Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Usually, I don’t fear anything. Fear is weakness, and I’ve blasted my way through more than I can count. I’m explosive, I blow things to bits—literally. What’s the big deal? Give me an obstacle, and I’ll blow it to bits. So who would’ve thought I’d find myself feeling this level of fear? Standing here, in the suffocating darkness of this dense forest, I’ve never been this scared in my life. “Scared” barely scratches the surface. Terrified, frightened, horrified. Those fit the bill better.

And it’s not because I'm stuck in the middle of a goddamn labyrinth of trees, surrounded by darkness so thick I can’t see an inch in any direction. It’s not the eerie hoots of owls or the rustling of leaves that sends a shiver down my spine. I could obliterate all that with a single blast, no sweat.

No, what’s got my guts twisted is not the things I can kill but the things I can't control. And right now, that troubling entity is Deku. I can't control how he’s breathing or the fever that holds him captive. I can’t even mess with the chaotic thoughts racing through his feverish mind. And he’s too delirious, too out of it, to grasp my words. So much for his endless intelligence. NERD.

And I know - now is not the time to dwell on the 'what-ifs'. This is not the time to kick myself for thinking that this all could have been prevented if I just abandoned my pride and listened to what Deku was saying. Helped him even when he said he didn’t need it. Made the right calls earlier even when he insisted he was fine. Because that’s what heroes do, right? They observe their surroundings, read between the lines, and make the correct decisions. But what have I done? I only made wrong decisions so far.

Now we’re here, with Deku slumped against the cold ground, his breaths coming in heavy gasps, his eyes glazed with feverish delirium, babbling incoherently about things that make no sense, clinging desperately to his side as if sheer will can push away the pain. But it’s clear from the blood on his lips that it’s not just his side that’s hurting him. I’m losing it. I know I need to do something, anything, but my body feels heavy and sluggish, as if I'm slogging through mud.

"Kacchan! I’m sorry! I don’t want to slow you down. But can I just have some water, please? I'm really thirsty," he croaks, his voice barely a whisper.

Without thinking, I grab the bottle laying a few feet away from my bag, limp back to him, unscrew the cap, and tilt his head up to let him drink. But as soon as he takes a sip, he starts coughing, and pain twists his face into a mask of agony. He clasps his chest like it's about to burst, as if holding himself together might prevent his lungs from escaping. With each desperate cough, his body folds in on itself, but all I can do is rub his back helplessly.

After a moment, he collapses against the ground, panting heavily. But then, suddenly, he grips my hand as I try to get him to drink again. Water trickles and mingles with the crimson drops pooling on the earth beneath him. “Mom, please don’t leave me. It hurts, Mom. It hurts a lot. Please make it stop,” he sobs, his voice breaking apart like shattered glass.

I wanted bark at him for calling me his mom. Does he think I’m as old and worn as that hag? But those words die on my lips because I know—I know—I’m to blame for this. When I know exactly why we’re stuck in this hell, why he can’t tell reality from the fever-induced wild.

“Shh, Izuku, come on. Stop crying like a baby and breathe. We need to finish this assignment, and you're slowing me down by not listening. I say stop crying this instant and breathe damn it.” The words spill out, desperate and harsh. Wait! When did I start calling him Izuku? It doesn’t matter; not when he’s hyperventilating like this. He’s not hearing anything, just pulling at his hair, kicking his legs like a child throwing a tantrum. He’s shaking, each sob rattling him to the core.

I grab his wrist, trying to pry his fingers open, but then he goes still. His trembling eases, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“No no no no no no no”

“Deku, you need to stay awake. You know it.”

I start slapping his face lightly, desperation clawing at my throat. Nothing. I shake him harder, urgency flooding my veins.

“Deku”

“Izuku”

“IZUKU”

Chapter Text

Aizawa sensei has clearly lost his mind if he thinks I can survive an hour with Deku. Of-course, I will kill him the moment we are alone. I hate him. No, scratch that - I loath him. I despise every fibre of his pathetic being. I hate the way he grins like an idiot, the sound of his stupid laugh, the way he walks all awkward like he’s tripped over his own feet for fun. Don't even get me started on how he scratches that dumb head of his whenever he’s confused—as if it’s going to make him any less of a fucking nerd. The way he blabber all the time with no end. And those hazel eyes? They are the most disgusting thing of him. They practically scream trust, like I’m some kind of god who will never betray him, who will always stay with him. What a joke.  

Back when we were kids, I didn’t loathe him this much. Sure, we’d play around with All Might plushies, and I’d always win because Deku was such a clumsy mess. Sometimes, I’d let him win just to keep him from bursting into tears like a little baby. Because angry Deku is dangerous Deku. But even then, he never stayed mad for long—always off in his happy-go-lucky little world, blissfully unaware of the harsh reality around him.

When he was announced as quirkless, I started putting distance between us. There was no way in hell I wanted to be seen hanging around some worthless loser like him. But Deku? He clung to me like a damn parasite, oblivious to the signals I was throwing his way. Did he really think I’d want to stay friends with someone as worthless as him? That day by the river was the last straw. I was trying to show everyone I could be reliable, that they could count on me, that I was the one they should trust to lead the way. But there he was, reaching out a hand to help me when I slipped. I wasn't supposed to fall like that, and I sure as hell wasn't supposed to show weakness. HE wasn’t supposed to help me! From that moment, my hatred for him turned into a raging fire.

Then, when he got into UA? I wanted to scream. How could a quirkless weakling like Deku even get a foot in the door at my dream academy? I thought I’d finally have some peace and quiet without him pestering me all the time, but he proved me wrong with that flashy new quirk of his. Great. Just what I needed.
And now Aizawa-sensei has the audacity to shove us into this hellhole to spend two entire days together. Our assignment is fairly simple: something is hidden in Kinnigan Hill, and we need to find it and bring it back. There are clues or whatever at checkpoints to guide us.

“Remember, this assignment is not to test your speed. It is to test your analytical, combative and survival skills. You can carry as much load as you want but my advise is to carry just the necessary items. Every checkpoint is a test in itself. Every time you acquire your clue, I’ll be notified. Whenever you feel like you cannot continue or don’t want to continue, you can send a SOS code from any checkpoint. There is an emergency kit at one of the checkpoint for you. If you fail to bring the hidden object together, you fail. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir” Deku replies like the obedient little puppy he is.

“Yeah. Whatever” I mumble.

We set off into the forest together, and I’m already grinding my teeth. If it weren’t for this glorified babysitting mission, I could’ve finished this task in a couple of hours. But no—here I am, dragging my feet alongside the very person I can’t stand. All I want is to find the damn object, get it over with, and escape this mess, but with Deku trailing behind me, who knows how long it will take? This is going to be a nightmare.

I could hardly contain my excitement for this assignment! When Aizawa-sensei announced it on Friday, my heart raced, and I practically bounced out of my seat—like a kid on Christmas morning. But then came the moment of truth: the pairs. My joy plummeted faster than a falling meteor when I learned I was stuck with Kacchan. Seriously? Of all people? But I wouldn't let a little mishap like this dampen my spirits. If I just…maintain my distance, surely it wouldn’t be that bad. Right?

I started mentally piecing together a list of everything we’d need on that mountain. Water, snacks, first aid kit, rope—the essentials! And once I had all that sorted, one conclusion stood out: I needed a big bag. A really big one. That shouldn't be a problem; Uraraka-san loves hitting the mall with me. She’ll help me find the perfect backpack, something spacious enough to hold everything.

Monday found us at the foot of Kinnigan Hill with the sun shining brightly on us. The chirping of birds created a cheerful soundtrack in the background, adding to the vibrant atmosphere that I couldn't help but love. The thrill of the quest awaiting us made my heart race with excitement. We both arrived early, and were waiting for Aizawa-sensei to give us our instructions.

But before I could really dive into my thoughts, Kacchan stormed over, his usual fiery demeanor on full display. “Hey! Deku. If you don’t want to be crushed, better stay fucking out of my way. Got it?” His tone was commanding, leaving no room for argument.

“But we are paired together, and that means we will have to work together,” I reminded him nonchalantly, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I don’t want you fucking with my assignment. You’ll ruin it just like you always do. So just better stay away from me.”

I nodded, not wanting to escalate things further. Arguing with Kacchan was rarely productive; he always seemed to find a way to turn everything into an explosive confrontation. After All Might's legacy was passed to me, I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Kacchan would reconsider our past and we could rekindle our friendship. After all, we had been friends once, back when we were not branded. But that hopeful notion evaporated the moment we clashed during our first class with All Might; our very first duel as heroes. The reminder of that fight was painful; it solidified the stark reality that we were not friends anymore.

But that’s okay, really. I have so many friends now, who cares about me, listen to my ideas, and respect me. They didn’t call me names or throw around harsh words like Kacchan did. Logically, I knew I shouldn't let this bother me so much. This attitude doesn’t suit a hero. Heroes are supposed to be kind and always ready to help others, no matter the circumstances. I couldn't let these negative feelings distract me from my dream of becoming a hero just like All Might.

Aizawa-sensei arrived and began explaining the assignment, his tone always calm and collected. He subtly pointed out the size of my bag, which practically towered over me. I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks, but I swallowed my embarrassment. I was prepared! I packed only the MOST necessary items in there—after all, I had learned the hard way that being ready for any situation was essential. 

I glanced over at Kacchan, who stood with his small bag slung casually over one shoulder. How will he survive with so little was beyond me. He must have some sort of crazy confidence in his own strength.

Chapter Text

As we entered the forest, a wave of giddiness surged through me. What’s the first clue? Where do we look for it? How will we know if what we find is the clue? Do we check every tree? Should we look for signs in the soil or examine every rock if it was buried? Maybe there’s a cave somewhere? Oh! Or we could ask the animals! Koda would have been so happy to do that. 

“Shut up, you damn nerd,” Kacchan shot back, already putting his hands into his pockets and picking up his pace.

Hmm. I really should pay attention when I’m thinking out loud. What if I accidentally spill all our secrets about catching a villain right in front of him? That would be a disaster. Imagine a villain interrogating me and I blurt out our entire plan! Or worse, I blabber out the flaws in HIS NEFARIOUS plan in front of him, without restrain! It would be an instant fail, and I can see the headlines now: Deku the All-Too-Innocent Hero Blows It Again! Yeah, that would earn me so many points towards my dream of becoming the best hero.

Okay, focus, Izuku, focus. We really need a plan. Without one, we would be roaming aimlessly on this mountain like lost ants. Summoning my courage, I prepared to verbalize my idea, but the thing with Kacchan is, well, it's always slightly intimidating. I never have a problem speaking my mind—usually—but with Kacchan, I find myself scrutinizing every word, weighing the consequences before I let anything slip. 

“Uh Kacchan. We need a plan to find our clue. Maybe we should....”

“I know that, nerd. YOU don’t give commands to ME. Got it?” He pointed firmly at me, then jabbed his finger at himself, emphasizing his point. His reply was like a slap in the face, but somehow, it didn’t hurt at all. After all these years, I know which words to pick and which ones to ignore. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve mastered his language; I can sense which subjects will trigger him and which will help calm the storm brewing in his chest. The subdued topics are few and far between, like precious gems hidden amidst a rocky landscape. 

There are moments when Kacchan seems like an absolute enigma. So unpredictable - just like an alien. He becomes aggressive over something mundane, like the weather or the paint on the wall. But that’s the thing—I’ve learned to accept him as he is.

He was about to say something more when he suddenly froze, his attention snagged fixatedly on something to my right. I turned to follow his fierce gaze, curiosity bubbling up inside me. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about the thicket of trees, just tall and usually unremarkable trunks swaying effortlessly in the wind. But as I looked closer, something caught my eye - a tree standing out from the rest.

I squinted, trying to see what makes it unique. I opened my mouth to voice my thoughts, but before I could utter a word, Kacchan was already striding towards it. Ignoring the fact that he left me behind, again, I rushed after him. When we reached the tree, my heart skipped as I realized what we both saw: an arrow scratched into the bark, its lines sharp and clear against the rough texture. It was like a breadcrumb trail left for us, and before I knew it, we were checking nearby trees, discovering more arrows etched into the wood. Each one seemed to guide us deeper into the woods.

After an hour of following the arrows, we stumbled upon a tree with a downward arrow. There were no arrows on any of the other trees suggesting the end of our trail. But what truly snagged my attention, making my brain immediately start whirring, wasn't the arrow itself. It was the small, silver whistle tied to the tree trunk just above it.

A whistle? My mind raced. Is this the clue? Is this what we're supposed to find? But if the whistle was the key, why was the arrow pointing down, away from it? Wouldn't it make so much more sense for the arrow to point directly at the whistle, or maybe have a little drawing of a whistle next to it? Instead, this solitary downward arrow seemed to be telling us something was below the tree, and honestly, that felt completely unhelpful.

The area beneath the tree looks clean. Come to think of it, the place looks too clean as compared to the path we walked so far, covered with leaves, twigs and occasional flower petals. Could it be that the clue was actually buried here, right beneath our feet?

Before I could even fully process the conflicting signals, Kacchan, with his usual terrifying decisiveness, instantly dropped to his knees and began digging into the ground with his bare hands. 

“Kacchan, wait!” I squeaked out, my voice probably a little higher than I intended. “I have a trowel in my bag! You don’t need to use your hands!”

“Don’t you dare to slow me down.” he snapped without even looking up, his voice a low growl. “Do what you want for all I care, but don’t you poke your fucking nose in my business.” 
With a resigned sigh, I replied, “Okay, Kacchan. I will just dig around to cover the ground faster.”

After rummaging through my bag, I finally found my trowel and plunged it into the dirt beside him. As minutes ticked by, we dug in relative silence, both of us consumed by the task at hand. The sweat trickled down my brow, and soon we were both covered in dirt. 

Suddenly, a triumphant roar burst through the quiet of the forest. “YES!” Kacchan’s voice, full of that raw, explosive energy, made me jump. My heart, which had been a little heavy with the familiar tension between us, suddenly started racing with anticipation. I leaned forward eagerly, peering over his shoulder. And there it was – the edge of a wooden box, peeking out from the dark earth.

I silently got to work, carefully digging around the box with my own trowel, trying not to get in Kacchan’s way but also wanting to help uncover our objective. It felt like an eternity, painstakingly excavating the soil from around the buried treasure. Finally, after what felt like a monumental effort, we managed to wrestle the box free from the earth and set it on the ground before us, dirt clinging to its rough surface.

The first thing we both noticed was the lock. A solid, metallic obstacle standing between us and whatever secrets the box held. While Kacchan immediately focused on the practical – finding a key – his gaze fixed intently on the churned-up dirt where we’d unearthed the box, digging with renewed fervor, my attention was drawn to the details. My eyes roamed over the engravings on the lock, my analytical brain immediately trying to decipher their meaning. There was a symbol of a flying bird, beautifully etched, paired with… a microphone?

A bird and a microphone? My mind raced through possible connections. What could that possibly mean? Is it a code? A riddle? I looked around the immediate area, searching for any sign of a bird or anything that might offer a clue, my eyes scanning the branches above and the ground around the tree.

Walking around the trunk, my gaze fell upon something I hadn’t noticed before – a small, dark hole in the bark, positioned on the opposite side of where we found the box. Could this be related to the bird engraving? My curiosity, a powerful force that often overrides my common sense, took over. Carefully, I began to climb the tree, my fingers gripping the rough bark, pulling myself upwards. When I reached the level of the hole, I carefully peered inside.

At first, it was just a void of darkness, revealing absolutely nothing. It was impossible to see anything. Just as I leaned in a bit more, trying to adjust my position and angle for a clearer view of the inside, I felt a sudden, sharp stinging sensation right on my nose.

“Arghhh!” I cried out in surprise, my hands instinctively flying to my face. In that moment of startled pain, I lost my grip on the bark and tumbled down, landing with an ungraceful thud on the ground below. The impact jarred me, but the sting on my nose was the more immediate concern.

“What are you doing, shithead?” Kacchan’s voice, full of his usual irritation, cut through my daze. I rubbed my nose, wincing at the lingering sting, and glanced back up at the hole. Despite the embarrassment and the pain, my curiosity was now piqued even more. What just happened?

Just then, a small head with beady, intelligent eyes peeked out from the hollow in the tree. It was a woodpecker, its head tilted as it seemed to assess us with a curious, almost mischievous look. A small, involuntary chuckle escaped my lips despite the sting on my nose and the awkward fall. It was just… so unexpected and a little bit comical.

“Kacchan,” I said, standing up and brushing the dirt off my clothes, a cautious excitement starting to bubble up inside me. “I… I think the key might be in there.”

He instantly rounded on me, his expression one of suspicion and disbelief. “And how do you know that, Deku? Did Aizawa tell you something?” he snapped, his voice laced with accusation.
“NO,” I quickly replied, shaking my head. “I saw a bird engraving on the lock! Maybe it’s a clue! It… it makes sense now! I still don’t know about the microphone, though.”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing in them. “If you’re messing with me to slow me down, I will KILL YOU.”

Before I could even respond, he launched a small explosion right beside the hole in the tree. The sudden blast of heat and sound was startling. The woodpecker shrieked in alarm, swooped down from the hole, and in a flash of feathers and fury, gave a hard, sharp peck right on Kacchan’s head.

“AGH!” Kacchan roared, blasting explosions with both his hands, trying to keep the irate bird away. The woodpecker, seemingly unfazed by his explosions, simply flew back to the hole and perched on the edge, its beady eyes fixed on Kacchan. The scene was so utterly absurd – the explosive hero being harassed by a small bird – that I would have felt truly sorry for Kacchan if the situation wasn’t so incredibly comical. I couldn’t help but giggle lightly again, this time managing to mostly cover it with a cough.

“SHUT UP, DEKU!” Kacchan bellowed, his face contorted in a mixture of pain and fury. “If you are so smart ass, you fetch the key yourself!”

Okay, a direct challenge. My mind was already working on a solution. The bird was protecting the hole, likely because it was its home. How could I get the key without harming the bird? I scanned my bag, searching for anything that might help. Seeds! I always carried a small bag of birdseed, a little habit from watching birds in the park.

I quickly brought out the small bag and started looking for some seeds to offer the bird, hoping to lure it away from the hole. I scattered a few seeds near the base of the tree and then, with a deep breath, I attempted to make a peculiar noise, something I’d read somewhere might attract birds. It was probably a terrible bird call, but I tried my best. After a few tries, to my surprise and relief, the bird started heading towards the ground, its attention seemingly caught by the seeds.

Seeing his opportunity, Kacchan instantly started to climb the tree. When he reached the hole and tightened his hold on the trunk to reach inside with one hand, the woodpecker, as if sensing his intention, flew right next to him and gave him three sharp, rapid pecks on his hand.

“Gahhh!” Kacchan yelped, his grip faltering. With another frustrated roar, he slid down the tree trunk rather ungracefully, landing with a thud not far from me. He glared up at the bird, which had returned to its perch by the hole.

“I saw the key in there,” he grumbled, rubbing his hand. “But how the hell do we fetch it with that fucking bird protecting it?”

Suddenly, it all clicked in my head. The whistle! The bird and the microphone on the lock. The woodpecker protecting its home. And the whistle tied to the tree. It wasn’t a clue to something below the tree, it was a clue to something that could drive the bird away! It had to be Mic Sensei’s work! His love for loud noises and theatrical flair.

“Kacchan!” I exclaimed, my voice full of newfound understanding and excitement. “The whistle! That’s what the microphone symbol meant! We need a loud noise to keep the bird away so that the other person can go and grab the key!” I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. This was it! Our first real victory on this assignment, and a brilliant way to announce it to Aizawa Sensei, who was probably watching us from somewhere nearby.

I know why Sensei chose this particular mountain for us. His shift this week is nearby, and he wants to keep a close eye on us. He probably thinks we’re going to kill each other any moment, given our history. But I had other plans. This assignment was a chance to prove we could work together, even if it was a messy, yelling, explosion-filled kind of teamwork.

“Then give me the whistle,” Kacchan said, his eyes fixed on the bird with a vengeful glint. He snatched the whistle from my hand. “I will KILL that bird for hurting me.”

A small wave of worry for the woodpecker passed through me, but I knew trying to reason with Kacchan about bird safety in this moment was futile. “Okay, Kacchan,” I said, taking a breath. “On the count of three…”

Before I could even start the count, the piercing, ear-splitting shriek of the whistle erupted through the forest. “PHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..”

With an eye roll that was probably completely lost on Kacchan in his whistling frenzy, I quickly scaled the tree again. The bird, startled by the sudden, incredibly loud noise, had flown away a bit, hovering nervously in the air. I reached into the hole, my fingers fumbling for the small, metallic key. I felt it! Grasping it tightly, I slid down the tree as quickly as I could, seeing the bird start to edge back towards the hole as the whistling began to falter slightly.

Stumbling next to the box, my hands were shaking a little with a mix of adrenaline and excitement. I fumbled with the key for a second, then inserted it into the lock. With a satisfying click, the lock opened with ease. Our first puzzle solved!

Before I could even fully register the feeling of accomplishment, Kacchan came running back from where he'd been keeping the bird at bay with his relentless whistling. He didn't even pause, just swooped in and snatched the box right out of my hands. My initial instinct was to protest, but I held back. It wasn't worth the inevitable explosion.

Inside, nestled on a surprisingly luxurious purple velvet bottom, with sides that gleamed like polished gold, was a scroll. It sat there, looking incredibly graceful and, dare I say, almost mocking at our disheveled, dirt-covered appearance. A delicate golden thread was tied neatly around it. The whole box, with its rich colors and shiny details, looked completely out of place in the middle of the forest – incredibly luxurious, like something you’d find in a fancy gift shop, not buried under a tree.

Tucked inside the lid of the box, almost as an afterthought, was a small, basic emergency medical kit. That’s… practical, I thought, a little surprised by its inclusion. My hand instinctively reached for the scroll, my fingers already working to untie the golden thread, eager to see what the next clue was. But just as I was about to loosen the knot, Kacchan snatched it from me with a speed that always surprises me.

“Do you have a death wish, Deku?” he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Keep your filthy hands away from my clue, dickhead.”

I flinched back, letting him have it. It was easier that way. I watched him as he roughly unrolled the scroll, his expression quickly shifting from his usual aggressive scowl to one of confusion. His brows drew together in a deep furrow as he read the words. My own curiosity was burning, and cautiously, I leaned over his shoulder, trying to read the scroll myself.
The words on the parchment were written in a clear, elegant script:

I come from muddy places but am beautiful and pure.
People love me for my looks and my spiritual charm.
I have your next clue. Come and get it before I close the shop for the day.

I read the riddle, my brain already trying to process the meaning. Muddy places… beautiful and pure… spiritual charm… a shop? It was a riddle, a classic one, likely another hint from one of our teachers. But what could it be? My mind started listing things that fit the description, trying to connect the seemingly disparate clues.

Kacchan was still staring at the scroll, his confusion evident. He wasn't shouting or exploding, just… thinking. It was a rare sight, and for a moment, I almost forgot about the tension between us, focused entirely on the riddle before us. The next clue was waiting, and we had to figure out where to go before… before the "shop" closed. That last line added a sense of urgency.

Chapter Text

Finally! That damn wooden box. After digging like a goddamn mole and having that annoying bird peck at me – seriously, a bird? What kind of bullshit is this assignment? – this is what we found? A fancy-ass scroll tied with some gold thread, sitting on purple velvet like it was royalty. And a goddamn first-aid kit stuck to the lid. What the hell are they expecting us to do out here, get mauled by bears?

And Deku, that goddamn nerd, was already fumbling with the scroll. I snatched it from his hands the second he untied it. Not that he did much, just stood there looking like a startled rabbit while I did the real work. 

I unrolled the scroll, my eyes scanning the words.

I come from muddy places but am beautiful and pure. 
People love me for my looks and my spiritual charm.
I have your next clue. Come and get it before I close the shop for the day

“What the hell does this mean?” I growled, glaring at the cryptic bullshit. “Where the fuck am I supposed to find a shop in this goddamn place?” We're in the middle of a goddamn forest, surrounded by trees and dirt, and some asshole wants me to find a shop?

I could feel the heat rising under my skin. I was so goddamn furious I felt like lashing out right now, just blasting everything into oblivion. First, that feathered menace pecked me! – me, Katsuki Bakugou, the guy who’s going to be number one! Then, this cryptic bullshit. It was probably some stupid riddle designed to waste my time. And to top it all off, DEKU was right there, still breathing, still existing. He was like an irritating thorn that I wish I could just get rid of for good. He was already muttering, his brain probably trying to process the riddle in that pathetic, mumbling way of his.

“Muddy Place,” he mumbled, his eyes darting around. “It should be somewhere near mud.”

Before he could launch into one of his usual rambling analyses – the ones that somehow manage to be both obvious and completely useless at the same time – I cut him off. “Great thinking, Deku.” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “This place is so goddamn clean that finding a muddy spot will hardly be an issue.” I rolled my eyes internally. Of course, the idiot would state the obvious.

But he ignored me, as he always did when he got lost in his own head, and continued rambling. I caught some phrases through his mumbles – something about “... something near water,” and then, annoyingly, accurately, “the Serpent river.”

The Serpent River? That damn river is around here somewhere. My brain, despite my fury, registered the possibility. Water… muddy places… it fit the first line, at least.

Then he opened his mouth again, and the real agony began. “I think we should go over there, Kacchan. The river isn’t far from here. We just need to look for signs of water. Maybe we could take a little break there, it’s already lunch time. I brought some rice cakes, mochi, kimchi and cup ramen. I didn't think about where I'd find hot water, but I figured if you were with me, you could boil some for me. Only if you want to though. I don’t want to be a burden or anything.....”

My blood pressure was skyrocketing. He just kept going on and on and on, his voice getting softer and more hesitant with each word. Rice cakes? Mochi? Cup ramen? Was he on a goddamn picnic? And asking me to boil water? The sheer nerve of this guy!

“JUST SHUT UP.” I roared, my voice echoing through the trees, cutting him off mid-ramble. How the hell could he speak for so long without taking a goddamn breath? It was infuriating! “Don’t say another word.” I glared at him, my hands already sparking with pent-up energy. “I am keeping the box and going to find that river myself. Keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

Without waiting for his pathetic reply, I blasted explosions to propel myself into the air. I didn't need his permission. I didn't need his help. I didn't need him. I soared over the trees, putting as much goddamn distance between myself and that annoying, mumbling, useless Deku as humanly possible. I needed to get away from him, away from his muttering and his pathetic attempts at conversation.

Serpent River. Fine. I’d find the damn river, I’d figure out the goddamn riddle, I’d get the next clue, and I’d do it faster and better than he ever could. By myself. Because that’s how I did things. And Deku could just try to keep up. If he even could, the useless goddamn nerd.

I nodded, trying to get his attention before he took off again. “Wait, Kacchan. I can’t follow you using Full Cowl. It would snap the straps on my bag,” I called out, my voice a little strained, trying to be reasonable. But of course, he didn’t listen. He just shot off like a rocket, leaving me standing there, sighing softly as I watched him disappear into the trees.

With a resigned shrug, I turned and started walking alone, the quiet forest wrapping around me like a familiar blanket. I took a slow, deliberate step, enjoying the peaceful rhythm of the woods. The clouds above drifted lazily across the sky, their fluffy shapes constantly shifting, while the birds chirped a melody that somehow felt like a lullaby. The cicadas added a rhythmic bass, their buzzing a steady heartbeat of the forest. A gentle breeze brushed against my skin, lifting my hair and sweeping away the sweat from my forehead, reminding me of those rare moments when I could just relax after a long, exhausting day. It was nice—calming, even.

My step found a light, almost carefree bounce again, the weight of my backpack temporarily forgotten. As I wandered, I spotted some fluffy white rabbits, their angelic appearance almost surreal amid the greenery. I reached into my bag and tossed a handful of nuts to them, watching their tiny paws scramble eagerly. For a moment, everything felt simple—peaceful, unchallenged, a stark contrast to the chaos just a few minutes ago.

Then, suddenly, the rustling of leaves ahead snapped me out of my calm. My instincts kicked in. I froze, tense, instinctively adopting a fighting stance. I didn’t want to hurt anything—really, I didn’t—but I wasn’t going to let myself be caught off guard either. My eyes narrowed, scanning the dense thicket ahead. Whatever it was, I’d defend myself.

The rustling stopped abruptly, and out stepped a deer, its sleek body moving swiftly. I relaxed just slightly, watching it dart past me without a second glance. I exhaled slowly, puzzled. Why was a deer acting so skittishly? It was just a forest creature, but the way it charged past, like it was fleeing from something dangerous, unsettled me a little.

I bent down, grabbed my bag, and continued walking, the peaceful veneer returning to my mind. Kacchan must have already found the clue by now, I thought, trying to reassure myself. The calmness persisted until, suddenly, the rustling started again—more frantic this time. My muscles tensed again, ready for whatever was coming. Something is definitely wrong.

And then, in a flash, a wolf appeared—or maybe it was just a fleeting shadow. It vanished just as quickly as it had shown up, leaving me with more questions than answers. This is not normal, and I could feel it in my bones I thought as I quickened my pace.

My thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of explosions—sharp, loud bursts echoing through the trees. My heart raced, the familiar feeling of unease settling deep in my gut. It was clear Kacchan was having a rough time. I pushed forward, cutting through the underbrush, until I finally spotted him—standing amidst a swarm of flies, blasting at them.
His arms and neck were bleeding slightly from scratches, his face flushed and covered in hives—an allergic reaction, no doubt. I don’t know if it is from something he ate or touched, but it needed treatment immediately. It looked like he’d gone full wild animal, scratching and swatting at everything around him. I approached cautiously, not wanting to startle him, but also knowing I needed to get him some help before things got worse.

He flinched when he saw me, eyes darting like a cornered beast, but then he relaxed a little—just enough to let me get close. His body was tense, and he kept scratching at his neck and arms as if trying to claw away the irritation.

I quickly pulled out the medical kit and water bottle from my bag. “Kacchan, here,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice calm. “Take these. They’ll help with your allergy.”
“Stay the fuck away from me!” he snapped, voice edged with irritation as he scratched violently, eyes blazing with anger. I know he is hurting, but without proper medication, his situation will only worsen. 

I took a cautious step forward, voice gentle but firm. “You’re only going to make it worse if you keep scratching. Please, Kacchan. I know it’s itchy—I get it. But I have medicine that can help. Trust me.”

He scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Trust you? Yeah, right. What next? Trust the Grim Reaper? He’s here to suck out my soul and grant me immortality?”
A flicker of hesitation ran through me. Maybe I should just leave him be. He clearly didn’t want my help—if he wanted to scratch himself to death, who was I to stop him? He was the one who left me behind, after all. If we’d been walking together, I’d have tried to stop this reaction early on. But now?

Part of me wanted to turn away, to let him deal with it however he saw fit. Maybe he needed to hit bottom before he’d accept help. Maybe I should just leave and take my frustration out on myself instead. Yet, even as that thought tried to settle, I couldn’t look away. Something inside me—something stubborn—refused to give up.

I remembered what Aizawa-sensei once said: Sometimes, you just have to be there, even if they don’t want you to. Watching him suffer, scratching furiously at his inflamed skin, his face flushed from exertion and irritation, I felt a surge of resolve. My hand trembled slightly, but I couldn’t ignore how desperate he looked.

He wasn’t accepting the water bottle, either. His skin was red and irritated,  and I knew a little cool relief might help. That left only one option. One he won’t like in the slightest. Taking a deep breath, I tightened my grip on the bottle’s cap, steeling myself. I silently told myself, No backing down now. 

