Chapter 15 Life's Highs And Lows
The sun dipped just enough to cast golden light across the stadium as the ruins of the final arena were cleared and cordoned off. A temporary stage had been erected near the edge of the battleground—a flat, wide platform beneath a fluttering U.A. banner.
Spotlights flared. Trumpets played over the loudspeakers. And then, with all the weight and warmth the title carried—
All Might appeared.
The crowd erupted.
Not in surprise—but in awe. Always awe.
Wearing his formal hero uniform, cape billowing, he waved with radiant ease as he strode onto the stage. But even to the casual eye, there was a quiet weight behind his smile today. One hand rested on his hip, the other raised in greeting as he approached the waiting students.
Three pedestals had been set up at the front of the stage.
Third place.
Second place.
First.
Only two stood at the start of the ceremony.
Izuku Midoriya, bandaged but proud, waited on the topmost platform.
Katsuki Bakugo stood at second place—silent, eyes forward, arms crossed tightly.
And then—Rumi Usagiyama stepped into view, her white hair shining in the late sun, bandage over one ear and a smirk that hadn't faded since the semifinals.
She took her place at the third spot, glancing briefly to the left.
But where Tenya Iida should have stood—there was no one.
--
Flashback – A Moment Earlier
Midnight caught Iida in the hallway as they exited the locker rooms.
"Iida, a moment please."
The rest of the class had paused, but Midnight's voice was calm—and serious.
"There's been… something with your family. You're needed. Now."
Iida froze.
His face twitched—just once—but he nodded without hesitation.
He gave a quick bow to the class, said nothing, and walked off with her.
--
Back to the Ceremony
All Might stepped up to the mic.
His smile still bright, but tempered with something more personal.
"Today, we witnessed passion. Power. Purpose."
His voice rang out like a bell.
"But more than that—we saw what the next generation of heroes will fight for. We saw that they will fall. And rise. And fall again. And get back up every single time."
He gestured to the three before him.
"These three showed us what resilience really means."
He turned to Rumi first.
"To stand through everything—even when the body screams to stop—is the mark of an unshakable will."
He placed the bronze medal around her neck.
"You never gave in. Never gave up. And that's what makes you a hero."
Rumi gave a sharp, casual salute. "Damn right it does."
The crowd laughed.
Next was Bakugo.
All Might approached slowly, gently.
"You fought like a storm, young man."
Bakugo tensed slightly—but didn't speak.
"You've carried more than anyone knows," All Might said quietly. "But even in your fury—you've started to learn."
He hung the silver medal around Bakugo's neck.
"Your strength is real. But your growth will define you."
Bakugo gave the faintest nod. No more.
And then—All Might turned to Izuku.
He smiled—but softer now. Proud. Personal.
"You've come far, young Midoriya."
Izuku stood tall—scarred, weary—but whole.
"You stood your ground. You held your convictions. You protected others… and you fought through yourself."
He placed the gold medal around Izuku's neck.
"You are on the path. Not just to being a hero—but to becoming someone who inspires."
Izuku's breath caught.
"…Thank you, Sensei."
All Might gave a nod—just for him.
--
Backstage – After the Ceremony
Class 1-A was gathered again, filing out from the edge of the stadium tunnel.
Shoji adjusted his hoodie. "We made it."
"That was the most intense festival in U.A. history," Jirou muttered.
"I still can't believe we survived it," Kaminari said, leaning against the wall.
"I can," Rumi said, cracking her neck. "We're just built different."
"You mean unreasonably aggressive?" Mina teased.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
As the tension finally bled off, Sero looked around.
"So… what now?"
Silence.
Then—Mina grinned.
"…Ramen?"
"YES." Kaminari punched the air. "Please. I need broth. So much broth."
Everyone chuckled, nodding and mumbling agreement.
Iida's absence was noted—but no one pressed. They all felt it.
"Iida had to leave early," Momo said quietly. "Family emergency."
"I hope it's nothing serious," Tokoyami murmured.
"We'll check in tomorrow," Izuku added.
Then Rumi hopped onto his back.
"Let's go, mr. first place. I want pork and spicy miso."
Izuku chuckled. "As you wish, my queen."
"You damn right."
With laughter, tired limbs, and aching muscles, Class 1-A made their way toward the ramen stand just outside the stadium gate.
--
Elsewhere — A Darker Corner of Town
The television buzzed static for a moment before the screen snapped to life.
On it—replays of the Sports Festival.
Zoomed in shots of Bakugo's battles. Slow motion of his Howitzer Impact.
Tomura Shigaraki watched with a twitch in his fingers and a sneer on his lips.
He stood behind the bar of the League's hidden den—half-empty, dimly lit, with the faint hum of neon flickering above.
"They cheered for him," he growled. "For that brat."
A slow-motion replay showed Bakugo falling to Izuku's punch.
Tomura's lip curled.
"He could've been something. Something angry. And now he's just another smiling bootlicker…"
He flung the remote across the room.
It clattered to the floor.
Kurogiri, calm as ever, wiped down the already-clean bar.
"No customers today?" Tomura muttered.
"No chaos to draw them in," Kurogiri replied.
And then—
A new voice.
Low. Whispered. Behind them both.
"Then perhaps it's time we… created some."
Tomura's eyes narrowed.
"…Sensei."
The voice hummed in his head.
"It's time to begin."
—
Back with class 1A
By the time the group reached the usual stand, the sun had fully dipped behind the skyline. Streetlights flickered on, and a warm breeze drifted through the city.
And there—waiting with a grin already forming on his face—was Mr. Uzamaki, arms folded behind the counter.
"Well, well. If it isn't the nation's new champions," he said, voice gravelly with pride. "You kids did yourselves proud."
Mina gave a dramatic twirl. "Did you see me? I mean, sure, I didn't win, but I dazzled!"
"You all earned this," he added, waving a hand. "First round's on the house. Hero discount."
Cheers erupted.
"Mr. Uzamaki, you're a king!" Denki shouted, practically vaulting into a seat.
"Make mine extra garlic!" Sero added, already planting himself next to Kirishima.
"Spicy miso for me," Tsuyu croaked, settling in.
The whole class packed into the stand, elbows bumping, voices bouncing off one another. The smell of broth filled the air, and laughter started rising before the first bowls even hit the counter.
Rumi perched—of course—on Izuku's back while he tried to sit, which earned immediate commentary.
"I feel like this is a violation of dining etiquette," Momo said, trying to be polite while side-eyeing the chaos.
"She's got the best seat in the house," Ochaco said with a laugh.
"I call next ride," Mina added.
"Try it and lose a hand," Rumi replied casually, chin on Izuku's head.
"He's a shared national treasure now," Sero joked. "We should all take turns."
"Or draw straws," Yuga sparkled.
"He's not a damn mountain goat," Izuku muttered, but not actually moving her.
Shoto sat at the end of the bench, quietly poking at his ramen.
"…I am supposed to slurp this, correct?" he asked.
Everyone stopped.
"Wait. You've never slurped ramen before?" Kirishima asked, scandalized.
"I have eaten ramen. But not… in this manner."
