The air was thick with despair, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of ash. Makeshift tents lined the devastated stadium grounds, their interiors cold and silent, serving as temporary morgues. The cries of grieving families echoed softly, mingling with the murmurs of those searching for missing loved ones. It was a sight Eraserhead, Shota Aizawa, would never forget.

Aizawa walked with measured steps, his usually tired eyes heavy with sorrow as he scanned the grim scene. He had faced countless battles, witnessed tragedy, and endured loss, but this was unlike anything before. This wasn't a battlefield—it was a slaughterhouse.

Inside one of the tents, rows upon rows of bodies lay under white sheets, some stained crimson where wounds had bled through. Volunteers and medical workers moved in a subdued hurry, cataloging the dead and doing their best to offer solace to the grieving.

A small voice broke through the somber quiet.

"Excuse me..."

Aizawa turned to see a boy, no older than 12, tugging at the sleeve of a nearby volunteer. The child's face was pale, his eyes red from crying. "I-I can't find my dad. He… he was here with me."

The volunteer hesitated, unsure how to respond, her face pale.

"I'll handle this," Aizawa said, stepping forward. His tone was calm, though a deep ache gnawed at him. He crouched down to the boy's level, his ragged scarf brushing against the ground. "What's your name, kid?"

"Ren," the boy sniffled, his voice barely audible. "Ren Takahara."

"Alright, Ren," Aizawa said, his voice soft but steady. "Do you remember where you last saw your dad? Anything you can tell me will help."

Ren nodded quickly, clutching a small, charred hat in his hands. "He… he told me to run when the slashes started. He was sitting in the stands with me. I… I tripped, and when I looked back, he wasn't there anymore."

Aizawa's jaw tightened. He placed a reassuring hand on Ren's shoulder. "Let's find him, okay? You're not alone in this."

The boy nodded, his small hand gripping Aizawa's sleeve as they walked together into the heart of the tent. The room was colder than outside, both in temperature and atmosphere. Each step felt heavier than the last as Aizawa scanned the bodies for anyone matching Ren's description of his father—a tall man in a green jacket with a scar on his right cheek.

Ren's breathing quickened, his grip tightening. "Is he… is he…?"

Aizawa stopped near the far end of the tent, where a green jacket peeked out from under a sheet. His heart sank as he recognized the scarred face of a man who matched Ren's description. Slowly, Aizawa knelt, pulling the sheet down just enough to reveal the man's face.

Ren gasped, stumbling back. "N-No… no, that's not… no…"

Aizawa caught the boy before he fell, his arms steady despite the storm raging inside him. "Ren… I'm so sorry."

"No!" Ren wailed, clutching at his father's lifeless hand. "Dad! Please, wake up! Dad!"

The boy's cries were like knives to Aizawa's heart. He knelt beside Ren, his hand resting gently on the boy's back, grounding him as the sobs wracked his small body.

"You did everything you could," Aizawa said softly, his voice low but firm. "Your dad would be proud of you for running when he told you to. He protected you because he loved you."

Ren shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "But… but I couldn't save him! I should've done something!"

Aizawa sighed, his gaze falling to the lifeless form of the man before him. "Sometimes, even heroes can't save everyone. But your dad's choice to protect you… that was his way of being a hero. Honor him by remembering that."

Ren clutched his father's hand, his sobs quieting into shaky breaths. After a long moment, he looked up at Aizawa, his small face pale and tear-streaked. "What do I do now?"

Aizawa's throat tightened, but he forced himself to stay strong. "You keep moving forward. It'll hurt for a long time, but one day, it'll hurt a little less. You have people around you who'll help you. You're not alone."

Ren stared at him, his eyes filled with pain but also a flicker of hope. Slowly, he nodded, clutching the charred hat tighter.

A volunteer approached quietly, offering to take Ren to a nearby relief center where counselors were stationed. The boy hesitated, looking at Aizawa.

The hero nodded. "Go with her, Ren. I'll make sure your dad is taken care of. I promise."

Ren's lower lip trembled, but he managed a small nod before following the volunteer. As Aizawa watched him go, the weight of the moment settled on his shoulders. He exhaled slowly, standing and looking down at the father's body.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He thought of his students—some of them gone, others broken. He thought of the families who wouldn't be whole again.

This massacre wasn't just an attack. It was a scar on humanity itself.

Aizawa closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself. There was no time for grief. There were still others who needed help, and as long as he could stand, he would ensure no one faced this nightmare alone.

