Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya stood atop a shattered rooftop, the cityscape of Musutafu sprawling below him, scarred from the battle that had just ended. Shigaraki Tomura was defeated, his reign of decay finally halted. But the victory came at a cost—Izuku’s quirk, One For All, was gone, burned out in the final clash. His body felt hollow, like a vessel emptied of its purpose. His friends, his mentors, the world he’d fought for, they were safe, but he was no longer the hero he’d dreamed of becoming.

As he stared at the horizon, a strange figure approached. Cloaked in a shimmering, almost translucent robe, the stranger’s face was obscured, but their voice was clear, resonant, and oddly comforting. “Izuku Midoriya,” they said, “you’ve saved this world, but your journey doesn’t have to end here.”

Izuku tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for a power that no longer existed. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m a recruiter of sorts,” the figure replied. “I represent those who watch over the threads of time. We’ve seen your heart, your resolve. We’re offering you a chance to become a time traveler, a guardian of timelines. You can save more lives, protect countless worlds.”

Izuku’s eyes narrowed. “Time travel? That sounds… impossible. And why me? I’m quirkless again. I’m just… me.”

The figure’s hood tilted, as if amused. “Just you? You, who carried the weight of One For All and defeated All For One’s heir? You’re more than enough. And as for your quirk…” They extended a hand, a faint glow pulsing within their palm. “We can restore One For All to you, in a form suited for crossing timelines. You’d wield it again, not just for one world, but for many.”

Izuku’s heart raced. The thought of regaining One For All, of being a hero again, sparked something deep within him. But his thoughts drifted to his friends, Kacchan’s fierce grin, Uraraka’s warm encouragement, Todoroki’s quiet strength. Could he leave them behind? They’d fought together, bled together. They were his family.

“I… I can’t just abandon them,” Izuku said, his voice trembling. “They need me here. I need them.”

The figure’s voice softened. “You wouldn’t abandon them. You’d protect them in ways they’d never know, across countless realities. You’d ensure their futures, their happiness, in worlds where fate isn’t so kind. And you’d carry them with you, always.”

Izuku clenched his fists, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He thought of All Might, of the legacy he’d inherited, of the people he’d saved and those he couldn’t. The faces of those lost to Shigaraki’s chaos flashed in his mind, lives he might have saved if he’d been stronger, faster, better. The offer dangled before him: a chance to rewrite tragedies, to be the hero he always wanted to be, not just for one world, but for all of them.

He took a deep breath, his green eyes burning with resolve. “If I do this… if I say yes… I want to save as many people as I can. No matter the cost.”

The figure nodded, the glow in their hand intensifying. “Then step forward, Izuku Midoriya. Embrace the power of One For All once more, and become a guardian of time.”

Izuku stepped toward the light, feeling a familiar warmth flood his body. Sparks of green lightning crackled around him, One For All reigniting in his veins, stronger and stranger than before. The world around him blurred, the rooftop dissolving into a cascade of stars and shifting timelines.

As he vanished into the unknown, Izuku’s heart carried a single thought: I’ll save them all. No matter where, no matter when.

Izuku Midoriya materialized in a flash of green lightning, the air around him humming with temporal energy. The cityscape was familiar, Musutafu, but subtly different. The skyline lacked certain scars, and the streets buzzed with an innocence that felt untouched by Shigaraki’s chaos. This was a timeline where Izuku Midoriya had never existed, a world where no one carried the torch of One For All.

His new handlers, the enigmatic Time Weavers, had given him his first mission: save Oboro Shirakumo, a young hero-in-training destined to die in a tragic accident. Izuku’s heart clenched at the thought. He’d heard stories of Shirakumo from Aizawa-sensei, the pain in his voice when he spoke of his lost friend. This was his chance to change that story.

Clad in a dark, nondescript outfit to avoid attention, Izuku moved swiftly through the city, One For All thrumming in his veins. The quirk felt different now, sharper, more volatile, as if tuned to the fabric of time itself. He checked the temporal device strapped to his wrist, a glowing band that tracked his target’s location. Shirakumo was close, caught in a collapsing building during a villain attack.

Izuku arrived at the scene, smoke and debris choking the air. A villain’s rampage had destabilized a construction site, and Shirakumo, still a UA student, was trapped under rubble. Izuku’s eyes scanned the chaos, spotting a flicker of blue hair beneath a fallen beam. There.

With a burst of speed, he activated Blackwhip, tendrils of dark energy lashing out to clear the debris. He hauled the unconscious Shirakumo over his shoulder, his enhanced strength making the task easier. The boy’s breathing was shallow, but he was alive. Izuku’s heart pounded with relief as he carried Shirakumo to a nearby alley, laying him gently against a wall where paramedics would find him.