"Dude," Denki whispered. "This man is untrained."
"WE HAVE TO FIX HIM," Mina declared.
"You're not supposed to think about it," Jirou said, mid-slurp. "You just do it."
Bakugo muttered, "God, this class is full of morons," but the edge in his voice was duller than usual.
Mina grinned. "Still here though, Bakugo."
"Shut up."
Shoji and Sato shared a corner space, both eating in synchronized silence like seasoned professionals.
"Shoji's using four arms at once," Toru noted. "That's not fair. That's like… a cheat code."
"I respect the efficiency," Sato said between bites.
Fumikage, solemn as ever, murmured, "This broth… is the essence of warmth."
"…Did your soup just get a poetic review?" Sero asked.
"It's art," Tokoyami replied, completely sincere.
Toru waved her chopsticks. "I still say I should've placed higher in the obstacle course! That vine girl tripped me when the cameras weren't watching!"
"Justice for Toru!" Denki cried dramatically, raising his spoon.
"Don't encourage him," Jirou muttered.
Ojiro, ever calm, gave a small smile. "Honestly, I'm just glad we made it through without anyone seriously hurt."
Momo nodded. "Agreed. And no public explosions or scandals, so that's a win."
They all looked at Bakugo.
Bakugo glared. "I didn't explode the crowd. That's restraint."
"That's growth," Izuku said encouragingly.
Bakugo scowled. "I will murder you after dessert."
"Ah, so not that much growth," Rumi teased.
Yuga, wiping his lips with a flourish, added, "I must say, our class remains both glamorous and devastating in combat. An unbeatable combination."
"I'm just here for the free carbs," Sero said.
Midway through the meal, Ochaco glanced around the table, then smiled.
"This is nice."
Everyone paused for a second.
She was right.
It was.
Then Mina clapped her hands. "Okay, okay! We have to end the night right. What's the move?"
"I vote karaoke!" Denki yelled.
"It's almost bedtime, genius," Jirou said.
"Movie night at the dorms?" Kirishima suggested. "We've got that big common room screen, right?"
"I'm in," Sero said immediately.
"Oooh!" Ochaco grinned. "We should each bring a blanket and pile into one giant movie nest!"
"Yes. Blanket nest," Tsuyu agreed solemnly.
Shoji nodded. "Sounds comfortable."
"I'll bring popcorn!" Sato offered.
"I'll bring the drama," Yuga promised.
Rumi leaned in and tapped Izuku's nose.
"You bring snacks. Or your abs. Either works."
Izuku flushed a little and chuckled while shaking his head with fondness.
Shoto blinked slowly. "Do we… require permission for this?"
"No," Momo said, smiling. "We're in dorms now. We make the rules."
Shoto nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. I will bring my favorite documentary."
The entire class groaned in sync.
"I was joking," he added.
Pause.
"…Were you?" Mina asked.
"I'm… unsure," Shoto admitted.
As the ramen was cleared and Mr. Uzamaki delivered final bows and goodbyes, the class gathered again—looser now. Lighter.
Shoulders touched. Elbows bumped. Jokes lingered.
And they walked, one happy, rowdy unit, toward home.
The dorm lounge was chaos before they even hit play.
Blankets were everywhere. Someone had brought every pillow from their room. Denki and Sero had turned the couch into a fort. Shoji dragged in a beanbag the size of a loveseat. Mina had somehow acquired string lights and was draping them overhead like it was a sleepover festival.
"This is objectively excessive," Momo muttered, carefully setting down a tray of drinks she'd prepared in the kitchen.
"It's perfect," Jirou countered, already curled up with a blanket shaped like a guitar.
"Best night ever!" Denki shouted—until he got smacked by Toru's pillow.
"I saw that coming," he yelped.
"You did not!" she cackled.
Rumi and Izuku flopped into the middle of the blanket nest, Rumi sprawled across his lap like it was her throne.
"You comfortable?" Izuku asked.
"Shut up and scratch my ears."
He chuckled—and obeyed.
Shoto arrived carrying a thermos.
"You brought tea?" Kirishima asked.
"It helps regulate core temperature during sedentary activities."
"…Right," Mina said. "You're precious."
Bakugo took the farthest seat. Not isolated—but angled just enough to be Bakugo.
"Hey, Bakugo," Denki called, tossing him a soda. "Glad you showed up."
Bakugo grunted.
"That's his version of 'you're welcome,'" Sero translated.
Popcorn rained from above as Sato and Ochaco wheeled in two massive bowls.
"Flavors: classic butter and cinnamon-honey," Sato announced.
"Bless you," Jirou whispered reverently.
Then came the movie choosing chaos.
"We are not watching a horror film," Ojiro said firmly. "Not after last time."
"It was psychological!" Tokoyami argued.
"You gave Shoji a jump scare that broke a chair."
"I repaired it," Shoji rumbled.
"Let's go with a classic comedy," Momo offered. "Something with levity."
Rumi snorted. "You're lucky I don't vote for the worst slasher I can find."
"No voting needed," Mina said, pointing the remote like a weapon. "We're watching Punch Knight 3: The Fistening."
"YES!" Kaminari yelled.
"I hate how much I love that title," Sero groaned.
The lights dimmed. The screen lit up.
Class 1-A sank into the nest.
Snacks were passed. Drinks clinked. Blankets shuffled.
Laughter filled the room.
Bakugo grumbled a few times—but stayed.
Shoto asked three genuine questions about plot structure.
Toru cried during the training montage.
Fumikage whispered solemn praise for the hero's moral growth arc.
Shoji shared his popcorn with everyone within reach.
Kirishima and Sero fist-bumped during every slow-mo scene.
Jirou rolled her eyes but didn't stop smiling.
And through it all—
Rumi's head rested against Izuku's chest.
Eyes half-lidded.
Warm. Safe.
Later.
The movie shifted into its final third—calmer now. Quieter. The adrenaline was spent.
One by one, students started drifting off.
Toru curled up in a blanket cocoon.
Jirou leaned on Momo's shoulder.
Denki started snoring with his mouth open.
Shoji propped up a blanket for Tokoyami to nest in.
Sero and Kirishima ended up half-buried in pillows, dozing.
Even Bakugo's head tilted slightly, arms crossed—but eyes shut.
And then—
Rumi stirred.
She didn't speak—just looked up at Izuku.
He met her gaze.
And nodded.
Quiet as shadows, they slipped from the nest.
Out of the room.
Hand in hand.
The hallway outside the dorm lounge was still and dim, lit only by the faint glow of wall sconces.
Izuku and Rumi moved in sync—soft steps, shared glances, fingers laced like they'd always belonged that way. Their path was wordless, the weight of the day still heavy in their bodies, but not in their hearts.
They slipped into his room—door closing behind them with a soft click.
It was quiet.
Still warm from the day's chaos, but now… just theirs.
Rumi tugged her hoodie off and tossed it carelessly aside, revealing the tank top beneath. She didn't say anything—just turned back to him with a look.
He met her eyes.
Still glowing, even in the dark.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low, just above a whisper.
Rumi smirked. "Better now."
