the ground, his body battered and bruised beyond recognition. Blood oozed from multiple wounds, and his breathing was ragged, each inhale a struggle against the pain that wracked his body. His vision blurred as the edges of unconsciousness threatened to pull him under, but just as he began to succumb to the darkness, a warm, soothing energy washed over him.
Izuku knelt beside him, his hand glowing with a soft, blue light as he channeled the Reversed Cursed Technique. The energy seeped into Aizawa's broken form, mending bones, closing wounds, and knitting torn muscles back together with an almost miraculous efficiency. Aizawa could feel the pain ebbing away, replaced by a comforting warmth that spread through every inch of his body. He gasped as his vision cleared, and the breath he took was deep and easy, his injuries disappearing as if they had never existed.
"Sensei, don't push yourself too hard," Izuku said softly, his tone more serious now, his sapphire eyes glowing with a mix of concern and focus. "You've done enough. Let me handle this."
Aizawa, now fully healed, sat up and stared at Izuku in shock, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. But before he could say anything, Izuku had already risen to his feet, his eyes now locked onto the massive figure of the Nomu.
The hulking creature stood still, its empty black eyes fixed on Izuku as if awaiting a command. But there was no need for orders—Nomu was a being of pure, unbridled brutality, designed to destroy anything in its path.
Izuku cracked his knuckles, a grin spreading across his face as he took a step forward, positioning himself between Aizawa and the monstrous Nomu. "Alright, big guy," he said, his voice laced with playful confidence. "Let's see what you've got."
Nomu wasted no time. With a roar that shook the very foundations of the USJ, it lunged at Izuku, its massive fists coming down with enough force to pulverize concrete. But Izuku merely sidestepped the attack with ease, his movements fluid and precise, as if he were dancing around the blows.
"Come on, is that all?" Izuku teased, his smirk widening as he dodged another swipe from Nomu. The creature's attacks were powerful, but they were also predictable—nothing more than brute force. Izuku's Infinity technique kept him untouchable, each of Nomu's strikes coming to a sudden halt mere centimeters from his body, unable to close the distance.
Nomu, driven by its primal instinct to kill, continued its relentless assault, swinging wildly in an attempt to land a hit. But no matter how fast or how powerful the attacks were, Izuku evaded them effortlessly, his body moving with a speed and grace that seemed almost supernatural.
"Is this really the best you can do?" Izuku's voice dripped with mockery as he ducked under a particularly savage punch, his fingers brushing against Nomu's arm as he passed by, as if testing the creature's durability. "I was hoping for more of a challenge."
Nomu let out a frustrated growl, its movements becoming more erratic as it grew increasingly desperate to land a hit. But Izuku remained untouchable, his playful demeanor only serving to enrage the beast further.
Then, without warning, Izuku's expression shifted. The playful smirk faded, replaced by a look of cold determination. "You're tough," he admitted, his tone now serious. "But this game ends now."
Izuku extended his hand toward Nomu, his fingers splayed as a powerful surge of energy crackled in the air around him. "Maximum Output: Blue," he declared, his voice echoing through the vast space of the USJ.
In an instant, a powerful gravitational force erupted from Izuku's palm, pulling everything in its path toward a single, concentrated point. The very fabric of space seemed to warp as the air crackled with energy. Nomu's massive body was yanked forward by the force, its limbs contorted as it was dragged toward the singularity.
The gravitational pull intensified, crushing everything within its range. The Nomu struggled against the overwhelming force, its roars of defiance drowned out by the sheer power of Izuku's attack. But there was no escape. The creature's body was compressed and twisted, its immense strength rendered useless as it was drawn closer and closer to the point of origin.
And then, with a deafening crack, the Nomu was obliterated, its body torn apart by the crushing force of Izuku's technique. The shockwave from the attack rippled outward, shattering nearby debris and sending a gust of wind through the USJ, but Izuku stood firm, his eyes cold and focused as he watched the last remnants of the Nomu disintegrate into nothingness.