After helping Ren find his father, Aizawa took a moment to stand in the shadow of the tent, letting the quiet chaos around him settle in. His heart felt heavier with each step he took. Everywhere he looked, there were faces full of grief, and some had already turned numb.

He glanced toward the medical area, where a bench had been set up for those who could still walk but weren't unscathed. His eyes fell on three familiar figures—Tokoyami, Kaminari, and Jirou—sitting silently. Jirou was hunched over, her head bowed, cradling her hands. Her earlobe was freshly attached, her severed injury already healed thanks to Izuku Gojo's intervention.

Aizawa approached them, his scarf trailing lightly behind him. "You three…" he began, his voice unusually soft. "Are you alright?"

Tokoyami lifted his head slightly, his sharp eyes dim with sorrow. "Physically, sensei… yes. Mentally… that's another matter."

Kaminari's usually lively demeanor was absent. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. "I don't know, Mr. Aizawa," he muttered, his voice quiet and strained. "I don't think any of us are okay."

Aizawa's gaze turned to Jirou. She hadn't moved, and her fingers absently traced the faint marks where her earlobe had been severed. "Jirou," he said softly, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "How are you holding up?"

Her fingers stilled, and she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and there was an expression Aizawa couldn't quite place—shock mixed with disbelief and a hint of guilt. "Sensei… they're gone," she said, her voice trembling. "Satou… Kouji… Mineta… they're really gone."

Aizawa felt a pang in his chest, but he kept his face neutral. "I know," he replied gently. "It's hard to accept."

Jirou clenched her fists, her voice breaking. "They didn't deserve this… they didn't deserve to die like that. Mineta was annoying, sure, but… he didn't deserve…" She trailed off, her shoulders shaking as tears welled in her eyes.

Tokoyami placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression grim but supportive. "We all feel it, Jirou. None of this makes sense."

"I tried to help him," Kaminari added, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… it all happened so fast. I didn't even see it coming."

Aizawa's eyes softened as he looked at his students. He wanted to say something to make it better, to ease their pain, but he knew no words could fix this. "What you're feeling… it's normal," he said. "Losing your classmates, your friends—it's not something anyone should ever have to go through, especially at your age."

Jirou shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Why couldn't we do anything? Why couldn't I do anything? We're supposed to be heroes, but we couldn't even save each other."

Aizawa knelt in front of her, his hands resting on his knees. "You're all still students, Jirou. You did what you could in a situation that no one could have prepared for. This wasn't your failure—it was his."

Jirou sniffled, wiping her tears. "But it doesn't change the fact that they're gone…"

"No, it doesn't," Aizawa admitted, his voice heavy. "And that pain… it's going to stay with you. But you can use it. Let it remind you why you're training to be heroes. To protect those who can't

Aizawa's words hung heavy in the air, a silence settling over the small group as the weight of their shared grief pressed down on them. Tokoyami and Kaminari exchanged glances, and Jirou wiped her tears, nodding slightly to Aizawa's words, though the pain in her eyes remained.

Before he could say more, the faint buzz of his phone vibrating in his pocket broke the moment. He sighed, straightening up and fishing it out. The caller ID read Midnight.

He answered quickly, stepping a short distance away to avoid disturbing the students. "Aizawa here."

Midnight's voice came through, unusually serious and grim. "Shota, the faculty meeting is starting soon. Nezu wants all hands on deck to discuss the… incident." She paused, her voice hitching slightly before she steadied herself. "And the fallout."

Aizawa closed his eyes briefly, already knowing what "fallout" meant. The deaths, the injuries, the destruction—it was all going to come down to them to address. He glanced back at his students, huddled together on the bench, their youthful faces lined with exhaustion and loss.

"Understood," he said quietly. "I'll be there shortly."

"Good," Midnight replied. "And… Shota?"

"Yeah?"

"Be prepared. There's… talk about suspending classes indefinitely. And…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The press is already swarming the gates. It's bad."

Aizawa's jaw tightened. "I figured as much. I'll handle it."

She hesitated. "See you soon."

The line disconnected, and Aizawa slipped the phone back into his pocket. He took a deep breath, trying to summon the energy to face the inevitable storm ahead. Turning back to his students, he saw them looking up at him, their expressions a mixture of concern and exhaustion.

"You're leaving, aren't you, Sensei?" Tokoyami asked quietly.