Izuku stepped closer, brushing his fingers over her waist. "Tired?"
"Buzzing," she murmured, reaching up to toy with the collar of his shirt. "You made it kinda hard to relax."
"Oh?"
"You were something today, Zuku."
His breath hitched as she pressed a little closer, arms sliding slowly around his waist.
"I watched you fight like hell. Carry all that weight. And you didn't break."
She traced a hand along his arm—down to the scar running from shoulder to wrist.
Her fingertips ghosted along the edge of it.
"…I've been eyeing this since the second they unwrapped you."
Izuku's cheeks flushed as her voice dropped.
"It's hot," she said bluntly. "It's stupid, and rough, and probably shouldn't be, but…"
Her fingers curled around his forearm.
"This—this reminds me what you are."
"And what's that?" he whispered.
She looked up at him.
Eyes bright.
"A man who stands through fire."
Her lips crashed into his a second later.
It was hungry.
Messy.
Earnest.
She kissed him like she'd been holding back for months. Like she was done waiting. Like something inside her had snapped into clarity.
Izuku didn't hesitate.
His hands found her hips, her back, her jaw. Everything he could touch, he needed to touch.
They stumbled toward the bed, never breaking contact.
Her body pressed into his, breath hot, fingers threading into his hair.
He groaned into her mouth as she bit gently at his lower lip, then kissed him again—harder.
"You've been driving me crazy all day," she growled against his skin.
"I didn't do anything," he rasped.
"You breathed."
( Lemon starts here if you are not old enough please skip ahead or don't I'm not a cop or your parents)
Without a word, Rumi closed the distance, her hands reaching up to grip the lapels of Izuku's shirt. Her touch was firm, purposeful, as she pulled him down to her level.
Their lips met in a collision of hunger and need, a kiss that was both tender and desperate. Tongues entwined, tasting, exploring, as if each could drink the other in. Izuku's hands slid down her back, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine with a reverence that belied his eagerness.
Rumi's lips broke from his, trailing down his jawline, her breath hot against his skin. Every movement was deliberate, measured, but the intensity grew with each passing second, a fire building that neither could—nor wanted to—extinguish.
Her lips found his neck, kissing along the sensitive skin, her tongue flicking out to taste him. She paused at his collarbone, her breath ghosting over the fresh scar that peeked out of his shirt. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, a silent question in her gaze.
Izuku's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips softly. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice deep and steady, grounding her. Rumi's lips curved into a small, knowing smile before she helped him out of his shirt. After she leaned in, her tongue tracing the jagged line of the scar. A shiver ran through her, a mix of pleasure and something deeper, as if she were claiming him, marking him as hers in that moment even though she has longed claimed that.
"I'm tired of holding back, Izuku," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. Her words hung in the air, a challenge and a promise. Izuku's eyes searched hers, seeing the wild, unbridled intensity that mirrored his own.
"I don't want you to," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, his chest rising and falling with the force of his need. Rumi's grin was predatory, her confidence unwavering.
"Good," she purred, her hands sliding down his chest, pushing him gently back toward the bed.
Izuku's legs hit the mattress, and they collapsed together, Rumi straddling his lap without missing a beat. Their kisses deepened, hands exploring with a mix of reverence and urgency.
His fingers traced the curve of her thigh, his touch light yet insistent, as if memorizing the shape of her. Rumi's lips dragged along his jaw, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered filthy promises that made his blood run hotter.
Every motion was slow at first, measured, but the intensity—god, the intensity—grew with every heartbeat, every touch, every shared breath
She kissed down his neck, her lips pausing at his collarbone before running her tongue along the edge of his scar again. Her hands roamed over his chest, her touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Izuku's head fell back, a low groan escaping his lips as her fingers traced the contours of his muscles, worshipping his body with a hunger that was both primal and tender.
Rumi's lips curved into a smirk as she climbed forward, her body pressing against his, her breasts brushing his chest.
He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer, as if he could meld her into him.
"I want you, Rumi," he growled, his voice rough with need. "All of you." Rumi's eyes sparkled with mischief and desire. "Then take me," she challenged, her hands moving to the hem of her shirt.
Izuku's gaze darkened, his hands moving to help her, their movements frantic now, driven by a need that could no longer be denied.
Clothes were discarded hastily, thrown aside without care, as if they were barriers to be torn down in their rush to connect.
Rumi's shirt hit the floor, revealing her athletic figure, her perky breasts rising and falling with her quickened breath. Izuku's hands cupped them, his thumbs brushing her nipples, already tight with anticipation. He brought his lips to one perked peek.
She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as he worshipped her body with his hands and mouth. Her fingers went to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning them with a haste that bordered on desperation. Izuku lifted his hips, helping her pull them off, his throbbing cock springing free, already hard and needy.
Rumi's eyes widened at the sight, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "Impressive," she teased, her hand wrapping around his length, squeezing gently.
Izuku's breath hitched, his head falling back as pleasure coursed through him. "Tease," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.
Rumi laughed, a low, sultry sound that sent shivers down his spine. "You love it," she countered, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of his cock, her tongue swirling teasingly.
Izuku's hands tangled in her hair before moving to grab her ears lightly, holding her in place as she took him into her mouth, her lips and tongue trying to work in perfect harmony. Her mouth was wet and warm, her technique sloppy but earnest and he groaned, his hips bucking slightly as pleasure overwhelmed him.
"Rumi…" he warned, his voice strained. She pulled back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," she whispered, standing up to shed the rest of her clothes.
Izuku's gaze devoured her, his desire for her palpable. Her athletic figure was a work of art, every curve and muscle a testament to her strength and beauty. She moved with a confidence that was both alluring and intimidating, her red eyes locked on his as she straddled him once more.
Her hands went to her core, her fingers teasing her wetness before guiding him to her entrance. "Now," she commanded, her voice a mix of dominance and need.
Izuku's hands gripped her hips, guiding her down onto him, their bodies joining in a seamless fit. Rumi gasped, her head falling back as he filled her, her walls tight and welcoming. She silently thanked her rigorous training for breaking her hymen. They paused for a moment for her to get used to the new sensation.
He was thankful for this pause; he almost finished too soon just from the pleasure of entering her. Soon she gave a nod to continue.
He thrust upward, seating himself fully within her, their bodies moving in a rhythm that was both primal and intimate.
The room was filled with the sounds of their passion—heavy breaths, soft moans, the slick sounds of their bodies moving together.
Rumi began to ride him, her hips moving in a steady rhythm, her breasts bouncing with each motion. Izuku's hands roamed her body, his touch worshipful, his gaze never leaving hers.
"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire. Rumi's lips curved into a smirk.
"Prove it," she challenged, her movements becoming more urgent, more demanding.
Izuku rolled them over, his body hovering above hers, his hands pinning her wrists above her head. His thrusts became harder, faster, driven by a need that was both desperate and all-consuming.
Rumi met his rhythm, her legs wrapping around his waist, the heels of her feet digging into his back as she urged him deeper.
Their bodies moved as one, their breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as pleasure built, threatening to overwhelm them.