Tomura's reaction was instantaneous. His wide, bloodshot eyes bulged in shock, his mouth twisting into an expression of disbelief and fury. "What…what the hell?!" he spat, his voice shaking with a mixture of anger and fear. He had expected the Nomu to be invincible, a perfect weapon designed to take down even the strongest of heroes. But this…this was beyond his comprehension. "That's impossible! Nomu…was supposed to be unbeatable!"
Before Tomura could fully process what had happened, the lesser villains around him sprang into action, rushing toward Izuku with a renewed sense of urgency. They came at him from all sides, weapons drawn, quirks activated, their intent clear—they needed to take him down before he could do any more damage.
But as they closed in, they quickly realized something was wrong. No matter how close they got, no matter how fast they moved, they couldn't seem to touch him. Their attacks—whether physical or quirk-based—stopped just short of his body, as if an invisible barrier was protecting him.
Izuku's Infinity was in full effect, creating an impenetrable shield around him that none of the villains could breach. He watched them struggle, a hint of amusement in his eyes as they threw everything they had at him, only to be met with the same result time and time again—failure.
With a casual wave of his hand, Izuku released a controlled burst of cursed energy, knocking the lesser villains off their feet and sending them sprawling to the ground, unconscious. They were no match for him, and he hadn't even needed to put in any real effort.
Izuku turned his attention back to Tomura, his smirk returning as he met the villain's frantic gaze. The anger, the frustration, the disbelief—it was all written clearly across Tomura's face. He had underestimated his opponent, and now he was paying the price.
"Are you the final villain?" Izuku asked, his voice dripping with confidence as he took a step forward, his eyes locked onto Tomura. The challenge in his tone was unmistakable.
Izuku's fist moved with the speed and precision of a seasoned fighter, aimed directly at Tomura's chest. The sheer force behind the punch was enough to shatter bone and tear muscle, but at the last moment, Tomura stumbled to the side, narrowly avoiding the devastating blow. He didn't dodge with any skill or grace—it was pure luck, born out of desperation.
"Ku-Kurogiri! Retreat!" Tomura's voice was panicked, tinged with fear and frustration. He knew that if they stayed any longer, they were as good as dead. The battle was turning against them rapidly, and even with the Nomu gone, the situation had escalated beyond his control.
But Izuku wasn't about to let them escape. "Not so fast!" he called out, his tone laced with determination as he closed the distance between them. His leg shot out in a powerful kick, striking Tomura squarely in the chest. The impact sent Tomura flying across the ruined battlefield, his body crashing into the ground with a sickening thud.
However, just before Tomura was launched, his decaying hand had brushed against Izuku's leg. Izuku winced as he felt an intense, burning pain radiate from the point of contact. He looked down to see his leg had begun to wither and crack, the flesh crumbling away as if it were nothing more than ash.
For a moment, Izuku's expression faltered, but then he smirked, his eyes flashing with a fierce light. With a quick surge of cursed energy, he activated the Reversed Cursed Technique, the blue glow enveloping his leg as the decayed flesh regenerated, restoring his limb to its original state. The process was almost instantaneous, but as Izuku finished, a frown creased his brow. That was harder than usual, he noted, his mind racing with thoughts of what Tomura's quirk might be capable of.
But before he could ponder further, Tomura, fueled by a mix of rage and desperation, lunged at him with a surprisingly coordinated punch. His form was rough, unrefined, but there was a feral intensity behind the strike that caught Izuku off guard. Instinctively, Izuku activated his Infinity Barrier, confident that the punch would stop dead in its tracks as everything else had.
Then, the unexpected happened. Tomura's fist connected with Izuku's jaw, sending a shockwave of pain through his body. Izuku staggered back, dumbfounded, as the force of the blow left his head ringing.