Aizawa nodded. "There's a meeting I need to attend. It's about what happened here."

Jirou stood up, her knees shaky but her voice resolute. "What about us?"

"For now, stay here," Aizawa instructed. "Help anyone who needs it. And take care of each other. I'll update you when I can."

Kaminari frowned, his brow furrowed. "Do you think they're going to shut us down? UA, I mean."

Aizawa didn't answer immediately. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "But whatever happens, we'll figure it out. Together."

With that, he turned and strode away, heading toward the hastily organized command center where the meeting was set to take place. His scarf trailed behind him like a ghost, a silent reminder of the weight he carried—not just as a teacher, but as a protector of these young lives.

It was time to face the harsh truths.

O—O—O

The atmosphere in the meeting room was suffocating. The teachers of UA High sat around a large table, their faces grim and tired. Almost all of them bore the marks of the massacre: bandages wrapped around limbs, cuts across their faces, and exhaustion etched deep into their eyes. Even the formidable Endeavor sat rigidly, his expression a mixture of anger and frustration, his flame unusually subdued. The air was heavy with the weight of what had transpired at the Sports Festival—a day meant for celebration turned into a scene of unspeakable carnage.

Nezu, as the principal, presided over the meeting. The diminutive animal-like being sat at the head of the table, his usual sharp wit and calm demeanor overshadowed by the enormity of the tragedy. He adjusted his coat slightly, his gaze moving across the room before speaking.

"First, I'd like to commend everyone here for their bravery during what can only be described as the most catastrophic event in UA's history," Nezu began, his voice low but firm. "Your efforts, alongside the students and Recovery Girl, saved countless lives. But… it is undeniable that we are facing a crisis beyond anything we've ever prepared for."

The room was silent, save for the faint rustling of bandages and the creak of chairs. No one dared to interrupt.

"Over forty thousand lives were lost," Nezu continued, his tone heavy. "Another eight thousand severely injured, with many still in critical condition. The financial damages exceed three billion yen. UA's reputation, the safety of our students, and the trust of the public have been gravely compromised."

There was a collective intake of breath as the teachers absorbed the grim statistics.

"Forty thousand," Snipe muttered, his voice breaking slightly. "How do we even come back from that?"

Midnight shook her head, her eyes glassy. "It wasn't just the number of lives… it's the sheer brutality of it. The way they…" She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Nezu nodded solemnly. "And now, we face the question of the attacker. Witness accounts, as well as our own observations, strongly suggest the man was Ryomen Sukuna, a figure from pre-quirk history. However, his resemblance to Shigaraki Tomura, the leader of the USJ attack, cannot be ignored."

This statement caused murmurs to ripple through the room. Eraserhead leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "Shigaraki's involvement would make sense, but Sukuna? That's the stuff of myths. How is he even here, let alone this powerful?"

Present Mic, his usual energy subdued, crossed his arms. "And why the hell did he target us? What connection does this Sukuna have with UA?"

Endeavor slammed his fist on the table, flames flickering briefly. "Forget that for a moment. What I want to know is why Sukuna uttered Izuku Gojo's name! He didn't just attack randomly—he was looking for that boy! And what's this nonsense about Gojo being 'past his prime'?"

All eyes turned to Nezu and All Might. The tension in the room became palpable as the teachers waited for answers.

Nezu's eyes closed briefly before he spoke, "There are… certain details about Mr Gojo and this incident that we cannot yet disclose."

"Cannot disclose?" Endeavor's flames roared to life, the frustration on his face clear. "We just lost forty thousand people, Nezu! Your students—our responsibility—were killed! And you're telling me we don't deserve an explanation?"

Vlad King, though more restrained, nodded in agreement. "Principal, with all due respect, the staff needs to know what we're dealing with. If we're expected to continue protecting the remaining students, we can't do it blind."

Even Cementoss and Ectoplasm, both typically calm, had their own concerns. "If Sukuna comes back," Cementoss said, "we need to be prepared. And for that, we need the truth."

All Might, sitting near Nezu in his hero form, finally spoke up. His voice was quieter than usual but carried the weight of authority. "I understand your frustrations. Believe me, I share them. But this situation… it's more complicated than any of us anticipated. There are aspects of this incident tied to Izuku that we're still uncovering ourselves."

Endeavor wasn't having it. "Enough with the deflection, TOSHINORI!" he snapped, addressing All Might by his given name. "You and Nezu clearly know more than you're letting on. If you expect us to stand by and watch this boy become a target for whatever that monster is, you're mistaken."