Izuku…" Rumi whispered, her voice breaking as her orgasm approached, her walls clenching around him.
"Not yet," he growled, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more relentless. He wanted her to fall apart beneath him, to scream his name as she shattered.
Rumi's eyes widened, her body tensing as she teetered on the edge, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.
"Please…" she begged, her voice a mix of desperation and need.
Izuku's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Beg," he commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
Rumi's pride crumbled, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Fuck me, Izuku. Please, fuck me hard."
His response was immediate, his hips snapping upward as he pounded into her, his movements driven by a raw, primal need.
The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard bumping against the wall as their passion reached a fever pitch.
Rumi's body shook, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave, her cries filling the room. Izuku followed, his release tearing through him, his seed spilling into her as he shouted her name.
Their bodies moved in sync, their breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as they rode out their highs, their hearts pounding in unison.
As their breaths slowed, Izuku collapsed onto her, his weight careful not to crush her. Rumi's arms wrapped around him, her fingers tracing the scar on his arm, her touch gentle and reverent.
"You're beautiful," she whispered, her voice soft and full of wonder. Izuku's lips curved into a small smile, his hand cupping her cheek.
"You're everything," he replied, his voice thick with emotion.
The room was silent, save for their heavy breaths and the soft creaking of the bed.
The air between them was still electric, charged with the intensity of their connection. Rumi's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down for a soft, tender kiss.
"We're not done," she murmured against his lips, her voice a promise.
Izuku's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'm counting on it," he replied, his hand sliding down her body, his touch teasing and playful.
Rumi laughed, a low, sultry sound that sent shivers down his spine.
"Good," she purred, as they sat back up her hands moving to his chest, pushing him back onto his back.
"Because I'm just getting started."
(Lemon end)
--
The sun had barely crested the horizon when Rumi opened her eyes.
Her body ached.
Not painfully—no. This was the good kind. The satisfying kind. The kind that settled into her muscles like a warm reminder of a night well spent.
She rolled slightly, feeling the tug in her thighs, the lingering heat in her core, and the delightful pull across her lower back.
"…Worth it," she muttered.
A quiet hum came beside her.
Izuku stirred, eyes still mostly closed but smiling faintly.
"You alive?" he asked, voice husky with sleep.
"Barely," she smirked. "But if you walk any prouder today, they're gonna start calling you Alpha Hero."
"I make no promises."
Rumi pushed up—hissed—and sat at the edge of the bed, rotating one shoulder and testing her legs.
And yep.
There was the limp.
"You broke me," she said casually over her shoulder.
Izuku's grin turned devious. "You're welcome."
She tossed a pillow at his head. And that's when it hit him. He didn't wear a condom.
"Rumi crap we didn't use protection! What if—" he began but she cut him off.
"Don't worry hero-boy I've been planning this for awhile. I'm on the pill to make sure this is safe." She said with a teasing grin.
--
Downstairs – Dorm Kitchen and Common Area
The first sign was the limp.
Barely there.
But unmistakable.
The second sign was Rumi's grin—satisfied, unrepentant, and entirely too smug for six in the morning.
The third?
Izuku Midoriya, hair still slightly mussed, descending the stairs beside her with the posture of a man who had just conquered the impossible.
Not a word had been spoken yet.
But Mina Ashido saw.
And she knew.
"Ohhhhhh hell no," she whispered. "That's the walk. That's a post-victory strut."
Ochaco's eyes widened. "Wait, are you saying—?"
"I'm not saying anything," Mina hissed—grinning. "But her legs are."
Tsuyu blinked twice. "Ribbit. I thought she pulled something yesterday. But that… is not from combat."
"Look at him," Jirou said, squinting. "He's trying so hard to look normal."
"That's the 'don't say anything and maybe no one notices' face," Toru whispered.
"Too late," Momo murmured. "Everyone noticed."
Izuku barely made it to the counter before the air shifted.
The room stilled.
Every guy turned—like sharks catching the scent of blood.
Or in this case, gossip.
"You sleep okay?" Kirishima asked—innocently.
"Yeah?" Sero chimed in. "Back not sore? No cramping? Muscle strain?"
"I'm great," Izuku said, cautious.
Sato smirked. "She seemed to be walking funny."
"Hey!" Denki called out. "Rumi okay? I think she had a… rough night."
Izuku sighed. "Subtle, guys."
Kaminari raised a spoon like a flag. "We are not subtle men."
Even Tokoyami chimed in. "I sense the embers of something… intense."
"I hate that you made that poetic," Izuku muttered.
Bakugo strode in, hoodie slung loose, biting into a protein bar.
He walked straight past everyone.
Paused.
Glanced at Izuku.
"…Tch. About time."
Everyone froze.
Izuku blinked. "Wait—what?"
Bakugo rolled his eyes. "We all knew it was gonna happen. I just didn't expect you to have the balls."
And then—
He walked away.
"BAKUGO APPROVED?!?" Kaminari shouted, knocking over his drink.
"My worldview is shattered," Sero gasped.
"He didn't even insult you," Kirishima whispered.
"This is… growth," Shoji said.
Meanwhile: The Girls' Dorm Side
Rumi was immediately abducted by a screeching Mina and dragged down the hall into her room.
The door slammed shut.
And the interrogation began.
"WE NEED ANSWERS," Mina yelled, crawling onto the bed.
"Don't hold out on us," Toru added. "I will literally phase through your clothes and find proof."
Tsuyu raised a finger. "She wouldn't walk like that unless something happened."
"Nothing bad happened," Rumi said, stretching like a cat. "I just got thoroughly wrecked."
Every girl screamed.
Momo turned scarlet.
"Was it gentle?" Ochaco asked.
"Was it rough?" Jirou asked.
"…Was it both?" Mina gasped.
"Did he cry?" Tsuyu blinked.
"No," Rumi said, smirking. "But he made me whimper."
Mina fell off the bed.
--
Back in the Kitchen
Izuku was now leaning against the counter, sipping tea, trying to stay cool under pressure.
It wasn't working.
"So," Ojiro said, clearing his throat. "Was it… your first time?"
"Yes."
"Was it good?" Denki asked, leaning way too close.
Izuku just looked at them all.
And then smirked.
"Let's just say… Rumi's gonna walk like that all week."
CHAOS.
Sero slammed his fists on the table.
"HE'S GOT THE NERVE TO FLEX NOW?!"
"He earned it!" Shoji barked.
"Let the man enjoy his victory lap!" Kirishima laughed.
"I'm going to throw myself into the sun," Kaminari moaned.
Shoto, now holding his tea awkwardly, glanced around. "…Should I leave?"
"No," Izuku said without looking. "You should take notes."
"…Okay."
--
Eventually, the girls returned.
Rumi strutted in like she hadn't just dropped nuclear gossip.
The boys froze.
She grinned.
"I hear you missed me."
Izuku just reached over, wrapped his arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek.
Half the class melted.
"You two are disgusting," Jirou muttered, smiling.
"And perfect," Mina added.
"I give it three months before they're engaged," Toru said.
"Two," Momo said.
"One," said Tsuyu.