Then, in one swift, decisive motion, I stepped forward and splashed water directly on his face. His expression immediately shifted—from shock to anger, and then to something more complicated I couldn’t quite read.

Crap! I’m dead meat.

Without warning, he erupted. Five explosions in rapid succession tore through the air, hot and dangerous. I dodged with Full Cowl, feeling the intense heat ripple past me. My heart pounded—not from fear, but from the sheer fury and frustration emanating from him. It was like he was trying to burn away his frustration.
I sprinted in the opposite direction, my mind already racing. Spotting a fallen, broken tree nearby, I pushed myself to move faster. As he approached, I slowed down near the fallen trunk, then jumped high, shouting, “DETROIT SMASH!”

The powerful punch shattered another tree, sending the debris crashing down, trapping him beneath the fallen wood. I knew he’d struggle to get free—his itching had to be unbearable, and his breathing was labored now. The allergic reaction was probably worsening, and I needed to get through to him.

“Kacchan,” I yelled, voice strained with frustration but also concern, “drop this idiocy and take the damn medicine! You’re the one slowing us down now, and I’m not gonna fail this assignment because of your damn pride!”

He only responded with a tired ‘Tch,’ too exhausted or stubborn to argue. I stomped away, hurriedly reached into my bag, grabbing the medicine and another water bottle. Carefully, I approached him again and gently pressed the medicine into his hand. “Here. Just take this. It’ll help.”

He hesitated for a moment, then finally swallowed the pill with a begrudging grunt. I took a deep breath, then grabbed the fallen tree and pushed, lifting it enough for him to crawl out. “Come on, I have a medicinal cream to soothe your itch,” I said softly, starting to walk back toward my bag. I knew he was probably contemplating whether to trust me again, but I hoped the promise of relief would be enough. 

A few moments passed with him scratching and fidgeting, lost in thought, before he finally started to follow. When he arrived, I was ready—prepared with Hydrocortisone cream and a damp towel I’d soaked earlier. I gestured to a nearby rock. “Sit there,” I instructed softly, offering him the towel. He moved sluggishly and sat, then took the towel and rubbed it over his face, neck, and arms with slow, deliberate motions.

Once he finished, I handed him the cream. “Don’t apply it on the cuts,” I advised gently. “It won’t do any good there. Just the inflamed skin.” He looked at the tube hesitantly before gently applying the cream on his arms. He considered whether to put it on his face himself but then hesitated, unsure of where exactly the cuts were. His head was pounding, and the itching was unbearable—he was clearly overwhelmed.

Seeing his hesitation, I reached out and offered, “Here, let me do it for you.” As I reached for the tube, he swatted my hand away and blindly smeared the cream onto his face and neck. I could tell he was struggling—probably with a headache and that relentless itch that refused to let go.

I knew I had to distract him before he did any more damage. His skin was inflamed, and I didn’t want him to cause himself worse injury. I paused for a moment, then gently said, “Hey, Kacchan! Can you do me a favor? Find me four big, heavy rocks—something solid and sturdy. Please?”

Chapter Text

“I am keeping the box and going to find that river myself. Keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

I don’t know what the hell I was expecting when we were forced to work together. I just wanted some peace - that’s all. I just wanted to get away from that fucking bird and the endless chatter from Deku, who combined forces to gave me a goddamn headache. God, I just wanted to be left alone for once.

The cool, calming air hit my face as I reached the peak of my blastoff and started descending. It felt good—like finally pushing away the headache that’s been pounding my skull all day. After a few skips, I looked around, expecting Deku to be right behind me, eager to keep this stupid search going. But he wasn’t. Strange.

I found a nearby tree and sank down beneath its shade, reaching for my canteen. The water was a godsend—refreshing, cool, and just what I needed to clear my head. Just a few minutes rest and then I’ll get back to searching, I thought, trying to ignore the pounding in my skull.

Suddenly, the rustling leaves snapped me awake. I hadn’t meant to doze off—wasn’t in my plans—but apparently my body had other ideas. I jerked upright, my muscles tensing instinctively. I slowly scanned my surroundings, eyes sharp. To my right, a deer was ambling peacefully, probably minding its own business. But the rustling that had woken me came from the opposite side, tense and unpredictable.

Then, out of nowhere, a wolf burst through the bushes, jaws snapping, fur bristling. It lunged at the deer with savage intent. Without thinking, I fired a shot—explosive bursts of my Quirk right into a shrub between the two. The deer bolted to safety, paws pounding the earth, while the wolf reared up, ready to attack again. 

I let loose a barrage of explosions, each blast echoing loudly as the wolf gained speed. “DIE, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!” I roared, fury fueling every shot. The wolf dodged my blasts, leaping over me in a blur of fur and teeth, aiming to sink those claws into me. I tracked it, aiming right for its face, but I lost my footing—step back onto a shrub, and I face-planted into the dirt. 

I pushed myself up fast, eyes narrowing as I saw I’d knocked the beast several feet away. Instead of pressing its attack, the wolf snarled and retreated, fleeing in the direction of the deer. Damn thing knew when to cut its losses, smart bastard. I watched it vanish into the woods, adrenaline still pounding through me.

I stayed rooted, muscles coiled tight in a defensive stance, eyes flickering between the spot where it vanished and the dense woods around me. I wasn’t about to lower my guard—not yet. Not after that reckless bastard nearly took my head off.

When the silence stretched out and it seemed like the wolf wasn’t coming back, I finally exhaled, trying to steady the pounding in my skull. My hand reached up instinctively, scratching at my neck—annoyed by this relentless, crawling itch that was spreading across my skin. That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t just some minor irritation. No, this shit was spreading fast, like wildfire. Every inch of by body that touched that damn shrub was burning with an intense, relentless heat.

Hives were blooming across my hands and face. My fingers clawed violently, frustration bubbling over into a grimace. “Fuck,” I muttered through clenched teeth, swiping at the swelling, trying to scratch away the relentless itch. But it only made it worse—like some cruel joke. 

And then, the headache hit—sharp, pounding, relentless. The flies buzzing around me didn’t help either. Fly by fly, bug by bug, they dared to land on me, and I couldn’t hold back. I let loose a string of curses, furious at every tiny pest. With a quick flick of my wrist, I blasted a handful of flies, sending them scattering in all directions, trying to shut them up. But the pain in my head was sharpening, the headache turning into a vice grip, and my temper snapped.

“Damn it all to hell,” I spat, voice rough, voice cracking under the pressure. My fists clenched, frustration bubbling over in a rage that I couldn’t contain. Goddamn it, all I wanted was some quiet. Instead, I got this bullshit. 

It was like my skin was melting off, and I just wanted the pain to fucking stop. Where the hell is that nerd when I need him? Seriously, what good is his massive bag if he can’t whip out some relief for this shit? I growled in frustration, my eyes starting to itch like crazy. Scratching would only make it worse—typical. So I tried to focus on anything else, cursing under my breath, blasting explosions at flies just to keep my mind off the burning.

Out of nowhere, that damn Deku appears—like some annoying little shadow. I relaxed a little when I saw him, but then he offers me allergy medicine. I knew what that meant. I saw the way he looked at me, all innocent like he was doing me a favor. Yeah, right. I’m not about to stoop so low as to ask for his help. He’s just some insignificant extra in my story. No—scratch that. He’s just a pebble on my path to greatness. I don’t need his damn medicine. I can handle this myself. 

But the temptation was there, biting at me. The pain was relentless, and honestly, the idea of relief was damn tempting. Why the hell can’t I just swallow my pride for once and help myself? Because heroes aren’t supposed to ACCEPT help—they GIVE it. That’s the code. I made up my mind and scoffed at his suggestion of trusting him.

Without any notice, he splashed water on my face. I was stunned—completely frozen. What the hell just happened? Was that Deku? The same meek, stuttering, mumbling little nerd? Did he just have the guts to splash water on me? Or was it some accident? Honestly, does it even matter? Does this little shit even have the guts to think about that? Apparently, he does. The fact that he actually did it said volumes about him. When did the little shitty pipsqueak become bold enough to do this?

My shock morphed into pure, boiling anger and disgust. He must have seen the fury burning behind my eyes. I let loose a barrage of explosions and he starts dodging, running away like a coward, trying to escape after humiliating me. Does he really think he can escape after humiliating me? Like I’d let that slide. Not a chance. He’s going to pay for crossing that line. I’ll make sure he learns what happens when you mess with me—when you humiliate the king of explosions. He’s got a hell of a lot coming.

He paused near a fallen tree, peering over his shoulder to check my location. I clenched my fists, ready to grab him by his stupid collar, but he suddenly leapt upward—like some damn acrobat. Before I could react, he tore off a nearby tree, and with a savage heave, hurled it at me. The bastard trapped me under the massive, jagged wood. My muscles tensed, ready to rip him apart the moment he got close enough. 

I tried to free myself, thrashing against the wood, but exhaustion and rage clouded my mind. My pounding heart echoed in my ears, and with every frantic struggle, that relentless itch on my skin intensified—like my flesh was crawling apart. My throat felt tight, constricted—harder to breathe. And just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Deku approached again. All my fury dissolved into pain and that damnable, irritating itch. I don’t even know if I was angry anymore or just exhausted.

All I wanted was to rest. My aching head begged for relief, pounding in sync with my racing pulse. Then I heard him roar—his voice cutting through the chaos. I wanted to snap back at him, to tell him to shut the hell up, but my headache throbbed harder, pounding in time with his words. I kept scratching at my neck, trying to drown out the burning sensation, when he left. I clutched my head in a vice grip, desperate to soothe the pounding. The pain worsened with every second, threatening to tear me apart.

I thought he’d just leave me there—continue the search for the next clue without me—dismissing my suffering. But instead, he came back with medicine. Despite my muddled, battered mind, I swallowed the pills, grateful and annoyed at the same time. I followed him, stumbling along until we reached our original spot. Strangely, my headache started to ease, the pain dulling to a tolerable ache, and my throat no longer felt constricted. The medicine was working.

Relief hit me hard when he handed me the wet towels—wonders on my hive-covered skin. I nearly cried with the relief they brought. Carefully, I applied the cream to my hands, cautious around the bleeding parts, trying not to worsen the pain. I thought about asking him to help me put it on my neck and face, but pride—stupid, stubborn pride—kept me from it. When he offered, I refused. No way I’d let some weakling touch me. I blindly smeared the cream over my face and neck myself, the relentless itch still gnawing away. No matter how much I wanted it to stop, that damnable sensation refused to subside.

Then, out of the blue, Deku squeaked, “Hey, Kacchan! Can you do me a favor? Find me four big, heavy rocks—something solid and sturdy. Please?”

I blinked, trying to focus through the pounding in my skull. “What for?” I managed to rasp, already feeling irritated by the mere sound of him.

He sounded oddly cheerful, almost innocent. “I need them to secure the tent so we can eat our lunch in the shade. It’ll help with your allergies too.”

I let out a long, exasperated groan, already annoyed just hearing his voice. Even the simplest conversation was aggravating my headache, making my temples throb harder. “Whatever. Just keep your volume down if you can’t shut up,” I muttered, voice low, feeling the weight of fatigue pressing down on me. All I wanted was to lie down, close my eyes, and forget this nightmare—just rest for a little while.

It felt like I’d been wandering for hours—my head pounding worse with every step—though I checked my watch, and it had only been a few minutes. That brief moment of clarity was unsettling. In that tiny window, he’d already set up the tent and disappeared inside. I left the rocks at the entrance and trudged in after him, feeling more drained with each movement.

Inside, Deku was rummaging through his bag, laid out some rice balls and two cup noodles—probably meant for us. He handed me a cold compress and two pills, saying, “I only have one cold compress, but you can use the wet towels on other areas.” His voice was steady, caring—something that both irritated and warmed me in my battered state. Without waiting for my response, he headed outside to tend to the rocks I’d brought, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts.

I ate my lunch slowly, the pain medication kicking in slightly, and placed the cold compress on my aching head. The shade of the tent and the cold relief of the compress worked wonders—enough to make my eyelids feel heavy, to let me breathe a little easier. I closed my eyes, sinking into a lazy, exhausted slumber, grateful for the brief respite from the chaos and pain. 

I woke up to the distant sound of crows cawing, their harsh cries piercing the quiet evening air. The fading sunlight cast a warm, pinkish hue over the landscape, and the air was tinged with a gentle breeze. I stretched lazily, feeling the ache behind my eyes and the sluggish fog still lingering in my mind. As I shifted, I noticed Deku on guard duty, sitting just outside the tent, eyes scanning the horizon with a quiet focus that somehow reassured me. 

My gaze drifted downward, and I saw the damp towels that had been placed on me for comfort, now slipping from my lap. A jolt of realization struck me—Deku must have diligently replaced and switched out the towels to keep them cool while I slept. His thoughtfulness warmed me more than I wanted to admit, even as my head still felt foggy from the medication.

He peered over his shoulder at the rustling sound. “How are you feeling now?” he asked kindly, his voice steady yet caring, his gentle expression softened with concern.

“Better,” I replied sluggishly, my words slow and thick. My head was still foggy from the pills, but the ache had eased enough to let me breathe easier. Despite the lingering tiredness, it felt good to be relaxed—like some weight was finally lifting from my shoulders.

“Good. The sun is about to set. If you're up for it, we can continue our search for the second clue. If not, I can scout around for a bit and come back here. We can't travel in the dark since I need light to set up our tent. So, what do you think, Kacchan?” 

I decided to check the situation for myself. I pushed myself upright, wincing slightly as the motion sent a dull throb through my skull. As I stood out of the tent, I looked toward the horizon. The sun was dipping lower, casting a breathtaking display of colors—clouds painted in pinks and purples, swirling and shifting as they moved across the sky. It was beautiful, almost mesmerizing, just watching the clouds drift. But I knew we had a task to complete, and the serene view couldn't distract us forever.

“What do you mean you’re going alone? I’m coming with you,” I said firmly, voice rough but resolute.

Deku nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Okay, so here’s the plan. We’re on the eastern side of the mountain, and we’re short on time. I’ll search the northern slope while you take the southern slope. No matter what we find, we each search for half an hour then return here. I’ll build a fire to guide us back to this spot.”

He laid out the plan carefully, his tone calm yet determined. I helped him gather some dry twigs and stones to set up the campfire—a small beacon in the growing darkness. The glow from the flames flickered softly, casting shadows that danced across the trees.

Once everything was ready, I headed off in my assigned direction, moving cautiously through the thickening shadows. The forest around me was alive—annoying animals scurried and called out: eagles screeched overhead, monkeys chattered from the treetops, and distant elephants rumbled through the underbrush. I pushed past the frustration of their nuisance, my focus fixed on the search of Serpent River.

As the sun continued to set, the sky darkened, and the trees grew taller and more imposing. The shadows lengthened, making it harder to follow the smoke from our campfire. Though I hated to admit it, he was right: tracking the smoke in this maze of towering trees and fading light was a challenge I wouldn’t win alone.

Reluctantly, I started heading back toward the tent, my muscles tense from the effort. When I finally reached the tent, Deku was nowhere to be seen. The silence around the camp felt heavy, oppressive even, and a gnawing sense of unease began to creep in as the minutes stretched endlessly. My eyes darted anxiously toward the darkening woods beyond, waiting for any sign of him. 

What was taking him so long? Why wasn’t he back yet? Had he gotten lost in the woods? The dense, winding forest was like a labyrinth—twisting paths, tangled undergrowth, and shadows that seemed to shift and breathe with a life of their own. It would be so easy for anyone to lose their sense of direction here, even with the faint smoke curling from our campfire as a beacon. 

My stomach clenched with worry. What if he was stuck somewhere, tangled in prickly brambles and vines that snaked across the forest floor? What if some wild animal had attacked him? What if he was injured, calling out for help and nobody was around to hear? The thought made my heart hammer in my chest. 

I started pacing back and forth, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. I am not worried for him, of course, I told myself, even as my hands trembled. I just don’t want anything happening to him that could get me in trouble. Otherwise, Aizawa sensei will surely place all the blame squarely on my shoulders, without any second thought. 

“Come on, Deku. Where are you?” I muttered into the oppressive silence, voice barely above a whisper. My throat felt dry, my palms sweaty, and every second felt like an eternity. The woods around me seemed to stretch endlessly, shadows growing longer and darker with each passing moment.

Then, out of the silence, a bone-chilling howl echoed through the trees—sharp, guttural, and filled with a raw, primal threat. It sliced through the night air like a knife, sending a shiver down my spine. My breath caught in my throat, my muscles tensing instinctively as the sound reverberated through my bones. 

Chapter Text

With my full Cowl activated, I streaked across the lush, rolling bush land, driven by an almost relentless sense of urgency to cover as much ground as possible before the sun dipped below the horizon. Every second counted. I knew I couldn’t afford to slow down—not when the next clue was out there, waiting somewhere along the winding Serpent River. Still, a part of me longed to pause and take in the scenery—the vibrant greenery, the scent of fresh earth, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was beautiful out here, and I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of regret that I had to keep moving. But my instincts told me the clue was nearby, and I trusted them.

My eyes darted across the landscape, scanning for any sign of the river. The calls of songbirds echoed overhead, their melodies almost soothing, but I forced myself to stay alert. The distant howl of a wolf sounded like a reminder that this wilderness was alive and dangerous, and I had to respect its power. Still, I couldn’t let these peaceful sounds distract me—I had a mission.  

As the clouds above shifted into brilliant shades of orange and pink, I felt a pang of frustration. I wanted to stop, breathe, soak in this fleeting moment of natural beauty, but I knew better. Time was slipping away, and I had to act fast.

“I come from muddy places but am beautiful and pure. 
People love me for my looks and my spiritual charm.
I have your next clue. Come and get it before I close the shop for the day”

I have a strong feeling that the second clue is near the Serpent River. The more I repeat those words in my head, the more undeniable the feeling becomes. It has to be Serpent River. The phrase "muddy places" immediately brings to mind a water body. It suggests that the next clue is near a water source, likely a river or pond, where such muddy conditions exist.  

When I consider "people love me for my looks," it hints at something visually striking—perhaps a flower or plant that stands out amid the muddy surroundings. The phrase "I close the shop for the day" evokes an image of something that blooms or is visible during a specific time—like a flower that opens at dawn and closes at dusk, or perhaps a plant that’s best seen at certain hours.  

Putting all of this together, I feel a strong pull towards the white lotus of Serpent River. The white lotus is famously associated with serenity and purity—qualities that resonate with the idea of beauty and spiritual charm. Its habitat is often muddy or murky waters, yet it rises above, pristine and striking. Known as an iconic symbol along Serpent River, the white lotus fits the description perfectly. 

I have read about Serpent River. It earned its name not just because of its shape. No, it is a place of danger as well as beauty. The winding waterway carved deep bends into the land, looping back on itself like a living creature. From above, it looked like a sinuous snake slithering lazily across the landscape. But I knew better. Beneath that deceptive calm lurked predators—snapping turtles with beaks sharp enough to take off a finger, copperhead snakes camouflaged among fallen leaves, waiting patiently for prey. Even the air was perilous—mosquito swarms buzzing thick and eager to bite. The river’s reputation was well-earned, and I couldn’t forget that.

Despite the risks, I pressed forward, knowing the next clue was close. After a focused quarter-hour of searching, my eyes finally caught sight of the gleam of the Serpent River through the trees ahead. My heart quickened. It has to be here. I pushed through the underbrush, my mind racing with anticipation. Then I stumbled into a small clearing, and what I saw made my breath catch.

There, a still, dark pool reflected the dying light, framed by ancient, gnarled roots that clutched the shoreline like claws. Floating atop the water were lotus flowers—pink and white, delicate and serene. It was almost too perfect. Could this really be the place? I wondered, heart pounding. My eyes darted over the scene, searching for the next clue, when suddenly I noticed movement—dark, scaly shapes lurking just beneath the surface.

My stomach clenched. Crocodiles. More than ten of them, camouflaged in the murky depths, their eyes motionless, waiting patiently for prey. A cold sweat prickled on my forehead. This is exactly why I have to be careful. I knew I couldn’t go near that pool—not with those predators lurking. One wrong step, and I could become part of the river’s deadly reputation. I felt a mix of awe and fear. The beauty was mesmerizing, but I had to remind myself that beneath that surface was a world of danger.

The sun was sinking fast, and I knew I had to get back to camp before darkness overtook the wilderness. Reluctantly, I turned away from the alluring scene of the lotus blossoms, knowing I couldn’t risk it. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Focus, Izuku. I had to leave the scene undisturbed and head back safely.

I checked my watch—I’m late. I hurried, following the faint trail of smoke from our campfire, which shrouded the gathering gloom. Using my quirk, Full Cowl, I increased my speed, pushing through the fatigue and the growing shadows. I paused every dozen trees or so to loop sturdy zip ties around thick branches, creating a trail for tomorrow. It was a slow process, but I knew it was necessary. I couldn’t risk losing my way in the dark—this forest was too unpredictable.

It was taking longer to return with these periodic stops, the gloom deepening steadily as the sun slipped below the jagged horizon. I was at risk of losing my way without the guiding smoke. I slowed my pace, heart pounding in my chest, alert for any sign of the camp. Then, finally, I broke through the last line of trees into the clearing. The faint glow of dying embers cast a soft red hue over everything, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Relief washed over me—at last I made it back.

But my relief was short-lived. I saw Kacchan preparing to leave. He was standing near the tent, a small bag slung over his shoulder, tense and alert. Before I could even process the situation, his voice erupted like a thunderclap, raw and furious:

“What were you doing? What the hell took you so long, shitty pipsqueak? Were you knocked out cold? I’ve been waiting here for over half an hour”. 

The force of his words hit me like a punch to the stomach. The sound echoed through the quiet woods, causing birds to scatter in frantic flutters. My body stiffened, flinching as if his anger physically struck me. His fury wasn’t just loud—it felt tangible, pressing down on me like a storm I couldn’t outrun. I wanted to shrink away, but I forced myself to stand tall, even if my voice was trembling.

“Kacchan… I’m sorry,” I managed, panting heavily. “I found the Serpent River… and just marking my way back took longer than I thought. That’s all.”

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. “You should’ve done something to let me know that you’d be late. That’s the flaw in your plan. That’s why you shouldn’t be making plans. I’m in charge. YOU will follow ME. Understand?”

I nodded frantically, desperate to diffuse the tension, feeling the weight of his words pressing into me. “Y-Yeah, Kacchan,” I muttered, voice small. Then, hesitantly, I dared to ask, “Were you worried about me?”

Part of me clung to that tiny hope—that beneath his hardened exterior, the Kacchan I once knew still existed. That maybe, just maybe, this anger was masking a deeper concern. That maybe he had started caring for me again after I had received my quirk.

For a moment, his eyes flickered with surprise, widening as if I’d caught him off guard. But then his face contorted into a sneer, disgust flickering across his features like I’d said something utterly absurd.

“What? No way, shitty nerd.” he snapped. “I don’t care if you get lost or whatever. I just don’t want anything happening to you that could get me in trouble. You can go wherever the fuck you want. I'm happy as long as you're away.”

Or maybe not. He is still the same old Kacchan. No matter how much I told myself he didn’t mean it, those words still cut deep. His words hit harder than I expected. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the sting. 

I swallowed hard, trying to hide the ache in my chest. “Okay… I’m sorry, Kacchan,” I mumbled weakly, lowering my gaze. “Let’s just go back to the tent and have dinner.”

He grunted in response, turning sharply on his heel and stomping ahead without a word. The weight of his silence pressed down on me, but I followed quietly behind, the distant echo of his footsteps mingling with the whispering trees. Even after all this time, I still clung to the hope that beneath that tough exterior, there was something—anything—that cared about me. But maybe I was just fooling myself again. Maybe I was still clinging to that childhood belief, desperately wanting to see the kindness I thought he had buried beneath his anger. 

I crouched by the dying embers of the campfire, retrieving my cup of ramen from inside the tent. The fire’s glow was fading, flickering weakly against the encroaching darkness. I carefully held my styrofoam cup over the remaining embers, trying to heat it without igniting the paper or burning my fingers. The glow of the fire cast a faint orange light on my face as I waited, listening to the quiet crackle of dying wood.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rough but not as hostile as before. I glanced at him, standing outside of the tent, watching me from a distance, curiosity flickering in his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m just heating up my cup using the last flames from the fire,” I replied softly, trying to sound casual. My voice felt a little steadier than I expected, probably because I was focused on something simple—something that made me feel normal again.

Just as I was about to blow gently on the flames to coax a little more heat, I felt Kacchan’s presence behind me. His footsteps approached, and I tensed instinctively.

“Come here, I’ll do it,” he said gruffly, voice softened just a little. “Thick head. Clumsy as you are, you’ll only burn the cup and your stupid noodles.”

I hesitated for a second, then handed over my cup, watching as Kacchan activated his explosion quirk—not in a destructive blast, but a controlled burst to heat his hands. His palms glowed faintly orange, a gentle warmth rather than the explosive blasts he was capable of. It was a rare moment of consideration from him, and I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of surprise. 

Carefully, he cradled the cup in his heated palms, steam rising as he gently warmed the broth to the perfect temperature, then handed it back. The scene felt oddly normal—almost peaceful. In that moment, it was almost like he cared. Like he worried—gruffly, in his own way. I found myself thinking, maybe this was a sign—maybe our relationship was starting to shift, becoming something more than just rivalry or habit. 

Or was I just over-analyzing a simple act of civility? Maybe I was reading too much into it, like always. Still, I couldn’t suppress the tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, Kacchan’s roughness was a form of caring. 

After dinner, I looked at the dark shadows stretching around us and explained that one of us needed to stay alert throughout the night. Kinnigan Hill was dangerous after dark—strange sounds echoed from the brush, and glowing eyes watched us from the shadows. 

“I’ll take the first watch,” I volunteered, trying to sound more confident than I felt. But Kacchan shook his head, crossing his arms. 

“No. I slept for a few hours earlier after taking pain medication. I’m fine. You need to rest.”

I hesitated, then nodded, understanding his stubbornness. I reached for my pain relief spray, quickly applying it to my sore muscles and joints. The familiar cool sensation eased some of the ache. My body felt heavy, and my mind was already drifting toward sleep. I slipped into my sleeping bag, the exhaustion finally catching up with me, and I sank into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.

I awoke to the first light filtering softly through the nylon walls of our tent. A warm, golden glow seeped in, casting gentle patterns across the fabric. For a moment, I just lay there, breathing quietly, listening to the peaceful sounds of the forest waking up. At the entrance, dozing lightly at the threshold, was Kacchan—he must have kept vigil all night. Even in sleep, he looked exhausted, shoulders slumped and eyes slightly dulled from fatigue. 

I hesitated for a second, then carefully sat up, deciding it was time to let him rest a little longer. I gently spoke, trying not to startle him. “Kacchan,” I said softly, “come lie down inside the tent and get some more sleep. I’ll take over the watch now.”

He stirred, dazed with fatigue, and stumbled over to my vacant sleeping bag. Without hesitation, he collapsed onto it, limbs sprawled out. I quickly draped a spare shawl over him—something to help him rest a little more comfortably—before quietly slipping outside to keep an eye on our surroundings. I needed him to get some proper rest. He looked so worn out as his allergic reaction subsided yesterday.

I stayed alert, ears tuned to every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig. The forest was alive, and I didn’t want to miss any signs of danger. It was strange—being the one to take the watch now, but honestly, it felt right. I wanted him to recover, to regain some strength, so we could focus on our task without worry.

By the time the sun crested higher, it was around 8 AM. The morning light poured through the canopy, dappling the forest floor with golden spots, creating an almost magical glow over our campsite. The eerie silence of the night had been replaced with birdsong—cheerful, lively, a stark contrast to the tense quiet we’d endured.

Kacchan finally emerged from the tent, stretching sharply and looking refreshed—at least physically. He headed into the bushes behind the tent to relieve himself, and I took the opportunity to quickly fold the nylon tent and pack our gear. My hands moved automatically, but my mind was still alert—this forest was unpredictable, and I knew better than to relax too much.

When he returned, there was a different spark in his eyes—sharp, focused. Somehow, he looked ready to face whatever came next. I took the lead, knowing the way to the river from memory. Unbelievably, Kacchan followed without protest, which I took as a good sign. Maybe he was finally trusting me a little more.

As we reached the river, the rushing water grew louder, a constant reminder that we were close. I selected a sturdy oak along the bank and carefully concealed my bag high in its branches—out of reach of any wandering crocodiles. Kacchan was right behind me, scanning the water with that intense gaze of his.

Finally, we arrived at the tranquil lotus pond, its surface shimmering under the sunlight. We both started searching for our second clue. And then, suddenly, Kacchan’s sharp eyes caught something.

“There,” he said, voice firm, “tangled in the vines beyond the pond—there’s a wooden box. Just like our first clue.” 

I squinted, then saw it clearly in the daylight—hidden among the thick greenery. I must have missed it last night in the dark. Honestly, I probably was too focused on not getting lost to notice something that obvious. It looks like Kamui Woods sensei’s handiwork. That clever wood manipulator. The question now was how to retrieve it—especially with a barrier of crocodiles lurking nearby.

“Kacchan,” I said quickly, “one of us needs to distract the crocodiles while the other grabs the clue. Just like last time. Think—what can we use? Offending them might work, but they’re vicious—sharp teeth, powerful jaws. Feeding them could be dangerous, too. Besides, I don’t think I’d be able to throw enough food to distract them without getting too close. And offending them might just make them angrier—”

“Shut up, nerd,” Kacchan interrupted sharply, voice edged with irritation. “Your babbling is already distracting them.” 

I froze, heart pounding, as I saw some of the crocodiles turn their heads toward us, their eyes gleaming with predatory focus. Great. Just what I needed—my nervous chatter might be about to get us both killed. Need to change technique. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to calm down. No room for panic now. We had to get this exactly right. Failure was not an option.

We retreated some distance, crouching behind a cluster of bushes to observe the situation. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I couldn’t afford to mess this up—not here, not now.

Then, Kacchan’s voice broke the tense silence.

“I have an idea that’ll get the clue and maybe even help us get dinner,” he said with a smirk, his expression dangerous but confident.  

I blinked, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Whatever he was planning, I hoped it was better than my nervous suggestions.

Chapter Text

“I have an idea that’ll get the clue and maybe even help us get dinner,” I said with a smirk.

After surveying the landscape, I realized we could use the crocodiles' keen senses against them. I lead Deku behind some bushes and outlined my strategy. He readily agreed, and we spent the next hour gathering supplies. When everything was in place, we took our positions—me on one side of the riverbank, perched high in a sturdy tree just five feet from the basking crocodiles, watching their lazy, greedy faces. Deku hid himself on the opposite side, concealed in thick bushes close to the reptiles. He gathered his crude tools and looked to me for the signal, patiently waiting.

I began dropping stones I’d collected earlier, at carefully measured intervals, to create ripples across the otherwise still water. As each stone hit, the expanding rings disturbed the surface, immediately drawing the attention of the alert predators.

It didn’t take long for the first crocodile to start moving toward my distraction. Soon, half of them were searching for the source directly below me. I knew a moment would come when I couldn’t lure all of them with just ripples—that’s why I had a second bag. Reaching inside, I grasped a small, wriggling fish and flung it into the fray. The instant it hit the water, chaos erupted. The crocodiles thrashed wildly, churning the water into froth in their frantic scramble to seize the prize. Their powerful tails whipped back and forth as they jostled for position, jaws snapping shut around empty water.

The fish worked perfectly, acting like a magnet to draw the remaining crocodiles beneath my tree. I signaled Deku by dropping the biggest fish I had. He quickly but quietly took off, tearing at the vines trapping our second clue. I’d instructed him to stay silent, and he understood. Meanwhile, I continued dropping fish intermittently, doing my best to keep the crocodiles busy while Deku worked on freeing the box.