He glanced around, ensuring no one was watching. The Time Weavers had been clear: minimize interference, leave no trace. He couldn’t afford to alter this timeline beyond saving Shirakumo. With a final check to confirm Oboro’s pulse, Izuku activated the temporal device, the world dissolving into a swirl of light as he prepared to leap back to the Weavers’ hub.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of sharp, tired eyes had caught a glimpse of his green hair and swift movements. Shota Aizawa, hidden in the shadows, watched the mysterious figure vanish.

Shota Aizawa crouched beside Oboro Shirakumo in the alley, his scarf still taut from the fight, his eyes scanning the spot where the green-haired teen had vanished. The air still hummed faintly, as if the stranger’s departure had left a ripple in reality. Aizawa’s mind raced, Who was he? Why had he risked himself to save Oboro, only to disappear without a word?

The scene replayed in his head: the teen moving with impossible speed, wielding a power that seemed to bend the air itself, pulling Oboro from the wreckage with precision and strength. A quirk, no doubt, but one Aizawa couldn’t place. It wasn’t flashy like All Might’s, but it was potent, controlled. The teen’s face was obscured by a hood, but that shock of green hair was unmistakable, vivid even in the chaos.

Aizawa’s first instinct was to chase after him, to demand answers. Who was this stranger? A vigilante? A hero from another agency? But Oboro’s shallow breathing grounded him. His friend’s life was the priority. Aizawa pressed two fingers to Oboro’s neck, confirming a steady pulse, and called for paramedics on his comms. As he waited, his gaze lingered on the alley’s exit, where the teen had vanished.

“Who are you?” Aizawa muttered under his breath, his usual stoicism tinged with curiosity. He wasn’t one for loose ends, and this green-haired ghost was a mystery he couldn’t ignore. Oboro groaned softly, stirring, and Aizawa refocused, pushing the questions aside for now. The paramedics were coming, and Oboro would live. That was what mattered.

But as he helped load his friend onto a stretcher, Aizawa made a silent vow. He’d find that teen again. Whoever he was, whatever his reasons, Aizawa would uncover the truth behind the stranger who’d saved Oboro’s life.

Oboro Shirakumo blinked groggily as he woke in the hospital room, the sterile scent of antiseptic mingling with the faint hum of medical equipment. His body ached, bruises and bandages marking where the collapsed building had nearly claimed him. Across from him, Shota Aizawa slouched in a chair, his bloodshot eyes betraying a sleepless night.

“You’re awake,” Aizawa said, his voice gruff but laced with relief. “Took you long enough.”

Oboro managed a weak grin. “What, you thought I’d sleep through my own rescue? Gotta give me some credit, Shota.” His expression sobered as he shifted, wincing. “You saved my life out there, didn’t you? I owe you one.”

Aizawa’s gaze flickered, his usual scowl deepening. “It wasn’t me.”

Oboro’s brow furrowed, confusion etching his face. “What? Then who…?”

“Some kid,” Aizawa said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Green hair, fast, strong. Pulled you out of the rubble and vanished before I could get a good look at him. Didn’t stick around to explain himself either.”

Oboro stared, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the chaos. He vaguely recalled a flash of movement, a hooded figure, and the sensation of being carried. “Green hair? That’s… weird. I thought it was you. You’re saying some random teen just showed up, saved me, and bailed?”

Aizawa nodded, his eyes narrowing. “He wasn’t random. He moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he’d done it before.”

Oboro let out a low whistle, ignoring the twinge in his ribs. “Sounds like a vigilante. Or maybe a hero from out of town? Either way, I owe that guy my life.” He paused, his usual carefree demeanor giving way to something more earnest. “If I ever get the chance to meet him, I’m thanking him in person. No one risks themselves like that for a stranger without a reason.”

Aizawa grunted, his mind already turning over the mystery. “Yeah, well, I’m not done with him either. Whoever he is, I’ll find him.” His voice carried a quiet determination, the kind that promised he wouldn’t let this go. Oboro’s life had been saved, but the green-haired teen had left a question mark neither of them could ignore.

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya materialized in the shadows of the USJ, the familiar dome of UA’s training facility looming in the strange twilight of this alternate timeline. His temporal device hummed softly, its glow dimmed to avoid detection. The Time Weavers’ instructions echoed in his mind: save Shota Aizawa from severe injuries during the USJ incident, but minimize interference. No attention, no ripples, no altering the timeline beyond the mission. A tall order, especially here.

This world, where Izuku Midoriya never existed, felt both achingly familiar and alien. The Class 1-A he knew was inside, facing the League of Villains, unaware of the brutal fate awaiting their teacher. Izuku’s heart pounded as he slipped through a side entrance, One For All surging through him, its power now laced with a temporal edge that made his movements feel like they cut through reality itself.