"I'll make it happen faster if they keep smirking like that," Bakugo growled from the corner.
As the class finally settled in for breakfast, Sato flipped the last pancake and slid it onto a plate.
"We survived a villain attack. A sports festival. Each other."
"And now," Sero added, "we survive Izuku Midoriya: Certified Smasher."
Rumi snorted juice out of her nose.
Izuku buried his face in her shoulder.
The rest of Class 1-A howled with laughter.
This?
This was home.
The scent of syrup and grilled mochi hung in the air like a lullaby.
Class 1-A had drifted from breakfast into the kind of post-meal haze that only came from full stomachs and fuller hearts. No one was in a rush. For once, time didn't feel like a countdown.
Kirishima leaned back on a beanbag near the kitchen island, hands folded behind his head. "Okay, real talk—what's our next class gonna be? Because if they make us run laps after yesterday…"
"I will fake an injury," Jirou muttered.
"I did fake an injury," Denki said proudly.
"Rumi has an injury," Mina smirked, nudging her with an elbow.
Rumi raised a brow. "I call it a love bruise."
Izuku just shook his head. "Please stop saying things."
"Never," she purred, looping her arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder.
Toru was flipping through her phone on the couch. "Did you see the memes already starting? There's one of you, Midoriya, punching Todoroki and it says, This man has no chill and all trauma.'"
"…That's accurate," Sero said.
"I still like the one of Bakugo screaming with the caption: 'I said I was calm!!'" Kaminari laughed.
Bakugo scowled. "Keep talking and you're next."
"Sorry! Sorry! Still in festival mode!"
"Save your energy," Tokoyami said, perched coolly on the armrest. "The real tests haven't begun."
Momo finished cleaning the dishes with Shoji's help, exchanging quiet compliments on knife precision.
Sato passed out second cups of cocoa, and even Yuga had stopped monologuing long enough to peacefully sip his espresso, pinky raised.
Everything felt like a snapshot.
One of those rare, untouched moments between storms.
Even Shoto smiled.
Just a little.
"...This is nice," he said aloud.
Everyone paused.
Looked at him.
"You're not wrong," Kirishima said softly.
"It really is," Ochaco added, gaze drifting across her friends.
The quiet was beautiful.
Soft music hummed from someone's phone. A window cracked open let in a breeze.
Shoji idly picked up the remote and flipped through a few channels—more out of habit than interest.
Click.
A game show rerun.
Click.
Cartoon characters yelling in high-pitched voices.
Click.
A nature documentary about penguins waddling in a line.
"Leave it here," Kaminari said, mid-yawn. "This is peak comfort TV."
"Only if you're five," Jirou snorted.
"Penguins are noble," Tokoyami countered.
"Click it again," Mina muttered, curled up next to Ochaco.
Click.
Bright colors.
News crawl along the bottom.
And then—suddenly—the anchor's voice turned sharp.
"We interrupt this segment with breaking news—"
The remote froze in Shoji's hand.
Eyes sharpened.
The room stilled.
"—Pro Hero Ingenium, also known as Tensei Iida, was the victim of a brutal attack late last night in Hosu City. The attacker has been identified as the wanted vigilante serial killer known only as—Stain."
The silence hit like a shockwave.
"Sources confirm Ingenium is undergoing emergency surgery after suffering multiple stab wounds and spinal damage. His condition is currently critical but stable."
Mina sat up straighter, eyes wide.
Toru covered her mouth.
Shoji's hand slowly lowered the remote.
"…Iida," Momo whispered.
"Iida's not here," Ochaco said, panic creeping into her voice.
"He left early," Izuku breathed, already pushing to his feet.
Rumi was standing before he finished.
"He said it was a family emergency," Kirishima said slowly.
"No," Denki whispered. "No no no…"
The laughter from five minutes ago was gone.
So was the warmth.
All that remained was cold, heavy silence and the sound of Izuku's heart pounding in his ears.
He didn't even notice when Rumi reached for his hand.
He just stood still.
Watching the words scroll across the screen.
Watching the world tilt.
--
Hosu City General Hospital smelled like sterile cotton and old paper.
The hallway lights buzzed softly, muted beneath the rhythm of beeping heart monitors and the low murmurs of nurses trading updates in clipped tones.
Tenya Iida sat alone in the waiting area, hands clenched so tightly in his lap they trembled. His uniform jacket lay draped over a plastic chair beside him. He hadn't spoken in nearly an hour.
His phone sat untouched.
His glasses, cracked at the corner, hung askew on his nose.
But he didn't move.
He couldn't.
They had pulled him aside during the Sports Festival, just before the ceremony. He remembered Midnight's expression—it was gentle, but grave. She'd said "family emergency" and the words had landed like a pebble dropped into a well. No echo. No meaning.
But when he arrived in Hosu…
And he saw the blood—
So much blood—
Everything changed.
--
His brother—Tensei, Ingenium, the Turbo Hero himself—lay in a hospital bed barely breathing. His arms were bandaged up to the elbows. His legs didn't move. Machines did the breathing for him. Tubes fed him. Beeps sustained the illusion of life.
Iida hadn't cried.
Not yet.
He had only sat.
Watched.
Waited.
"It was Stain," the detective had said. "Your brother tried to stop him from claiming another victim. He got in the way."
In the way.
Like a misplaced road sign. Like debris.
Iida had wanted to scream.
His thoughts were a storm.
This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Tensei was the shining light. The symbol of momentum. The reason Iida had taken his first step on the hero path. The big brother who balanced warmth and justice like it was effortless. Who picked him up after every scraped knee and taught him that speed wasn't just about how fast you could move—but how quickly you could act when others needed you.
Now he could barely breathe without a machine.
What kind of world allows this?
What kind of justice system lets a man like that walk free?
Iida didn't notice when his fists clenched tighter, when his jaw locked, when his foot began tapping against the tile in twitching bursts of energy.
His blood was simmering beneath his skin.
He wasn't thinking clearly. He didn't want to think clearly.
He just wanted to do something.
A nurse approached quietly. She handed him a damp cloth and a soft smile.
"You should rest," she said.
He didn't respond.
He just looked through the glass into the ICU room.
His brother hadn't opened his eyes.
Not once.
A gust of wind blew against the windows.
Iida didn't flinch.
He was trembling—but not from fear.
From rage.
The kind that started deep in the chest. The kind that swallowed logic. The kind that made the world narrow to one terrible truth:
Someone did this.
And Tenya Iida couldn't run fast enough to stop it.
But maybe—maybe he could catch up.
—
The rain fell like a curtain over the world.
Each footstep splashed faintly in the puddles along the walk to U.A., and every breath steamed into the gray morning air. Umbrellas tilted inward, hoods tugged tight, but nothing stopped the cold from settling in their bones.
Rumi walked beside Izuku instead of perched on his back. Her hood was up, ears hidden beneath soaked fabric, hands tucked deep in her jacket. She hadn't said much.
Neither had anyone else.
Kaminari shuffled a bit closer to Sero and muttered, "Man… this rain's really killin' the vibe."
"No joke," Sero said. "It's like the world's holding its breath."