Suddenly, a massive chunk of vine drops into the water right next to Deku. Everything freezes. For a second, it’s like time itself paused—those crocodiles, the swamp, us. Some of those damn monsters turn their heads at the disturbance, but they don’t give a shit—they’re too damn hungry. Their eyes stay fixed, stomachs growling, waiting for their next meal. No reason to chase after a new threat—they’ve got their eyes on me, and that’s enough.

“What the fuck are you doing, dumbass?” I whisper harshly, heart pounding like a drum in my chest. Deku looks up at me, eyes wide, and mouths “Sorry” like some damn kid caught sneaking candy. I toss another fish into the water, trying to keep their attention on the small, wriggling snack while Deku keeps sawing at those thick-ass vines with that crappy makeshift nail of his. That vine’s tough—thicker than most ropes—but we need it cut. It’s our backup plan if that box is glued in place. Still, I know those snapping vines will make a hell of a lot of noise if they break—noise that’ll draw those crocodiles straight to Deku’s fragile ass. 

Another fish plops into the swamp, and all focus shifts to me—I’ve got their hungry eyes now. Deku keeps working, scraping away at the vines, the crude blade squeaking against the fibrous plants. We gotta hurry before those bastards lose interest in their tiny fish snacks and turn back to the exposed, vulnerable boy in the tree. 

When I was planning this, I told Deku to look for a sturdy branch and whittle himself a makeshift nail—whittle one tip into a sharp point, carry a small heavy rock as a hammer. Although Deku was already equipped with a blade to cut away vines (as an emergency tool. Honestly, who carries that much load), but I told him to carry those extra tools just in case. Because in a situation like this, we need heavy-duty shit—something that can bust through thick vines or give us a damn chance. His quirk? Too noisy, too risky. We needed stealth, precision. One mistake, and it’s all over. 

Suddenly, Deku yelps and hits the ground hard. I see his legs get tangled, and in that split second, two massive crocodiles slither toward him with terrifying speed. Deku struggles, desperation and fear etched into every line of his face. Those monsters’ eyes narrow—cold, calculating, ready to chomp him in half. “Fuck,” I think, heart sinking. He’s in real danger now.

“Run, Deku!” I shout urgently, knowing full well he’s trapped, but I can’t just stand there. “We’ll come back for the damn box later!” I hurl branches at the crocodiles, trying to slow them, but they don’t care—they’re focused on their helpless prey. They’re closing in fast.

I watch Deku, clutching that box like it’s his last hope, struggling fiercely to free himself. The predators are almost on him. He’s frozen, overwhelmed by their size, their speed. My gut twists—no way I’m letting this go down. Without thinking, I jump right in front of Deku, and with a burst of explosive power, I blast the crocodiles right in their eyes as they crawl out of the water. The shock of my attack blinds them, their heads thrashing wildly, knocking themselves back into the swamp in pain and confusion. 

That’s my opening. I grab Deku’s blade and wave it wildly, trying to sever the vines trapping him. But these vines are thick as hell—my blade’s not cutting it. I need a different approach. Fast. I switch tactics. I blast small explosions around Deku’s legs, aiming to blow those vines apart. The ground rumbles as the fibrous hell gets shredded. I snatch the box from Deku’s trembling hands just as those crocodiles recover and lunge again.

“Deku, smash the lotus now!” I shout, backing up as the angry bastards crawl closer, jaws snapping like steel traps. Deku, eyes blazing, leaps high into the air—winding up for his signature move. 

“DETRIOT SMAAAAASH!” he roars, crashing down with earth-shattering force. His fist hits the water, and the shockwave ripples out like a punch to the gut of this swamp. The lotus flowers explode in a cloud of destruction, and the crocodiles near the bank get flung sideways onto land. Those closer to Deku? Flipped onto their backs, left stranded and disoriented, blinking like idiots.

As expected, they start retreating, slinking back into the murky depths like cowards—probably sensing some bigger predator just roared into their turf. I lose my footing on the muddy bank from the shockwave, only to feel that damn crocodile’s tail slap viciously against my ankle. Searing pain shoots up my leg like a damn lightning bolt, and I scramble away, cursing under my breath. But I keep my eyes on those bloodthirsty monsters—they’re retreating, heading back into the river, away from where Deku just laid that brutal blow. Good.

That’s one problem solved—for now. Deku pops out of the churned-up water, soaked to hell from his explosive entrance. His wide eyes land on me clutching my leg, and he quickens his pace, rushing over. He drops to his knees next to me, green eyes full of worry. 

“Kacchan, what happened? Where are you hurt?” he asks, his voice trembling. He’s practically itching to get a better look, like he’s already imagining the worst.

“Is this the way you work quietly? Can’t you comprehend a simple task of staying silent?” I snap, voice strained from the pain and frustration. The volume increased with each sentence. “Fuck Head. What if I had our roles reversed? You would’ve ruined that too—falling into the river, becoming the main course for those bloodsucking monsters. I gave you one fucking job—stay quiet, stay alive—and you managed to screw it up, as usual. What if I hadn’t thought of the next step? Forget the clue, forget becoming a hero—this would’ve been our last day on this shitty planet. Stupid Deku. You were supposed to be the nerd, right?”

Deku keeps his head bowed, muttering “I’m sorry Kacchan.” “I know” “I’m very sorry” over and over like some broken record.

“What the hell happened there? Why did you scream like a little girl? When you were supposed to stay silent?” I demand, voice rasping. Honestly, I’m exhausted—partly from the fight, partly from the bullshit I just spewed. Deku doesn’t answer right away.

“Speak up. Damn it” I bark, frustration boiling over.

He finally looks up, voice quiet but steady. “I mistook a snake for a vine and nearly cut it—until it suddenly struck at me. I yelped and released my grip, allowing the snake to slither away before it could bite.” 

Oh, fuck. He almost got bitten by a venomous snake, right before becoming lunch of those monsters. And here I am, tearing into him like some kind of psycho. My heart sinks—crushing guilt hits me like a punch to the gut. I was just furious, venting my frustration, but I didn’t think about what he was actually risking. The guy’s been through enough hell today without me adding to it.

He’s trembling slightly now—probably from the shock, the water, or maybe from the near-death experience. Or all of it combined. I don’t say anything—what’s there to say? That I’m an asshole? Yeah, I get it now. I know I was harsh—I was furious, adrenaline still kicking my ass, but damn, I feel like an asshole now. 

"Tch. Whatever. We need to move. Now.” I grit out, voice rough but trying to steady. “First, we find somewhere safe. Then we deal with this box.” I huff lightly, masking the pain with a forced breath. “Go grab the dinner from that tree and meet me on the other side.”

Deku nods silently, stands, and gives me a hand. I ignore it. I manage to get to my feet on my own, wincing slightly as I put weight on that ankle. Pain shoots up my leg like fire. Deku notices, brow furrowing with concern, but he doesn’t argue—he just nods and shifts into his Full Cowl, zipping through the trees with that determined look. 

Meanwhile, I grit my teeth, igniting a few explosions in my palm, channeling raw power to blast myself across the river. The pain in my ankle screams at me, but I ignore it—survival isn’t about mercy. When I land, I stumble slightly, and Deku’s eyes flick to me instantly, recognizing the way I land—like I’m compensating for the injury. His concern is heavy behind his eyes, but he stays focused. We start moving towards the massive oak where we’d hidden our bags earlier, silent and determined.

When we finally reach the sprawling oak, marked by our makeshift hideout, Deku doesn’t waste a second. Without needing to be told, he fetches both our bags, shoulders the load, and hands me mine. I’m grateful—hell, I’m grateful for anything that keeps me from falling apart right now, especially with that throbbing spreading through my entire leg.

I sink down beside the thick trunk, the rough bark pressing into my back. I kick off my shoes, wincing as I do, and carefully stretch my injured ankle out in front of me. The purple bruise blooms across my skin, fat and swollen, throbbing in a steady, annoying rhythm that makes me want to punch something.

Deku silently pulls out a towel, drying himself off. Then, he passes me his pain reliever spray and a cup of ramen—both of which I accept gratefully, knowing I’ll need the boost. 

“How many cups do you actually have?” I asked casually, trying to mask the ache in my voice. “Give me yours. I’ll heat ‘em up.”

“I’ve got four more,” he replied softly, eyes brightening just a little despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “You can have one more if you want. I don’t mind.”

I blinked, surprised. “Why do you have so many cups in the first place? Were you planning to camp out here for a week or something?” I reach into my pack and pull out the single bag of biscuits I brought, handing it to him.

He looked surprised himself. “Did you bring just one pack for the two-day assignment?” His eyes widen, clearly flabbergasted at my apparent lack of preparation.

I shrugged, a little defensive. “Just wanted to finish this as fast as possible. Don’t want to be stuck here longer than I need to.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—hurt, maybe? Or disappointment? I caught it quickly, but I don’t say anything. He is overthinking again, I think with an internal eye roll. Yes, it's true that I loathe him, but I really meant what I said. I really just wanted this damn assignment over with—and scoring higher marks, of course. Not prolong our time together.

Working with Deku? It’s only made me more annoyed, more irritated. But after yesterday's harrowing events where I panicked at the thought of scratching myself to death in isolation, I'm not quite as opposed to his company anymore. Not that I’d admit that out loud. He can think whatever he wants; I can’t control his mind or feelings.

Eager to change the subject, I shot him a quick look. “Speaking of the assignment, let’s see what's in that box. Bring it over here.” 
His face lit up, even as exhaustion lingered behind his eyes. I know what that means—time for him to start rambling about the geeky details. Honestly, I don’t mind. His voice, as long-winded as it was, seems to steady him, calm his nerves.

“Oh, yeah! I checked out the exterior earlier. This isn’t like the last one. You know, it wasn’t just the vines trapping it. This box actually had roots growing out of it too. Kamui Woods sensei’s work, no doubt. His quirk is incredible—used it to sprout roots from the wooden box itself, anchoring it tight in the vines’ grip. This box’s way more sturdy than the previous one. And look at the lock, Kacchan. It’s not just a latch. It’s a multi-step puzzle—slide this lever, turn that dial, then flip up the hinged cover. The grooves fit together like a perfect puzzle. Even if an animal tried to force it open, they couldn’t get through. Kamui Woods really outdid himself. The craftsmanship is incredible! He incorporated all these interlocking parts to make it nearly impossible to force open. But the locking mechanism also allows it to be opened by someone who knows the right steps. It's really clever how he designed it to be secure against creatures tampering with it, while still accessible for the right person. This is so amazing.”

I don’t interrupt him this time, letting him ramble a bit more—partly to give him space, and partly because I feel guilty for not listening earlier. His words spill out in a steady stream, and surprisingly, it seems to help him relax. His trembling stops, the panic fading from his eyes. A spark of excitement returns, like a kid eager over a candy.

“Anyway,” I say sharply, “Open the box already. We need to focus on the clue inside.”

“You’re right, Kacchan. Lets open it” he agrees eagerly.

“I’m always right.” I reply with a scowl. 

Chapter Text

“You’re right, Kacchan. Lets open it” I agreed, my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves inside me.

“I’m always right.” he shot back with a scowl, crossing his arms.

I hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if he’d snatch the scroll away like he often did. But this time, he didn’t move. Gently, I slid the lever and turned the dial with careful, deliberate movements. The latch clicked open. Inside, just as before, a rolled-up scroll lay at the bottom. But this time, nestled at the top were two bright red flare guns. My eyes widened at the sight, and suddenly, Aizawa-sensei’s warning echoed in my mind.

Whenever you feel like you cannot continue or don’t want to continue, you can send an SOS code from any checkpoint. 

That’s what he meant. I understand now—these challenges aren’t just puzzles; they are traps designed to push us past our limits. The last one nearly cost us our life. And I knew, without a doubt, that the next trap would be even more dangerous and extreme. But after surviving that harrowing ordeal, a fierce determination burned inside me. A resolve (which is visible on Kacchan’s face too) to push forward and face the next challenge head-on, to prove we are the best candidates for the intensive hero training program. We aren’t ready to give up—not yet. The flare guns were there in case the next challenge proved too much to handle alone. We still had hope, still had fight left in us.

I hesitated another moment, then carefully reached for the scroll and untied it. I shifted slightly so both of us could see the clue. His eyes were fixed intently on the parchment, waiting. Yet he made no move to grab it like he always do. I wondered why. Why he hasn’t snatched it from me yet? I am surprised by his restraint on himself as he seems just as excited as I am to finally reveal the clue. The curiosity gnawed at me, but I decided not to test my luck. Instead, I began reading aloud.

I bear the fruit of knowledge, tempting red and sweet,
Hanging heavy on the bough, an autumn treat.
Beware of the hands that reach for me, eager and keen,
For the juicy delights that on me are seen.
You can take the time to pause and retreat
For I have the final clue to the treasured prize you seek

A beat of silence. Then, frustration crept into Kacchan’s voice. “Argh, there’s another clue to solve? Can't this be the last one? We were supposed to be back by nightfall."

I gently reminded him, "Aizawa sensei said it could take two days or more. This isn't a test of speed." I wanted to add more—about how these challenges weren’t just tests of speed, but of endurance. But his glare silenced me. Instead, I nodded and added softly, "We still have all day left. There's enough time."

He looked at me for a moment, then asked, “Do you have an extra set of clothes?” 

Caught off guard by his strange question, I stammered, “Uh.. Yeah... Yeah, I do. Umm...But I .... Uh... Can I ask why?” 

“So you don’t freeze to death, dumbass.” he snapped. “Go change out of those wet clothes while I heat up our noodles.”

I nodded sheepishly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. Quietly, I gathered my dry clothes and slipped away to change privately in the woods. When I returned to our makeshift camp, Kacchan had already heated the noodles. We ate in silence, my mind still turning over the cryptic clue. It’s a fruit, that much is clear. But which one? “Red and sweet”—it could be strawberry, plum, cherry, dragon fruit, or any number of red fruits. Do all these grow on this hill? No, probably not.

I sighed inwardly. Dead end. Maybe I should try another section. “The hands that reach for me”—that suggests it grows on a tall tree. But that doesn’t narrow much. All those fruits grow on trees, after all. What’s the key?

I took a deep breath, trying to focus. Let’s try something else. “Fruit of knowledge”—that’s an easy one. It’s apples. That had to be it.

And just like in a comic, an imaginary lightbulb suddenly flickered over my head. The answer dawned on me, bright and clear.

“Kacchan! I figured it out. It’s .....” I burst out excitedly, my heart pounding with revelation.

“Yeah, I know. Apple Trees” he interrupted bluntly.

My heart sank. I blinked, surprised by how quickly he responded, almost as if he’d known all along. A dull ache of disappointment settled inside me. I’d been so close, so confident—I’d almost felt the thrill of solving it myself. Now, it just felt... hollow.

I forced a small, nervous smile and asked, “Did you figure that out too?” I tried to hide my disappointment, but I couldn’t quite keep the ache out of my voice. The thought that he’d known all along stung a little more than I expected.

He shot me a quick, sardonic grin. “I didn’t have to use a single brain cell. Your continuous blabbering did all the magic.” he said, bluntly, eyes glinting with that familiar teasing edge. “Seriously, Deku. It’s getting worse. Stop your mind’s horses and finish your lunch before it gets cold.”

My face burned hot—probably beet red—as I hurriedly finished my meal, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and pride. In my head, I was practically buzzing with excitement. I cracked the puzzle. It was supposed to be hard, and I did it. Just like that. 

What does that say about me? That I’m one step closer to my dream. I can’t help but feel giddy—like this small victory is proof I’m on the right path. No matter how much I stumble or how much I doubt myself, moments like these remind me I’m moving forward. I just need to keep pushing, keep learning. 

We began packing our gear again, the weight of the day pressing heavily on me. As I gathered my supplies, I realized I only had two water bottles left.

“Kacchan, wait.” I called softly. “Do you mind if I run down to the river real quick and refill my empty bottles before we head out? Just two minutes. I won’t take long. Promise” My heart fluttered at the thought he might refuse—he often did—so I hurried to add, “It’s really just in case. I’d feel better with a little extra.”

He frowned, already walking away. “I have a full bottle you can share” he replied curtly.

“Thanks, but I already have two filled,” I explained, quickly. “I just want to top off the extra ones, just in case. The environment’s harsh, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.” I knew from experience that dehydration was no joke out here. We needed to carry as much water as possible—more than we’d think we’d need.

His scowl deepened, and he looked at me suspiciously. “How many bottles did you drink yesterday?”

I hesitated, then mumbled, “Um.. I used two bottles myself and two more were used on you” bracing myself for his typical harsh words. I was expecting him to tease me—call me overly cautious or remind me of the mishap from yesterday. I knew he’d get annoyed with me fussing over water, just like he’d been annoyed when I splashed water on him earlier.

But instead, there was only silence for a tense moment before Kacchan finally grunted, “Whatever. Just make it quick and only fill them with fresh water.”

Relief flooded through me. I quickly grabbed my empty bottles, my mind still replaying the mishap—how I splashed water on him to get his attention, the chase that followed. The expression on his face… I thought I’d finally crossed a line this time, that he wouldn’t forgive me. I could almost see the anger in his eyes, like he was going for the kill. I was worried that I’d pushed him too far. I shook my head, took a deep breath, and sprinted to the river. I filled my bottles to the brim with cool, clear water, then hurried back, eager to get us moving again and put that moment behind us.

As I led the way, I explained enthusiastically that the western slopes of the Kinnigan hill were home to a charming little apple orchard. Nestled about halfway up the hillside, a clearing opened up where sunlight dappled through the canopy above onto a few dozen tidy rows of apple trees. The path began as a gentle grassy slope, but progressively steepened into rocky, uneven terrain the closer it got to the orchard's location. I cautioned that reaching the orchard could be precarious, as I had heard reports from locals that the area was prone to landslides. Apparently there had been a fire on the western face of the hill not long ago, followed by heavy rains last week that weathered the rocks and left the slopes unstable.

I was checking my compass constantly as we trekked through the dense forest, ensuring we stayed on course as the trees towered over us. The air was filled with the soothing symphony of cicadas and birds calling out to one another, providing a melodic backdrop to our journey. The crunching of twigs underfoot echoed loudly in the silent forest as Kacchan limped several paces behind me. Though he tried to hide it, I could hear his labored breathing and occasional soft grunts as he forced his injured leg to bear his weight. We had been trekking through the woods for hours now, yet Kacchan refused to stop for a small break, his face set in a grim mask of determination to complete the assignment.

I kept track of our way. As per my knowledge, there should be a clearing up ahead, a brief respite before the path turns into a gradual incline up. After walking for a while, we heard trumpets - signaling that an elephant was nearby. As the trumpet blasts grew louder, it became clear we were approaching a distressed animal. Just as I predicted, the trees thinned, then suddenly gave way to a grassy field dotted with wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. 

Near a deep hole, an elephant stood nearly motionless, trunk raised high as it desperately trumpeted out distress calls. My curiosity got the better of me, and I instinctively drifted away from Kacchan to investigate on my own, drawn by the obvious agitation of the elephant. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” he called after me, but I kept walking, curiosity overriding caution.

As I drew closer, I could see the elephant's small black eyes were filled with fear and panic. Looking into that deep hole, I spotted a small baby elephant, no more than a few weeks old, that had fallen in and was unable to climb out. The little one was agitated, struggling to escape, trunk reaching upward as it cried out for its mother. The mother elephant continued her desperate trumpeting, clearly scared for her baby but helpless to rescue it from the deep pit.

“Kacchan, we have to help the baby elephant!” I pleaded. “Just look - the walls are too steep for it to climb out on its own. We really should do something. We can’t just leave it like this.” 

I quickly unzipped my bag, searching for ropes. But Kacchan’s voice cut through my urgency.

“Are you insane?" he snapped, scowling angrily. "We don't have time for this bullshit. Do I need to remind you that we still have an assignment to complete by the end of the day? Fucking thick head. We’re leaving. Come on, stop wasting my time.” 

“But Kacchan—” I started, voice trembling with a mix of desperation and guilt. “It'll die if we don't help! Please, it’ll just take a few minutes.”

“I said NO” he yelled furiously. “We are NOT staying a second longer and that's final! And don’t you dare question me again or I'll blast you into pieces. I am still facing the consequences of your actions. Now start walking before I really lose my temper” 

I winced, the guilt washing over me again as I watched him limping forward, his breathing ragged and pained. Remorse and shame washing over me anew as I took in his haggard appearance. Guilt gnawed at me, knowing our predicament was partly my fault. But despite his anger, I couldn't abandon this innocent creature. 

I shook my head firmly, clenching my fists. This is going to be very rough, but I wouldn’t turn away. 

“I am sorry you got hurt, Kacchan, but that was not my intention. If you want to go ahead, I won’t stop you. But I won’t leave them.” 

There. I’ve done it. He would either leave me - happy to have me out of his hair - or he would force me to follow him, just to stick to the rules set by Aizawa sensei. 

Kacchan's face darkened, turning purple with frustration. His hands clenched tightly, but I stood my ground, determined to help the elephant no matter what. The thought of leaving it to suffer was unbearable, even if it meant risking his wrath. I had to try.

Without waiting for his reply, I took a deep breath and jumped into the deep hole, my heart pounding. The baby elephant looked up at me with wide, terrified eyes. Gently, I rubbed its belly and trunk, whispering words of comfort, trying to convey that I meant no harm. I crouched carefully, wrapping the rope gently around its small body. Its trembling trunk reached up toward its mother, desperate for reassurance.

Mother elephant watched me intently, her dark eyes filled with desperation and hope, as she trumpeted softly like she was pleading for her baby’s life. Using my quirk, Full Cowl, I engaged just 5% of my power and leapt from the hole, pulling on the rope with all my might. The baby elephant lifted a few centimeters, its tiny legs flailing in the air, eyes wide with terror. Then, with a sickening thud, it fell back into the pit. I couldn't risk using more strength, afraid I’d snap the rope—our last lifeline. 

I could feel Kacchan’s intense gaze boring into my back, his impatience practically radiating off him in waves. Suddenly he was at my side, voice rough and commanding.

“Oi! Shitty Deku.” he barked. “Let me pull the rope. You get down there and help lift that baby elephant up. You'll just break the rope with your strength, but the calf can take it. When are you gonna take this assignment seriously? Just hurry the hell up and do it.”

I hesitated, glancing at his injured leg. “No Kacchan, I can’t let you put pressure on your leg. You shouldn't strain yourself.” 

“Don’t give me that,” he scoffed. “Just get out of my way. You’re wasting time - and that’s the one thing we don’t have right now.”

My heart pounded harder. I looked back at the hole, then at the mother elephant’s trunk reaching out toward us, her eyes pleading and determined. In that moment, an idea sparked, fragile but promising.

“Wait,” I whispered, voice thick with resolve. “It seems like she wants to help us.”

I rubbed her trunk reassuringly and quickly looped the other end of the rope around her leg. Carefully, I directed her away from the hole. She quickly understood my intent, her trunk curling around the rope, and with a powerful tug, she started dragging it with all her might. I jumped back into the hole, positioning myself behind the trembling calf. 

Taking a deep breath, I summoned every ounce of my strength — just 15% of my full power — and lifted the tiny, fragile body towards freedom. Seconds felt like an eternity. I could feel the strain in my muscles, the adrenaline coursing through me, and the hope that this moment might finally turn in our favor. With one last effort, I pushed the calf upward, and finally, it cleared the edge of the pit, collapsing into a heap of relief in the grass.

Mother Elephant let out a joyous trumpet, affectionately caressing her calf with her trunk, checking for injuries. Her eyes twinkled with relief and gratitude. Watching them reunite — the raw tenderness, the unspoken bond of love and relief — melted something deep inside me. 

Although it took some time, effort and bravery on my part, watching the mother and baby reunite in relief made it all worthwhile. The scene before me was heartwarming, a testament to the strength of hope and courage. I was lost in that moment, savoring the warmth of their reunion, until a sharp, cutting voice jolted me back to reality. 

"Are you just going to stand there all day?” Kacchan snapped, voice sharp and impatient. “How will you make up for the time you've wasted?"

Chapter Text

"Are you just going to stand there all day?” I snapped, glaring at Deku. “How will you make up for the time you've wasted? We’re already racing against the clock, and here you are, wasting precious seconds like we’re on some stupid safari vacation! Get moving, now!”. 

I tried my best to stomp away, but my damn leg shot a bolt of pain through my muscles—like a thousand needles stabbing me. I stumbled, limping pathetically, trying to hide how much it fucking hurt. I thought the wide open field will help us in covering the distance faster but now it seemed to mock me as I longed for the supportive trees. With every agonizing step, my leg throbbed and ached, the muscles and bones crying out. 

Eventually Deku seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, shouldering his pack hastily to catch up to my halting pace. I bit back a groan as he drew near, not wanting to reveal any more weakness. We needed to make up for lost time, and I refused to let my infuriating injury be the reason we failed. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pushed forward across the grassy plain. Deku kept glancing at me with concern, but he wisely held his tongue as we continued on. 

We walked in silence for a long time, climbing the mountain in slow switchbacks. The trail was narrow as hell—so tight I could barely keep my balance, gripping the mountainside for dear life, shuffling tiny steps, praying the damn ground wouldn’t give out. The path snaked its way up the steep incline, forcing us into a grueling march. Loose rocks shifted under our feet as we scaled higher and higher, making every footfall treacherous. Fortunately, the weather was very kind today. The sky was a bit cloudy, letting soothing sun rays filter through at times to warm our skin. A soft breeze kissed our sweat-covered faces, providing sweet relief as we continued the arduous climb. 

By afternoon, we finally came down off the first slope, only to face the second—a monster steeper and taller than the first. We stopped at the foot of the second trail, both of us drained, frustration simmering just below the surface. I looked at Deku, who was breathing heavily, his face pale but determined.  

“Kacchan! We should make our camp here. That way we can...” Deku said, his voice strained with fatigue.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” I cut him off, voice sharp. “How many times must I tell you that we need to complete this assignment today? And yet you want to stop here,”

“Please, hear me out, Kacchan,” Deku said, voice strained but earnest. “All I am saying is let’s set up our camp and use our quirks to cover the rest of the ground quickly. It'll ease the strain on your leg. We will find the next clue and be back here in no time. What do you think?” he proposed.

I wasn't sure whether I should tell him to shut the hell up, that I could push through anything, , that I don’t need his damn advice. Or I should thank him for sparing my foot, as I was about to collapse at any moment from the pain. But wait—what the hell was that? Thank him? Fuck no. I’d never thank him for anything. 

Finally, I shot him a glare and growled “Don't pitch the tent. Just stash your bag out of sight. We’ll set it up when we get back. Got it?”

He nodded quickly, sensing I was at my limit. Good. That’s how it should be—clear and simple. No unnecessary bullshit.

He then starts rambling like he always does. “Sure, Kacchan. Let me grab a few things from my bag. Although, it's an emergency kit and I should carry all of it - though I worry the straps might snap from my quirk's force, as you already know. In the meantime, you can use that pain relief spray I gave you earlier and take a pain killer as well. It’s safe to take one now; it’s been more than four hours since the last dose. Eating a few biscuits beforehand could help too since I know it must be hurting badly.” 

“Hmm, let’s see. What else I should carry? I am taking some rope, a blade, hooks, 2 water bottles, zip ties and flare guns.” I clenched my fists, feeling the exhaustion creeping in. His voice kept going—listing everything he’s packing, like some overprepared pack mule. Honestly, how many supplies does he think we need? It’s like he’s carrying a whole damn house. “Should I bring the medical kit from our first checkpoint too, just in case? I think I should just take it. After all, it is an emergency kit. I am leaving the clue boxes. I don’t think we will need them. Kacchan, Can I borrow your bag to put all these things?”

I just stare at him, tired and irritated. I know he already has an extra bag with him - I saw it this morning when he was packing up the tent. So what's the point in borrowing mine? Is he seriously trying to lug around all that junk just in case? Did he already know about the dangerous checkpoints ahead? Did Aizawa give him some secret intel, some insider tip about the checkpoints? That's the only reason I can think of for his enormous bag. But honestly, he seems just as clueless as me from the beginning. 

God, I’m overthinking again. I’m turning into Deku—paranoid, fretting about trivial shit I shouldn’t even care about. I'm just tired and not thinking straight. What does it matter if he borrows my bag? I am not carrying any secret treasure or something. I know he's just trying to be prepared for any situation, even if it seems like overkill at times. I should just trust him; that he knows what he's doing. I take a deep breath, trying to cool my rage and clear my head. No point in getting worked up over a simple request.

“Err,” he says softly, voice trying to sound reassuring. “I won’t burden you with my stuff. You don’t have to worry. If you allow me to borrow your bag, I will carry it myself. I promise, I won’t touch any of your stuff.” he said

Oh, he was only trying to help. Of course, he is DEKU. Kind, caring, helpful. Always looking out for others. He must have noticed how exhausted I was. I feel so stupid now. But it doesn’t matter.

“Whatever” I mumble, picking the biscuits and medication before sliding the bag in his direction. I slowly peel off my shoe, wincing as my swollen foot emerges. Carefully, I spray on the medication, feeling the cold layer of medicine numbing the area.

"I’ve got an extra bandage” he says softly, staring at my injury, eyes flickering with concern. “It’ll keep your foot warm and cushioned," 

He rummages through his pack, pulling out a soft crepe bandage. I wrap it around my ankle, snug but not tight enough to cut off circulation. It’s not much, but it helps. I manage to slide my boot back on, lacing it loosely—the swelling’s still there, but at least I can walk without falling apart. While still tender, the short break to rest my foot and apply first aid had worked wonders. The pain’s much more manageable now.

We both unleash our quirks. I usually rely on my gauntlets—focus, blast, repeat. But even without them, I’ve worked up enough sweat to have a liquid nitroglycerin supply ready for detonation. Channeling my pain into rage, I unleash explosion after explosion, propelling myself forward with raw fury. It’s the only way I know how to keep moving, keep fighting.

Soon, we hit the edge of an apple orchard—an old, abandoned patch. A wooden fence surrounds it, battered and weathered. To our right, a small wooden shed stands, with wicker baskets and wooden harpoons nearby—probably tools for the villagers’ harvest. But the ground is littered with rotten apples, fallen and decayed—an unharvested feast for the wildlife. The rows of trees appears unkempt and wild. The branches sag with unpicked fruit, and the air smells sweet, heavy with the scent of summer’s bounty.

It’s clear as the sky that the villagers had not harvested the fruit in quite some time due to the precarious path left by a recent forest fire followed by heavy rains. In their absence, the wildlife had taken advantage of the unpicked feast spread before them. Squirrels chatter and birds sang as they feasts upon the bounty of crisp, juicy apples. 

I groan, staring at the endless rows of trees. “Finding that fucking clue out here? It’s gonna take ages. No idea where to even start searching,” I mutter, voice full of annoyance. This place is a mess, and I know—searching those tangled, overgrown trees is going to be a nightmare.  It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack, only the haystack is alive and trying to bite back.

Deku nods thoughtfully, eyes scanning the orchard that spreads before us. “You’re right, Kacchan. This place is massive. We need a plan to cover more ground efficiently.” He tilts his head, frowning—a sign he’s already thinking hard, probably overcomplicating everything as usual.

I grit my teeth, feeling the burn in my muscles. “Oi, I know that stupid look on your face,” I growl, wincing as I shuffle forward. “Spit it out. What’s your brain cooking up?”