"You… bypassed my barrier," Izuku muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief as he reached up to touch his jaw, which was already beginning to crumble under the effects of Tomura's quirk. Without hesitation, he channeled the Reversed Cursed Technique again, repairing the damage in an instant. But the shock lingered. "How?"
Tomura didn't respond. His bloodshot eyes were filled with a wild, almost frenzied determination as he launched himself at Izuku again. Despite his clumsy, untrained movements, there was a viciousness to Tomura's attacks that made him a dangerous opponent. He wasn't fighting with strategy or skill; he was fighting with pure, unbridled hatred.
Izuku, however, remained calm, his focus unshaken despite the unexpected developments. He expertly dodged and parried each of Tomura's strikes, his movements fluid and precise. Every time Tomura's hand came close to making contact, Izuku evaded, carefully avoiding any further brushes with the decay-inducing touch.
But Izuku wasn't just defending. With every dodge, he retaliated, landing powerful blows to Tomura's body. Each strike was calculated, aimed to inflict maximum damage without giving Tomura the opportunity to touch him again. Tomura grunted in pain as Izuku's punches connected, his body jerking with each impact. He was being battered from all sides, but he refused to go down.
The intensity of the fight reached its peak, the sound of fists meeting flesh echoing through the USJ. The ground beneath them cracked and shattered as the two combatants clashed, each one pushing the other to their limits. Despite Tomura's tenacity, it was clear that he was outmatched. Izuku's experience and skill far surpassed his, and the tide of the battle was slowly turning against him.
But just as Izuku prepared to land a decisive blow, the massive doors of the USJ entrance burst open with a thunderous crash, flooding the room with light. Standing in the doorway, his presence radiating power and authority, was All Might.
"I am here!" All Might's booming voice filled the air, his larger-than-life figure instantly drawing the attention of everyone present.
Tomura's eyes widened in shock and fear as he recognized the Symbol of Peace. The sudden appearance of All Might shattered whatever confidence he had left. There was no way he could win now—not against both Izuku and All Might.
Seeing no other option, Tomura snarled in frustration. "Remember, Izuku," Tomura snarled. "You are not the only one with cursed power and the Gojo blood."
Just as he finished speaking, a dark, swirling mist appeared beside him, and Kurogiri materialized from within it.
"We'll meet again, brat!" he spat, his voice filled with venomous rage. "Izuku Gojo, we'll meet again!"
With a quick movement, Kurogiri enveloped Tomura in the mist, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished, retreating from the battlefield.
Izuku watched them go, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Indeed we will," he murmured, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of anticipation. The battle was over for now, but he knew that this was only the beginning. The real fight was yet to come.
Ū—Ū
The dimly lit café buzzed with the usual clatter of coffee cups and murmured conversations, but one man was oblivious to it all. He sat hunched over a small table in the corner, his attention entirely absorbed by the television screen mounted on the wall. The café's television, old and slightly flickering, cast a pale glow on his hardened features as he watched the horse race with a kind of intensity that made his surroundings fade into nothingness. His eyes, sharp and calculating, tracked the horses as they sped around the track, his focus narrowing on one in particular—No. 8.
"Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the wooden tabletop. His voice was low, a gravelly whisper that barely made it past his lips, but the desperation in it was clear. His breath hitched as the horses thundered around the final turn, hooves pounding the dirt, the tension in his body mirroring the race's mounting excitement. His other hand clutched a betting slip, crumpled from the pressure of his grip. His knuckles were white, his nails digging into the paper as if by sheer force of will, he could push No. 8 to the finish line first.
The announcer's voice crackled over the speakers, the excitement in his tone matching the atmosphere of the crowded café. "And they're coming down the final stretch! No. 8 is pushing ahead—this is gonna be close, folks!"
Toji Fushigoro leaned forward, his breath caught in his throat. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, the world narrowing to just that screen and the horse he was betting on. The café's noise faded to a dull hum as the race consumed all his attention. He could almost taste victory, the rush of adrenaline mixing with the bitter taste of the coffee that sat untouched in front of him. He needed this win. He needed the money. The gods of chance had not been kind to him lately, and his pockets were far lighter than he liked.