Mina looked over her shoulder at the group. "He's gonna be okay, right? Iida?"
No one answered right away.
Then Ochaco spoke, her voice quiet. "He hasn't messaged back… since the news."
Shoto walked a few steps ahead, silent, but listening.
"…Should we do something?" Kirishima finally asked, eyes lowered beneath his drenched bangs.
Izuku looked up through the drizzle, his expression unreadable.
"We'll be there for him," he said softly. "Whatever he needs."
When they arrived at the classroom, the door slid open with a familiar click.
Iida was already inside.
Standing.
Waiting.
"Good morning, my classmates!" he called with the same energy he always had, straightening his glasses. "Please excuse my earlier absence. There were family matters to attend to, but I am back and fully committed to our next phase of study!"
Everyone froze for a moment.
He was smiling.
Perfect posture.
Crisp voice.
But something was wrong.
"Morning, Iida," Ochaco said carefully as she stepped inside.
"Welcome back," Momo added, though her brow furrowed.
Kirishima gave a small grin. "Good to see you, man."
"Y-Yeah," Kaminari followed. "Glad you're… here."
Iida nodded at each one of them, like a commander acknowledging his troops.
But even from across the room, Izuku could see it—his friend's eyes didn't shine behind his glasses. His voice was smooth, but it wasn't warm. Something underneath was off.
Rumi leaned close to Izuku, whispering, "He's wearing a mask. Not the fun kind."
Izuku gave a subtle nod. He saw it too.
Once everyone was seated, the door opened again—this time with the familiar dragging shuffle of Aizawa.
He looked like the weather incarnate: tired, draped in a damp scarf, and vaguely annoyed at existing before noon.
He didn't speak at first. Just stood at the front of the class, scanning them.
"You're quiet," he said.
No one answered.
"Good."
He sighed.
"You all did well at the Sports Festival," he continued, scribbling something half-legible on the board. "Messy. Risky. But well. You made yourselves known. The world is watching now."
He turned slightly.
"And since you've apparently recovered from public humiliation, we've finally filled the open seat in your roster."
That snapped a few heads up.
"What?" Kaminari whispered.
"Wait, someone's joining?" Jirou asked.
The door slid open behind Aizawa.
And Hitoshi Shinso walked in.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
"Yo," he said casually, scanning the class.
Mina blinked. "Hey, wait, isn't that—?"
"The brainwash guy!" Kaminari blurted. "From the tournament!"
Shinso arched a brow. "Yup. That's me. Surprise."
Momo nodded politely. "You performed quite well. Welcome."
"Thanks. Still figuring out if that's a compliment or a warning."
"I think it's both," Jirou said dryly.
Kirishima grinned. "We're a little nuts here. You'll fit in."
"I look forward to it," Shinso said. Then, after a beat: "I think."
"Take a seat, Shinso," Aizawa said, not looking up from his notes.
"I'll try not to brainwash anyone," Shinso muttered under his breath, settling in.
"No promises," Sero replied with a smirk.
As classes began—literature, math, history, hero art—things moved like clockwork.
But the ticking felt louder than usual.
No one forgot about Iida.
No one forgot what wasn't being said.
And every now and then, one of them would glance toward the front row, where Iida sat—head held high, eyes sharp, answers perfect.
And beneath it all…
Something cracked.
They just couldn't see it yet.
By the time lunch rolled around, the rain had finally let up.
U.A.'s cafeteria buzzed with the low murmur of students, chairs scraping, trays clattering, and the occasional echo of a loud laugh across the open space.
Class 1-A didn't sit at a single table anymore—not like they did during festival prep. But they were still close enough to throw food, insults, and good-natured chaos across the room.
And today, for the first time in what felt like days—
They were laughing again.
"I'm telling you," Kaminari said loudly, slapping his tray down near Sero and Jirou, "I could've taken Shinso if he was put up against me."
"You tripped over your own shoelace the other day," Jirou replied.
"Details!"
"Not really," Shinso said calmly from the next table over. "That sounds about right."
Kaminari spun toward him, scandalized. "Dude! Et tu, new guy?"
Shinso took a bite of rice and said, with deadly calm: "Just calling the corpse as I see it."
"OHHH!" Mina shrieked from across the aisle. "SHINSO'S GOT BARS!"
Bakugo, two tables down, rolled his eyes but didn't bark. Instead, he muttered, "Should've tripped harder."
"Whoa," Kirishima said, blinking. "Was that… teasing?"
Bakugo glared.
"It was friendly," Sero gasped.
"Write it down!" Toru squealed.
"Get the calendar!" Mina called.
At a center table, Izuku and Rumi sat with their regular crew: Tsuyu, Mina, Kirishima, Momo, Ochaco, Shoto—and Iida, freshly returned.
And for the most part, he was acting like he always had.
"So I fully intend to reclaim my place among the top runners," Iida declared between bites. "With the Sports Festival concluded, my training regimen must resume without delay!"
"Back at it already?" Ochaco asked, smiling.
"Of course! No time to waste."
"Let him cook," Kirishima grinned. "That engine's always running."
"It never stops," Tsuyu added.
"Try living next to him in the dorms," Izuku said, chuckling. "He power walks at 6 a.m."
Iida gave a proud nod. "Heroism starts before sunrise!"
But beneath the glasses and big gestures… something didn't sit right.
Rumi leaned into Izuku, her voice low.
"You feel that?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "He's too loud."
She glanced at Iida again—at the careful posture, the sharp lines of his uniform, the way his smile lingered a beat too long.
"He's hiding," she murmured.
Shoto, seated across from them, poked at his food slowly. "Should I say something?"
"To Iida?" Momo asked.
"No. To Kirishima. He keeps looking at me like I said something profound."
"Because you did," Mina replied. "You used metaphor and sarcasm last period."
"It was a statement of fact."
"That's what makes it worse," she laughed.
Shoto blinked. "Should I apologize?"
Kirishima clapped his shoulder. "No, man. You're doing great."
It felt almost like normal.
Almost.
And then—
The cafeteria door exploded open.
"MIDORIIIIYAAAA!" a voice rang out like a cannon blast.
Several students yelped.
Mei Hatsume strode in with purpose, goggles on, hair frizzed like she hadn't slept in three days—which, given her energy, was likely true.
"I FINISHED THE BABIES!"
"Oh no," Sero muttered. "She's loose."
Izuku stood halfway, eyes wide. "You really finished them already?!"
"I don't half-bake my miracles!" she shouted, weaving through tables like a caffeinated shark. "I've been pulling triple shifts on my own time—and bam! Finished at 4 a.m.! I even skipped breakfast!"
"Again?" Momo frowned.
"Genius runs on fumes!"
She landed in front of Rumi and proudly slapped down a small, sleek black case.
Inside?
Two matte, perfectly sculpted earbuds—tiny, contoured to the inner curve of the ear, with a subtle electric sheen.
"Low-profile, high-res, adjustable filters," she announced. "High-frequency dampening while maintaining directional sensitivity. Bonus: built-in comm link if we ever wanna network later."
Rumi stared.