Deku’s eyes light up, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’ve got an idea,” he says, all eager. “I’ll stay on the ground—check for disturbed soil, holes in the tree trunks, anything that might hide the clue. Meanwhile, you can use your Quirk to propel yourself up into the trees and search from above. That way, you keep your leg elevated, and we cover more ground faster.”

He turns away at the end of his proposal, avoiding my glare—probably feeling guilty about my leg, like I need him to coddle me. Like I don’t already know he’s worried, always watching my foot whenever I stumble or grunt from pain. Doesn’t matter. I don’t need him fussing over me.

“And how the fuck can you honestly claim you won’t miss it?” I snap, a little slower this time, voice thick with annoyance. It took me a few seconds to understand what he was proposing. And when I did, it was a strong sense of discontent and outright annoyance. It’s not a bad plan. Hell, it’s a good one.

His quirk will allow him easy access to cover the ground quickly but it would take a lot of effort to scale the trees from the top. Whereas, it will be good and easy for me to stay high in the air rather than checking each tree trunk for any hidden cavities with my limp. Plus, it’d keep my foot from taking more damage.

Goddammit, it stings to admit it, but… that’s a smart idea. A fucking brilliant one. And that makes me hate it even more—because DEKU’s the one who thought of it. I hate that I’m impressed, hate that I’m acknowledging it in my head. Damn it, I really hate him sometimes.

“Tch, fine,” I mutter grudgingly. “We do it your way. But if you don’t find that clue quick, I swear I’ll blast you to the moon!”

He doesn’t say anything—just nods sheepishly, stealing a quick glance at my foot, before moving ahead to examine the ground. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to worry so much, that I’ve got this. That it was just an accident and he has already helped enough. But those words doesn’t exist in my vocabulary. That’s not how I talk. Not in my nature. So I keep my mouth shut and focus on the task instead. I lift off with a burst of explosions, leaping from tree to tree, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Deku’s methodical, checking the trunks, digging through the soil, scanning every inch of those wild trees.

Nearly an hour drags by, and we’re on the opposite end of where we began. We’ve checked every tree thoroughly, or so I thought. But I’m so pissed off I want to punch something—or someone—in the face. The frustration’s bubbling over.

“Are you 100% sure that clue was pointing here? Is this the only apple orchard on this hill?” I ask, voice heavy with irritation. My fists clench, muscles tense from the useless search.

“Yes, it’s the only one. I’m sure of it,” Deku replies, frowning deeply. He tilts his head, fingers rubbing his chin as he mumbles to himself—words too fast for me to catch all of them, but I catch a few snippets: “…clue said beware of the hands…”, “…no villagers here…”, “…fences in place…”, “…must be somewhere unprotected…”, “…all the apple trees are here…”

I turn away from the orchard, limping toward the fence line, trying to drown out Deku’s frantic mumbling. The sun’s starting to dip, casting long shadows across the fields. A gentle breeze stirs the leaves, whispering secrets I don’t want to hear. I gaze at the dark, tangled forest beyond, thick and foreboding, like some nightmare waiting to swallow everything. Its shadows are nearly pitch-black, even on this cloudy day. The sun's rays are soothing and warm here, but just a few feet away it seems like a different world entirely. The contrast—bright sun here, darkness there—feels almost symbolic.

My eyes flicker over the ground at the edge of the trees, noticing something strange. Partially eaten apples—some only a few bites, others turned to mush, crawling with insects, rotting away. And I realize—no animals are over there. Not a single squirrel, bird, or insect. They’re staying far away. Why? Because of this forest, maybe? Only one reason why apples would be left outside the fence like this.

“Deku, I think we’ve got a lead,” I say, waving him over. He hurriedly approaches, peering down at the rotten apples and that foreboding woods.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Kacchan,” he says hesitantly. “Apple trees need ample amount of sunlight, and that place looks like it’s never seen a single ray. I doubt there’s anything useful in there.”

“Got a better fucking plan then?” I snap, voice hard. “Can you guarantee the clue isn’t hiding there without looking first?” I jab an accusatory finger at his chest. “Useless Deku. You’re a damn coward, always too scared to get your hands dirty. I knew you didn’t have what it takes to be a real hero.” I glare daggers at him, fist clenched tightly as red-hot rage course through my veins.

He shrinks under my words, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. “Th-That’s not what I meant. I-I'm not scared, Kacchan,” he stammers, voice trembling.

I scoff, small explosions popping from my palms. “Excuses, excuses. I don’t need your help to explore some stupid woods.” I shove him roughly, causing him to stumble back. “But fine, stay here and cower if you want. I’ll go get the damn clue myself, like I always do. Just try not to piss yourself before I come back, coward.”

Without waiting for a reply, I turn around and follow the trail of fallen apples. I don’t look back—doesn’t matter if he’s behind me or not. All I care about is putting as much distance as possible between us. Using quick bursts of explosions, I light my way ahead, pushing into the darkness of the trees. I don’t need anyone holding me back or second-guessing every step.

The faint glow reveals a narrow dirt path winding ahead, strewn with rotting apples—some half-eaten, some just mushy pulp—filling the air with that sickly-sweet stench that’s almost worse than the darkness. I push forward, senses sharp, each step heavy with anticipation and frustration. The gloom thickens, shadows twisting around gnarled, ancient trunks that seem to stretch forever, as if the forest itself is watching, waiting to swallow me whole.

The path dips downward then rises again, the terrain uneven and treacherous. Just beyond the last twisted branches, I see it—the opening where the trees part like some kind of sacred curtain. I shove through, branches scratching my arms, and step out into the sunlight, leaving the oppressive gloom behind.

And what I see takes my breath away.

Before me stands the oldest, biggest apple tree I’ve ever laid eyes on—majestic, almost godlike in its presence. Its massive branches stretch outward, dipping low under the weight of thousands of glowing red apples. These aren’t ordinary apples—they shimmer with an unearthly polish, almost like they’re lit from within. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy, casting golden dust motes that dance in the air like some divine blessing. It’s almost holy, like a shrine to the bounty of nature itself.

I stand there, frozen, overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of it. My heart pounds, not from exertion but from awe. This isn’t just some big tree; it’s a monument, a testament to something ancient and powerful that’s been here long before I arrived. And I know—without a shadow of a doubt—that the clue I’m after is hidden somewhere in this sacred place.

“I found it,” I mutter under my breath, voice hoarse but steady. My chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. “The clue’s gotta be here. It has to be!” I stare at the tree like I’m under a spell, unable to look away. Every fiber of my being screams that this is it—this is where the answer lies. I don’t care if I sound crazy—I know, deep down, that I’ve hit the jackpot.

Chapter Text

Kacchan’s harsh words echo in my mind, leaving a dull ache in my chest. I know deep down that following him down this overgrown, tangled path is the only way to find the damn clue. I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself and fight back the rising doubt, then carefully start trailing behind him. I keep my distance, trying not to draw attention, trying not to get in his way. 

The forest around us is dense; twisted vines and thick undergrowth claw at my legs, and every step I take is cautious, mindful of hidden roots and sharp stones. I almost lose sight of him as he begins ascending a steep, brush-covered slope—my heart pounds harder. I scramble up after him, desperate to keep pace, my hands grasping at tangled bushes for support. The air feels heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves, making my stomach churn.

Suddenly, a sharp burst of sunlight slices through the canopy ahead—bright and blinding—signaling that he has reached a clearing. My legs burn as I push myself upward, racing to catch up. When I finally burst out of the dense thicket and into the open, I see him standing just a few paces away, his broad back turned. He seems to be staring at something, frozen in awe. 

I hesitate for a moment—maybe he hasn’t noticed I’m there. Carefully, I take a slow step to his side. That’s when I see it. And what I see leaves me utterly awestruck. 

In the center of the sunlit clearing stands the oldest, largest apple tree I have ever seen. It’s like an ancient guardian, towering in silence. Its trunk is enormous—wide enough to be a small room—and textured with deep grooves, knots, and scars accumulated over centuries. I wonder how many storms it’s weathered, how many seasons it’s seen come and go. Its sturdy, sprawling branches stretch outward in all directions, as if embracing the entire clearing in a gentle, protective hug. 

And the apples—oh, the apples—are incredible. Ripe, gleaming in the soft sunlight—red and gold—so numerous they seem like a starry sky hanging from the limbs. They hang heavy, clustered in thick bunches that sway slightly in the breeze, almost too perfect to believe. I can’t help but think this majestic, ancient tree has been hidden away in the depths of this wild forest, unseen by all but the most fortunate. It’s like a sacred relic, standing against the relentless march of time.

A hum of energy seems to pulse around it, thick in the air—like the tree has witnessed countless generations pass through this clearing, silently watching everything. To me, this isn’t just a tree; it’s a living monument—beautiful, wizened, and so much larger than life that I almost doubt it’s real. I stand there, utterly captivated beside Kacchan, my heart pounding with awe. I can’t help but think: This moment is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. I’ll never see anything like this again.

“Wow, it’s so huge,” I whisper, voice trembling with admiration.

Suddenly, Kacchan jumps, startled by the sound of my voice, spinning around as if I’d caught him off guard. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you coward,” he snaps, eyes narrowing. “Why are you trailing behind me like some pathetic sidekick?”

I flinch, feeling the sting of his words, but I manage to bow my head slightly. “I... I’m sorry, Kacchan,” I say softly. “I should have listened to you earlier. I didn’t mean to hold us back. The path was so creepy— I got scared.”

His face twists into a scowl. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Deku,” he grunts. “Your clumsiness always causes trouble.”

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Please forgive me, Kacchan. I promise I’ll be more careful.”

He rolls his eyes, frustration bubbling beneath his tough exterior. “Yeah, of course you didn't mean to. Just try not to screw up this time. We’ve wasted enough time already. Now focus on the clue.” 

“Yeah, okay,” I murmur, relief flooding through me. “Where should we start looking first?” The fact that he isn’t exploding in his usual temper tells me he’s more drained than I thought.

As much as we need to complete our assignment, I can’t bring myself to disturb this natural wonder in any way. The thought of harming even a leaf or a root feels wrong—almost sacrilegious. I start pondering how I can appreciate the tree’s beauty without damaging it. 

“Don’t go near that tree,” Kacchan’s voice suddenly cuts through my thoughts. “It’s far too beautiful for your rough and clumsy hands. I’ll go search the top, and you stay put. Got it?”

Far too beautiful? I never imagined Kacchan appreciating anything other than his own quirk, let alone something as peaceful as this tree. The Kacchan I know only cares about power, strength, and proving himself superior. He considers himself above all else—yet here he is, telling me to respect this ancient marvel. Maybe hero training has done more than just sharpen our quirks. Maybe it’s helping us see what truly matters—appreciating life, understanding ourselves, and believing in something bigger than just raw power.

“Sure, Kacchan,” I say softly, nodding. “I’ll do as you say. I’ll stay put.” I step back, more than happy to give him space.

With a mighty burst of his explosion, Kacchan shoots upward—flying out of sight in an instant. I watch him go, feeling a strange mixture of admiration and anxiety. Then, I turn my attention back to the last clue, the reason we’re here. I scuff my feet against the dirt, pushing aside some apples to sit awkwardly on the hard ground. My legs throb, and my back protests from the grueling climb and the countless hours of searching every branch and leaf of all the apple trees back there.

My body is sore, exhausted—yet I force myself to focus. The message from the clue still echoes in my mind: “Beware of the hands that reach for me.” If the clue was pointing to this place all along, why should we be wary? It’s overgrown, yes, but no villager has come here in ages. The fence back there keeps most animals out, and I don’t see any signs of human intrusion. So what danger could possibly lurk here?

And then I think about the second part of the clue: “You can take the time to pause and retreat.” Why retreat? I think we’re close to finishing our mission. Whatever secrets this place holds, I feel it’s vital we hold our ground and find what we’re looking for.

Suddenly, a growling sound slices through the silence—sharp, sudden, primal. I freeze, instinct kicking in. My heart pounds faster as I search for the source of the noise. I realize why I’ve felt so uneasy about this dark path. Instinct takes over—I drop into a fighting stance, clutching my bag tightly as I swung it around, pulling out my blade. The metal felt cold in my hand and the moment feels heavy with tension.

From the bushes on my right, four wolves emerge—matted fur, wild eyes, and teeth bared in menace. Everything seemed to freeze for a heartbeat—their eyes, wild and unblinking, locked onto me. The way these wolves nonchalantly come here suggests this is their territory and I am the intruder. Their aggressive posture and unflinching stare make it clear - these aren’t ordinary wolves. The largest among them—a hulking grey beast—took a menacing step forward, snarling with a ferocity that made my stomach turn. Without hesitation, the wolves wastes no time as they charge forward, a blur of fur and fury.

I drop into a crouch, letting go of my bag as I brace myself. I manage to knock the first wolf into the dirt and roll to the side, creating some distance. My heart pounds in my chest as I spring to my feet and take the fighting stance reluctantly. I don’t want to hurt them but I know I have to in order to survive. My legs burn, my muscles trembles, but I force myself to stand my ground. 

I lock eyes with the three wolves, trying to convey my silent message as they circle me. But they don’t seem to understand; they’re just defending their territory. Suddenly, the second wolf on my right lunges. I crouch low and spin, slicing at the wolf’s belly. It yelps miserably, and I shudder at the sound. I pay for my hesitation dearly when I fail to notice another wolf charging at me from the side. Its teeth sink into my arm, and I scream—an instinctive, piercing cry that echoes through the forest. It’s a white-hot agony, unlike anything I’ve ever known, a fire that consumes me, multiplying with every heartbeat, scraping against the very structure of my arm.

My blade clatters uselessly to the damp earth as I collapse beneath the weight of the wolf. I struggle beneath it, blindly fighting to dislodge the snarling beast before it can clamp down again. Somehow, I manage to shove it off and stumble to my feet, only to see a third wolf already charging toward me. Adrenaline surges through my body, sharpening my focus. I channel 20% of One for All into my fist, my arm trembling from the effort.

“DETROIT SMASH!” I shout, summoning all my strength.

There’s a sickening crack as the wolf is sent flying backward, crashing to the ground limply—defeated. I stand there, breath ragged, staring at its motionless form, horror warring with relief. Guilt grips me tight. Forgive me, I pray silently, the words a bitter taste in my mouth. My heart aches fiercely, and I feel tears prick at my eyes, threatening to spill over.

The first wolf, though battered, has recovered and begins circling me, eyes blazing with renewed fury. Ignoring the throbbing, radiating waves of pain from my mangled arm, I push myself up slowly. I don’t want to hurt them. These wolves are just defending their territory; they see me as an intruder. My goal is to escape without violence, to leave this place untouched, unbloodied.

But I can’t just go without Kacchan. I can’t abandon him.

The wolf lunges again, and instinct takes over. I dive to the left, the movement sending fresh jolts of agony through my arm. Turning away from the attack, I activate Full Cowl, feeling my body surge with power as I sprint back down the path we came earlier. Spotting thick vines on a sturdy tree, I scramble up, hiding myself amidst the leaves. Below, the wolves' snarls grow closer, then pause. I hold my breath, listening. After a tense moment, I hear the rustle of retreating paws. I can’t tell if they were spooked by my power or satisfied that I’m gone. A deep, shuddering sigh of relief escapes me as I cradle my injured arm, the pain a constant, throbbing reminder of the violence I sought to avoid.

Before I can catch my breath, a deafening BOOM echoes through the trees. Kacchan’s back. Adrenaline floods me, overriding the ache in my arm. I leap down from my perch and sprint toward the sound, Full Cowl propelling me faster. The scene that greets me freezes the blood in my veins. To my right, one wolf lies twitching, a dark, spreading stain of blood matting its fur. Worse, two more wolves have Kacchan pinned, their jaws snapping dangerously close to his thrashing form.

"Kacchan!" The word tears from me. I activate Full Cowl again, the green energy flaring, and kick out with all my strength, sending the wolves flying off him. Without thinking, I seize the closest wolf by the scruff of its neck, channeling my power into my arms, and hurl it with all my might across the bushes. It hits the undergrowth with a pained yelp. I whirl towards the second wolf, but it's already lunging, teeth bared. There's no time to dodge. Instinct screams Protect Kacchan. My arm shoots out, wrapping around the wolf's neck in a desperate chokehold before its fangs can find purchase. Its body thrashes violently, hind legs scrabbling uselessly at the sand. I see its eyes roll back, showing terrified whites against its matted fur. A high-pitched whine rises from its chest, then cuts off abruptly. The wolf's body goes limp in my arms, the life draining away.

I stare down, horrified. My hands tremble. I acted on pure instinct to save my friend, driven by the terror of losing Kacchan. I didn't want to kill it, but in that split second, there was no other choice. The weight of the wolf's body feels immense, a crushing burden far heavier than its physical mass. The coppery scent of blood mixes with the damp earth, and the silence that follows the struggle is deafening, broken only by Kacchan's ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of my own heart.

I gently lower the lifeless wolf to the ground, my hands trembling violently. My gaze sweeps the surrounding trees and shadows, every sense straining for any sign of another threat. Hot tears carve paths down my cheeks, but I press my lips together, a hard, thin line, swallowing the sobs that claw at my throat. The weight of what I've done sits heavy in my chest.

Kacchan whirls on me, his eyes blazing, not with gratitude, but with familiar, incandescent fury. "Is this the way you stay put?" he barks, the words sharp as shrapnel.

The sheer audacity of it hits me like a physical blow. I saved his life. Risked everything. And this? A hot wave of anger, sudden and fierce, surges past the exhaustion and grief. "Is this the way you say thank you?" I shout back, the sound raw and strained.

I stare at him, disbelief warring with the hurt. I threw myself into danger without a second thought for him, and he can't muster even a single word of acknowledgement? Honestly, I never truly expected gratitude from Katsuki Bakugo. But this... this venomous attack wasn't on my list of possible reactions.

"I don't fucking need saving!" he roars, spittle flying, his face contorted. "Especially not from a useless weakling like you! This whole shitshow could've been avoided if you'd just fucking stayed put like I told you!"

"What did you expect?" I retort, pushing myself up, fists clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms. My voice is tight, vibrating with frustration. "See my best friend getting torn apart and just sit tight? Enjoy the show?"

"I never asked for your fucking help!" he snaps, stepping closer, invading my space. "Who the hell do you think you are, playing the fucking hero? You're nothing! Just a quirkless loser! Shit head!"

Something inside me snaps. Years of belittlement, of being crushed under his boot heel, of being called Deku – it all erupts. "I AM NOT QUIRKLESS ANYMORE!" The words tear from my throat, raw and ragged, straining against the lump of emotion. "Why can't you get that through your thick skull? I'm NOT that same weak, worthless DEKU you used to kick around! You're so arrogant, Kacchan! So blind! You can't stand seeing anyone else get better, can you? Even after I got a quirk... you never saw me as human. Just something beneath you. What more do I have to DO?" My voice cracks, tears streaming freely now, unchecked. 

"What more must I do to be seen as a person, if not a hero? When I started at UA, I told myself I wouldn't let your cruel words hurt anymore... but they still cut. They cut deep." The confession pours out, years of pent-up hurt finally breaching the dam. "You were my only friend... and you turned your back on me." I feel hollowed out, drained, my head pounding with the effort, yet strangely lighter, like shedding a skin I'd worn too long.

I swipe angrily at the tears on my face. "But things are different now," I say, the words steadier, infused with a newfound resolve.

Kacchan's mouth opens, undoubtedly poised to launch another verbal missile, another cruel barb designed to shatter my newfound defiance and reassert his dominance. But then... something flickers in his eyes. The blazing fury doesn't vanish, but it wavers, overlaid for a split second by something else – shock? Concern? It's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a tight, unreadable mask. His mouth snaps shut.

"I have real friends now," I continue, emboldened by his silence, by the truth finally spoken. I think of Uraraka's bright smile, Iida's steadfast support, Tsuyu's calm wisdom. Of All Might's belief in me. "Friends who care about me. Who listen. Who don't belittle me every chance they get." I meet his gaze directly, ignoring the tremor in my limbs. "I don't care what you think anymore, Kacchan. I will surpass you. And I will prove myself as the next Symbol of Peace." The declaration rings out, clear and strong, fueled by the fire of determination burning through my exhaustion.

I wonder how he keeps yelling with that endless, unchecked rage. I feel utterly spent after just those few sentences. My limbs are leaden, heavy as stones. Only sheer willpower keeps my head held high. And Kacchan... he's not even looking at me anymore. Have I ever actually managed to silence him before? His gaze is fixed downward, his expression tight, focused... concerned? Is he... worried about the wolf?

I follow his line of sight. A small, dark puddle is forming in the sand beside my feet. Blood. My blood. It drips steadily, rhythmically, from the ragged tear in my injured arm. In the heat of our confrontation, the searing pain, the wound... I'd completely forgotten about it. The realization hits me like a physical blow, cold and sharp. The seriousness of our situation crashes down, immediate and terrifying. We need to get out of here. Now. Those wolves could return at any moment, and next time, they might bring the entire pack.

Suddenly, a sharp rustling of leaves snags our attention, followed by a bone-chilling howl that echoes through the trees – close, too close. My heart plummets. Time is running out, sand slipping through an hourglass. Kacchan whips towards me, his face a mask of grim tension, the earlier fury banked but not gone.

"Tch. Now's not the fucking time for your 'I'll surpass you' speeches," he snaps, his voice low and urgent. "I'll tell you later how clumsy, stupid, and fuckheaded you are. Right now? We move." The words are harsh, but the command is clear: survival first.

I nod, the movement jerky, and clutch my injured arm tighter. Blood seeps warm and sticky between my fingers. I stumble after him, each jarring step sending fresh waves of agony radiating up my arm. But Kacchan isn't heading towards the fence. He's limping away, deeper into the undergrowth opposite our escape route. Has he lost his mind? Panic flares. Where is he going? Before I can call out, he bends low beneath a tangle of thorny bushes and emerges with a small, sturdy wooden box. The clue! So he did find it after all. It must have been knocked from his grasp during the attack. He shoves it into his bag with a grunt, then turns and sprints back down the dark, tunnel-like path we came from.

I force my legs to move, following close on his heels. The darkness presses in, thick and suffocating, swallowing the weak light filtering through the canopy. Every shadow feels alive, every rustle a potential threat. I grit my teeth against the throbbing in my arm, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood, to not leave a glistening, crimson trail that would lead the wolves straight to us. We move as quickly as silence allows, a desperate, limping race through the oppressive gloom. The only sounds are our ragged breaths, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the frantic pounding of my own heart.

Finally, the looming silhouette of the fence appears. Relief wars with exhaustion. With a shared, unspoken glance, we tap into our quirks. We land heavily on the other side, the impact jarring my wound. No sooner do our feet hit the packed earth than the sound of rapid, scrabbling footsteps erupts from the woods behind us. We whip around.

Several snarling wolves burst from the tree line, their forms coalescing from the shadows. Their eyes, glowing like hot coals in the dimness, lock onto us with predatory hunger. They're drawn by the intoxicating scent – my blood, dripping freely down my arm, a crimson beacon in the gloom. They reach the fence, pressing against the wooden bars, fangs bared in vicious snarls. Saliva drips from their jaws, stringing in the air. Low, guttural growls rumble in their throats, a terrifying chorus of aggression. They stare us down, muscles coiled, ready to tear through the barrier. Then, one wolf, larger than the others, its fur scarred and matted, throws back its head and unleashes a long, chilling howl that slices through the night air. The sound promises violence, and it's answered by distant, answering calls from deeper within the woods.

Chapter Text

Drawn by the intoxicating, coppery scent of Deku’s blood, the wolves slam against the fence, snarling muzzles thrust through the gaps. Saliva drips like venom from bared fangs. Low, guttural growls vibrate in their throats, a promise of torn flesh. One massive bastard, scars riddling its muzzle, throws back its head and unleashes a howl that freezes the blood in my veins. The sound echoes, answered by distant calls from deeper in the woods.

But they are unable to cross the sturdy divide. We flinch back instinctively from the snapping jaws, taking several quick, cautious steps away. My palms itch. The familiar, destructive heat builds, screaming to be unleashed. God, how I want to blast those mangy muts into next week. I can already picture it – the satisfying BOOM, their yelps as they become airborne furballs. But I clench my fists, forcing the urge down. My fucking ankle is throbbing like a bastard, and every muscle screams with exhaustion. A full-on fight right now? It’d drain the last dregs of my power. Power I need to search this wretched hill and complete this damn assignment. The battle-lust burns hot, but the burning need to get the hell home is hotter. In the end, I turn away, sneaking off like a fucking coward. Like Deku.

I glance back at him. His blood is still flowing freely, painting his arm crimson, dripping onto the ground. That scent is driving the wolves into a frenzy, their eyes wild, claws scrabbling at the fence. We can’t just bolt – not until we stop that fucking faucet. Before I can even unzip my bag for the med kit, Deku’s weak voice cuts through the tension.

“Kacchan! Give me your bag. I need to stop the bleeding before we go or they’ll follow us.”

“Don’t you fucking dare order me around, bastard!” I snap, the words sharp as shrapnel. “I know that already! And you need to get rid of that stink before wrapping it up. Did you carry anything useful for this kind of emergency?” The sarcasm drips, but I’m already digging through my pack, yanking out the emergency kit. Deku’s shaking like a leaf because of… pain? fear? who the hell knows? He’s been through enough today. As much as he pisses me off, he doesn’t need my goddamn sweet talk on top of it.

“I… I have a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide,” he croaks, voice cracking like he’s about to break. “But it’s in my bag.”

I find a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. Good enough. It’ll clean the wound, kill the smell, reduce infection risk. I grab a water bottle too. 

“Give me your hand,” I command, holding out my own. He hesitates, those wide, pain-filled eyes locking onto mine.

“It’s alright, Kacchan,” he mutters, trying to pull his arm back. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll take care of it.”

“Just shut the fuck up and do as I say!” I yell, making him flinch. His eyes dart back to the wolves, then he steels himself, slowly extending his injured arm. I pour water over his fist first, then grab his wrist firmly. The water hits the worst of the gashes, turning the sand beneath him dark red. There’s so much fucking dirt and blood caked on his arm I can’t even see the source. He winces, a sharp intake of breath, but stays silent. I twist his arm roughly, examining the damage. Eight puncture wounds. Four on top, four underneath. Deep. Fucking deep. Infection’s a real risk. We’ll have to watch it like hawks until we’re off this hellhole hill.

I drag him a few steps back, away from the spreading pool of blood, and start cleaning frantically. He’s clutching his upper arm so hard his knuckles are white, nerves bulging under his skin. Without warning, I grab the rubbing alcohol and splash it directly onto the puncture marks.

A raw, agonized scream tears from his throat as he collapses on the ground. He tries to yank his arm away instinctively, but my grip is iron. His whole body convulses, shaking violently under the onslaught of pain. I settle in front of him and pause for a split second, letting him suck in a ragged breath, then twist his hand again to reach the wounds on the underside. A choked whimper escapes him. Tears stream down his dirty cheeks, leaving clean tracks; tracks that mix with dried blood smudges on his face from earlier. Fuck. Another scent trail.

“Stop whining, you wimp,” I mutter, though my voice is less harsh now. I keep dabbing, focused on disinfecting every fucking hole. How the hell did he think he could do this alone? If it were me? No way in hell would I let anyone near my arm with that shit, let alone pour fire into open wounds. But this treatment is necessary, even if its excruciating.

I wrap his arm tight, pulling the bandage hard to stem the crimson tide. The wolves never move, pacing relentlessly along the fence line, their hungry eyes tracking every motion, every drop of blood that escapes. But the job isn't done. The ground near his feet is soaked. The front of his t-shirt is a fucking crime scene. And his face…

"Take it off," I command, gesturing at his blood-soaked t-shirt.

He stares at me, bewildered. "Wh-what?"

"Your t-shirt, dumbass! It's drenched! Take it off!" I snap, impatience warring with the need for speed. "We'll burn it later. Or bury it. Something. But you're not wearing that fucking beacon." He hesitates, then slowly, painfully, begins to peel the clinging fabric away from his skin. Every movement makes him gasp, the rough cotton pulling at dried blood and sensitive skin, his injured arm trembling violently with the effort. He finally manages to wrench it over his head, leaving him shivering in just his thin undershirt, his face contorted in pain.

"Now wipe your fucking face with it," I order him. "Get rid of that trail. Every bit of it." He flips the t-shirt, then gingerly, with shaking hands, scrubs at the dried blood tracks mixing with fresh tears on his cheeks. The sight is pathetic, but necessary.

Next, the ground. I kick dirt and sand over the darkest, wettest patches where his blood pooled, trying to bury the scent. Then, I unscrew the rubbing alcohol again and pour a generous splash directly onto the disturbed earth. The sharp, chemical smell rises, momentarily overpowering the coppery tang. Good. I snatch the blood-soaked t-shirt from him, wad it up tightly, and stuff it deep into my backpack. One less thing trailing us.

“Come on,” I say, keeping my voice low but urgent. “Need to get out of their sight before we try heading back.” He nods, shivering slightly. I shove the kit back in my bag and start limping towards the relative shelter of a nearby apple tree, glancing nervously over my shoulder at the prowling predators. But Deku doesn’t move. He just stays there, staring at nothing, lost in some fucking internal drama.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, nerd?” I growl, frustration boiling over. “Planning to stay here all day? Become wolf chow?” Hungry wolves are right there, snapping jaws just feet away, and he’s spaced out? Where’s his goddamn survival instinct? After an eternity of seconds, he finally stirs, slowly pushing himself up, grimacing with every movement. Fucking finally. I want to scream at him to move faster, but I bite my tongue. More noise is the last thing we need. This much shit-show is enough for one lifetime. He gets upright, takes two halting steps… then his eyes roll back. A wave of dizziness hits him like a truck, and he collapses face-first into the dirt with a muffled groan, cradling his arm, teeth sunk deep into his lip to hold back another cry.

Fuck. The word echoes like a gunshot in my skull. We’re fucked. Utterly, completely fucked. I glare down at Deku’s crumpled form, contempt warring with a cold, sharp spike of panic. Can’t even stay on your feet? God, I hate this weakling. The sheer helplessness radiating off him grates on every nerve. With a snarl of frustration, I limp over, my own ankle screaming protest with every step. I grab his good arm roughly and haul him upright. He’s dead weight, leaning heavily against me, his face a sickly white mask of pain. Every instinct screams to shove him away, but practicality wins. I become his fucking crutch, my own injured ankle threatening to buckle under our combined weight as we lurch towards the relative shelter of the apple tree.

We collapse against the rough bark, sliding down until we’re hidden from the wolves’ sightline. Every muscle in my body screams for rest, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion settling in. We sit there, breathing raggedly, stealing glances at the fence where the wolves still pace, though their frenzy seems to be fading. I grab a couple of apples from a low-hanging branch, shoving them into my bag. I bite into one, the crisp tartness a small shock against the metallic taste of adrenaline and fear. I toss another towards Deku. "Eat it, nerd. You look like death warmed over."

He shakes his head weakly, pushing it away. "N-not hungry..."

I shrug, taking another vicious bite. Suit yourself. The damn box with the clue feels heavy in my bag, burning a hole through the fabric. I want to open it, need to see what we’re dealing with, what the next step is. But if I do it now, Deku will want to look too. Then comes the endless fucking analysis, the mumbling, the theories... No. Later.

Despite the exhaustion, Deku can’t sit still. He shifts constantly, twisting and turning like he can’t find a comfortable position. A low, pained whimper escapes him. Shit. It’s not just the arm. His face is a roadmap of agony – that permanent, deep frown, eyes narrowed to slits against the pain, beads of sweat slicking his filthy skin. He’s hurting bad. I rummage in the med kit, pulling out a painkiller pill. "Take this," I command, holding it out.