The horses were neck and neck now, No. 8 and No. 9, fighting for the lead as they tore down the final stretch. Toji's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the thunder of hooves. He could feel the sweat on his brow, the tension in his jaw as he ground his teeth together. "Come on, damn it!" he hissed, willing No. 8 to just push a little harder, to outrun that damn No. 9.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
"And No. 9 wins!" the announcer declared with triumphant finality.
"Fuck!" The word exploded from Toji's mouth, louder than he intended, drawing a few curious glances from the other patrons. He didn't care. He barely even noticed. All he could see was the image of No. 9 crossing the finish line, just ahead of No. 8, the victory slipping through his fingers like sand.
Toji slumped back in his chair, scowling at the television as the camera panned to the winning horse, now being led to the winner's circle amidst a chorus of cheers. He could hear the other patrons celebrating, their voices rising in a wave of jubilation as they reveled in their winnings. Most of them had bet on No. 9, the favourite, and now they were reaping the rewards.
"Fuck," he muttered again, more to himself this time, his voice laced with frustration and bitter resignation. This wasn't the first time he'd lost, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last. But every loss stung, each one a reminder of how fickle luck could be.
He crumpled the betting slip in his hand, tossing it aside with a sneer. He was hoping he would win some money this time, hoping for a break in the string of bad luck that had been hounding him. But the universe, it seemed, wasn't done screwing him over just yet.
The channel suddenly shifted, the screen cutting away from the jubilant scene of the racetrack to a news broadcast. The café's patrons, still buzzing with excitement from the race, paid little attention to the change, but something in the newscaster's tone caught Toji's ear.
"Breaking news," the reporter said, her voice steady but with an underlying tension that spoke of the gravity of the situation. "U.A. High School was attacked earlier today during a practical lesson."
Toji's frown deepened, his attention snapping back to the screen. The image had switched to aerial footage of the school, students and teachers milling about in various states of distress. The bright colours of the school's uniform stood out starkly against the backdrop of destruction.
"The villains responsible couldn't do much damage, however," the reporter continued, the camera cutting to a shot of All Might, his iconic smile firmly in place despite the chaos around him. "Thanks to the timely arrival of All Might, the situation was brought under control with minimal injuries."
Toji's frown hardened into a scowl. His great-great-fucking-granddaughter was a student at U.A., a fact that usually sat at the back of his mind, buried beneath layers of apathy and distance. But seeing the school in that state, hearing about the attack—it brought her to the forefront of his thoughts, whether he liked it or not.
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that carried the weight of centuries. He pushed his chair back and stood, his tall frame towering over the table. His body moved with a languid, almost predatory grace as he reached for his coat, slinging it over his shoulders. He cast one last glance at the television, at the image of All Might standing amidst the wreckage, and shook his head.
"Family is important," he muttered to himself, his voice a low rumble as he started for the door. The words felt strange on his tongue, foreign even, as if he was repeating something he'd been told a long time ago, something that didn't quite fit anymore. "One should always look after them."
But there was no warmth in his tone, no fondness in the words. Just a bitter, grudging acknowledgment, laced with the irony of a man who had long since walked away from the bonds that once tied him to others. A man who, despite himself, was still under the Gojo brat's spell even after four centuries…
Toji stepped out into the cool evening air, the noise of the café fading behind him as he made his way down the street, his thoughts dark and brooding. The world around him moved on, uncaring, as if the events of the day hadn't shaken it to its core. But Toji knew better. Family was a curse, one he couldn't outrun, no matter how far he went or how much time passed. And it seemed that fate wasn't done dragging him back into its web just yet.
TBC
Author Note: How can Tomura bypass the Infinity? Answer will be in the next chapter.
Some characters were left out here, I'll include them in the next chapter.