The chaos was immediate, villains swarming, Nomu roaring, and Aizawa fighting with relentless precision, his scarf snapping through the air. Izuku’s eyes locked onto his teacher, bloodied but unyielding, facing the monstrous Nomu alone. The sight twisted something in Izuku’s chest. He couldn’t let Aizawa suffer the injuries he’d heard about in his own timeline, the ones that had left scars both physical and mental.

Moving like a phantom, Izuku darted into the fray, Blackwhip lashing out to redirect a villain’s attack away from Aizawa. With a burst of speed, he tackled a thug aiming for Aizawa’s blind spot, knocking them out with a controlled strike. The Nomu lunged, and Izuku activated Float, pulling Aizawa clear of its crushing blow just in time. He set his teacher down behind cover, ignoring the sharp pain of a stray quirk grazing his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” Aizawa growled, his eyes flashing despite the blood dripping down his face. “Stay and explain yourself!”

Izuku didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Every second risked exposure, risked changing too much. He scanned the battlefield, All Might was arriving, the students were holding their own. Aizawa was safe enough now to handle the rest. With a final glance at his teacher’s fierce, questioning gaze, Izuku bolted for the exit, activating the temporal device. The world dissolved into light, leaving Aizawa’s shouted demand—“Wait!”—echoing in the void.

As Izuku vanished, he didn’t see Aizawa’s eyes narrow, committing every detail of the green-haired teen to memory. The mission was done, but the mystery of the stranger lingered, sharper than ever.

Shota Aizawa’s breath was ragged, his body battered from the USJ battle, but his focus was razor-sharp as he stared at the spot where the green-haired teen had vanished. The chaos around him, All Might clashing with the Nomu, his students scrambling to safety, faded into the background. That teen. The same green hair, the same fluid, almost supernatural movements he’d seen years ago when Oboro was saved. It was no coincidence.

Aizawa’s mind churned as he pressed a hand to a gash on his arm, staunching the blood. The teen had appeared out of nowhere, redirecting attacks, pulling him from the Nomu’s grasp with a power that felt both familiar and alien. Black tendrils, impossible speed, and a fleeting glimpse of green lightning, quirks that didn’t add up to anyone Aizawa knew. Yet the teen’s face, half-hidden by that hood, was unchanged from the day Oboro was pulled from the rubble. Not a day older.

“Who are you?” Aizawa muttered, his voice lost in the din of battle. He’d tried to stop the teen, demanded answers, but the kid had ignored him, slipping away like a ghost. If not for his students, still in danger, and the pain screaming through his injuries, Aizawa would’ve chased him down then and there.

As All Might’s final smash sent the Nomu crashing through the roof, Aizawa forced himself to refocus, barking orders to keep his class safe. But the questions gnawed at him. How could someone look exactly the same after years? Why intervene twice, only to vanish? Was this teen a vigilante, a time anomaly, or something else entirely? Aizawa’s instincts, honed by years of underground work, told him this wasn’t random. The green-haired stranger was tied to him, to Oboro, to this timeline.

He filed the details away, green hair, hooded outfit, multiple quirks, selfless precision. Whoever this kid was, Aizawa would find him. He didn’t know how, but he’d track down the ghost who kept saving them, even if it meant unraveling the impossible.

Oboro Shirakumo leaned against the staff room table at UA, his usual easygoing grin replaced by a furrowed brow. Across from him, Shota Aizawa stood with his arms crossed, his expression as grim as ever. The USJ incident was days behind them, but the memory of the green-haired teen lingered like a stubborn shadow. Aizawa had just recounted the encounter, his voice low and precise, detailing every move the stranger made to save him from the Nomu.

“You’re telling me it’s the same kid?” Oboro said, his tone a mix of disbelief and intrigue. “The one who pulled me out of that collapse years ago? And he hasn’t aged a day?”

Aizawa nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Same hair, same build, same way of moving, like he’s always one step ahead of the chaos. He’s not just some vigilante. There’s something… off about him. Like he doesn’t belong here.”

Oboro ran a hand through his blue hair, exhaling sharply. “That’s freaky, Shota. People don’t just stay the same age for years. What is he, some kind of time traveler?” He meant it as a half-joke, but Aizawa’s lack of response made him pause. “Wait, you’re not seriously considering that, are you?”

“I don’t know what I’m considering,” Aizawa admitted, his voice clipped. “But twice now, he’s shown up exactly when we needed him, saved our lives, and vanished without a trace. That’s not normal. And those quirks, speed, strength, black tendrils, it’s like he’s got multiple powers, or something mimicking them.”

Oboro’s eyes lit up with determination. “Okay, so we’ve got a mystery hero with a knack for saving us and no interest in sticking around for a thank-you. I’m in. Let’s find this guy. I owe him for my life, and I want to know why he’s playing guardian angel.”

Aizawa grunted, a rare flicker of agreement in his tired gaze. “We start by digging into any reports of similar quirks or sightings. Check UA’s records, local hero networks, even underground channels. He’s careful, but nobody’s invisible.”