He shakes his head again, voice thin. "C-can't... empty stomach... makes me sick..."

Are you fucking kidding me? The urge to just shake him until his teeth rattle is overwhelming. He refused the apple, and now he’s refusing this? 

"Take the fucking pill, Deku!" I snap, the anger boiling over. But I rein it in, clenching my jaw. His skin is taking on a distinctly greenish tinge. The last thing we need is him puking his guts up right now, alerting every predator within a mile. With a growl of pure frustration, I grab his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and shove the pill in. I shove his water bottle at him next. "Swallow. Now." 

He glares, but obeys, gulping it down. I watch him like a hawk, ready to grab him if he heaves. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, some of the tension eases from his shoulders. His eyelids grow heavy, fluttering shut as he slumps against the tree, finally succumbing to an uneasy doze.

The sun bleeds orange and crimson below the treetops, casting long, distorted shadows. We stay hidden for what feels like an eternity, maybe half an hour. The wolves at the fence grow restless, then bored. Their pacing slows, their snarls lessen. One by one, they drift back into the woods, their interest finally waning. Now’s our chance. I jab Deku sharply in the ribs. "Wake up, nerd. Move time."

He flinches violently, eyes flying wide, gasping like he just surfaced from drowning. He nods, pushing himself up with a groan that sounds like it’s ripped from his soul. The rest did me some good; the throbbing in my ankle has dulled to a manageable ache. Deku? He looks worse. He’s still clutching his bandaged arm like a lifeline, pressed tight against his chest, his knuckles white. Every movement is stiff, pained. We start moving towards the other side of the fence, towards the entrance, using the deepening shadows of the trees as cover. 

Once we’re out of earshot, I nod at Deku. "Full Cowl. Now. Cover ground fast." He nods back, green lightning flickering weakly around him. I tap my own power, muffled explosions propelling us forward in a desperate sprint. We reach our initial campsite spot in record time. As soon as we stop, Deku stumbles away, crashing towards some bushes. A moment later, the unmistakable sound of retching reaches my ears. Fuck. I turn away sharply, focusing on the tent bag. My hands move with angry, jerky motions, unrolling it with unnecessary force. Pathetic.

He stumbles back a few minutes later, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking even paler, if possible. I’m jamming wooden sticks I’d gathered earlier into a rough fire pit.

He collapses onto the ground like a sack of rocks, takes tiny, shaky sips of water, then just lies there panting, every breath ragged and shallow. Utterly fucking spent, eyes staring blankly at the darkening sky.

"What're you doing?" he mumbles, voice cracked and breathless, not even lifting his head off the dirt.

"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" I snap, not bothering to glance away from the fire I'm building. Sticks snap under my hands.

"Why...the tent?" he pushes himself up onto his good elbow, wincing violently as he accidentally puts weight on his injured arm. "We should…take a look...at the clue... head there. Still…got time... might reach tonight..."

"Look at yourself before running your mouth, you fucking wimp," I spit, finally turning to glare at him. He's a mess – pale, trembling, barely upright. "Can't even sit straight. Tend to your other fucking injuries first. We will have our dinner and then we’ll look at the damn clue." 

A weak, pathetic smile flickers across Deku's face. "Alright. Thanks, Kacchan," he whispers, gratitude thick in his voice. "But…M not hungry... just... resting in tent... till you’ve dinner." He starts pushing himself up again.

I shoot him a look that could freeze lava. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" I growl. "I said we're having dinner. That means you too." I dig into my backpack, yanking out a couple of crushed granola bars and a slightly squashed mint toffee. I shove them at him. "These should help with your nausea. And finish that water before you crawl in there." My voice comes out harsher than intended, but underneath... fuck. There's that stupid worry again. I absolutely hate it. Deku just nods, mustering the energy to sit up properly and nibble weakly at the granola bar like a fucking rabbit.

With a few precise, controlled blasts – small pops, not the usual boom – I coax the campfire higher. Flames crackle and dance, casting flickering shadows that make Deku look even more fragile. The fish I snagged earlier sizzles nicely over the heat, the smell making my stomach clench. Deku stays quiet. Unnaturally quiet. He's still trembling, fine shakes running through him, he tries to hide by wrapping his arms around himself. His breathing is too deep, too controlled. Whatever. Not my problem. I'll give him rest for the first watch, but then he needs to take over. He isn't the only one injured and exhausted here.

I choke down the fish in silence. Deku eats slowly, mechanically, wincing with every swallow. The moment the last bite is gone, I yank the clue box out of my bag and sit down heavily beside him. This time, the box has a slim, sturdy rope firmly attached to the top. Inside, folded sheets of paper. Wikipedia printouts. Of course. The lack of creativity screams Aizawa-sensei – lazy bastard. Certain sections are highlighted on each page, and something messy is scrawled at the bottom. The scrawl is illegible chicken scratch. I flip back to the first page and start reading the highlighted parts.

Aravac plant. Picture shows a dense, dark green bush with stupidly narrow leaves and obnoxiously bright purple flowers. The article drones on about origin, typical habitats... blah, blah, blah. The interesting shit is in the highlights. Turns out, the leaf extract is used in pain relief meds. The scrawl at the bottom finally makes sense: "Rub leaves around injured part/bruise if you’ve lost the emergency kit or have ran out of painkillers." Huh. Might be useful after all. He's already summarized the page, so reading the whole thing feels pointless. But Deku? The nerd would probably want to memorize every fucking word. I glance over to see if he's done so I can flip.

The sight that meets me stops me cold. Deku's brows are knotted together, jaw clenched so tight his teeth have to be grinding. His eyes are squeezed shut like he's trying to block out the smallest of light. A pounding headache – obvious even to me. His injured hand is pressed back against his chest, his other hand snaking around to grip his shoulder like a vise. He tries to keep reading, forcing his eyes open to mere slits... only to snap them shut again a second later when a crow caws sharply from a nearby branch. The simple noise makes him flinch violently, a choked gasp escaping him, like the sound is a fucking drill boring straight into his skull. He curls in on himself slightly, breath hitching. Fuck. This is bad. Really bad.

I fold the pages with a sharp snap. "Get in the tent. Now." My voice leaves no room for argument. "Night shifts – you take second watch. No whining." He just nods, looking utterly wrecked in his thin undershirt as he stumbles towards the tent like a zombie. I settle back by the fire, staring up. The sky isn't clear; it's choked with thick, heavy clouds, swirling in ominous patterns. No stars. Just a suffocating, oppressive blanket. The air feels thick, charged, humming with impending violence. The storm's coming. I can feel it in my bones.

After a while, I sit up and grab the pages again. Second page: Magrimulish flowers. Pink, spiky petals growing in stupidly neat bunches of twenty on thick stems. I skim the highlighted nonsense – cathartic, diuretic, anti-scorbutic... who cares? – until my eyes snag on the handwritten scrawl: "Crush flowers, apply directly to wound if bleeding won't stop. Use leaves to cover wound, make sure there is no direct contact – toxic." I force myself through the next article on Actortium roots, determined to finish. But just as I reach for the last page, movement catches my eye.

Deku bursts from the tent, stumbling blindly towards the bushes, and heaves violently. Great. Can't even keep down a fucking granola bar now. I sigh, tucking the pages back into the box. I grab a water bottle – not because I care, just so he doesn't bitch during his watch. As I approach, his entire body convulses. Tremors rack him, chest heaving with each agonized gasp. Sweat soaks through his thin undershirt, plastering it to his skin. His eyes bulge with every retch, looking like they might pop right out of his skull. Suddenly, his legs buckle. He pitches forward, face-first towards his own puke. I lunge, grabbing him just before he face-plants, hauling him back a few steps and lowering him gently to the ground. He clutches his head with both hands, face twisted in pure agony, moaning and writhing. Conclusion: the headache's fucking killing him worse than the arm.

I lift his head, help him sip and spit water to clear the taste. Then I pry his hands off his head, replacing them with my own, applying steady pressure. He resists, moaning, trying to pull away. "Shh," I murmur, understanding. Even a whisper could feel like a grenade going off in his skull right now. 

"Do you have anti-nausea meds?" I ask quietly as he takes measured, controlled breaths. I know how killer headaches work – every sound, every movement is torture. He manages a choked "Yes." I start to ease the pressure, removing my hands to get up. But his hand shoots out, grabbing mine like a lifeline. "No," he croaks, eyes wide with sudden panic. "Just... help me to the tent. I'll get it on my own. Just help me up."

"Shh. Wait here. Back in a sec," I say, trying to pull away. He recoils like I struck him. 

"NO!" he shouts, then instantly clamps his eyes shut, groaning. "No, please. Don't... look in my bag. I'm fine. Really. I'll just... go. Thanks for the water." 

What the fuck? What's he hiding? Is it that important that he is willing to crawl like a snail just so I can’t take a look? Is it his precious nerd notebook? Too fucking stupid to bring that here. Or is it something worse? Drugs? The thought makes my brow furrow. Deku? Illegal shit? Doesn't make sense. I thought Deku was too goody-two-shoes to even think of something of that kind.

I watch him try twice to push himself up. Both times, his injured arm gives out, sending him back down with a gasp of pain. I grab his good hand, yank him upright. The sudden movement turns his face a sickly green. He immediately retches again, vomiting all over his undershirt and the ground. He curls onto his side, body wracked with dry heaves. Fuck. The concern I've been stamping down flares hot and undeniable. He's getting worse. Fast. Whatever secret he's guarding can wait. He needs fluids, quiet, darkness. Now.

When the spasms finally stop, he collapses on the ground, limp. I quickly dig out a cool, mint-scented wipe from my bag and gently clean the vomit from his ashen face. Carefully, I sit him up, slipping my hands under his armpits, and half-drag, half-guide him towards the tent. Inside, I start peeling off the ruined, vomit-soaked undershirt. That's when I see it. On his right shoulder – a huge, dark bruise, mottled purple and black. Grabbing another wipe and my flashlight, I inspect it. The sight chills me. It's not just the shoulder. Another nasty bruise, smaller but just as angry, blooms just above his hip. How the hell...? All this time, he's been hiding this? Deku continues to writhe and moan, oblivious to my discovery. I shove his bag near him. "Take your meds," I grunt, grabbing the soiled shirt. "I'll deal with this." I duck out, giving him privacy.

When I return a few minutes later, he's managed to pull on a clean shirt. The medicine box sits untouched near his feet. He's hunched over, head buried in his hands, elbows on his knees, radiating misery.

"Found the medicine?" I ask, nudging him with my foot. He shakes his head, uncurling trembling hands to reach for the box.

I bat his hand away, grab the box myself, and guide him roughly but carefully onto his back. I find the anti-nausea and painkillers. I crack the water bottle, lift his head, and press the pills in his palm.

"What's the... second pill for?" he croaks, voice shredded from vomiting. I whisper the names – anti-nausea and pain relief. He jerks his head away weakly. "No."

"You're not thinking straight. Take it," I whisper, forcing my voice level while rage simmers beneath. How can this idiot refuse meds when he's falling apart?

"No... not pain relief," he gasps. "Think... m sick coz...of the…pain pill...earlier" 

What? The word explodes in my head, but I clamp down instantly as Deku moans, curling inward again. Then it hits me – his earlier refusal: "Can't take it on empty stomach... makes me sick..." His stupid, rambling explanation about gastrointestinal side effects... Fuck. A cold, heavy dread drops into my gut. This is my fault. I forced that fucking pill down his throat. I ignored his warning. And now he's paying for it. The sound of his pained whimpers makes my own stomach twist. Unnerved. Disturbed. Troubled. Words I refuse to acknowledge, feelings I refuse to name.

Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. It's nothing. I was only helping him. That's all I'm doing now too. I am not regretting my decision of giving him pain medication. No regret. Not at all. No fucking guilt. I did what I thought was right. Period. Yeah, it backfired spectacularly, but I'll fix it. I will fix this.

"Alright," I whisper, forcing calm into my tone. "Just the anti-nausea then." I remove the offending pill from his hand and help him swallow it with some water.

I dig out a mint toffee – the sharp scent cuts through the vomit smell – and press it between his lips. "Suck this. Slowly." Then, hesitantly, I place my fingertips against his temples. He flinches, but I start massaging slow, firm circles. Each wince, each strained breath under my hands is a fucking reminder that I did this. I caused this agony. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tension in his face eases. His breathing evens out, just a fraction.

Outside, the first raindrops begin to patter against the tent fabric, a soft, relentless drumming. The storm's finally breaking. I glance at my watch. Time for his watch shift. The agreement echoes in my head – he takes second watch. I look down at him. He's finally asleep, face still pale, damp with sweat, breathing shallowly. The thought of waking him, of forcing him into the cold, rainy darkness after what I've done... I can't. I just can't. Not after I put him in this hell. The decision settles, heavy and absolute. I'll take the fucking watch. Both shifts.

The rain intensifies, drumming harder on the tent. I stay rooted beside him. Hours crawl by. I press cool wipes to his forehead when fever flushes his skin. I monitor his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. I listen to the rain, to the distant howls of wolves carried on the wind, to the soft, pained sounds Deku makes even in sleep. The guilt I refuse to name sits like a stone in my chest, cold and unyielding. Dawn feels a lifetime away.

Chapter Text

Even before opening my eyes, I sense the warmth of sunlight filtering through the tent's gap, the gentle chirping of birds immediately pulling me toward consciousness. I blink, lashes sticky, the world swimming into focus like watercolors bleeding on paper. And there he is.

Kacchan, sitting vigilantly beside me, head drooping onto his chest, eyes closed in a light doze. The usual scowl is absent, replaced by an almost peaceful slackness in his features. The sight sends a jolt through me, sharp and confusing. He stayed? All night?

The memories crash over me: the skull-splitting headache, the nausea that wracked my body until I vomited, and Kacchan's unwavering presence through it all. I recall the blinding pain, and how Kacchan had come to my aid, speaking to me in a tone so uncharacteristically gentle and soothing. It's a side of him I haven't seen in years, not since we were children racing through the park.

I can vividly picture that day – our friendly running competition, my stumble, the sharp scrape of my knee against the pavement, the tears that instantly welled up. (Some things never change; I'm still a crybaby.) Without hesitation, Kacchan had rushed to my side, completely ignoring our competition, his usual brash demeanor melting away as he fussed over my scraped knee and did his awkward best to comfort me. In that moment, he'd been like an older brother, his rough edges softened by genuine concern. I've always treasured those rare instances when Kacchan's tough exterior crumbled, allowing me a glimpse of the caring person hidden beneath.

Now, watching him doze, I can't help but wonder what prompted this latest display of tenderness. Was it simply the weight of Aizawa-sensei's threat hanging over us? Or is there something more beneath the surface? I can't be certain, but I find myself aching, longing for the days when Kacchan's kindness came more freely, untainted by the quirk status that drove such a massive, painful wedge between us.

I sit up quietly, a sigh of relief escaping me as I realize the headache has finally subsided. Only a dull ache persists in my right shoulder and arm. I carefully shift, clearing space to gently guide Kacchan's shoulders down onto the spot I just vacated. The moment my hands make contact, his eyes fly open, his body tensing instinctively, ready to push me away. But then recognition flickers across his face, and he visibly relaxes, if only fractionally.

“You’re up,” he grunts, his voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” I nod. “You can rest here. I’m sorry I didn’t wake for my shift.”

“Hmm. Headache?” he asks, easing back onto the sleeping bag, already half-closing his eyes.

“It’s gone now. Shoulder still hurts a bit. Thank you for… last night. I’ll—” Kacchan rolls his eyes, cutting me off.

Kacchan rolls his eyes dramatically, cutting me off before I can finish the sentence. “Ugh, don’t mention it. Just remember I saved your sorry ass last night. You owe me big time. Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping slightly, almost defensive, “I didn’t exactly ‘help’ with your headache. I just…you know… did what the old hag does whenever I’m down. Don’t get it twisted.” He turns his face away, pulling the sleeping bag higher up his chest. “Now, get the fuck out. Just ‘cause you brought this tent doesn’t mean you own it. I’m sleeping here. You can do whatever the fuck you want outside. GO.” 

With that final, gruff dismissal, he turns his back completely, a clear end to the conversation. I can’t help but smile like an idiot. It doesn’t matter what he says, how harshly he tries to frame it. Just a week ago, he’d have exploded with his trademark rage: “Go home and DIE, you fucking bastard!” But last night… something shifted. His words had come out soft, almost gentle, dreamlike in their uncharacteristic tenderness. It was so strikingly different from the Kacchan I know – the brash, unyielding force of nature who never holds back his contempt – that for a moment, I actually wondered if someone had kidnapped the real Kacchan and replaced him with an alien imposter.

I pick up the clue box sitting atop his bag and slip outside. Now that I’m feeling clearer, I’m determined to read each page with meticulous attention. The last page proves to be the jackpot. It precisely details the prize’s location, how to find it, and the quickest route back. I recognize the handwriting instantly – this clue has Aizawa-sensei's fingerprints all over it. I can't help but wonder just how far our teacher is willing to go to help us succeed, to watch us complete this assignment together. The last page reads:

Now, here are your clues to complete the assignment:
You are currently on the Southern side of Kinnigan Hill. The prize is hidden at the peak of the mountain. Follow the winding path from the left of the Apple Orchard that leads to the summit. The path will take you through a dense forest of cedar trees.
As you climb, you'll notice the surrounding trees gradually thin out. The thinning canopy will allow your gaze to travel unobstructed, revealing wide, sweeping vistas. The summit, previously obscured, will now come into clear view. Pay attention to the craggy outcroppings and crevices dotting the landscape. It is in these rugged, hard-to-reach places that you must now focus your search, for this is where the elusive Hoesiacnea shrubs thrive.
These hardy plants, with their sturdy, woody stems, have adapted to take root in the smallest gaps and fissures in the rocky terrain. Look for the distinctive twin Hoesiacnea specimens that grow in a peculiar, almost mirror-like formation. The prize is hidden beneath one such pair of shrubs.

As for the shortest way off the hill:
Once you've retrieved the prize, make your way back down by following the stream originating from the snow-capped peak. Be careful - the stream leads to a treacherous waterfall. Use the rope to safely reach the stream's banks below, then continue downstream. This will guide you to the village of Do-Ja. Arrive at the sole police station there, and your assignment will be complete. 
However, be aware - Kinnigan Mountain is home to several aggressive wild animals. You'll need to be cautious.
Use your wits and your Quirk abilities to navigate this terrain and avoid these animals. I expect you BOTH to return with the prize TOGETHER.

With these detailed instructions, we’ll be home in hours. Just a couple of days late. I don't know if it will affect our scores, but I can't shake this mix of emotions churning inside me.

I’m happy I’ll see Mom and friends soon. I can’t wait to tell Mom everything – the wolves, the climb, the clues. I picture reuniting with Iida, Todoroki, Kirishima, Mina, Uraraka. Iida-kun will lecture me about my shortcomings, ever the class rep. Todoroki-kun will offer quiet praise for completing it without major incident. Kirishima-kun will tease me relentlessly, his laughter booming. Mina will be bursting with curiosity, demanding every detail. And Uraraka… she’ll fuss over me, worried I haven’t been eating or sleeping properly.

Yet, a pang of sadness cuts through the excitement. In just a few hours, everything will revert to the way it was before. Kacchan’s fleeting concern will vanish. We’ll likely never have another civil conversation; our dynamic will snap back to its familiar, painful pattern. I’m so grateful I saw the old Kacchan, the one I’d almost forgotten existed. I’ll cherish these rare memories, sincerely wishing I could see this softer side of him more often, beyond this forced assignment.

I get up, stretching carefully, and start preparing for the day. I move through camp chores mechanically, wincing every time my right arm takes weight. About an hour later, the tent flap rustles. Kacchan emerges, looking utterly wrecked. Prominent dark circles bruise the skin under his eyes, his movements stiff with exhaustion. He meets my gaze for a split second, his usual scowl weakened by fatigue, before turning to glare at the rising sun like it personally offended him. The sight sends another pang through me – a reminder of the cost of his hidden care, a cost he’d never admit to paying.

“Good Morning, Kacchan. It’s too early. You can sleep a bit more,” I offer, my voice softer than intended. 

He stretches, a ripple of tension beneath his shirt, rubbing fiercely at his eyes as if to scrape away sleep. “Wha—? Who cares about sleep?” he snaps, voice raw. “Let me remind you we have an assignment to complete and we’re already running late. I won’t let you hold me back today. I don’t care if you DIE, but I am not staying here another moment.” He turns, grabbing his canteen with jerky movements.  

Right. The familiar sting of his words lands, but it’s blunted by exhaustion. I take it as my cue. My fingers fumble with the tent’s straps, the simple task suddenly monumental. Every tug, every fold sends fresh agony lancing up my arm. The bandage feels damp, sticky. Not now. Please. I swallow the last pain pill dry, a bitter promise that does little to dull the deep, burning ache spreading like venom through my chest and back. I’ll be home soon, I remind myself. Just hours now. 

Shouldering my bag, I turn—only to jolt violently as Kacchan materializes silently behind me. My heart hammers against my ribs.  

“What are you doing?” he demands, voice that familiar gravelly rasp.  

“Preparing to leave,” I stammer, caught off guard. “Like you said.”

Without warning, he thrusts his own bag into my hands. Before I can process this, he snatches my heavy, bulky bag from my shoulder.  

“You carry that. I’ll carry yours. Now, come on. We’ve got to move.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, already striding towards the tree line.  

I stand frozen, bewildered. Why? Why swap bags? His bag is feather light. Is this his way to show worry for me? A power play? Or… something else? Panic flares. My lucky charm. It’s in the front pocket. If he checks… I can’t let him see it. Not that. Not him. I scramble to hoist his weightless bag, and hurry after him, questions tumbling out:  

“Kacchan, wait—why? What’s the point? Did Aizawa say something? Is it about the weight distribution? Because I can manage—”  

He walks on, back ramrod straight, a wall of silence. My voice bounces off him, useless. After the fifth unanswered question, the words die in my throat. What’s the use? The only sound is the crunch of our boots on the forest floor and the ragged edge of my own breathing.

The path winds steeply upwards, as promised. Towering cedars close in, their scent sharp and clean. But the terrain quickly turns brutal. The incline sharpens until we’re scrambling, hands grasping rough bark to haul ourselves up. Each step sends a fresh wave of fire through my arm. The pain blossoms, spreading like a stain across my chest and back, stealing my breath. I pause frequently, leaning against solid trunks, gasping for air that feels thin and insufficient. Kacchan’s pace is relentless, a distant, determined figure ahead. 

Just as the burning in my lungs threatens to overwhelm me, his voice cuts through the trees, sharp and impatient: “DEKU!”  
I push off the tree, activating Full Cowl. Green lightning crackles weakly around me, a desperate burst of speed. I catch up, panting, bent double, hands braced on my knees. 

“What’s wrong?” he huffs, not even winded. His eyes flick over me, assessing.  

“You’re… way… too fast,” I gasp between ragged coughs. “Had to… take breaks… catch my breath.”  

“Amazing!” he sneers, the word dripping with acid. “I’m the one carrying your heavy bag and dealing with a burning pain in my leg, yet you’re the one who needs to catch your breath?” He steps closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “Great! Could you be any more pathetic? I’m trying my hardest to keep up the pace, but you keep slowing us down.”  

The words hit like physical blows. I straighten slowly, meeting his glare, my own eyes pleading. “I’m sorry… Kacchan,” I manage, the apology thick with exhaustion and shame. “Can we… take a small break?”  

“Are you deaf or what?” he explodes, hands clenching at his sides. “We are not gonna waste our time now that we’re so close! Man up for once and move!”  

I hold his gaze, letting him see it all – the nausea churning from the quirk overuse, the white-hot agony in my chest making each breath a battle, the sheer, bone-deep weariness. I don’t speak. I just look.

He stares back, jaw working. For a beat, the fury flickers, replaced by something unreadable. Then he scoffs, turning away sharply. “Tch. Fine. But this is the last break you will be taking today. Got it?”  

Relief washes over me, so potent it almost buckles my knees. “Got it,” I whisper, nodding gratefully.  

I slump against the nearest cedar trunk, the rough bark scraping my back. My right arm curls protectively over my chest, fingers digging into the throbbing wound beneath the bandage. I focus on breathing – slow, deep, measured – willing the roiling nausea to subside. The pain is a living thing now, pulsing from my shoulder down to my fingertips, a constant, screaming counterpoint to the forest’s quiet. Why isn’t the medicine working?  

As the worst of the nausea recedes, I blink, reaching out shakily. “Water… please?”  

Kacchan wordlessly tosses me my canteen. I fumble the cap, gulping the cool liquid, spilling some down my chin. That’s when I see it. Fresh blood, dark and ominous, seeping through the white bandage, blooming like a dark flower on the fabric.  

“Kacchan,” I call, my voice trembling. “My bag… I need to change it.” 

He drops the bag near my feet with a curt nod before stepping away.

With trembling hands, I unzip my bag and rummage for the med kit. My fingers feel thick, clumsy. I peel back the soiled dressing, wincing as the fabric pulls at raw, inflamed skin. The wound beneath looks angry, red, and swollen. I clean it as gently as I can with antiseptic wipes, gritting my teeth against the fresh stabs of pain. Each touch sends fresh jolts through me. Finally, I wrap it tightly again, layering fresh bandages, hoping the pressure will stem the slow, relentless bleed.  

As I work, I risk a glance at Kacchan. He’s lying a few yards away, propped on his elbows, pointedly facing the opposite direction. His posture is rigid, radiating simmering frustration. Upset that I’m a burden. Slowing him down. Holding us back. The familiar ache of inadequacy mixes with the physical pain. He’s right. I am slowing us down. And now, with the blood soaking through again, the path ahead feels even steeper, the summit even further away. The weight of his bag on my shoulder feels heavier than ever, a physical manifestation of the guilt pressing down on my chest.

Chapter Text

“You carry that. I’ll carry yours. Now, come on. We’ve got to move.”

The words leave my mouth before I can overthink them, sharp and final. I don’t wait for a reply, just turn and stride toward the cedar forest, the clue’s map burning in my mind. Finally. The summit, the prize, victory—it’s all within reach. Excitement buzzes under my skin, sharper than the ache in my sprained ankle. I’ll drag Deku kicking and screaming if I have to, but we will finish this today.

I heard him fumbling with the tent straps—slow, clumsy movements punctuated by sharp hisses of pain. A pang of something uncomfortably like sympathy hits me. Last night, he’d looked… broken. Pale and shaking, puking his guts up while I pretended not to care. For a split second, I almost turn back. Almost offer to help. No. I slam the door on that weakness. “I cannot afford to be distracted by the pebbles on the road,” I remind myself fiercely. “Deku is Deku. And extras don’t matter.”  

Still, the image of his blood-soaked shirt lingers. If he needs help, he can fucking ask. I won’t slow down for anyone. 

When I glance back, he was finally upright, swaying slightly under the weight of that monstrosity he calls a backpack. The strain is obvious—jaw clenched, face pale, knuckles white where he grips the straps. He’s gritting his teeth, refusing to complain, even as the heavy bag drags him sideways. Idiot. He took his last pain pill; it’ll wear off soon. That bag will crush him.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I stalk over and snatch his bag, shoving my feather-light one into his hands. “You carry that. I’ll carry yours.” His eyes widen, confusion warring with exhaustion. “Now, come on. We’ve got to move.” I turn away before he can argue. There. This way, he saves energy for the climb. Practical. Logical. Not soft. Just… efficient. The tiny voice whispering it’s the least you can do gets drowned out by the crunch of boots on dirt. 

“Kacchan, wait—why? What’s the point? Did Aizawa say something? Is it about the weight distribution? Because I can manage—”

His voice grates on my nerves, an endless stream of pointless questions. Can't he use his brain for once instead of just bombarding me with pointless questions? Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. I tune him out, focusing on the path ahead. 

After an eternity of his droning, he finally falls silent. Good. The trees thicken, the ground rising sharply. My ankle protests every step, a dull throb escalating to a burn with each incline. Suck it up and just keep moving. Determination is a hotter fire than pain. We climb. Silence stretches. Minutes bleed into an hour.

The silence that finally falls is… wrong. Usually, I’d relish it—glad the nerd finally shut his mouth. But now? It itches. Too quiet. I strain my ears—nothing. I can barely hear his footsteps anymore. Where the hell is he?  

I stop dead, swiveling around, ready to roar at him for dragging his feet. The curse dies in my throat.  

He’s gone.  

Panic, cold and sharp, slices through me. “DEKU!” I bellow, the sound echoing through the trees. I’m about to storm back down the path when green lightning flickers in the distance. He appears, stumbling toward me, using Full Cowl in short, desperate bursts, gasping for air like a fish on land.  His face is ashen, lips tinged blue. Breath tears from his lungs in wet, ragged gasps. Blood seeps through his bandage, stark crimson against pale skin. What the fuck happened to him?

“What’s wrong?” The question snaps out, sharper than intended.  

He sways, clutching his chest, face ashen. “You’re… way… too fast. I..cough..had to take breaks… catch my breath.”  

Rage. White-hot and instant. Too fast? I’m carrying his fucking house on my back, my ankle feels like it’s splitting open, and he’s the one whining? “Amazing!” The word drips acid. “I’m the one carrying your heavy bag and dealing with a burning pain in my leg, yet you’re the one who needs to catch your breath? Great! Could you be any more pathetic? I’m trying my hardest to keep up the pace, but you keep slowing us down.”

“I’m sorry… Kacchan. Can we… take a small break?” he pleads.

“Are you deaf or what? We are not gonna waste our time now that we’re so close! Man up for once and move!” I yell at him. If his condition is that bad, he should be the one eager to complete the assignment and head back. That Sleepy head even pointed out the fastest route.

He just looks at me, eyes wide and pleading. Those stupid, damn puppy eyes. For a second, I almost ignore it. Almost. But the blood on his arm… the gray pallor of his skin…knees buckling. Fuck. He’s not just slow. He’s crashing.

“Tch. Fine,” I bite out, the concession tasting like ash. “But this is the last break you will be taking today. Got it?” A few minutes. I can rest my leg too. He collapses right there, slumping against the cedar tree like a puppet with cut strings. Gulps air like a drowning man, swallowing hard like he’s fighting puke. I watch him drag oxygen into his lungs, each breath a battle. Finally, he croaks: “Water… please?”

Ugh. Isn’t he carrying my bag? There’s a canteen right there. What’s so special about his? Holy water? Damn nerd. Instead of bellowing, I just wordlessly toss his canteen at him. He fumbles with the cap—that’s when he sees the blood blooming on the bandages. His eyes widen. Huh. What was he expecting? A fucking butterfly?

“Kacchan, my bag. I need to change it.” His voice trembles, thin and reedy. It hits me—last night’s vulnerability, him writhing in pain. He’s still broken. And who broke him? Me. Irritation flares, hot and sharp. I drop his bag at his feet like it’s radioactive and stalk away, putting distance between us.

As he unwraps the wound, his sharp hiss of pain makes my stomach clench. I turn away, flopping onto the ground, hiding my face. Every whimper, every choked breath from him twists the knife of guilt deeper. If I’d just gotten back to his side faster… If I hadn’t lingered at that stupid apple tree like an idiot, he never would’ve faced those wolves alone. If I’d just blasted them cleaner, faster, he wouldn’t have had to leave his hiding spot. If I’d just listened when he refused the damn painkiller instead of forcing it down his throat… Fuck. That’s the worst part. I did this. I broke him.