Izuku grinned.
Rumi reached for them, turning one between her fingers. Her expression softened.
Then she looked at Izuku—and her grin turned sharp.
"I'm going to kiss your lights out again."
Mei blinked. "Do it. I need field data."
—
Next Period
The air in the Heroics classroom felt charged—just enough to keep everyone alert without tipping into nervous tension.
Aizawa stood at the front of the room, one hand loosely holding a clipboard, scarf draped around his shoulders like a lazy cat.
"Alright," he said, tone flat but direct. "Let's get this over with."
He clicked a button on the console and the screen behind him blinked to life.
Pro Agency Internship Requests – Sports Festival Response Totals
A chart filled the board with names and numbers. At the top:
Izuku Midoriya – 5,642
Shoto Todoroki – 5,310
Rumi Usagiyama – 4,987
Katsuki Bakugo – 4,101
Momo Yaoyorozu – 862
Tenya Iida – 815
Fumikage Tokoyami– 784
Eijiro Kirishima – 763
Tsuyu Asui – 700
Denki Kaminari – 643
Kyoka Jirou – 600
Mezo Shoji – 589
Toru Hagakure – 572
Rikido Sato – 520
Mashirao Ojiro – 507
Yuga Aoyama – 485
Mina Ashido – 467
Hanta Sero – 430
Gasps, murmurs, and low whistles filled the room immediately.
"Yo!" Kaminari practically fell out of his chair. "Five thousand?! That's like—celebrity status!"
"Midoriya broke the charts!" Sero added, pointing at the board like it owed him money.
"Why am I not surprised," Jirou muttered, smirking.
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, already pink in the face. "I-It was probably because of the Todoroki match—"
"Or the Bakugo one," Tsuyu added.
"Or all of it," Mina said. "You were on fire."
Rumi leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, legs up on the desk, looking smug. "They should've doubled it just for that final punch."
Bakugo remained silent for a moment, staring at his number.
Then—
"...I beat half of those guys," he muttered.
"But you didn't out-request them," Kaminari teased.
"Which is weird, right?" Mina added. "Second place, but not second-most requests? That's kinda—"
Bakugo turned just enough to narrow his eyes.
"Want me to fix that ranking, Pinkie Pie?"
Mina snorted. "There he is!"
Jirou grinned. "Still sharp. But not exploding. I think that counts as personal growth."
Bakugo rolled his eyes but didn't snap.
Just muttered, "Whatever. They'll figure it out soon enough."
Shoto blinked. "Did he just express patience?"
"I'm scared," Sero whispered.
Aizawa waited until the noise ebbed, then cleared his throat.
"While your performances varied, you all received more than enough to qualify for internships. These placements are optional—but recommended."
The screen flicked off behind him.
"Now… before we send you off to agencies, we're covering something foundational. Today's Hero Class will focus on something simple but defining—your code names."
A stir of interest swept through the room.
"Names shape public perception. Identity. Marketability. Symbolism. Choose wrong, and you'll regret it."
He opened his mouth to continue—
SLAM!
The door burst open.
"AND THAT'S WHY I'M HERE!" Midnight strode in like a queen of chaos, hands on her hips, eyes gleaming with devilish delight.
"You have no idea how many careers I've saved by slapping names out of idiot mouths. So listen up, darlings—this is where legends are born. Or where cringe goes to die."
She pulled out a heavy red stamp and slapped it dramatically on the desk. "This—" she grinned, "—is the seal of destiny."
Aizawa didn't blink.
"Try not to traumatize anyone."
"No promises," she purred.
And so, the ritual began.
One by one, each student stepped forward, etched their name on the screen, and declared who they were to the world.
Sparkling Hero: I Can't Stop Twinkling
Yuga Aoyama twirled in place, arms wide. "It must be said in full!"
"It must not," Midnight muttered. "But fine. You sparkle enough to blind a camera."
Kaminari whispered, "Someone please shorten him."
Creation Hero: Creati
Momo Yaoyorozu presented her name with calm pride. "It embodies my Quirk and my principles—structure, creation, knowledge."
"I'd sign up for that brand," Jirou murmured approvingly.
"Elegant and sharp," Midnight said. Stamp.
Stun Gun Hero: Chargebolt
Denki beamed. "Because I charge stuff, and I bolt stuff!"
Midnight sighed. "Catchy. Accurate. Stamp."
"I charge hearts too," Denki added with finger guns.
"Strike one," Jirou said, elbowing him.
Hearing Hero: Earphone Jack
Jirou scrawled her name with practiced precision. "No need for metaphors. It's who I am."
"And who we hear," Tsuyu said.
"You mean endure," Sero whispered.
Midnight smiled. "Approved."
Rainy Day Hero: Froppy
Tsuyu stepped forward. "It's a name that I've been thinking of for awhile. I had this picked out for years and it's what my friends call me."
"That makes it powerful," Momo said warmly.
"Sometimes the smallest ripples matter," Midnight added. Stamp.
Stealth Hero: Invisible Girl
Toru's name appeared next. "No one sees me coming!"
"Or your tests," Shoji said flatly.
"Or her snacks," Sato added.
"I'm a ninja," she declared proudly.
"Approved," Midnight laughed.
Jet-Black Hero: Tsukuyomi
Tokoyami's voice was low and steady. "A moon god. Unyielding. Cloaked in shadow."
"Why is that so cool?" Kaminari asked.
"Because he means it," Shoji said.
Midnight nodded once. Stamp.
Martial Arts Hero: Tailman
Ojiro rubbed the back of his neck. "It's simple. Honest. No flash."
"That's why it works," Aizawa noted.
"And why it's cool," Kirishima added.
Stamp.
Taping Hero: Cellophane
Sero gave a lazy salute. "Sticky, stretchy, reliable. Like industrial-grade gum."
"Or duct tape with a vengeance," Jirou teased.
"You're turning down the chance to be Duct tape-man." Kaminari said with a smirk. Sero didn't even respond to him except for the look of disdain he shot his way
"Practical and playful," Midnight said. Stamp.
Sweets Hero: Sugarman
Sato chuckled. "Because I'm powered by sugar. Might as well lean into it."
"You are the dessert tank," Kaminari said.
"He's the glucose god," Mina added.
Midnight laughed. "Stamp!"
Alien Queen Hero: Pinky
Mina spun. "Cute, fierce, pink—and dangerous."
"She's a pastel explosion," Rumi commented.
"Terrifying and stylish," Jirou added.
Stamp.
Tentacle Hero: Tentacole
Shoji stood calmly. "Efficient. Tactical. Clean."
"It sounds sleek," Tokoyami offered.
"And intimidating," Momo said.
Midnight gave a nod. Stamp.
Sturdy Hero: Red Riot
Kirishima's voice burned with pride. "A tribute to Crimson Riot. Unbreakable spirit. That's the hero I want to be."
Izuku smiled. "You already are."
"Hell yeah," Sero added.
"Rock solid," Midnight said. Stamp.
Half-and-Half Hero: Shoto
Todoroki scrawled his name without hesitation.
"It's just… my name."