Oboro nodded, his usual cheer tempered by purpose. “If he’s out there, we’ll track him down. Whoever this green-haired kid is, he’s got answers we need.” The two teachers exchanged a look, their resolve unspoken but ironclad. The hunt for the mysterious teen had begun.

Class 1-A buzzed with restless energy in their homeroom, the USJ incident still fresh in their minds. The students huddled in small groups, their voices a mix of awe and suspicion as they dissected the mysterious figure who’d appeared during the chaos. The green-haired teen who’d saved Aizawa-sensei was the talk of the room, a puzzle none of them could resist.

“Who was that guy?” Kirishima asked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “He looked our age, but he was throwing villains around like it was nothing. And those quirks, black whip things, crazy speed? That’s not normal, right?”

Uraraka nodded, her brow furrowed. “He didn’t even talk to anyone, just zoomed in, saved Aizawa-sensei, and poof, gone. I’ve never seen him around UA or anywhere else. It’s like he came out of nowhere.”

“Maybe he’s from another school?” Iida suggested, adjusting his glasses. “A hero trainee from a rival academy, perhaps? Though his lack of communication and abrupt departure are… concerning.”

Bakugo scoffed from his desk, his scowl deeper than usual. “Tch. Doesn’t matter where he’s from. Guy’s got some serious power and no interest in showing off. That’s not how heroes act. He’s hiding something.”

Mina leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Okay, but did you see his hair? Bright green! You don’t just forget a guy like that. We’ve gotta figure out who he is. Maybe he’s a secret pro hero or, like, a vigilante!”

Todoroki, silent until now, spoke quietly. “He didn’t act like a pro. Pros don’t vanish without reporting to anyone. And he looked… young. Too young to be a seasoned hero.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, each student lost in thought. Then Kaminari slammed his hands on his desk, grinning. “Alright, that’s it! We’re investigating this guy. He saved Aizawa-sensei, so we owe him, but I wanna know who he is. Who’s with me?”

Hands shot up, Mina, Kirishima, Uraraka, even Iida, though he insisted it was for “proper documentation.” Bakugo didn’t raise his hand, but his sharp gaze suggested he was already plotting his own approach. Todoroki gave a small nod, his curiosity piqued.

“Operation: Find Green Hair is a go!” Mina declared, pumping her fist. “We’ll check social media, hero forums, even ask around the city. Someone’s gotta know something about this guy.”

As the bell rang and the students filed out, their chatter filled with theories and plans, they didn’t know their teachers, Aizawa and Shirakumo, were already on the same trail. Class 1-A was determined to uncover the identity of the mysterious teen, unaware of the impossible truth behind his existence.

Chapter Text

Shota Aizawa and Oboro Shirakumo sat in a dimly lit corner of UA’s staff room, surrounded by stacks of files, digital tablets, and empty coffee cups. Days had passed since the USJ incident, and their search for the green-haired teen had yielded nothing. Hero network databases, quirk registries, even underground vigilante reports, every avenue they’d scoured turned up empty. No sightings, no quirk matches, no trace of a young man with green hair wielding multiple powers.

“It’s like he’s a ghost,” Oboro muttered, rubbing his temples as he scrolled through another dead-end report on his tablet. “No one with that quirk profile exists. Not in Japan, not anywhere. You sure you didn’t imagine that green hair, Shota?”

Aizawa shot him a withering glare, his bloodshot eyes sharper than ever. “I know what I saw. Twice now. Same kid, same quirks, same vanishing act. He’s real, and he’s out there.”

Oboro leaned back, exhaling a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, but how does someone like that leave no trace? We’ve checked every hero school, every incident report from the past decade, even tapped my old contacts from the streets. Nada. It’s like he doesn’t exist in this world.”

Aizawa’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming on the table. “Maybe he doesn’t.” The words hung heavy, and Oboro raised an eyebrow, catching the weight of the implication. Aizawa continued, voice low. “His quirks, the way he moves, the fact he hasn’t aged since you were saved, it’s not normal. If he’s not in any records, maybe he’s not from here. Not just another city, but… another time, another reality.”

Oboro blinked, then let out a low whistle. “You’re really going all in on the time traveler theory, huh? That’s wild, even for you. But… it’d explain a lot. Still doesn’t tell us how to find him.”

Aizawa stood, pacing the room, his scarf trailing behind him. “We don’t give up. If he’s slipping through timelines, there’s got to be a pattern. He’s shown up twice to save us, specific targets, specific moments. We keep digging, widen the net. Check for unexplained rescues, strange quirk sightings, anything that doesn’t add up, no matter how small.”

Oboro grinned, his usual spark returning despite the exhaustion. “You’re relentless, you know that? Alright, I’m still in. If this kid’s playing guardian angel across time or whatever, we’ll track him down. I owe him a thank-you, and you want answers. We’re not backing off.”