After what feels like forever, he pushes himself up, swaying but upright. “Ready,” he rasps. We resume the climb. This time, I force my pace slower, keeping him in my peripheral vision. Higher we go, and the forest dies—not naturally, but ravaged. Rain’s wrecked it. Fallen trees lie like broken bones across the path, jagged splinters pointing skyward. Surviving trees lean drunkenly, branches twisted into agonized shapes, creaking and groaning in the wind like mourners. Soft earth gives way to sharp, loose scree that shifts underfoot. Every step is a gamble. Treacherous as hell.

We ditch the bags near a massive, lightning-scarred oak, its roots gripping the rock like claws. I mark the spot with a slash of explosive soot on the trunk. “One hour,” I grunt. “We’ll be back right here. No exceptions.” We split up, scanning opposite sides of the ravine. My eyes comb every crevice, every fissure in the rock face, while Deku uses pathetic little bursts of Full Cowl to zip around below. Show-off. I spot some bent Hoesiacnea shrubs, but not the twin formation Aizawa described. The ground’s a nightmare—slippery, uneven. I slip twice, scraping my palms on gritty rocks, gritting my teeth against the sting. I got the firsthand experience of how dangerous it is to climb this high. Yet, I know I have to continue upwards if I want to be on my way back home. Higher. Gotta go higher.

The air bites now, thin and frigid. No trees left to shield us. Wind whips across the exposed slope, a physical force tearing at my clothes and stealing my breath. It howls, carrying the distant roar of the river far below. Sunlight glares off the pale rock, dazzling and harsh. My lungs burn with every breath, altitude stealing oxygen, leaving me light-headed. Forty-five minutes wasted. About to turn back, resigning myself to failure, cursing Aizawa’s sadistic treasure hunt, when something catches my eye. Another bent Hoesiacnea… and beside it, a matching leaf. This is it.

My triumph dies instantly. The shrub clings to the edge of a sheer cliff face. Jagged rock, dark and wet with seepage, plummets over ten meters straight down to a river churning violently below, white water frothing over jagged boulders. Fifty meters of sheer drop ending in a lethal tangle of rocks and rapids. The wind screams up the face, plucking at the shrub’s stubborn leaves. Fuck. Even if I blast to hover, my hands are full just staying steady against the gale. If I reach the clifftop above… lowering myself down? One slip, one miscalculation, one gust of wind stronger than the last, and I’m a red smear on the rocks. The river’s roar is a constant, hungry sound below. The shrub taunts me—so close, yet utterly unreachable, clinging to oblivion.

The rope. I blast back to the bags, grabbing the coiled nylon. And Deku’s bag. Curiosity itches like a rash. What’s he hiding? I root through the contents: spare clothes (nerd), med kit (overkill), tools (predictable), instant ramen (of course). Nothing incriminating. No hero journal. Disappointing. Then—click. My fingers brush cool plastic. An All Might Limited Edition figurine, its bright colors jarringly cheerful against the grey stone. Seriously? He still carries this childish crap? I’m about to shove it back when something nags me. The weight… the slightly chipped paint on the base… familiar. Where have I seen this exact one before? Damn it. I don’t have time for this. Assignment comes first. I cram it back, sling the rope over my shoulder and blast towards the clifftop, the wind screaming in my ears, the river roaring its hungry promise below.

I hit the clifftop—and freeze.  

White fur. Unblinking amber eyes. A tiger. Massive, regal, lounging on a sun-warmed slab of rock like it owns the mountain. Its gaze locks onto mine, muscles coiling beneath sleek fur, a low rumble vibrating in its chest. Shit. One wrong move, and I’m ripped apart before I can blink. I don’t hesitate. I fire warning blasts—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!—scorching the rock at its feet. The tiger snarls, leaps backward with fluid grace, and vanishes into the jagged shadows of the upper slope. Problem solved.  

Now, the rope. I wrap it triple-thick around a gnarled, lightning-struck pine, testing the knot with my full weight. Solid. I peer over the edge. The drop is dizzying—sheer rock plunging into the river’s churning maw far below. Wind whips up the face, icy and relentless. A tremor runs through me. Is it the cold? Or the fact that one slip means I’m paste on those rocks? I slap my own cheek, hard. Get it together, Katsuki. You’re gonna be Number One. Heroes don’t fucking cower.  

I begin the descent. Inch by agonizing inch. Rope burns my palms. Muscles scream, shoulders protesting the strain of holding my body weight. Progress is glacial, frustrating. Screw this. I ignite controlled explosions beneath my feet, hovering just above the rock face, covering distance in rapid, risky bursts.  

Finally, I land beside the Hoesiacnea shrub. It clings stubbornly to a narrow ledge, twin stems twisted together like a promise. I shift my weight, bracing my right foot on a patch of loose gravel—  

CRACK.  

The ledge disintegrates. My stomach lurches as I plummet. The rope snaps taut against my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. I swing like a pendulum toward the cliff face—rocks rushing up—  
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I unleash desperate blasts, rocketing upward just before impact. This time, I test every handhold, every foothold, before trusting it. Solid. I heave aside the heavy boulder concealing the shrub’s roots. 

No box. Just two scrolls, tied with a delicate golden thread. “Come on, Sleepyhead,” I mutter at Aizawa’s invisible presence. “At least wrap it in a box.” Still… scrolls are lighter. Better this way. I tuck them into my shirt, against my chest, and blast back to the clifftop.  

I want to read them now. But Deku… I scan the ravine below. “DEKU!” My voice echoes, swallowed by wind and distance. “NERD! WHERE ARE YOU?” Silence. Just the river’s roar and the wind’s lonely howl. Typical. Probably got lost staring at rocks. I turn to head back to the rendezvous point.  

Then—  

A sound. Faint. Almost lost beneath the wind. A whimper. Animal? I freeze, straining to hear.  

“Ka… Ka… cha…”  

My blood turns to ice. That voice. Weak. Broken. Deku.  

I whirl, scanning the treacherous slope below. Panic claws at my throat, sharp and suffocating. Where? WHERE? The scrolls forgotten against my chest, the tiger, the cliff—none of it matters. Only that weak, desperate voice calling my name.

Chapter Text

The search for the twin Hoesiacnea shrub becomes a waking nightmare. The mountain fights me at every turn. Slippery scree shifts underfoot like living serpents. Each step demands agonizing concentration, my right arm throbbing in protest with every jolt. Higher I climb, and the air thins, turning each breath into a battle. Dark clouds, bruised and heavy, cling to the peaks like vultures, promising ice and rain. The previous night’s storm left the slopes slick, treacherous, and utterly exposed, stunted shrubs clinging to rock, their branches twisted and broken by the storm’s fury. 

My eyes dart across the craggy expanse, scanning crevices, fissures, ledges—anywhere the twin shrubs might hide. There! A surge of hope when I spot the first Hoesiacnea, its woody stem clinging to a crack. But it stands alone, unbent. Not the pair we need. Keep moving. Every labored step is a defiance of the screaming pain in my chest, the nausea churning my gut. The assignment. The summit. Just keep moving.

Suddenly—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Explosions rip through the silence, echoing off the cliffs. Kacchan. Relief wars with exhaustion. Maybe we can search together. I push off the rock I’m leaning on, gritting my teeth against the wave of dizziness, and start toward the sound. The blasts grow louder, closer—

A massive white blur erupts from the same direction. Not Kacchan

A tiger. Colossal, fur like fresh snow, muscles rippling as it sprints toward me with terrifying speed. Amber eyes lock onto mine, burning with primal fury. I freeze. Heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.  

It leaps. Jaws gape wide, revealing daggers. Instinct takes over. I drop and roll right, the tiger’s pounce whistles overhead. Agony tears through my right arm—the wolf bite wound screams as I hit the ground. Not here. Not now.

I scramble up, adrenaline flooding through my veins. The tiger wheels, crouches, charges again. Simple Plan. Grab its paws and hurl it away. But it’s too fast, too heavy. My weakened right arm buckles under the impact. Claws like hot knives slash across my chest. They shred my shirt, tear through skin beneath. I stumble backward, blood blooming hot and wet across my chest, vision blurring. It pounces again, jaws wide—  

NOW!  

“DETROIT SMASH!”  

My foot connects with its ribs like a cannonball. The tiger yelps, airborne. I force myself upright, igniting 20% Full Cowl. Green lightning crackles as I rip a dead tree trunk from the earth and hurl it like a spear. The wood slams into the tiger, sending it tumbling across the scree. It scrambles up, terrified, and flees—toward Kacchan’s direction. 

No. Full Cowl flares as I streak across the broken ground, planting myself in its path, arms wide, a living shield. It skids to a halt mere feet from me, snarls, before veering sharply into the woods, fleeing the threat I embody. Gone.

Adrenaline drains like water, leaving behind a hollow, shaking shell. Pain crashes over me in waves—arm throbbing, chest burning with every breath, ribs screaming where claws scored bone. The world spins. My knees buckle, and I tumble down the rocky incline, a helpless marionette flailing against jagged stones that tear at my skin. Suddenly, an excruciating pressure stabs into my side—a jagged branch, thick as my forearm, impales me just below the ribs. 

Agony. Pure, blinding agony. The shock steals my breath, my scream dissolving into a silent, gasping choke. The branch holds me suspended, its rough bark grinding against tender flesh with each ragged breath I manage to draw. I try to shift, to pull free, but the slightest movement sends white-hot fire lancing through my torso. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. Blood pools warm and sticky beneath me.

Darkness whispers at the edges of my vision. I force my eyes open, focusing on slowing my heaving lungs, but each inhale sends fresh waves of agony radiating from the wound. I shift again, determined to free myself, but the slightest movement makes the branch grind against bone and muscle. Despair washes over me, weakening my resolve. Faint explosions rumble in the distance. I muster a whisper, barely audible to myself: “Ka… Ka… cha…” It’s nothing. Useless.

Time loses meaning. Minutes? Hours? I drift, calling Kacchan's name between waves of nausea, clinging to consciousness by a thread. Cold seeps into my bones. Suddenly, a familiar figure crouches before me, face pale, voice tight with urgency. “I need you to stay awake. You hear me? I’ll fucking kill you if you close your eyes!” My eyes flutter shut against my will.

The next thing I know, searing pain explodes as hands grip my waist. A raw scream rips from my throat, the pain all encompassing. I retch uncontrollably, tears mixing with dirt and blood. Kacchan's voice reaches me, distorted, muffled, like I'm drowning and he's shouting from the surface. "hold on... Alright?..." I fight to cling to consciousness, to understand him, but then he's gone. The silence is deafening, broken only by my own ragged gasps.

Is he coming back, or has he decided to go on without me? The thought is a physical blow. Did he leave me? Loneliness, colder than the branch piercing me, seeps into my bones. Fear, sharp and metallic, floods my mouth. The overwhelming emotions become too much to bear any longer and I sob uncontrollably, my cries echoing through the deafening silence. Tears burn tracks down my grimy cheeks, each convulsion sending fresh torment through my wound. My chest constricts, each breath a battle against suffocating panic and pain. Desperately, I strain to regain control, to slow my ragged breathing, but the torment is all-consuming.

Gritting my teeth against the agony, I attempt to scoot backward, inch by agonizing inch, determined to help myself, save myself. The branch grinds, a sickening scrape of wood against bone. A searing fire erupts in my gut with every minuscule movement, spreading through my body like a wildfire. Nausea overwhelms me, throat closing up as I struggle to breathe. I don't even manage to budge a single centimeter before the sheer intensity of the pain shatters my resolve. I collapse back, limp, broken, resigned to wretched fate. 

The merciful darkness I crave remains elusive. Instead, dizziness intensifies, nausea churns, and a deep, chilling cold spreads through my bones. I lie trembling, waiting for an end that won't come.

Suddenly, a presence looms behind me. The tiger? Frozen terror grips me. Then, fingers press against my neck, seeking a pulse. I open my eyes. Kacchan's face, etched with exhaustion and something alarmingly like fear, swims into view above me. I can see his mouth moving but I can’t hear a thing. The only thing I hear is my own heartbeat. As he crouch in front of me, I try to speak, to beg, but my words are slurred, incomprehensible. 

He moves behind me and rips open my shirt. Cold air hits the exposed, ragged wound. I shiver violently. His fingers probe the inflamed skin around the branch. "P-please..." I manage, the word thick with agony. "Stop it... hurts..." His voice cuts through the fog, distorted but urgent: “…minute… fast… remove…” It doesn’t matter. I can hardly feel my middle section anymore. All I want is the oblivion of sleep.

A sudden, violent pressure deep in my abdomen wrenches me back to consciousness. I jackknife upright with a blood-curdling scream, One For All flaring instinctively. I shove blindly, connecting with something solid. A grunt, a heavy thud. Something hits the ground. My back arches, pain radiating like a supernova. Nausea overwhelms me. I barely turn my head before vomit burns my throat, each heave tearing my wounded body apart. A hand rubs slow circles on my back. A voice: “…calm… breathe…” Water touches my lips. Cool, blessed. Then something else—bitter, vile. I spit it out, gagging, and sink back into oblivion.

Consciousness returns like waves lapping at a shore—first just the sense of dampness, then the smell of wet earth and pine, and finally the sound of rain dripping from rocks. I blink, vision swimming into focus. Clouds hang low and heavy, charcoal-gray, pressing down on the mountain. The air tastes metallic, like cold iron. Every inhale scrapes my throat. 

My body feels like a big black bruise. There is no body part which isn’t hurting. I groan, trying to roll over. A fresh wave of pain erupts from my side. A face swims into focus. Kacchan. His eyes are hollow, rimmed with exhaustion so profound it looks like pain. He’s soaked, water dripping from his hair and clothes, trembling slightly in the chill.

"You okay?" he asks, voice rough. Not a demand. Almost… quiet.

I open my mouth to answer. Only a harsh, racking cough comes out. It jars my injuries, sending fresh fire through my chest and side. He gently lifts my head, helps me drink. Cool water slides down my throat. The relief is immediate, profound.

"You stayed." The words are a statement, fragile with disbelief. Not a question. A truth. A revelation. I don't need his reply. The sight of him here, drenched, exhausted, but here, is the only balm my battered body and soul need.

He snorts, but there’s no heat in it. Just weariness. “No. I’m a fucking villain impersonating Kacchan. The real Katsuki is resting peacefully at home. Of course I stayed, nerd. What’d you expect? We need to complete it together or we both fail. Did you hit your head too?”

A small, shaky smile touches my lips despite everything. He stayed. Mission rules or not, he’s here. I take stock of my body, a inventory of misery. My head throbs in time with my heartbeat, a relentless drum against my skull. My right side… burns. A deep, searing ache that steals my breath, but it’s… distant now. Muted. My legs feel alien, disconnected. I curl my toes, gasping at the effort. They move. Relief washes over me, warm and fleeting. 

I glance down. I’m wrapped haphazardly in the tent fabric, a tangled cocoon. Beneath it, I can feel the tight pressure of bandages around my torso. But the cold… God, the cold. It seeps through the layers, into my bones, a deep, biting chill that makes me shiver violently.

“What the fuck happened?” Kacchan asks, his gaze sharp despite his exhaustion.  

“Heard explosions,” I rasp, each word a struggle. “Thought you were near… started… cough… toward you when…” Pain lances through my chest, stealing my breath. I wince, clenching my jaw tight.

“Hey. Here. Drink more.” He helps me sit up, bracing me against the rough bark of a tree. The movement sends fresh waves of nausea rolling through me. I sip the water, focusing on the coolness. “At this rate, we’ll both catch pneumonia. Can you move?”  

“Yeah… I think I can try.” I nod, the effort making my head spin.

He raises an eyebrow, skepticism etched onto his face. “‘Think’? Tch. We need to head west. Towards that stream. Away from this rock. Change into dry clothes first.”  

“But… the twin Hoesiacnea shrub…we haven’t found it yet.”

“Oh, we did.” He turns his head, looking out at the mist-shrouded slope. “Found it.”  

“We did?” My voice cracks, eyes widening. Hope sparks, fragile and bright.  

“No doubt you’ve got a concussion too,” he mutters, shaking his head.

I just scowl, waiting. He sighs, frustration tightening his jaw. “Tch. Alright. I found it. Two scrolls. And before you ask—no. I haven’t read ‘em yet. I was… you know… sorta… busy.” He avoids my gaze, staring fixedly at a distant peak. 

I bow my head, heat flooding my cheeks. Busy saving me. Patching me up. A cold weight settles in my chest. Burden. He’s right. If he’d left me… if he hadn’t followed the rules and gone on alone… he’d be home now. Warm. Safe. Not stuck on this freezing mountain, playing nursemaid to the useless Deku. He’s only here because Aizawa’s rules force him to be.

“We can read them now,” I mumble, the words thick with shame.  

“No.” His voice is sharp, final. He turns back to me, eyes blazing with sudden intensity. “It’s freezing out here. Rain’s soaked everything. I tried setting up the tent but this damn rock won’t take a stake. We’re leaving this place. Now. That’s final.”

He helps me untangle from the tent fabric, the rough material catching on my bandages. He rummages through my bag with practiced efficiency, pulling out dry clothes. I should stop him. The thought flickers, but my bones feel hollowed out, filled with lead. Protesting feels like climbing a mountain in my condition. The shirt he hands me is soft, blessedly warm. I fumble with the buttons, fingers stiff and clumsy. He watches for a second, then turns his back, disappearing into the mist-shrouded trees. 

Changing is torture. Every shift sends fresh jolts of pain through my side. The cold air hits my skin like tiny needles, making me gasp. I’m still wrestling the dry shirt over my head when he returns, carrying a long, sturdy branch he must’ve scavenged. He doesn’t speak, just starts methodically packing the tent and supplies, movements sharp and economical.

By the time he’s done, I’m spent. Leaning against the tree, chest heaving, sweat mingling with the cold damp on my forehead. He extends a hand. Not roughly. Just… there.  

I grasp it. His grip is firm, grounding. I pull myself up, slowly, agonizingly. A sharp cry escapes my lips as my side screams in protest. My legs tremble violently beneath me, threatening to buckle. The world tilts, gray and spinning. I slam my palm against the rough bark, clinging to it like a lifeline. Tears of pain and frustration prickle hot behind my eyelids. Stand. Just stand. Being upright is its own special hell, but the alternative—failing, collapsing, being carried—is worse. I will finish this. I will not be his burden. 

“Take this.” He thrusts the branch at me. I stare at it, confusion warring with exhaustion, silently questioning its purpose. It’s thick, weathered wood, surprisingly solid.  

“Tch.” He avoids my eyes, scowling at the mist. “I can’t carry you and your feather-light bag together. This’ll support you while walking.”  

The sarcasm is familiar, a shield. But beneath it… something else. I see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way he won’t quite meet my gaze. Concern. Real, tangible concern. He knows I’ll never ask for help outright. My pride’s too thick, too stupid. But he also knows I’ll fall without it. This branch isn’t just wood. It’s an admission. An offering. A silent promise: I’ve got your back, even if you hate needing it.  

A lump forms in my throat, thick and unexpected. This small, grudging gesture hits harder than any grand declaration. It’s messy. Imperfect. Utterly Kacchan. And it means everything. I curl my fingers around the branch, the rough bark grounding me. My knuckles are white, but my grip is steady.

I’m determined. Not to be a burden. To walk on my own two feet, however shaky, to the end of this damn assignment. But the solid weight of the branch in my hand… it’s more than support. It’s a tangible sign that I’m not entirely alone out here. That despite the sarcasm, the insults, the years of pain between us… he’s still here. Still watching my back. And that knowledge bolsters something fragile inside me. Resolve. Confidence. A spark that says: Maybe I can do this. Maybe we can.  

I push off the tree, planting the branch firmly on the rocky ground. It holds. I take a step. Then another. Each movement sends fire through my side, each step makes my legs tremble. But the branch holds. And so do I.

Chapter Text

“DEKU!”  

Silence. Just the wind howling through the broken trees below the cliff. I know what I heard.  

I need height. Leverage. Sight-line. Damn it. I blast upward, explosions cracking the air, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal. Animals scatter—birds, startled rabbits—but I don’t give a shit. Only Deku matters. The slope’s a nightmare of storm debris: shattered trunks, splintered branches, mud slicked with rain. Then I see it. One tree, ripped clean from its roots, tossed fifty meters like a matchstick. Deku’s power. But where is he?

A faint whisper cuts through the wind: “K-Kacchan…?”  

I rocket toward the sound, boots skidding on loose scree. And then I see him.  

Relief hits me like a punch—he’s alive—but it dies instantly. He’s slumped against a tree trunk, back turned. But the ground… God, the ground. A dark, glistening pool spreads beneath him, stark against the wet rock. And the branch. Thick, jagged, protruding from his back like some obscene flagpole.  

How long? The question claws at my throat. How long has he been here, alone, bleeding out, pinned like a fucking insect?

I break into a sprint, lungs burning, each step a jolt of terror. I skid to a halt beside him, dropping to my knees. My hand shakes as I touch his face. Ice-cold. Pale as death. His features are twisted in agony, even unconscious.  

“Fuck. Deku, can you hear me?” Nothing. His eyes stay shut, breathing shallow, ragged. Each gasp sounds like his last.  

“Shit! Oh, God. Deku! Wake up, damn it!” My voice cracks, pitch shooting high. Fear. Real, cold fear grips me. Not for myself. Never for myself. For him. Deku takes pain like a champ. He never shy away from breaking his bones and always continue fighting like nothing ever happened. But this? This is different. This must be a whole different type of pain. His face contorts, a low whine tearing from his throat. Eyes flutter open, glassy, unfocused. Like he’s staring right through me.

“K-Kacchan?” The whisper is thin, reedy.  

“Come on! Stay awake! Alright?” I grip his shoulder, hard. “I need you to stay awake! You hear me? I’ll fucking kill you if you close your eyes!” My throat tightens. The threat sounds hollow even to me. Please. Just stay.

I move behind him, hands trembling as I lift his shirt. The sight hits me like a physical blow. The branch has punched a ragged hole in his midsection. Skin and muscle are shredded, mangled. Blood wells, dark and relentless, pooling around him, soaking into the dirt. So much blood. Panic surges, hot and metallic, flooding my mouth, shattering years of self-control. My stomach heaves. I swallow bile, forcing it down. Act. Now. Stop the bleeding.  

I grab his chest with my right arm, wrap my left around his waist. Scoot him back. Pull him off the branch. My hands slip instantly—slick with warm, sticky blood. I shift his weight, bracing myself— 

“AAAAAHHHH—!”  

The scream rips from his throat, raw, inhuman, shredding the air. I recoil like I’ve been burned, releasing him instantly. He collapses forward, gagging, sobbing, each broken sound tearing into me deeper than any explosion ever could.  

Fuck. Fuck! This approach… it’s useless. The scream still echoes in my ears, raw and ragged. I just made it worse. The blood… the sheer volume of it… and the sound of his suffering, echoing in the mist-choked air… it paralyzes me. 

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

The question loops, frantic, useless. Deku’s sobs tear at something deep inside me, each hitched breath a knife twist. Time’s a sieve—Deku’s blood seeping into the dirt is proof enough. Think! THINK!

Cut the branch. Cut it close to the trunk. Then pull him free. The thought cuts through the panic. I whirl, grabbing Deku’s shoulders, forcing his foggy eyes to meet mine. My voice trembles, betraying the terror I’m drowning in.  

“Deku!” I shake him, just enough. “I’m getting the blade from your bag. You just need to hold on. Got it? Stay awake! Once that branch is out, you can sleep all you want. But right now? You fight. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I turn to bolt, but the image of him—pale, shuddering, pinned like a butterfly—freezes me. What happened? When? The questions claw, but there’s no time. I blast toward the marked tree, explosions kicking up scree. Rummaging through Deku’s absurdly heavy bag, my fingers brush not the blade, but wood. The clue boxes. The scrolls. I’d forgotten about the scrolls I found. Fucking forgotten.  

I yank them out of my shirt, shoving the scrolls into one of the box for safekeeping. And then—hope. Within the box lay the very information I need right now. The Aravac plant article. Natural analgesic that could provide the relief Deku so desperately require. I scan the text, eyes devouring words: leaf extract… pain relief… apply directly. I remember seeing those narrow, dark-green leaves near the cliff!  

Emergency kit next. Antibiotics—pathetically few tablets. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Fortunately, the clue also mentioned the Magrimulish flower… antimicrobial. Pink spikes. I’d seen them too. Thank fuck. As I sling both bags over my shoulder, Deku’s scream echo through the woods. With renewed urgency, I rush through the landscape, collecting the necessary items - Aravac leaves and Magrimulish flowers - into separate boxes.

When I return, dread coils tight. Deku’s worse. Skin waxy, lips tinged blue. Breaths come in shallow, wet gasps. Eyes flutter beneath translucent, half-closed lids. He shivers violently, yet conscious. Is this shock? I check his pulse—thready, racing. Shit. Shit.

I crouch, forcing my voice steady. “Deku! Can you hear me?” No answer. I push on, words tumbling out too fast. “Listen. I’m cutting the branch from the tree. Then I pull it out. Okay? I’ll be super fast. Promise. It’ll sting, but that’s all.” I pause, the lie tasting like ash. Sting? It’ll be agony. “You’re brave. Aren’t you? You’re All Might after all.”  

The words hang in the air, foreign and fragile. Where did that come from? But his glassy eyes latch onto mine, a flicker of something—recognition? hope? It’s stupid. Sentimental. But if it keeps him here, with me… it’s worth it. His lips move, forming words that dissolve into wet, slurred sounds. I strain to understand, but it’s useless. His breath hitches, a wet, rattling sound. “Shh, Izuku,” I soothe, the name foreign on my tongue. “It’s gonna be okay in a minute. Stay strong. Alright?”

Without further delay, I set to work. I rip his shirt apart. And Freeze.

Three gashes. Perfectly straight, deep, and vicious, slicing across his chest like claw marks. What the FUCK happened? They’re not bleeding heavily, but the sight turns my stomach. The tiger. It must have been the tiger. I force my focus back to the branch impaling his side. Carefully, I rub the Aravac leaves around the stab wound, my hands shaking.

“Please… stop…” His whisper is thin, reedy. Then his eyes roll back, lashes fluttering shut. No. Panic, cold and sharp, slices through me. I feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace. Fever. Shock. I need to do something quickly.

I know the pain has to be minimized before taking any drastic action. The extract of Aravac leaves helps with the pain. What if I crush the leaves and pour the extract into his wounds? It should work right? Yeah, it will work. It has to.

I crush Aravac leaves between my palms, the sharp, green scent cutting through the coppery smell of blood. I strain the juice into a bottle, and carefully pour it around the wound edges. Blade in one hand, bracing his shoulder with the other, I saw through the thick wood near the trunk. Clean cut. Quick.

I ease him onto his back. Pour more Aravac extract over both entry and exit wounds. Now or never.  

One swift pull.  

The branch slides free with a sickening shlllick. Dark blood gushes, pulsing from the ragged hole. Izuku whimpers, a sound like a wounded animal, but doesn’t wake.  

My stomach heaves. The wound… God, the wound. Skin and muscle torn, turned inside out. Glistening, raw tissue exposed to the air. It needs stitches. Needs a fucking hospital. But we have nothing. Nothing but crushed leaves and desperate hope. The sight makes bile rise in my throat. I turn my head, gagging, sucking in deep breaths of cold air. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. He’s bleeding out.

Gritting my teeth, I place my hands over his abdomen, the feel of the wound turning my stomach again. The moment I apply pressure - 

“AAAAAHHHH—!”  

Izuku’s back arches off the ground. A surge of green lightning—Full Cowl—explodes from him, blind and instinctive. The force hits me like a truck. I’m airborne, crashing hard into a tree. Pain explodes in my ribs. Of course. He’d lash out.  

I scramble up. He’s curled on his side, retching violently, but nothing comes out. Just dry, agonized heaves that shake his entire body. I sit beside him, rubbing slow circles on his back, avoiding the exit wound. His muscles spasm under my touch. My vision blurs. Wet heat spills down my cheeks. Tears. I’m crying. Actually fucking crying. The tears won’t stop, hot and humiliating, mixing with the dirt and blood on my face. I cry silently, shoulders shaking, while he chokes on empty air beside me.  

Finally, the heaving subsides. I help him sip water. His head lolls against my shoulder. I try the Aravac extract again. He manages a swallow, then gags, spitting it out before slumping back into unconsciousness.

Fuck. The word echoes in the hollow of my chest. Deku’s limp, blood-soaked. I drag him several feet toward a patch of relatively clear ground, leaving a gruesome smear in the mud—a trail of his life force seeping away. Water hisses as I pour it over the ragged entry wound, washing away crusted blood and dirt. But the flow doesn't stop. Instead, bright crimson wells up immediately, pulsing in time with the weakening beat of his heart, a vivid, terrifying reminder that time is slipping through my fingers like sand.

Clean it later. Stop the bleeding FIRST.

My hands shake as I crush Magrimulish flowers between my palms, petals staining my fingers pink. The sharp, herbal scent cuts through the metallic tang of blood hanging thick in the air. I press the pulp into the gaping hole. Work. Please, for the love of God, work. For a second, hope flutters as the bleeding seems to lesson—then the crushed petals just… float away, carried off by the blood welling up. No. No, no, NO. Panic claws its way up my throat, hot and metallic, choking me. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. And Deku’s dying. Right in front of me. 

He’s gonna die of blood loss at this rate. Think! Damn it!

With a snarl of frustration, I rip long, tough, leathery leaves from a nearby stunted shrub, the sound tearing through the damp air. I layer a thicker mound of the crushed petals onto these natural bandages, then slap the entire makeshift dressing over the wound, holding on to the seams with my dear life. Please. Please, just stop. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the crimson flow eases to a trickle, then to a few dark beads welling around the edges of the leaves. A ragged gasp tears from my own lungs. Relief, sharp and dizzying washes over me, leaving me trembling.

I glance around for his ripped shirt, my fingers closing on the blood-stiffened fabric. With methodical precision, I tear long strips to create bandages, the sound of ripping cloth echoing in the tense silence. Using the most ruined portion - small pieces, can’t use as bandage - I first scrub my own hands, the coarse fabric scraping against my skin until they're raw but clean. 

Then, with infinite care, I begin to wipe the blood from his body. Each pass reveals new injuries: angry purple splotches blooming across his ribs, deep abrasions peppering his arms, and the network of smaller cuts crisscrossing his skin. The sheer number of bruises, far more extensive than yesterday, sends a cold spike of dread through me.

How much damage is hidden beneath the surface?

After cleaning his body as best I can, I apply another layer of the pink paste over his wound. Finally, I begin wrapping the bandages around his torso, pulling them taut enough to secure the dressing but not so tight as to restrict his shallow breathing. With the bandages tightly secured around his wounds, I struggle to carefully maneuver his limp, motionless body into a cleaner shirt. 

His dead weight is unnerving, his limbs loose and unresponsive as I shift him. Surprisingly, he doesn't make a sound—not even a flinch—as I handle him. A part of me clings to the hope that this profound stillness is solely due to the potent effects of the Aravac leaves, their pain-dulling properties working overtime. But a darker whisper persists in the back of my mind: What if it's something more? What if the damage is deeper than I can see? The silence hangs heavy, broken only by the rasp of his breathing and the frantic thud of my own heart against my ribs.

Task 1: Stop the bleeding. Done.  
Task 2: Control the fever. On it.

I fumble in Deku’s bag, yanking out fever reducers. The pills rattling inside like tiny bones. I lift his head—it feels impossibly light, like lifting a sack of empty husks—and carefully place two small white pills on his tongue. Water trickles from the canteen into his parched, cracked lips. He coughs, a wet, rattling sound that sends spray spattering onto my shirt, then… drinks. Gulps the water down with a desperate, primal thirst, his throat working frantically. I keep pouring until he slumps back, unconscious once more, his breathing shallow but slightly less labored.