"I was expecting 'Hot 'n Cold,'" Kaminari whispered.
"I'm complex," Shoto said.
"Minimalist is fine," Midnight said with a smirk. Stamp.
Zero Gravity Hero: Uravity
Ochaco blushed slightly. "It's… gravity and me. And, um, puns."
"It's adorable," Mina declared.
"Smart branding," Aizawa noted from his sleeping bag in the corner.
"Good lift," Midnight said. Stamp.
Rabbit Hero: Mirko
Rumi walked up with all the confidence in the world and scribbled her name fast and clean.
"'Mirko.' It's sleek. Fast. Hits hard. Just like me."
"I love it," Jirou said. "Short and deadly."
"You'd never forget it," Tsuyu added.
Midnight gave a sharp nod. Stamp.
Voice Hero: Mindjack
Shinso approached next, casual as ever. "Straightforward. I speak, you fall. Works for me."
"And it fits," Kaminari said. "Slick and a little scary."
Midnight gave a firm stamp. "Welcome to the class, Shinso."
Explosion Hero: Groundzero
Bakugo didn't hesitate. He walked up, wrote his name in jagged, bold letters, and turned slightly toward the class.
"That's the name me and a friend made up when we were kids."
A hush fell across the room.
"It means starting from nothing. Blowing the foundation apart—and building it again. Stronger."
No one mocked it.
No one teased.
Instead, there was only quiet respect.
Midnight stared at him for a moment, then nodded.
"That's a hero forged from fire." Stamp.
Then came Izuku's turn.
Aizawa turned. "Midoriya."
Izuku stood.
Straight-backed. Steady.
He picked up the marker and scrawled a single word:
Atlas
Then turned to face them all.
"In Greek mythology, Atlas was a Titan who held up the sky. No matter how heavy it was. He didn't collapse. He didn't run. He bore the weight so others didn't have to."
He looked at them all—his classmates, his friends.
"With All Might stepping back… someone has to carry that sky."
Silence.
Then—
"Damn…" Kirishima murmured, eyes wide.
"Now that's a name," Sero said, blown away.
"I've got chills," Jirou whispered.
"He's not just serious," Momo added. "He's ready."
"We can't fall behind now," Shoji said.
"We won't," Shoto said, quietly but firmly.
Rumi leaned forward, chin resting in her palm as her crimson eyes glittered with pride.
"I'm dating a myth," she purred, voice low and warm. "Better not drop the sky, hero."
Izuku smiled and held his head high.
Midnight gave him a long, thoughtful look.
Then pressed the stamp down.
"Atlas... approved."
As he walked back to his seat, his heart still beating with quiet fire, Izuku glanced to the side—
—and saw Iida.
Still seated.
Still smiling.
But his name card was blank.
His hands were clenched just a little too tight on his lap.
And beneath the crisp uniform and rehearsed posture, something trembled.
Izuku said nothing.
But the weight of it stayed with him.
As the classroom settled down from the adrenaline of name selection, Aizawa stepped back up to the front with a fresh stack of folders in one hand and a look that promised homework in the other.
"You've all chosen your names," he said. "Now it's time to choose where those names go."
He lifted the folders slightly. "These are your internship offers. The agencies that requested you after the Sports Festival. Based on your performance—and public reception."
The projector blinked back on.
Internship Offer Totals – Agency Submissions
The same chart from earlier flashed up again. Names and numbers displayed in sharp clarity:
Izuku Midoriya – 5,642
Shoto Todoroki – 5,310
Rumi Usagiyama – 4,987
Katsuki Bakugo – 4,101
Momo Yaoyorozu – 862
Tenya Iida – 815
…and so on.
A low wave of noise rolled through the class as Aizawa handed out folders, each one thick with stamped letters, glossy brochures, and crisp embossed seals from hero agencies across Japan.
"Holy crap," Kaminari muttered, flipping through his. "I got six pages of forms and I only had six hundred-something!"
Mina stared at hers. "How are we supposed to read all of this?!" She looked over at Izuku, whose folder was practically bursting. "Midoriya's gonna drown in paperwork!"
Izuku gave a sheepish grin as he caught the weight of his folder in both hands.
"That's... a lot."
"That's insane," Sero replied.
Bakugo didn't say anything. He was already skimming through his forms, jaw clenched but not angry—focused.
Tsuyu blinked slowly as she looked over her own pile. "It's like the career fair from hell."
"Alright," Aizawa said. "You have until tomorrow to submit your choices. Do your research. Read the fine print. You'll be working under these pros for a week. Make it count."
The room buzzed again with muttering—mild panic and excitement in equal measure.
"I don't even know where to start," Ochaco said. "How do you pick from hundreds?"
"Izuku can help," Rumi said, her arms crossed with a proud smirk. "He's a walking hero database. Practically sleeps in agency logs."
Izuku flushed slightly, grinning. "I don't sleep in them."
"You'd sleep in a hero museum if we let you," she teased, elbowing him.
"That offer's still on the table," he replied with a chuckle.
"I'll take the help," Jirou said. "You know the reputation stuff better than most of us."
"Same here," Kirishima added. "Seriously, Midori-bro, hook us up."
"I can break them down by region, specialties, and Quirk matchups if that helps," Izuku said, already flipping open his notebook.
"Of course he made a spreadsheet," Momo murmured, amused.
Amidst the chatter, Shinso leaned back in his chair with a faint smirk.
"Not really a decision for me," he said.
The group turned to him.
"Aizawa-sensei's taking me with him."
"Wait, seriously?!" Kaminari said. "Mr. Scarf and Shadows himself?!"
Shinso nodded. "Says I've got the potential. Just need to 'tighten the edges.' Translation: he's going to destroy me."
The class winced in collective sympathy.
"Rest in peace," Mina whispered dramatically.
"You'll be reborn better," Tokoyami intoned.
"I'll light a candle," Sero added solemnly.
Shinso raised his water bottle like a toast. "Appreciate it."
Then Iida spoke up, posture crisp and voice steady.
"I've already made my selection."
"Oh? That was fast," Momo said.
"Yes," he replied. "I'll be interning with Manual."
There was a slight pause.
"Manual?" Kaminari blinked. "Isn't he the guy who… controls water currents?"
"Correct," Iida confirmed. "His methods may seem simple, but his technique and civic focus are admirable."
Izuku's eyes narrowed just slightly.
Manual. In Hosu.
And Iida didn't look like he was choosing out of admiration.
His face was composed.
Too composed.
The numbers.
The absence.
The silence.
Izuku didn't say anything. Not yet. But something clicked behind his eyes.
The final bell rang overhead.
Chairs scraped. Papers shuffled. Most of the class gathered their materials and started toward the door, buzzing with ideas and possibilities.
Iida was the first one up. His movements were fluid, practiced.
He moved to the door quickly, almost too quickly.
But just before he reached it—
Izuku stepped forward.
"Iida."
The word landed with weight.
The entire class froze for half a second.
Iida paused, hand on the doorframe.
And without turning, he said—
"…Yes?"
End Chapter
Well we had a good time only to be brought down by reality let's see how the newly dubbed Atlas handles this.