Aizawa nodded, his resolve unshaken. The green-haired teen was a mystery that defied logic, but neither he nor Oboro were the type to back down from a challenge. Frustration only fueled their determination. They’d find him, no matter how impossible the trail seemed.

Class 1-A gathered in their dorm’s common room, the atmosphere thick with frustration. Papers, laptops, and half-eaten snacks cluttered the table, remnants of their late-night investigation into the green-haired teen who’d saved Aizawa at the USJ. Despite their enthusiasm, their search had hit the same wall as their teachers’. Hero forums, social media, even local news archives, nothing mentioned a teen with green hair and multiple quirks.

“This is ridiculous!” Mina groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “We’ve checked every hero school in Japan, Shiketsu, Ketsubutsu, even those tiny regional ones. No one’s heard of a guy like him. It’s like he doesn’t exist!”

Kirishima frowned, scrolling through his phone. “Yeah, I thought for sure he was some hotshot student from another academy, showing off. But there’s no record of anyone with those quirks, black whip things, crazy speed, floating? It’s nuts.”

Iida adjusted his glasses, his voice measured but tinged with irritation. “We’ve cross-referenced quirk registries and public hero sightings. There’s no match, not even close. It’s highly irregular for someone with such powerful abilities to leave no trace.”

Bakugo, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, snorted. “Tch. He’s not just some random kid. Nobody moves like that without training, and nobody hides that well without a reason. He’s covering his tracks.”

Uraraka tapped her chin, her brow furrowed. “Maybe… he’s not from Japan? Like, what if he’s a foreigner? Some overseas hero program we don’t know about? That could explain why we can’t find him.”

Todoroki, sitting quietly, tilted his head. “It’s possible. But even foreign heroes usually register with international agencies if they operate here. And his quirks… they’re too unique. Multiple abilities like that would stand out anywhere.”

Kaminari perked up, snapping his fingers. “Yo, what if he’s, like, a secret agent? Or some kind of undercover hero kid from a classified program? That’d explain why he’s so sneaky!”

The group exchanged glances, the idea sparking a mix of excitement and skepticism. “It’s not the worst theory,” Jiro admitted, twirling an earphone jack. “But we’re still nowhere. No name, no face, no nothing. Just green hair and a ghost story.”

Mina sat up, slamming her hands on the table. “We’re not giving up! This guy saved Aizawa-sensei, and he’s gotta be out there somewhere. Let’s try international hero boards, maybe even ask some pros who work overseas. If he’s a foreigner or some secret hero, we’ll find him!”

The class nodded, their frustration hardening into determination. They didn’t know their teachers were chasing the same elusive shadow, nor did they suspect the green-haired teen might be something far beyond their world, a traveler from a timeline they couldn’t imagine. But Class 1-A wasn’t about to let a mystery slip through their fingers.

Izuku Midoriya materialized in a dark alley in Hosu City, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the distant wail of sirens. His temporal device pulsed faintly, signaling his arrival in another timeline where he didn’t exist. The Time Weavers’ latest mission was clear: neutralize the Hero Killer Stain before he could claim more lives, specifically targeting a young hero named Native. Izuku’s task was to save Native and slip away without disrupting the timeline further.

Clad in his hooded, nondescript gear, Izuku moved silently through the shadows, One For All thrumming with its time-altered intensity. Stain was nearby, his presence a predatory weight in the air. Izuku’s heart raced, not from fear, but from the weight of his secret. Every mission risked exposure, and he’d vowed to keep his time-traveling identity hidden at all costs.

He found Stain cornering Native in a narrow street, the hero slumped and bleeding, Stain’s blade glinting with intent. Izuku sprang into action, Blackwhip lashing out to yank Stain’s sword away mid-swing. With a burst of speed, he tackled Native clear, shoving him toward safety. Stain whirled, his eyes narrowing at the green-haired intruder.

“You again?” Stain hissed, recognizing the hooded figure from whispered rumors among villains. “Another false hero meddling in my work?”

Before Izuku could respond, a shout cut through the night. “Stop right there!” Tenya Iida, in his Ingenium armor, charged into the alley, his engines roaring. Behind him, Todoroki and a few Class 1-A students followed, drawn by the commotion. Izuku’s stomach dropped. He’d been spotted.

“We’ve been investigating you!” Iida declared, his voice sharp with conviction. “You’re the green-haired vigilante from the USJ! Identify yourself!”

Izuku cursed under his breath, dodging a slash from Stain while keeping his hood low. He couldn’t afford this, attention from Class 1-A was the last thing he needed. “I’m a foreign student,” he called out, his voice deliberately accented to throw them off. “On a secret mission. Don’t pry, you’ll only make things worse!”