Now, cover him. I wrestle with the tent fabric, trying to spread it over his still form. Pounding the thin aluminum stakes into the unyielding rocky ground proves impossible. Clang. The first stake bends uselessly. Clang. The second follows suit, mangled. CLANG! The third ricochets off a hidden stone, flying off into the gathering darkness. FUCK THIS MOUNTAIN! I kick the useless metal stakes, sending them skittering away into the gloom, a surge of helpless rage making my vision swim. Fine. No tent. No shelter. Just the raw, uncaring elements. I slump back down beside Deku’s still form, pressing a hand to his forehead. The heat radiating from him is alarming, a furnace burning low despite the chill seeping into the air. Burning. Expected, after the shock and blood loss. But the intensity of it still chills me to the bone.  

Suddenly, he stirs, shivering even in the depths of unconsciousness, his teeth chattering violently like castanets. The wind picks up, rising from a whisper to a mournful howl, slicing through my shirt and chilling me to the marrow. When did I get so cold? The adrenaline that had been surging through my veins, numbing me to discomfort, has finally burned out, leaving me shivering uncontrollably, my sprained ankle throbbing in time with my racing pulse. I wrap him haphazardly in the thin tent fabric, then drag the damp sleeping bag around my own shoulders, seeking a meager barrier against the encroaching cold.

The sky opens.  

Not rain. A deluge. Icy needles of water hammer down with the force of a physical blow, penetrating the thin fabric instantly, turning the ground beneath us into a sucking mud pit. Deku whimpers, a tiny, lost sound swallowed almost immediately by the deafening roar of the downpour. I cradle his head in my lap, his damp hair plastered to my thighs, and focus my will. My palms begin to glow, a soft, steady orange light pushing back the immediate chill. Warm him. Just warm him. His back arches off the muddy ground, a pained gasp tearing from his throat as the movement jars his injuries. The whimpers continue, soft, constant sounds of agony that shred my composure like tissue paper. More fever reducer. Now.

A particularly vicious gust of wind rips the sleeping bag from my grasp, sending it tumbling away into the storm-darkened landscape like a discarded ghost. Exposed, I shiver violently, the cold seeping deep into my joints, my injured ankle screaming in protest. Doesn’t matter. I lean over Deku, shielding his upper body as best I can with my own, a futile barrier against the raging storm. I fumble out the pills, pop them past his blue-tinged lips, and force more water down his throat, my own hands shaking so badly I spill half of it. The rain lashes my back, icy tendrils finding their way down my collar, the cold seeping into my very bones, a deep, marrow-deep chill that makes my teeth ache.

As suddenly as it began, the torrential rain stops. The silence that follows is almost as shocking, broken only by the relentless drip-drip-drip of water from leaves overhead and the ragged sound of my own breathing. Deku’s whimpers finally fade, replaced by the shallow, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. Good. A small, fragile victory in this hellscape. I keep my palms glowing, maintaining the gentle, controlled radiance, pouring heat into him, feeling the warmth seep back into my own chilled skin through the contact. The effort is immense—maintaining this precise, gentle warmth instead of the explosive power I’m used to. My muscles scream with fatigue, burning with a lactic acid fire. Vision blurs at the edges of my focus. A profound exhaustion drags at me, like lead weights tied to my limbs, threatening to pull me under into the darkness. 

But I don’t stop. I can’t. The heat radiating from my hands is the only thing standing between him and the mountain’s icy, grasping fingers. I pour every ounce of my remaining focus, every scrap of my stubborn will, into that steady glow, ignoring the tremor running through my arms, the cold gnawing at my own core, the bone-deep weariness that whispers of surrender.

After what feels like an eternity, Deku’s eyes finally flutter open. His gaze, hazy and unfocused at first, gradually sharpens until it locks onto mine. A surge of relief so potent it makes my knees weak washes over me. He’s awake. He’s alive. I was bracing for the worst—pale skin, shallow breathing, the terrifying stillness that has settled over him like a shroud. Immediately, a barrage of questions slams into my mind: How’s the pain? Did the Aravac work? Did I miss another injury? Is the fever breaking? The old me would’ve scoffed at such frantic concern. A week ago, I would’ve thrown a tantrum at the very idea of lowering myself to fret over Deku’s wellbeing.  

“You okay?” The question escapes me, rougher than intended. I hate how exposed it makes me feel.

He tries to answer, but only a wet, racking cough tears from his throat instead. His whole body convulses with the force of it, face contorting in fresh agony as the movement jars his injuries. Without thinking, I’m already lifting his head, pressing the canteen to his cracked lips. Water trickles into his mouth, and he gulps desperately, some spilling down his chin. When the coughing finally subsides, he slumps back, exhausted but slightly clearer-eyed.

“You stayed.” His voice is a dry rasp, shredded raw by screaming.  

I stare at him, incredulous. What? Of course I stayed. What kind of monster does he take me for? That I’d leave him impaled on a mountainside to die alone? The thought ignites a hot, furious spark in my chest. I want to throttle him, to shake some sense into that thick skull of his. But I swallow the rage down, forcing my expression into something resembling calm, something that won’t scare him back into unconsciousness. Only Deku. Only he can provoke such violent loathing with just two simple words.  

“No. I’m a fucking villain impersonating Kacchan. The real Katsuki is resting peacefully at home. Of course I stayed, nerd. What’d you expect? We need to complete it together or we both fail. Did you hit your head too?” My voice comes out sharper than intended, the sarcasm a brittle shield.

To my utter astonishment, a goofy, lopsided grin spreads across his pale, blood-smeared face. He’s smiling? At my joke? Despite my irritation, something unfamiliar tugs at the corners of my own mouth—a reluctant warmth spreading through my chest. When did I start making jokes to comfort him? The disorientation is almost as unsettling as the relief.  

“What happened?” I demand, cutting through the strange moment. 

“Heard explosions,” he rasps, each word a struggle. “Thought you were near… started… toward you when…” A violent coughing fit erupts. His whole body convulses, face contorting in fresh agony as the movement jars his injuries. When it finally subsides, he’s gasping, breathless. I help him sit against a tree and drink some more water.

That’s it. We are leaving. Now. 

“At this rate, we’ll both catch pneumonia. Can you move?” I ask, my voice gruff but practical, assessing his condition.

“Yeah… I think I can try.” he replies, nodding.

I raise an eyebrow at his incredulous reply. “‘Think’? Tch. We need to head west. Towards that stream. Away from this rock.” I remember it from my search—nearby, with mossy banks that will be softer, warmer. Better for recovery. “Change into dry clothes first.”

“But… the twin Hoesiacnea shrub…we haven’t found it yet.,” he wheezes weakly, the protest barely audible between ragged breaths.

Reluctantly, I admit, “Oh, we did found it.”

“We did?” His eyes widen, the disbelief giving way to pure astonishment. And then… admiration. A look of such open, unwavering faith washes over his face that it makes my stomach sink. He looks at me like I have hung the stars in the sky, not like someone who has nearly gotten him killed through negligence. I can’t meet his gaze, turning my head sharply to stare at the mist-shrouded trees. He’s got it all wrong. I don’t deserve that look. Not after everything.

“No doubt you’ve got a concussion too,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Tch. Alright. I found it. Two scrolls. And before you ask—no. I haven’t read ‘em yet. I was… you know… sorta… busy.”

“We can read them now” he mumbles in a low voice, head bowed like he is blaming himself. Again

I knew he’ll want to see the scrolls—the prize—right away. But we are both freezing, soaked to the bone, huddled on this exposed, rocky ridge. The wind bites through our damp clothes, stealing precious warmth. If we want to complete this assignment alive, we need shelter. We need fire. We need warmth. Now.

“No” I command, putting all of the authority in that single word. “It’s freezing out here. Rain’s soaked everything. I tried setting up the tent but this damn rock won’t take a stake. We’re leaving this place. Now. That’s final.”

I rummage through his absurdly heavy pack, pulling out a dry shirt and pants. I watch him as he fumbles with the buttons, his fingers stiff and clumsy. Every wince, every sharp intake of breath as he moves sends a fresh jolt of something uncomfortable through me. I step into the sparse woods, giving him the illusion of privacy while keeping him within earshot, scanning the shadows for any sign of the tiger or other threats.

My eyes land on a long, sturdy branch blown down in the storm. I snap it cleanly with a controlled explosion, the crack echoing sharply, then break it again to match Deku’s height. When I return, he find him struggling with his clothes. I silently start packing our bags and then help him up. He leans heavily against the tree, shivering violently. I thrust the makeshift walking stick at him. 

“Tch. Can’t carry you and your feather-light bag together. This’ll support you.” The sarcasm is automatic, a familiar shield. But beneath it, the gesture feels significant. A tangible sign he isn’t alone. He curls his fingers around the rough wood, his knuckles white. A flicker of gratitude—mixed with that damn stubborn pride—crosses his face before he nods silently.

I sling his massive bag onto my back, the familiar weight settling heavily, and cradle my own feather-light one against my chest. Without a backward glance, I start walking ahead, setting a deliberate pace. The distance to the stream is only a couple of miles, but part of me yearns to fall back, to walk behind him, ready to catch him if he stumbles, to support him if his strength gives out. But my pride, that stubborn, unyielding wall I have built around myself for years, won’t allow it. I can’t bear the thought of appearing concerned, of looking like I care too much. I have a reputation to maintain, even now. Even here.

As we trudge onward, my eyes scan the relentless terrain with sharp focus. I recall the stream’s location from my earlier search—a ribbon of silver cutting through the grey landscape. The ground around it will be softer, mossy, offering some insulation from the biting cold. It will be warmer. Safer. I keep a vigilant eye out for dry branches amidst the storm debris, gathering a few promising ones as we go. A campfire isn’t just a comfort; it is a necessity. Deku needs rest. Real rest. Hours of it, before we even think about attempting the descent.  

My mind races, a constant battle between the need to project an air of detached indifference and the overwhelming, primal urge to ensure Deku’s survival. The old Bakugou would push him, mock his weakness, leave him behind if he slowed down. The old Bakugou wouldn’t care if he froze to death on this mountain. But now…  

His wellbeing is the priority. The thought lands with the weight of absolute certainty, cutting through the noise in my head. Even if I’d rather chew off my own tongue than admit it out loud. Even if it means swallowing my pride every single step of the way. He is alive. He is awake. And I will get him off this mountain. Somehow.

Chapter Text

The gloomy gray clouds that had smothered the sky all morning finally begin to part, like fingers unfurling. Warm rays of sunlight pierce through, illuminating the serene landscape in shafts of gold. The stream Aizawa-sensei mentioned isn’t a stream at all, but a small, winding river—its waters crystal clear, fed by the steady melt from the snow-capped peak towering in the distance. The grass beneath me is lush and damp, yielding softly under my weight, blessedly free of frost.

Just beyond, our tent stands erect—a small, vibrant blue dome against the muted greens and grays. Nearby, the campfire Kacchan built crackles and pops, its heat a welcome balm against the lingering chill in my bones. He’d shattered one of the wooden clue boxes for kindling, ignoring my protests about preserving evidence. That’s Kacchan. Headstrong. Unyielding. Utterly convinced of his own rightness, even when destroying potential clues.

Yet, as I bask in the fire’s warmth, chewing slowly on a granola bar, I feel a strange surge of gratitude. That single-minded determination conjured this roaring lifeline from splintered wood. It’s chasing away the bone-deep cold that’s clung to me since the tiger’s claws tore into my chest. I wait, listening to the river’s gentle song, knowing Kacchan is scouring the nearby woods for more Aravac leaves, Magrimulish flowers, Actortium roots, and cotton balls—crucial components for the procedure ahead.

The pain… it’s still there, a constant companion, but it’s manageable now. The Aravac leaves I chewed earlier have taken the edge off, transforming the blinding agony into something more like a deep, persistent throb. The dizziness and nausea that had plagued me earlier are gone, replaced by a weary clarity. Compared to how I felt when we started walking… God. That was an art of torture.

Even with the walking stick Kacchan made for me, every movement sends shockwaves radiating through my body. Each step ignites fresh pain—sometimes a sharp, screaming crescendo that makes me bite my tongue to keep from crying out, other times a dull, throbbing ache that lingers like a bad memory. Sweat drips from my chin despite the cool air, my throat parched. But Kacchan strides ahead, unyielding, carrying both our bags—so asking for water feels impossible. I manage only a few steps before needing to stop, gasping for breath. The distance between us grows with every agonizing stride.

Then, just as my vision begins to blur at the edges, the faint sound of running water reaches my ears—hope, cool and sweet. I frantically scan the area… but Kacchan has vanished. Overwhelmed by pain, loneliness, and a sudden, crushing helplessness, I rub fiercely at my eyes, erasing the tears welling there. Don’t cry. Just keep moving. With a guttural sound of effort, I push onward.

Then—a flicker of movement. Just down the hill, there he is. Calmly, methodically, setting up the tent.

Relief hits me like a physical blow, so potent it steals my breath. In that moment, I desperately want to rush to him, to throw my arms around him and thank him—thank him for listening to my silent pleas, for understanding I couldn’t go another step, for putting up with me slowing him down. The tent is a promise: rest. Time. A chance to heal. I can’t thank him enough. His priority was always the mission, always getting home… yet here he is, waving at me like it’s nothing. The pain had reached a breaking point; I thought I’d collapse. But seeing him there, solid and real, spurs me forward with fresh determination.

“Hey Nerd, over here!” he calls, waving both hands, utterly unaware of the tidal wave of relief crashing through me. I nod, forcing my legs to move toward him. He meets me halfway, thrusting a water bottle into my hands and pressing a handful of broad, dark green leaves into my palm. “Don’t you dare die on me. You look like you’re about to drop dead any second. These are Aravac leaves—chew ’em, drink the extract, spit out the leaves,” he instructs, then turns and jogs back toward the tent before I can respond.

As I place the leaves in my mouth, an intense, pungent aroma—earthy, bitter, almost medicinal—floods my nostrils. The taste is vile, making my tongue recoil. Every instinct screams to spit them out. But I force myself to obey, grimacing as I chew, the sharp bitterness coating my mouth. I swallow the juice, spitting the pulpy leaves into my palm, and shuffle toward the tent.

Kacchan is rummaging through my bag when I approach. Finally, he pulls out the first clue box—the one we found beneath the tree - our first clue.

“What are you doing?” I ask, plopping down near the tent and shifting desperately, trying to find a position that doesn’t send fresh agony lancing through my side. Every attempt fails. I end up sprawled awkwardly on the rough ground, the fabric of the tent scratching my cheek. 

Silence. He just stares at the box, his expression unreadable.

“Kacchan,” I press, frowning. “Why do you want to see our first clue?”

“Why should I tell you, dumbass?” he snaps, finally looking at me. He yanks the scroll from inside the box and shoves it into his own bag. Then, with brutal efficiency, he raises the open box high and brings it down hard against his knee. CRACK. The wood splinters, breaking cleanly in half.

“What was that for?” My eyes bulge. He just destroyed a clue!  

“For our campfire, obviously,” he replies with a shrug, that infuriatingly casual tone he uses when he thinks he’s being practical. “We’re freezing to death here.” He starts breaking the halves into smaller, kindling-sized pieces. 

“What? No! You can’t use that!” I protest, pushing myself up on my elbows, ignoring the wave of dizziness. “I know there aren’t dry branches left, but that’s a clue box! Aizawa-sensei might want proof!”

He ignores me, systematically reducing the wood to splinters. With a heavy sigh of resignation, I turn my attention to more pressing issues. Blood is seeping through the bandage on my abdomen, dark and ominous. Too fast. I need to redress it. Now. Before I bleed out.  

As I carefully peel back the soiled bandage, the full horror of the wound is revealed. The gash is wide, deep, ragged, the edges inflamed. Blood wells up with each gentle swipe of the cleaning cloth. This needs sutures. Proper ones. Fast. Or I will bleed out before sunset. My mind races, mentally inventorying our limited supplies.

“Tsk. Need more Magrimulish flowers,” Kacchan grunts, breaking the tense silence. He’s watching me, his irritation palpable.  

I shake my head firmly. “No. Stitches first. Then the flowers. Otherwise, I’ll just start bleeding again the second I move.” My voice is tight with urgency. I recall the critical details from our last clue: Magrimulish helps in blood clotting but my wound is too wide for it to work.  

Kacchan’s brow furrows, skepticism etched deep. “And you have all the tools? What are you now, a fucking doctor?” he scoffs.  

I stay silent, my gaze dropping back to the ugly wound. The alternative I’m considering is desperate. Dangerous. But what choice do I have? Desperate times calls for desperate measures.

“…What?” he presses, misunderstanding my silence. He yanks both emergency kits from my bag, dumping them onto the ground. “I checked both emergency kits. No suture thread. No needle. See?” He pushes the kits toward me, as if proving a point.

I take a shaky breath, finally meeting his intense gaze. “I have a fishing hook. And some plastic thread.” The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “I know it’s not ideal. But it’ll have to do.” I brace myself for the onslaught of his disapproval.

His eyes widen in alarm. “Have you finally lost it?” His voice rises with each word, climbing until he’s practically shouting. “Do you hear yourself? Do you know the consequences of using that plastic thread? Infection? Have you ever heard of it? Emergency training ring any bells?” He pauses, disbelief etched on his face. “And even if I go along with your fucking crazy idea—who’s doing it? Last I checked, neither of us is a medical professional! Did you think that through? HUH?”

I don’t know when he stood up, but suddenly he’s towering over me, shouting at the top of his lungs. I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing as his words reverberate in my throbbing head, amplifying the agony until it feels like my skull might split.

“Do you want me dead that badly?” The words tear from my throat, raw and desperate, matching his volume. I don’t know where they come from. They just spill out, unbidden—a raw, gut-wrenching fear I’ve tried to bury. 

The memory crashes over me: the tiger’s claws, the searing agony of the branch impaling me, the terrifying emptiness. I was thinking about death when I lost all hope of rescue and my energy slipping away like sand. I was waiting for Kacchan to save me like a hero only to watch him abandon me to suffer. He left me there. Alone. Bleeding out. 

At first, I thought it was a nightmare, my mind playing tricks. But the relentless pain shattered that illusion. He left me to die. The terror wasn’t just physical then. It was the cold, crushing pain of betrayal. Does he hate me that much? When he finally came back—whether out of pity or fear of failing the assignment, I still don’t know—I thought I was safe. That Kacchan would save me. No matter how much we fight, he’d never leave me like that.

But he did.

In that moment, lying broken and alone, my mind conjured the white tiger, massive and menacing, sniffing my blood, circling, ready to devour me. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes. I saw all the things I’d never get to say. Mom’s face, her unwavering support, the sacrifices I never properly thanked her for. All Might’s belief in me, the chances I wasted. My friends at UA—Iida, Uraraka, Tsuyu—all the times I failed to tell them how much they meant. Regret, thick and suffocating, choked me. 

All the missed opportunities, the unsaid words of appreciation, the chances I had let slip by without fully cherishing them - they all came rushing back to me in that moment of crisis. I was overwhelmed by a profound regret, a deep sorrow that I had not done more, said more, been more present for the people who mattered most.

I never wanted to voice those thoughts in front of Kacchan. It was just the pain, the blood loss, making my mind unravel. But the damage is done. I have to tread carefully.  

He seems momentarily taken aback, caught off-guard. I see the emotions warring behind his intense gaze—anger, yes, but also concern, confusion, all bubbling to the surface. “What do you mean by that?” he demands, his frown deepening.

Voicing such darkness in front of him is a risk, but I sense more than indifference in his reaction. “Okay, dying might be extreme,” I concede, my voice trembling slightly. “But I will lose consciousness from blood loss at this rate. You know it.” I see his anger tank filling up fast, the familiar fury threatening to explode again.

Mustering my courage, I ask, “Are you concerned about me?” A small, shaky grin touches my lips. 

The moment the words leave my mouth, the tension shifts. His thunderous expression morphs into one of his iconic indifference. He scoffs, turning away slightly. “What makes you think I’d be concerned? Getting injured doesn’t make you special. And we’d be having a completely different conversation if you weren’t bleeding all over the place.”

I sigh, relieved the shouting has stopped. I recognize the nuances now—the flicker of worry in his eyes before he masked it, the tight set of his jaw. This is Kacchan’s language: harsh words hiding actions that speak louder. The way he cleaned the wounds on my arm yesterday, the way he stayed…  

“I know the risks,” I say, my voice steadier now. “But I don’t have a choice. We’re stuck here. We use what we have. Once I finish the sutures, I promise I’ll walk. We’ll complete this assignment before sunset. And it won’t get infected—I have enough rubbing alcohol to disinfect everything. But… Kacchan…” My voice cracks slightly. “I’ll need your help. Please… could you fetch more Aravac leaves and Magrimulish flowers?”

“Were you planning to do it without them? Stupid nerd.” The gruffness is there, but underneath it, a softer edge I rarely hear. “Of course I’ll bring everything. But after I eat something first. I’m starving.”  

“Thanks, Kacchan,” I whisper, dropping back to the ground and covering my eyes with my hand, hiding the tears welling there—overwhelmed by the pain and the staggering relief of his reluctant cooperation. I hear rustling and grinding, imagining him searching for cup noodles. Suddenly, something brushes my hand. I sit up, alarmed.  

Kacchan is kneeling beside me, applying a paste of crushed pink flowers to some large leaves. The pointed ends brush my skin.  

“Had some Magrimulish left with me,” he says, not looking at me. “Use this for now till I fetch more.”

I nod and stretch out my hand, but he just stares at me, his face blank. “I want to see you apply the paste properly to the exit wound,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I want to see your eyes on your back. Go on. Show me your flexibility quirk, dumbass.” He pauses, then adds, his voice dropping slightly, “Lay on your side. Let me do it properly.”  

I stare at him, wide-eyed. Is this really Kacchan? Or has a villain taken his place? Maybe I do have a major concussion. Did he just offer to redress my wound? Minutes ago, my injury didn’t make me special. Now it does? Fetching herbs is one thing, but playing nurse? The real Kacchan would never help a 'weak, pathetic Deku' like me. The swirling thoughts make my headache pound. I snap back to reality. “N-No… It’s okay, Kacchan. You don’t have to—”  

“JUST SHUT UP AND DO AS I SAY!” he bellows, making me flinch. Okay. Definitely him. Sighing, I roll onto my side, exposing the exit wound, and let him work.

And here I am now, munching on the granola bar he forced on me while he slurped his cup noodles beside the crackling fire. We spent the last hour refining the plan, debating every step. I re-read the medicinal articles twice, adding Actortium roots and cotton balls to the list. Actortium roots… incredible antibacterial, antiviral, antipyretic, anti-inflammatory properties. Boiled into a dense decoction, it wards off viral infections. The knowledge feels heavy, vital. A lifeline. 

He should have returned by now. It’s been too long. My eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of the fire and the lingering effects of the Aravac leaves pulling me under. I drift into a restless sleep, haunted by half-dreams of snarling tigers and crocodiles.  

The next time I wake, the fire is reduced to dying embers, glowing faintly in the dimming light. Kacchan sits beside it, hunched over, meticulously straining some dark liquid into a bottle. How long was I out? The sun still hangs in the sky, but dark clouds gather like bruised fists on the horizon, promising another storm.  

“Whe…” A cough tears from my throat. “When did you get back?” My voice is hoarse, unused. I rub my eyes, joints popping as I stretch and sit up, every movement sending dull aches through my battered body.  

“Almost an hour ago,” he replies, not looking up from his work. He looks like a true alchemist, surrounded by piles of crushed herbs, tinctures, and makeshift tools. His hands move with surprising precision, grinding roots between stones, carefully adding lengths of plastic thread to my bottle of rubbing alcohol. The sharp, medicinal scent cuts through the damp air. “Why didn’t you wake me? I could’ve helped.”  

“And watch you ruin the supplies I gathered with your shaking, clumsy hands? No fucking way.” He doesn’t even glance up, his focus absolute. I watch him, transfixed, as he prepares the tools for my impromptu surgery. Seeing him like this—so focused, so prepared—makes my chest tighten. I need to get ready too. 

Sighing, I slowly peel off my shirt. The simple act becomes an ordeal. Raising my arms above my head sends a sharp, white-hot pain lancing through my chest and side. I hiss, panting through the waves of agony. It takes five agonizing minutes—five minutes for a task that should take seconds—before I finally manage to strip away the fabric, revealing the broken landscape of my torso to Kacchan’s scrutinizing gaze. He has everything laid out now: the cleaned fishing hook, the alcohol-soaked plastic thread, the paste of Magrimulish flowers, the boiled Actortium decoction, sterile cotton balls.  

Before I can ask anything, he breaks the silence, his voice rough but lacking its usual bite. “We won’t do this here. Get your ass over to those trees.” He points toward the edge of the forest, where two sturdy trees stand close together. “Sit with your back on the left one, legs braced against the right.”

I do as I’m told, moving slowly, every step a jarring reminder of my injuries. I position myself as instructed, the rough bark scraping my skin. The position feels exposed, vulnerable.  

He follows, kneeling beside me, his medical kit arranged neatly on a flat rock. He looks at me, really looks at me, and for once, he doesn’t bother to mask the concern etched onto his face. “Are you really sure about this?”  

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves above us, carrying the scent of approaching rain. The clouds overhead darken, swallowing the last of the sunlight. The storm is coming.  

I meet his gaze, seeing the fear and determination warring in his eyes. I take a shallow breath, ignoring the stab of pain in my side. “As sure as I can be,” I say, the words steady despite the tremor in my hands. This is the only way.

Chapter Text

“Are you really sure about this?” The question scrapes my throat, raw and tight. He settles against the rough bark, trying to look brave. 

“As sure as I can be,” he replies, that familiar false bravado in his voice. I see right through it. He’s scared. Fucking hell, I’m terrified. We’ve rehearsed the steps five times since refining the plan. Discussed quantities before I left so that I know exactly how much of each herb I needed.

I begin laying the supplies beside him like ritual offerings: all our washcloths and towels; the bottle of rubbing alcohol with plastic threads submerged; sterile cotton balls; the pungent paste of Aravac leaves; the bottle of pure leaf extract; the warm Actortium root decoction; the Magrimulish flower paste. Three water bottles stand ready at the base of the second tree—my pathetic attempt at order in this chaos.  

“Still want to change your mind?” I try to coerce him, shoving the bitter Aravac extract and a water bottle at him. “Wouldn’t take long to reach Aizawa if you used your quirk.”

“I’m positive. Let’s get this over with.” He grabs the walking stick (for pain) and shifts slightly, giving me room. Psychological trick. I know it won’t work. But I need to believe something will. Something to ease my mind.

I draw a shaky breath, the air catching in my lungs. I lift the bottle of rubbing alcohol over his abdomen. A single drop falls.  

Hiss.

He inhales sharply, every muscle in his abdomen locking tight. A quick glance shows him biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.  

“Don’t be such a wimp. Man up.” My voice sounds too loud in the sudden stillness.  

“Fine. Keep going.” His voice is strained, thin.  

I pour again, this time in a steadier stream. The clear liquid pools in the ragged crater of his wound, filling it like a grotesque little tank. Deku’s muscles cord into rigid bands. When I look up, his eyes are screwed shut. His knuckles are white around the walking stick. I set the bottle aside with a clink.

“Gonna clean it as much as I can first. You still good?” I ask, grabbing a clean tissue.  

“Yeah.” One syllable, strained.  

I gently press the tissue to the upper edge of the wound. He sucks in a sharp breath, his whole body jerking. I lift the tissue, fold it, press it inside the wound.  

A sound tears from his throat—half moan, half choked cry. It’s ugly. Raw. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing this to be over. I don’t want to do this. God, I don’t want to do this. But I have to.  

“Need a break? We can go slow, if you want” I offer, throwing the soiled tissue aside like it’s radioactive. He’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard a single tear escapes his right eye. Without opening his eyes, he shakes his head violently.

“Alright then, I am starting now. Brace yourself.” My voice trembles despite myself. I carefully smear the Aravac paste around the wound’s edges—a dark green boundary against the angry red. Then the fishing hook. I clean it first with water, scrubbing hard, then douse it in rubbing alcohol, the metal gleaming under the overcast sky. I hold it up. The curved point looks barbaric. Cruel. Like something from a torture chamber. 

When I first saw it, I nearly vetoed the whole plan until I saw the other end. The thread hole was gaping, useless. We argued until Deku suggested pinching it closed while I heated the metal. The acrid smell of burning metal filled the air as I worked the hook, Deku’s fingers white-knuckled as he squeezed the scorching point, reshaping it into something barely usable.

I zone out everything else—the wind, the distant river, the gathering storm. Only the wound exists. Only the hook. I pierce his skin. The metal resists, the other end is still big. I have to tug, hard, to force it through. A pained grunt tears from Deku’s throat. Without looking up, I tie the first stitch, fingers fumbling with the slick thread. Second stitch. I hear sounds—gasps, whimpers—but I ignore them. Block them out.

Third stitch. Halfway through, Deku’s body erupts. A vibrant green glow bursts from his skin, blinding in the gloom. Simultaneously, a thunderous CRACK echoes through the clearing. I glance up. The tree bracing his legs is now bent at a sickening 120-degree angle, wood splintered like bone. Worse—Deku’s neck is arched. Eyes wide, vacant. Mouth agape. His skin has a sickly greyish hue. Worst of all—his chest is utterly still. No rise. No fall.  

“SHIT! DEKU, BREATHE!” I drop the hook, grabbing his arm, rubbing frantically. “In and out! NOW! COME ON! LOOK AT ME!” Panic claws up my throat, cold and sharp. After agonizing seconds, his lips stutter. A gasp. Then a ragged, desperate inhale. He coughs like he’s drowning, clawing at his throat. I pry his hands away, forcing the bottle of Aravac extract to his lips. “Almost done. Just hang in there. Alright?” My voice is soft, laced with a worry I can’t hide. No response. I tap his cheek. “Hey! Answer me!”

“Y-yes…” he whispers, the sound barely there.

The moment I touch the thread, he squeeze his eyes shut, fingers disappearing in the dark curls as he holds his breath, bracing for the pain. This won’t work. I need to keep him conscious. Talking. Breathing. I can’t let him slip away again.

I grab the hook, pretending to sterilize it again. “Oi, Deku. Look at me. Not doing anything yet. Just cleaning the hook. See?”

His eyes flutter open, fingers uncurling from where they’d been knotted in his dark hair. Sweat and tears streak his face. He takes a shaky breath. Good.  

“So…” I keep my voice deceptively calm, though my heart hammers against my ribs. “Tell me the name of the upcoming All Might movie?”

He stares at me, half-lidded, breathing deep and irregular like each breath is a battle. He hesitates, ensuring I’m not about to jab him again. “B…Beacon of Ho…Hope: The All Might Le…Legacy.” Thready. Weak.  

“Correct. Release date?” I ask, keeping my tone light, conversational.  

“Next year, Augu—”  

Now. I tie the third stitch in one fluid motion. He gasps sharply, teeth sinking into his lower lip, stifling a scream.

“Right. Which was the last one? What was it about? Have you had a chance to watch it yet?” I continue, my pulse racing. Every instinct screams to stop his pain, but the logical part of my brain knows—I have to finish. He looks at me, gauging my distance before answering.  

“All Might: Radiant Ascension. Watched it… last month… with Mom.” His words tumble out in a frantic rush as I touch the hook to his skin again. He understands the attempt to distract him from pain. He’s playing along, immersing himself in the conversation to escape his body. “It was amazing… even though the actor… nothing like real All Might… but still did…AAAHH… decent job… Movie started with—”

He yelps as I tug the hook, pulling the thread through for the fourth stitch. His rambling accelerates, words tumbling out in a frantic, breathless rush—a desperate shield against the pain. By the time I’m tugging at the final knot, his voice cracks calling my name.