Midnight chimed in, her tone less aggressive but no less firm. "If Sukuna is after Gojo, then the school—and the staff—deserve to know why. We can't protect him or the other students otherwise."

Nezu let out a sigh, his small shoulders drooping slightly. "I understand your anger, your confusion. But please trust me when I say that revealing everything now could do more harm than good. There are elements at play here that extend far beyond what we're currently capable of handling."

Endeavor growled, his flames flaring. "Then you're asking us to fight blind against something we can't even comprehend. How can you call that leadership, Nezu?"

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the conversation pressing down on everyone present. Finally, it was Eraserhead who broke the stalemate, his voice low and calm. "I trust Nezu and All Might," he said, though his gaze was sharp. "But that trust only goes so far. If you're keeping secrets that could save lives, you're walking a very fine line."

All Might met Eraserhead's gaze. "I know. And I promise, when the time is right, you'll all know the truth. For now, our priority must be protecting the students who remain—and preparing for Sukuna's inevitable return."

Reluctantly, the teachers nodded, though the tension in the room lingered. The wounds from the massacre were too fresh, the losses too great, and the unanswered questions too many.

Nezu looked around the room, his eyes meeting each of theirs. "We will do everything in our power to ensure this tragedy is not repeated. For now, please trust us as we navigate these uncertain waters. Dismissed."

As the teachers began to file out of the room, the weight of the day's events bore heavily on their shoulders. And though they carried the promise of answers to come, the uncertainty and grief of the present left little room for solace.

O—O—O

Toji Fushiguro, a figure out of time and history, strolled casually through the rubble-strewn aftermath of the massacre, his dark, piercing eyes scanning the devastation. Despite being long dead—centuries, if one were counting—his steps carried an easy confidence. His presence was barely a flicker, subdued to the point of near invisibility, yet it was unignorable.

As he approached a section of fencing that miraculously remained standing, he spotted a girl seated there. She was young, her short brown hair tousled and dirt-streaked, her school uniform torn and patched with hastily applied bandages. Her left leg, he noted, had been severed, though it was fully restored now—an impressive feat, no doubt courtesy of that Gojo brat and whatever RCT magic he was wielding.

Toji leaned against a nearby wall, his arms crossed, observing her for a moment. The girl was Ochako Uraraka, one of the students from Class 1-A. She stared out at the ruined stadium, her expression a mix of disbelief and exhaustion.

"You're sitting pretty comfortably for someone who just lost a leg and regrew one like a lizaed," Toji said, his voice a low drawl that carried just enough sharpness to catch her attention.

Ochako flinched, startled by the stranger's sudden appearance. She turned her head, her wide eyes meeting his. "W-who are you?" she asked, instinctively leaning back slightly.

Toji smirked faintly. "Just a fan."

"A fan?" Ochako repeated, incredulous. She raised a brow. "Of what?"

"You," Toji said simply, tilting his head as if the answer were obvious.

Ochako blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—really?!"

"Yeah, I was betting on you too "

"For real?! were betting on me? Winning the tournament?"

"Nah," Toji replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Betting on you losing. Thought you'd be one of the first to drop out on the third round."

"Huh?!" Ochako bristled, her face flushing with indignation. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

Toji chuckled lightly, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. "Relax, kid. You surprised me, that's all. Didn't think someone like you would make it this far. You've got guts."

Ochako narrowed her eyes at him. "Gee, thanks. I guess."

Toji pushed off the wall, his posture relaxed but his gaze unwavering. "What's your name?"

"Uraraka. Ochako Uraraka," she said warily. "And you are…?"

"Toji," he said, omitting his last name. "Just Toji."

"Uh-huh," Ochako said, clearly unconvinced. She turned her attention back to the rubble, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"You're taking it hard," Toji observed, his voice softer now.

Ochako didn't respond immediately. Her hands clenched in her lap. "How could I not?" she muttered. "People died. My classmates died. And I… I couldn't do anything to stop it."

Toji's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "You survived. That's more than most people can say."

"That's not enough!" Ochako snapped, her voice cracking. She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with tears she refused to let fall. "We're supposed to be heroes! Heroes are supposed to save everyone! But I couldn't even—"

"Kid," Toji interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "If you think being a hero means you'll save everyone, you're in the wrong line of work."