Todoroki’s ice surged toward Stain, giving Izuku a moment to breathe. “Foreign or not, you’re involved in too many incidents,” Todoroki said coolly. “We want answers.”

Izuku didn’t reply. He couldn’t. The secret of his time-traveling nature was a burden he’d never share, not even with the heroes he admired. With Stain momentarily distracted by Todoroki’s flames, Izuku used Float to lift Native clear of the fight, depositing him in a safe corner. He shot one last glance at Iida, whose determined stare burned into him, then activated his temporal device. The alley dissolved into light, leaving Class 1-A with more questions than ever.

As Izuku vanished, Iida clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. “Foreign student or not,” he muttered, “we’ll find out who you are.”

Class 1-A gathered in their dorm’s common room, the tension palpable as they replayed the encounter with the green-haired teen in Hosu City. The table was littered with notes and snacks, but the usual lively banter was replaced by a heated debate. The teen’s words, claiming to be a foreign student on a secret mission, had confirmed one theory but sparked a dozen new questions.

“He said he’s a foreign student,” Uraraka said, her voice hesitant. “And he told us not to pry. Maybe we should respect that. If he’s on some kind of classified hero mission, sticking our noses in could mess things up.”

Iida nodded, adjusting his glasses with a serious frown. “His actions saved Native and assisted us against the Hero Killer. While his secrecy is concerning, interfering with an authorized mission could have consequences. We should consider dropping the investigation.”

“No way!” Mina shot back, slamming her hands on the table. “This guy’s been at the USJ, now Hosu, saving people and vanishing like some ninja! Foreign student or not, he’s involved in too many big incidents to just ignore. What if he’s not a hero? What if he’s a vigilante or worse?”

Kirishima leaned forward, his expression torn. “I get it, Mina, but he’s saving people, not hurting them. That’s gotta count for something. Still, it’s weird he’s always at the right place, right time. Makes me wonder what kind of ‘secret mission’ he’s on.”

Bakugo, lounging against the wall, snorted. “Doesn’t matter what he says. Nobody that powerful stays off the radar without hiding something big. He’s not just some exchange student, he’s got skills and quirks that don’t add up. We keep digging.”

Todoroki, as calm as ever, spoke up. “His claim about being a foreign student could be a cover. Multiple quirks, no records, and he’s always gone before anyone can question him. That’s not normal, even for a classified mission. We need to know who he’s working for and why.”

Jiro twirled her earphone jack, frowning. “I’m with Uraraka on this one. If he’s legit, we could cause trouble by poking around. But I’ll admit, his quirks are weird. Multiple abilities? That’s rare, like, All For One rare. It’s hard to just let that go.”

The room split, voices rising as they argued. Kaminari and Sero sided with Mina and Bakugo, eager to unravel the mystery, while Asui and Tokoyami leaned toward caution, wary of meddling in something beyond their scope. Midoriya’s absence in this timeline left a void in their dynamic, but their determination mirrored his own stubborn resolve.

Finally, Iida raised a hand, silencing the group. “We’ll take a vote. Those in favor of continuing the investigation, raise your hands.” Mina, Bakugo, Kirishima, Todoroki, Kaminari, and a few others raised theirs. “Those against?” Uraraka, Iida, Asui, Tokoyami, and a handful more followed.

It was a near tie, but the pro-investigation side edged out. Mina pumped her fist. “Alright, Operation: Green Hair continues! We’ll check international hero programs, maybe even ask some pros with global contacts. He can’t hide forever.”

As the class dispersed, their resolve was stronger, but so was their unease. The green-haired teen’s secret mission loomed larger than ever, and Class 1-A was determined to uncover the truth, unaware of the impossible reality, that their target was a time traveler from a world they’d never know.

Chapter Text

Class 1-A reconvened in their dorm’s common room, the air heavy with frustration after days of fruitless research. Their investigation into the green-haired teen had hit another wall, international hero programs, global quirk registries, and even pro hero contacts turned up nothing. The “foreign student on a secret mission” claim was starting to feel like a dead end, and the group was restless.

“We’ve got zilch,” Kaminari groaned, slumping over the table. “No hero schools abroad, no quirk matches, nothing. It’s like this guy’s a myth.”

Mina crossed her arms, pouting. “He’s not a myth! We all saw him in Hosu, and he was at the USJ. We’re just not looking in the right places.”

Todoroki’s calm voice cut through the complaints. “We’ve exhausted our resources. Maybe it’s time we ask someone with more experience. Aizawa-sensei might have insight or access to channels we don’t.”

Iida nodded, his expression resolute. “A logical suggestion. Aizawa-sensei’s underground hero work gives him connections we lack. Let’s present our findings and seek his guidance.”