“Kacchan… please, stop. Please, I beg you. Aargh. Give me a minute. Please, Kacchan.” He’s sobbing now, face flushed a sickly green. I hadn’t even realized he’d finished his breathless movie recap.

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?” My voice is tight, concerned.  

“Both.” He swallows hard.  

I leave the hook protruding from his skin and help him sit up slightly, easing his breathing. Sometime during the ordeal, he’d slumped completely. I clean his face with a fresh wipe, help him sip water, then the Actortium root concoction to settle his stomach. When he’s calmer, I reassure him: “Almost done. I’ll end this quick.” I give him a couple of minutes’ rest before starting again. 

Next, the claw marks on his chest. I clean them with cotton. His body tenses, but I don’t stop. I warn him before applying alcohol to the first line. “Another movie, nerd. Keep talking.” Instead of diving into details, a string of choice swear words explodes from him, hands flying up to grip his dark green curls again. His face pales further, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut. As I swipe the second line, Deku starts breathing loudly through his mouth—each exhale a wet, strangled noise that’s not quite a cry, not quite a moan. Something worse. I swipe the third line clean, apply Aravac paste to his chest, then the pink Magrimulish paste over the fresh sutures. 

“Come on, Deku. Roll over. Stomach on the tree. Just need to clean the exit wound, then wrap it up.” 

“It hurts, Kacchan. It really hurts a lot. I’m sorry. Please, just leave me. I’m begging you.” He’s crying openly now, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on his cheeks.  

“It’s alright, Deku. You’re doing great. It’s over now. Just need to clean the exit wound, then wrap it. Promise.” I even shove the hook into his hand to ease his mind. “I’ll tell you everything I’m doing. The moment you say stop, I stop. Okay?” I wait. He just gives a curt nod.  

I help him drink the rest of the Aravac extract. I don’t know if it’s too high a dose. I don’t care. If he sleeps the entire day, fine. I just want his suffering to stop. He flips over, resting his forehead against the rough bark, hands wrapped at the back of his head. That’s when I see it—a crimson spot blooming on his hand. The gift from the wolves. The bite meant for me. And it’s bleeding again.  

I ignore it. Focus. Task at hand. His entire back is a piece of art—a brutal canvas of cuts, bruises, and fading burn marks. “Gonna wipe the exit wound with a napkin, then clean it with alcohol,” I warn. 

This time, he screams. Not a yelp, not a gasp—a raw, childlike scream of pure agony. He bangs his fist repeatedly against the tree trunk, kicks his legs wildly with each swipe of the cloth. I can’t imagine the pain I’m causing. I just move faster, trying to be efficient, trying to end it. 

At least the major injury is closed. I try to cover his back with the rest of the Aravac paste, but I run out halfway. A quick application of pink Magrimulish paste, then I start wrapping his torso in bandages.  

Suddenly, he goes completely rigid. Utterly still.  

“Deku?” I stand, crouching in front of him, trying to see his face. “Deku? You okay?” One hand is pressed to his forehead, the other clamped over his mouth. His eyes blink wide, unfocused, like there are gaps in his vision.  

Then he convulses, losing control of his stomach. I lunge, grabbing him from behind, dragging him away from the mess. He vomits violently, heaving until there’s nothing left, leaving him retching and gagging, body trembling with dry heaves.  

“It’s okay. You’re fine.” The words feel hollow, useless. I repeat them like a mantra—It’s okay. You’re fine.—until they lose all meaning, just sounds to fill the terrible silence.

“I’m so tired… so cold…” he slurs, voice thin as paper. He had a fever before the procedure started. Now? It’s worse. Alarm bells shriek in my head. Bright red warning signs I can’t ignore. He’s slipping. Unconsciousness yawns like a chasm before him. I clean him as best I can—wiping his face, his neck, the bitter taste of bile still sharp in the air—then half-carry, half-drag him back to the tent.

“Okay, Deku. Can you help me put a shirt on you?” He nods weakly. I wrestle a clean shirt over his limp arms, then pop a fever reducer into his mouth, holding the canteen to his lips until he swallows. He sags back, eyes already fluttering shut.

“Just gonna change the arm bandage. Won’t hurt a bit.” He instantly shuts his eyes. He shivers violently but stays awake, twisting and turning, seeking a position that doesn’t exist. His skin is flushed, brows furrowed in constant pain. I press a cool, damp cloth to his forehead. Instantly, the tension melts from his face. Sensing his hands are icy, I carefully warm them with my quirk—just enough to chase the chill, not burn. I watch as his ragged breathing slows, the spaces between coughs lengthening.

It feels like an eternity, meticulously cleaning the wolf bite on his arm. My heart hammers the whole time, terrified of causing more pain. The memory of his agonized expression during the sutures is seared behind my eyelids. Finally, I settle him. Comfortable. Well, as comfortable as possible.

I stumble out of the tent, toward the stream. Blood and medical paste splatter my skin, my clothes. I scrub furiously, nails scraping my flesh. Silent tears track through the grime on my cheeks. No matter how hard I scrub, I can’t wash away the guilt. Why am I crying? This is his fault. His meddlesome, self-sacrificing nature. I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to breathe the same air a moment longer than necessary. I just want to complete this assignment and go home. Maybe blast Kirishima’s stupid rock face a few times. He’s the only one who can take my hits without a scratch. Why did I agree to this?

Do you want me dead that badly?

Oh. Right. A sob threatens to tear free. More tears spill. Does he really think I want him dead? Was he carrying such dark thoughts all this time? I just wanted him away. Wanted to be seen as strong. Strong heroes don’t hang out with quirkless losers. But he’s not quirkless anymore. A growl rips from my throat. I hate him. He’s insufferable. He’s the reason my emotions are a goddamn whirlpool. I’m itching to hit something, to feel bone crunch under my fist, to blow off this suffocating heat. The urge to beat Deku to a pulp is overwhelming. But the fear that he’ll shatter with one touch paralyzes me. The last thing I need is All Might’s wrath.

I stay by the stream. The water’s steady flow is hypnotic, soothing the roar in my head. But my eyes keep drifting back to the tent. Lingering concern roots me there, ready to move if he needs me. Returning, I feel hollowed out—physically drained, emotionally shredded. His screams still echo in my mind. Yet, when I press my hand to his forehead, relief washes over me. Cooler. The fever’s breaking. I sigh, a shaky exhale, and step outside.  

No matter how much he begs, I’ve made up my mind. I’m not gonna give him any more breaks. We don’t stop until we reach Aizawa. Even if I have to carry him every fucking step. I don’t care. I just want to go home. That’s all that matters now. 

I sit outside the tent, staring at the mist-shrouded trees, contemplating our next move, when a quiet whimper cuts through the fabric. What now? Frustration boils in my chest as I mutter the words and push back into the small enclosure.

He’s thrashing on the sleeping bag, clutching his shirt like a shield. Sweat beads on his forehead, face contorted in pain even in sleep. Breath comes in shallow, uneven intervals. Eyes squeezed shut, lost in the turmoil of his subconscious. I call his name—“Deku!”—but he remains unresponsive. As I turn to leave him to it, a desperate plea rips from his throat: 

“No… Please….”

The raw anguish in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I freeze, rooted to the spot. Tears track through the grime on his cheeks. What the fuck is happening in his head? This reaction… it’s not good. Not good at all. I kneel beside him, shaking his shoulder. 

His back arches violently. A guttural, animalistic sound tears from his throat—“Kacchan, please don’t… H-hurts…” He sobs, the words cutting me to the core. His eyes stay firmly shut, trapped in his nightmare. Is he dreaming of me hurting him? Have I scarred him that deeply? Am I the villain in his nightmare? 

Changing tactics, I start gently rubbing his uninjured arm. For a moment, it seems to work. The tension in his face eases. I think I see his lips twitch into something resembling a smile. Then— 

He gasps. Every muscle locks tight. His head lolls, eyes darting wildly beneath closed lids. The silence is eerie, thick with dread. I hold my breath, watching, waiting.

Deku shatters the silence. 

A blood-curdling scream rips from his lungs. He curls into himself, hands clutching his right side—the sutured wound. “Please stop! I beg you….” The plea is raw, ragged, his breaths becoming even more erratic, bordering on hyperventilation. 

What the FUCK is he dreaming? My heart races. This is spiraling out of control. I need to wake him from this torturous nightmare. Now.  

I grab his wrists. Instant reaction—his movements still. Breathing turns shallow, labored. I snatch up a nearby water bottle. Without hesitation, I splash it directly in his face. Harsh. Unforgiving.  

The shock jolts him awake. He gasps, eyes flying wide, hands flying to his throat like he’s desperately trying to drag air into his lungs. Pure terror etched on his features.

“Stop it, Deku!”

“Deku!”

“DEKU!”

Chapter Text

My eyelids flutter open, heavy as lead. The first thing I register is the breathtaking expanse above me. Not one moon, but dozens—moons of varying sizes, some pale silver, others tinged with gold or blue, hanging suspended in an inky black canvas. Stars don’t just twinkle; they dance, leaving faint trails of light like cosmic fireflies.

Multiple moons?  The thought jolts through me, sharp and disorienting. How can there be multiple moons? There’s only one. For a dizzying second, I wonder if I’ve been transported to another world entirely. I blink rapidly, the disorientation clearing like fog lifting.

Not the sky. A ceiling. Intricately painted with fluorescent colors that mimic the celestial scene. The paint seems to pulse with a soft, unnatural glow. A smile touches my lips despite the strangeness. It’s… familiar. Comforting, somehow.

My gaze drifts, taking in the familiar surroundings of the room. Something is off. It is my room. But… more. The walls are plastered with larger-than-life All Might posters, each one hyper-realistic, capturing the hero’s powerful physique and inspiring presence with an intensity that borders on overwhelming. The colors are impossibly vibrant, the details so sharp they look three-dimensional. Nothing like the slightly faded posters I remember taping up myself.

On the bedside table sits an All Might lamp, its base shaped like his flexed bicep. Beside it, a meticulous arrangement of All Might figurines in various heroic poses. Across the room, an entire shelf groans under the weight of more collectibles—limited edition statuettes, vintage action figures, even a replica of his golden age belt buckle.  

I push myself up, the comforter sliding down. It’s All Might too. His symbol emblazoned across the fabric, his smiling face woven into the threads. Clutched tightly in my hands is a plush All Might doll, its soft fabric worn with love. This is my room. But… different. Enhanced. The thought sends a strange shiver down my spine.

Before I can ponder the unsettling perfection, Mom’s voice cuts through the quiet: “Izuku baby, you’re going to be late! Get up now!”  

I jolt, eyes darting to the clock. 7:15 AM. “Oh no!” I scramble, throwing off the covers. The hyper-realistic room dissolves around me like smoke as I leap out of bed.

The next instant, I’m standing in the living room. Fully dressed. Ready to go.  

How…? My brow furrows, confusion thick and cloying. I was just in my room. On the first floor. I didn’t walk down the stairs. I didn’t dress. The disorientation hits like a physical blow, making the room tilt slightly.

“Izuku, baby… are you really sure about this?”  

I turn. Mom bustles in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her smile is warm, but her eyes hold a deep, worried concern. “You don’t have to go to that school if you’re uncomfortable.”  

Uncomfortable? The word feels alien, wrong. Why would I be uncomfortable? This is U.A. High. The first place I’ve made actual friends—friends who don’t treat me like I’m broken or less than because I’m… because I was…  

Well, they don’t know about the quirkless part yet. But still. For the first time, I feel accepted. Seen. 

“I don’t care about your quirk status, Izuku,” Mom says, placing a hand gently on my forehead. Her touch feels odd. Clinical. Like she’s checking for fever, not ruffling my hair like she always does. A shiver of unease traces my spine. I give her a quizzical look. Something feels off.  

“You’ll always be special to me,” she continues, her voice overly sweet, thick like honey. “My cute, little, hyper-intelligent, kind boy with a big heart.” The words catch me off guard. Why is she being so… performative? So motherly? It’s strange, even for her. Before I can respond, she turns me toward the door, ushering me out with a firm hand on my back. “Now, off you go—you don’t want to be late!” Her cheer sounds forced, brittle.  

I open my mouth to protest, to ask what’s happening, but she’s already closed the door behind me. The click echoes in the sudden silence.  

Thoroughly confused, I hurry on my way, mind racing. One moment she was reluctant, the next she practically shoved me out. What is happening? No time to dwell—I’m already late.

Flash.

Suddenly, I’m sitting in my usual seat in the classroom. One moment I was walking the familiar route to UA, the next… here. How? It’s as if I’ve been ripped through time and space in the blink of an eye. The classroom feels too quiet, too still. The air hangs heavy, thick.  

My confusion deepens when Todoroki enters. I wave eagerly, hoping to catch his attention and have a friendly chat, but to my surprise, he walks right past me. As if I’m invisible. As if I’m nothing. Had I done something? Is he mad at me for some reason? Nervously, I approach him.

“Todoroki-kun, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done or said to upset you, but I want to apologize.” My voice trembles slightly.  

Before I finish, he cuts me off. His voice is as cold as his ice. “My father has forbidden me from associating with quirkless people. It’s best if you don’t talk to me or come near me.”

Quirkless people. The words hit like physical blows. My heart plummets, tears welling hot and fast. Quirkless. Is that why? After everything? After the Sports Festival, after fighting together? I thought we were friends. The thought of losing that friendship is devastating. A crushing weight settles in my chest. But I know I must respect his decision, no matter how much it hurts.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I drop my head. Tears drip onto my red shoes. “Of course. I’ll leave you in peace. I’m sorry for crossing that boundary. Please, forgive me.”  

As I turn to leave, his parting words echo in the sudden, suffocating silence of the classroom:  

“People like you don’t deserve forgiveness.”

The words shatter something deep inside me. I can’t hold back the sob that escapes my lips. I scramble for the door, desperate to escape before anyone sees my shame. Just as I reach for the handle—  

BOOM.

All Might bursts through the door, his larger-than-life presence filling the room. I frantically rub at my face, trying to erase any trace of tears. The last thing I want is to worry him with my weakness.  

“Suit up and meet me in Gym Gamma in 10 minutes!” he bellows, his voice booming with the same unwavering confidence that first inspired me. This is it. My chance. To show everyone—including myself—that I can be a true hero.  

Flash.

I’m standing in Gym Gamma. The air smells of sweat and polished wood. I’m not even surprised anymore. At least I’m not late.

As I stand there, every eye in Gym Gamma locks onto me. Expressions swirl—confusion, disgust, morbid curiosity. Even All Might, the towering symbol of peace, regards me with a detached curiosity, like I’m some strange specimen in a lab. Is something wrong with my suit? Self-consciousness prickles my skin. Before I can find the courage to ask, All Might’s booming voice slices through the thick air:  

“Pairs for combat training!”

My heart hammers. And then—utter astonishment. My name. Paired with his. Kacchan.  

A wry, almost bitter smile touches my lips. Of course it would be him. The universe’s twisted sense of humor strikes again. But I won’t waste this opportunity. This is it. My chance to prove myself—to show him, to show everyone—that I’m more than the quirkless kid they wrote off. Weak. Powerless.

Suddenly, Kacchan strides toward All Might, a familiar scowl etched onto his face. “I won’t compete with that frail kid,” he growls, venom coating every word. My heart plummets, sinking like a stone in icy water. “I don’t want murder charges on me.” Is this it? Is he going to deny me the chance to show my worth? Again? But All Might’s response catches me completely off guard.  

“What are you saying, young Bakugou?” All Might’s brow furrows in genuine confusion. “Young Midoriya is the most powerful student here!” He casts a proud, beaming gaze in my direction. 

Pride and gratitude swell within me, a warm tide threatening to overflow. All Might believes in me. The legendary hero, the man I’ve admired my whole life, thinks I’m the strongest. Tears prickle my eyes, a lump forming in my throat. I beam at him, vision blurring with emotion, silently vowing to prove him right. To show the world what I can do.  

“Show us something, Young Midoriya!” All Might commands.  

His words flip a switch inside me. Adrenaline surges, hot and electric. Without hesitation, I bend my knees and push off, launching myself skyward. Power—familiar, exhilarating power—courses through my veins.

“DETROIT SMASH!”

I roar, directing the energy toward a nearby building. A devastating explosion rocks Gym Gamma. The structure disintegrates into rubble, dust and debris erupting in a spectacular display. But I’m not done. As I descend, I twist, contorting my body into a flawless backflip. Gasps ripple through the onlookers. They’ve never seen this from me before. Pride swells in my chest. I practiced that endlessly. To look impressive. To land smoothly. To lessen the impact.

I touch down gracefully. Murmurs erupt: “When did you learn this?” “Wow, amazing, Mido-bro!” “From whom did you learn it?” Little do they know, it’s countless hours of dedication. All for this. To become the greatest hero.

But Kacchan’s next words shatter the moment, sending a chill down my spine:  

“But he stole your quirk,” he hisses, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “He’s a quirkless, worthless Deku. How could you choose him over me? I have the most powerful quirk!”

My heart pounds like a trapped bird against my ribs. Cold dread pools in my stomach. Why? Why is he doing this? Why can’t he accept me? A sob threatens to escape. Tears stream down my face. But it doesn’t matter. I have faith in All Might. He’ll explain. He’ll tell Kacchan quirk status doesn’t matter. He’ll explain why he chose me. I know it. There’s nothing to fear. 

“Is this true, Young Midoriya? Are you really quirkless?” All Might looms over me, his voice laced with disbelief, eyes narrowed with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. Confusion crashes over me. What? How? What is happening? Why is he doing this to me? He knows. He trained me. Gave me One For All. How can he not know?

“All Might… I asked you if quirkless people could become heroes… on that rooftop… remember?” The words tumble out between hiccuping sobs. I search his face desperately for any flicker of recognition.  

“Yes, I remember.” Relief washes over me, sweet and sudden. His words are a lifeline. But it’s short-lived. “But you never told me you were quirkless.” 

The world stops. I freeze, his words cutting me to the core. I forget to breathe. My mind races, frantic, trying to make sense of this impossible betrayal. How could he not know? Why is he acting this way? I don’t understand his sudden change in demeanor, the confusion etched across his face. Hadn’t he always believed in me, when no one else did?

“NO, All Might, let me explain—” I plead, the words frantic. But Kacchan’s voice cuts through, a barrage of cruelty:  

“What’s left to explain? You’re a quirkless, worthless piece of shit! You don’t deserve to exist, let alone remain at UA!”

His words are knives. I claw at my chest, desperate to speak the truth, to make them understand. “PLEASE, listen to me! I’m not worthless—”

Before I can finish, Kacchan’s fist slams into my gut.  

WHAM.

Air explodes from my lungs. Pain radiates outward, white-hot and blinding. I stumble back, vision blurring, gasping for breath that won’t come. I straighten, swaying, and look up at All Might, pleading with my eyes, begging him to hear me out. To remember. To believe me.

Flash.

Suddenly, we’re not in Gym Gamma. We’re standing in the garden. Our garden. The one Kacchan and I played in as little kids. Sunlight filters through the leaves, dappled and warm. But All Might looks down at me with the same loathing and disdain I’m used to seeing on Kacchan’s face. Gone is the warm, reassuring smile he saves for the rest of the world. His features are twisted into a mask of disgust and disappointment.  

“You are a thief. A disgrace.” All Might’s voice growls, dripping with venom. Before I can react, his massive hands clamp onto my shoulders like vices. He launches us both high into the air. I gasp, disoriented, terrified. Then he pulls back his fist—a fist I know, a fist I trust—and unleashes a devastating punch.  

“DETROIT SMASH!” 

Chapter Text

Before I can react, his massive hands clamp onto my shoulders like vices. He launches us both high into the air. I gasp, disoriented, terrified. Then he pulls back his fist—a fist I know, a fist I trust—and unleashes a devastating punch.  

“DETROIT SMASH!” 

The force sends me hurtling back to earth like a meteor. CRUNCH. The impact is devastating. I slam into the unforgiving ground, shockwaves of pain radiating through every nerve ending. I cry out, raw agony tearing from my throat, tears streaming down my face. The physical anguish is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil raging within me.  

But All Might isn’t done. He descends like a wrathful god, punch after relentless punch. Each blow lands with the weight of a wrecking ball. THUD. CRACK. THUD. I cry and cry and cry, but I don’t defend myself. I can’t. How could I? He’s the one who made me capable of withstanding this. The one who vowed to make me strong.  

So I lie there, helpless. Taking every blow. My entire body burns, a mass of hurt. My head spins, a dizzying sensation like drowning, gasping for air that won’t come. Blood drips from countless wounds, warm and sticky, a constant reminder of my own fragility. How easily I’m broken by the very person who promised to make me unbreakable.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it’s over. All Might turns and disappears, leaving me alone on the shattered earth. I can barely breathe. Each shallow inhale is a struggle. My body throbs, a symphony of pain. Broken. Utterly broken.  

And then Kacchan is there, kneeling beside me. Not to help. To finish it.  

“You know what, Deku?” he sneers, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Your father was right after all. He did the right thing. And I think I must do the same.”

The implications send a chill down my spine colder than the blood soaking into my clothes. He’s going to abandon me. Just like my father did. The realization overwhelms me.  

“I’ll follow his idea,” he continues, his voice like gravel, “and go far away. Because you always bring bad luck. And don’t you fucking try to follow me there.”

I can’t hold back the tears. They stream down my face, hot and endless, as I plead with him. “KACCHAN, please don’t go!” My voice cracks, shattering like glass. “I’ll be better, I promise! PLEASE, DON’T leave me alone! It HURTS…”

But my desperate pleas fall on deaf ears. He just watches me, his expression unreadable. Then he turns and walks away, his footsteps crunching on the gravel, leaving me alone in a growing pool of my own blood and tears. It feels like an eternity. I lie there, utterly defeated, crying uncontrollably as the darkness begins to close in. My body writhes with pain, my heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

Then—a gentle touch on my arm.

Blinking through tears, I look up. Mom. Kneeling right where Kacchan was, her kind eyes filled with concern. Her fingers trace comforting circles on my skin. Her presence is a beacon, cutting through the despair.

“Izuku, baby,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm. “I made your favorite—katsudon. Come, let’s go eat.”

Instantly, the ache in my body, the anguish in my heart… it melts away. The gloomy cloud lifts. Peace. Safety. Everything will be okay. I smile, pushing myself up, reassured by my mother's presence.  

But as I look up, the scene shifts. Mom’s kind face dissolves, replaced by the unsettling visage of Tomura Shigaraki. Where did she go? How—? Toga. He must have stolen Toga’s Quirk, taken my mom’s form to deceive me. Relief evaporates, replaced by cold, crawling dread. Crap. 

His piercing gaze scrapes down my spine. “Long time no see, H-E-R-O chan,” he drawls, drawing out the syllables like a twisted game. “Let’s have some fun.” His voice drips with mocking sweetness. He casually scratches at his neck—a gesture so nonchalant, yet I know the death it represents.  

“But before we begin,” he continues, his tone chillingly casual, “you must call All Might. The more the merrier, don’t you think?” 

Panic rises, sharp and metallic. His words are laced with a dark amusement, and I know he is up to no good. I muster every ounce of courage I have, refusing to let him see my fear. “And why would I call him?” My voice steadies, despite the turmoil inside.

Shigaraki’s response is ice. “Because you’re going to die in two minutes—no, scratch that—one minute forty-six seconds.” He says it like discussing the weather. My mind races, scrambling for an escape route.  

Suddenly, I’m not in the garden anymore. I’m in a dense forest. To my right yawns a gaping pit. The elephant pit. Hope flickers. Maybe I can use this to my advantage.  

But Shigaraki isn’t done toying. With a twist of his wrist, the monstrous anti-All Might Nomu I faced before materializes behind him. Then, to my horror, the pit begins to fill with water, rising rapidly until it reaches the brim. “I believe you’re familiar with this Nomu,” Shigaraki says, malice coating every word. “So let me introduce you to our new creation.” 

A chill runs down my spine. A massive, clawed hand emerges from the water, covered in green, crocodile-like scales. Mutant Quirk. My blood runs cold. Nomu have multiple quirks. This one’s no exception. “It likes to stay in water and would love to entertain you. Say hi to your new friend, Alex, hero. Please accept our gifts.”

The creature’s grotesque head rises. Crimson eyes bulge, unnerving—no eyelids. And its jaw… God, its jaw. Two sets of razor-sharp teeth, designed to rip and tear anything that dared to cross its path. I brace myself for the impending confrontation.  

It lunges. I dive sideways just in time, jaws snapping shut mere inches from where I stood. My head spins, vision blurring. I scramble back, evading its relentless assault. Suddenly, the first Nomu looms over me, its massive hand descending. Reacting on instinct, I leap upward, knocking over a tree. Shigaraki watches silently, no doubt delighting in my struggle.

I pummel the first Nomu, punching relentlessly, just like All Might did. Detroit Smash! Detroit Smash! But as I fight, I remember—crocodiles. Stealth. Ambush.  

Sure enough, the new Nomu moves in a blur. Massive jaws clamp down before I can react.  

RRRIP.  

Agony. Pure, white-hot agony tears through my abdomen. I scream, the sound tearing from my throat as the world fades to white. I clutch my stomach, warm, sticky blood seeping through my fingers, pooling beneath me. I double over, each breath a ragged struggle. Air grows harder to draw. Did it chew through my lung? The thought is more terrifying than the pain. 

I lie there, numb and bleeding, Shigaraki’s voice cuts through the haze like broken glass: “I warned you you’d be dead in two minutes, haven’t I? Well… we still have thirty-eight seconds left.” He gestures to the anti-All Might Nomu. The monster resumes its assault, massive fists pummeling my battered body in sync with my own frantic heartbeat. Each blow sends shockwaves of fresh agony ripping through me, tearing me apart from the inside out.

“Please, stop… Aargh… I’m begging you… Ggrh!” My voice is a hoarse, broken thing. Tears stream down my face, mixing with the blood. But the Nomu doesn’t stop. It won’t stop. I feel the last vestiges of strength, of hope, draining away. Death is coming. Part of me welcomes it. Anything… anything to escape this unimaginable pain. 

But Shigaraki only watches, a twisted, childlike glee lighting his eyes. Like this is some sick game. “Would you like to call All Might now?” he asks, gesturing. The Nomu pauses, its fist hovering. That malicious grin never wavers.

I know it’s futile. Even if I could find the strength, All Might wouldn’t come. Not for someone as worthless as me. “Even if I do… c-call All Might… he’s not… going to c-come. He t-thinks… cough… I’m not worthy enough.” The confession tears at my heart, each word a fresh wound.

At that, the pain intensifies, becoming almost unbearable. “Please… just kill me…” I whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t want… to be in… pain anymore.”

Shigaraki shakes his head, his grip tightening on my hands like a vice. “Thanks for the information. And believe me, I’d be honored to fulfill your wish… but I need your precious, analyzing brain too. For that, you need to stay alive.”

Fresh terror washes over me, cold and paralyzing. His plan crystallizes, more horrifying than death itself. “I’ll create a Nomu with your brain. You’ll be my ultimate weapon against All Might,” he declares, that sick grin widening. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your face doesn’t get distorted… like the others.”

His voice fades, but the crocodile Nomu slithers closer. Its scaly green body undulates, muscles rippling beneath the skin. With each passing second, its speed increases, the powerful tail propelling it forward with alarming quickness. My heart pounds against my ribs, trying to claw its way out of my chest. 

Suddenly, it lunges. Straight for my throat. Rows of sharp teeth shine like knives. I feel jaws clamp down, piercing flesh, bone. I claw frantically at my throat, desperate to fend it off, to breathe. Strangely, the sensation is like drowning. I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling for air that won’t come.  

Faintly, through the roaring in my ears and the suffocating darkness, I hear someone calling my name.  

Izuku!

My eyes snap open. The Nomu is gone. The garden is gone. The pain… the pain is gone. I can breathe. I can breathe. Drenched in cold sweat, I sit bolt upright, chest heaving, eyes darting wildly around the dimly lit space. 

Tent. I’m in the tent.  

And there, sitting beside me, is Kacchan. His expression is a mixture of bewilderment and concern, his body tense, like he’s ready to fight whatever monster caused me to scream like that. Waves of relief so powerful they make me dizzy wash over me at the sight of him. Real. He’s real.  

It was a dream. Just a dream. A stupid, horrible dream.

I am safe. I am safe. I am SAFE. NO ONE is hurting me. No one is GOING to hurt me.

Everything is fine. Everything is just fine. Everything is more than fine. And - 

"Kacchan..." The name croaks out, barely a whisper. "You're here.” My throat feels like I’ve swallowed shards of glass. “I thought I’d never see you again." Just speaking sends a sharp, burning sensation flaring through my windpipe. Despite everything, having Kacchan beside me instantly makes me feel safe. The lingering remnants of the nightmare—the blood, the pain, Shigaraki’s laugh, Kacchan walking away—they begin to fade. I’m not alone. Kacchan is here. That’s all that matters right now.

The air catches in my throat. A violent coughing fit erupts, tearing through me. My heart pounds against my ribs, a deafening roar in my ears. I double over, every inch of my chest radiating searing pain. Each inhale is a monumental effort. Panic sets in. I’m losing control. My body is betraying me. Through the haze, I glimpse Kacchan start to move. No. He’s leaving. He’s going to leave me alone. Not now. Not when I need him most—my anchor to reality. 

Mustering every scrap of strength, I lunge, fingers clutching his hand like a lifeline. “No, please Kacchan, don’t leave me!” My voice cracks, thick with desperation. Hot tears stream down my face, blurring my vision. I see surprise and concern etched on his features, but I can’t let go. I silently beg him to stay, to help me through this suffocating terror.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Just getting your water bottle. I had to empty mine to wake you up.”

Reluctantly, I release his hand. My chest constricts—a confusing mix of fear, loneliness, and the nightmare’s lingering shadows. The thought of being alone with those terrors… it’s unbearable. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it feels impossibly tight.  

True to his word, Kacchan returns quickly with a fresh bottle. I frown at my own hands, shaking violently as I try to grasp it. Kacchan simply holds it to my lips instead. I gulp the water greedily, only now realizing how parched I am, how raw my throat feels. But Kacchan pulls it away before I’ve had enough. “Hey, slow down,” he warns. “Don’t want you getting sick again.” I look down, suddenly self-conscious.

As I catch my breath, Kacchan’s expression shifts. His brow furrows, troubled. “When did you learn it?”

My heart skips a beat. When did you learn it?

“What are you talking about?” I ask, terrified. Kacchan just raises an eyebrow, like the answer should be obvious. How could he know? Was the dream real after all? Was it a memory I’d forgotten?  

The uncertainty is overwhelming. My heart rate spikes again, chest tightening painfully. The world begins to spin at the edges. The tent walls seem to pulse. The air thickens, pressing in. The nightmare’s shadows feel closer than ever, whispering at the edges of my vision. Was any of it real? The blood? The pain? Shigaraki’s voice promising to turn me into a weapon?

I stare at Kacchan, wide-eyed and terrified, my mind racing, trying to connect the dream to reality. How could he possibly know? If it wasn’t a dream but memory, then Kacchan shouldn’t be here. But he is. Did he came back? Why would he come back to me? Does All Might really think I’m a thief? No, I don’t want any of this to be true. But what if it is the harsh truth?

The questions spiral, each one more terrifying than the last. The uncertainty is crushing. The world spins faster, the walls of the tent pressing in. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. The line between nightmare and reality blurs completely.