Ochako stared at him, stunned into silence.

Toji continued, his voice calm but with a hint of steel. "Sometimes, it's about saving yourself first, maybe always. One person, two, a handful if you're lucky. You think that Gojo kid saved everyone here? He didn't. He couldn't. But he saved you, didn't he?"

Ochako bit her lip, unable to argue.

"You've got heart," Toji said, stepping closer. "But heart doesn't keep you alive. Skill, instinct, knowing when to fight and when to run—that's what keeps you in the game. You're still here, kid. That means you've got a chance to get better. To be stronger. To save more people next time."

Ochako looked down at her hands, her brow furrowed. His words stung, but they also rang true.

Toji smirked again, his sharp gaze softening just a fraction. "Besides, you've got that Gojo brat on your side. He's annoying as hell, but he's got potential. And you? You're not half bad yourself, kid."

Ochako looked up at him, her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Why are you even telling me all this?"

Toji shrugged, his smirk widening. "Maybe I see a little bit of someone I used to know in you. Or maybe I'm just bored. Take your pick."

"Right," Ochako said skeptically.

Toji turned to leave but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Keep your head up, Uraraka. You've got more fight in you than you think." He then gave her a dirty card, an address written on it with messy letters. "Oh, and if you ever think your quirk isn't enough, contact me."

And with that, he walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the ruined stadium.

Ochako sat there for a moment, her mind racing with questions. She didn't know who that man was or why he seemed so familiar, but his words lingered in her mind. Maybe she could use this pain to grow stronger. For herself, for her friends, and for the people she wanted to save.

O—O—O

As Toji strode away from Ochako, his keen instincts prickled with unease. He turned a corner into the stadium's ruined corridors, his pace casual but his senses razor-sharp. The air seemed heavier here, and a faint, foreboding energy made his skin crawl.

That's when he bumped into someone—or rather, something.

The figure in front of him had the body of a boy, but his head resembled that of a raven. The eerie combination was Tokoyami Fumikage, one of Class 1-A's students, his dark avian head illuminated faintly by the pale light filtering through the cracks in the stadium.

Tokoyami froze, his sharp eyes narrowing as he instinctively stepped back. "Who... are you?" he asked, his voice low and wary.

Toji's sharp gaze flicked over the boy, taking in the faint shadowy aura that pulsed around him. "Just passing through, kid," Toji said evenly, though his posture tensed slightly.

Before Tokoyami could respond, a shadow loomed over them both. Dark Shadow, Tokoyami's quirk, emerged from his body, coiling like a protective serpent. Its glowing eyes locked onto Toji, and it hissed menacingly.

"This one is... not normal," Dark Shadow growled, its voice reverberating with suspicion and unease.

Tokoyami looked startled. "Dark Shadow, calm down!" he commanded, but his quirk seemed unwilling to obey.

Toji smirked faintly, his sharp features betraying no fear. "Smart little bird," he muttered under his breath. "Too smart for your own good."

Dark Shadow lunged slightly, its claws extended as if to strike, but Toji moved like a ghost. In the blink of an eye, he sidestepped the attack, his reflexes honed from countless battles over lifetimes.

"Whoa, easy there!" Toji said, raising his hands mockingly as if surrendering. But there was no fear in his tone—only amusement.

Tokoyami pulled Dark Shadow back, his brow furrowing. "I don't know who you are, but you're not ordinary. Why does my quirk sense danger from you?"

Toji's smirk widened slightly. "Kid, you've got good instincts. But trust me, you don't want to know the answer to that question."

Dark Shadow hissed again, but this time, it didn't lunge. It seemed to sense something deeper about Toji—a darkness that even it didn't fully understand.

Toji took a step back, his gaze still locked on Tokoyami. "Relax, bird boy. I'm not here to hurt anyone. Not today, anyway."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as easily as he had appeared.

Tokoyami stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding. Dark Shadow retreated back into him, murmuring, "That man… he's not alive. But he's not dead either. Something's wrong."

"Not alive...?" Tokoyami repeated, his voice trembling slightly. He shook his head, trying to dispel the unease that lingered.

But the encounter left him shaken. Whoever that man was, he wasn't normal—and Tokoyami had the unsettling feeling that he was someone who shouldn't even exist.

O—O—O

Author Note:

Not much of an interesting chapter. But it is necessary for world-building. Hopefully, next chapter will be better. I hope you'll stay with me till the end.

Till next time.