Bakugo scoffed but didn’t object, and the class agreed to approach their teacher. The next day, they gathered after class, Iida leading the charge as they laid out their case to Aizawa. They described the green-haired teen’s actions at the USJ and Hosu, his multiple quirks, and his claim of being a foreign student on a secret mission.

Aizawa listened in silence, his tired eyes narrowing as the students spoke. Internally, his mind raced. A foreign student on a secret mission? Impossible. He and Oboro had already scoured every database and contact they had, finding no trace of the teen. The fact that this mysterious figure had also saved Oboro years ago, a detail Aizawa kept tightly guarded, made the “foreign student” story ring hollow. This was no ordinary hero, and Aizawa’s instincts screamed that the truth was far stranger.

When Iida finished, Aizawa leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You’ve done your homework,” he said, his voice gruff. “But you’re meddling in something you don’t understand. If this kid’s on an authorized mission, as he claims, prying could interfere with official hero work. You could cause more harm than good.”

“But, Sensei!” Mina protested. “He’s involved in too many incidents, and we can’t find anything about him! Doesn’t that seem suspicious?”

Aizawa’s gaze hardened. “Suspicious or not, it’s not your place to chase shadows. Focus on your training and leave this to the pros. You’re dismissed.”

The class exchanged reluctant glances but filed out, their curiosity unsatisfied. Bakugo lingered, his scowl betraying his distrust, but even he left without pushing further. Alone, Aizawa rubbed his temples, the weight of his own investigation pressing down. He hadn’t told his students about Oboro’s rescue, nor his own suspicions about the teen’s impossible agelessness and quirks. This was a mess he didn’t want Class 1-A tangled in, not when he and Oboro were already chasing a ghost who seemed to exist outside their world.

Izuku Midoriya sat in the sterile glow of the Time Weavers’ hub, a vast, shimmering void where threads of countless timelines pulsed like living veins around him. His head throbbed, not from the temporal jump but from the weight of the Time Weaver’s latest briefing. The hooded figure before him, their face obscured as always, spoke in a calm, resonant tone that did little to ease his growing unease.

“You’ve drawn attention, Izuku,” the Weaver said, their voice echoing softly in the ethereal chamber. “Shota Aizawa and Oboro Shirakumo are investigating you. They’re relentless, and they’re getting closer to suspecting the truth.”

Izuku’s fists clenched, green sparks of One For All flickering briefly around his knuckles. “I tried to stay low-profile,” he said, frustration lacing his voice. “I didn’t expect Class 1-A to show up in Hosu, and I definitely didn’t mean to talk to them. I just… I had to say something to throw them off.”

The Weaver’s hood tilted, a gesture Izuku had come to recognize as understanding, not blame. “We don’t fault you. The nature of your missions makes complete anonymity difficult. But Aizawa and Shirakumo are not easily deterred. Their pursuit risks unraveling the secrecy of your role as a time traveler. You must return to their timeline and create distractions, false leads to divert their attention.”

Izuku rubbed his temples, the headache worsening. “Distractions? Like what? I can’t just show up and make a scene, that’ll only make them more suspicious. And I can’t lie to Aizawa-sensei’s face again. It’s… it’s hard enough seeing them, knowing they don’t know me in this world.”

The Weaver’s voice softened, though their words remained firm. “Your connection to them is precisely why you were chosen for these missions, Izuku. Your heart guides you, but it cannot compromise the greater balance. Plant evidence, forged records, a staged sighting elsewhere, anything to make them believe you’re a terrestrial anomaly, not a temporal one. Your secret must remain absolute.”

Izuku nodded, though his stomach churned. The thought of deceiving Aizawa and Shirakumo, even to protect them, felt wrong. But the Weavers were right, his time-traveling nature was a truth too dangerous to reveal. If Aizawa got too close, it could disrupt not just this timeline, but countless others.

“Alright,” he said, standing, his resolve hardening despite the ache in his head. “I’ll go back. I’ll make sure they chase a shadow, not me.” He adjusted the temporal device on his wrist, its glow steadying his nerves. “But I’m not letting them get hurt. Not on my watch.”

The Weaver inclined their head. “We trust your judgment, Izuku Midoriya. Proceed with caution, and protect the threads of time.”

As Izuku activated the device, the hub dissolved into a cascade of light, pulling him back to the timeline where Aizawa and Shirakumo hunted him. He’d create the distractions they needed, but every step felt heavier, knowing he was hiding the truth from the people he admired most.

Izuku Midoriya stumbled into the Time Weavers’ hub, his body heavy with exhaustion. The glow of the temporal device on his wrist flickered weakly, mirroring the strain in his eyes. Days, weeks? of relentless missions had blurred together, each jump leaving him more drained. He’d been crisscrossing the globe in the timeline where he didn’t exist, appearing in fleeting bursts to save strangers, disrupt minor villain operations, and plant carefully crafted evidence to throw Aizawa and Shirakumo off his trail.

From a collapsing bridge in London to a villain hideout in Seoul, from a runaway quirk incident in Rio to a staged “sighting” in a New York alley, Izuku had been everywhere and nowhere. Each act was deliberate chaos, no pattern, no consistency, just a scattering of heroic deeds and forged clues pointing to a nonexistent vigilante. A fake quirk registration here, a doctored security feed there, all designed to paint him as a rogue hero, not a time traveler.

He slumped against a shimmering pillar in the hub, his hooded cloak tattered from a close call with a fire-based villain in Cairo. One For All still thrummed in his veins, but even its temporal-enhanced power couldn’t stave off the bone-deep fatigue. Every mission felt like a tightrope walk, saving lives while ensuring Aizawa and Shirakumo chased a ghost instead of the truth.

The Time Weaver appeared before him, their form as enigmatic as ever. “You’ve done well, Izuku,” they said, their voice a calm anchor in the swirling void. “Your distractions are working. Aizawa and Shirakumo are pursuing leads across multiple continents, convinced you’re a global vigilante. They remain unaware of your temporal nature.”

Izuku wiped sweat from his brow, his green hair matted under the hood. “Good,” he panted, though the word felt hollow. “But it’s… it’s exhausting. Every time I see their names in the mission logs, I feel like I’m betraying them. They’re looking for me, and I’m just leading them on a wild chase.”

The Weaver’s hood tilted, a hint of empathy in their tone. “Your burden is heavy, but necessary. Their pursuit, if unchecked, could destabilize the timelines you protect. You’re preserving their world by keeping them at bay.”

Izuku nodded, his jaw tight. “I know. I’ll keep going. But it’s hard… seeing them hunt me like this, not knowing why I’m doing it.” He thought of Aizawa’s piercing stare, Shirakumo’s determined grin, faces that belonged to his mentors, his friends, in another life.

“Rest, Izuku,” the Weaver said. “Your next mission will come soon. Continue to obscure your path, and the threads of time will remain secure.”

As the Weaver faded, Izuku leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Exhaustion clawed at him, but his resolve held firm. He’d keep running, keep saving, keep hiding, because even if it broke his heart, he’d protect Aizawa, Shirakumo, and their world, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

In a cramped, dimly lit office at UA, Shota Aizawa and Oboro Shirakumo sat surrounded by a chaos of reports, maps, and glowing tablets. Empty coffee cups littered the desk, evidence of sleepless nights spent chasing leads on the green-haired teen. The air was heavy with frustration, the weight of their fruitless pursuit pressing down on them both.

Oboro tossed a tablet onto the pile, running a hand through his blue hair. “We’re chasing a ghost, Shota!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “Sightings in London, Seoul, Rio, New York, random rescues, villain busts, no rhyme or reason. There’s no pattern, no logic. It’s like he’s everywhere and nowhere at once!”

Aizawa sipped his coffee, the bitter taste grounding him as he stared at a map pinned to the wall, red markers dotting cities across the globe. His eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, betrayed nothing, but his mind churned. The teen’s actions—saving lives, disrupting villain operations, then vanishing—were too deliberate to be random, yet too scattered to pin down. Forged quirk registrations and grainy security footage only deepened the mystery, each lead dissolving into another dead end.

“He’s not a ghost,” Aizawa said, his voice low and steady, cutting through Oboro’s frustration. “He’s real, and he’s clever. Too clever. Every move feels like it’s meant to keep us guessing, to throw us off.”

Oboro leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’re saying he’s playing us? Setting up these sightings to mess with our heads? That’s next-level paranoid, even for you.”

Aizawa’s gaze didn’t waver. “Paranoid or not, he’s covering his tracks better than anyone I’ve ever seen. No one operates on this scale, multiple quirks, global reach, no records, without a purpose. He’s hiding something bigger than a vigilante’s ego.”

Oboro sighed, rubbing his temples. “So what’s the plan? We’ve burned through every contact, every database. The kids are still sniffing around too, even after you told them to back off. If this guy’s as slippery as you think, we might be chasing him forever.”

Aizawa set his cup down, his expression unreadable but resolute. “We don’t back down. Not yet. If he’s trying to distract us, it means he’s scared we’ll find something. We narrow the focus, look for inconsistencies in the reports, anything that doesn’t fit his ‘global vigilante’ act. There’s a crack in his armor somewhere.”

Izuku Midoriya materialized in the Time Weavers’ hub, his body aching from the battle with Muscular and the near-capture by Aizawa’s scarf. The glowing threads of countless timelines pulsed around him, but for once, the Weaver before him had no urgent mission waiting. Their hooded form regarded him calmly, their voice a steady hum in the ethereal void.

“You’ve earned a respite, Izuku,” the Weaver said. “Aizawa and Class 1-A’s attention has shifted. The kidnapping of Katsuki Bakugo has overtaken their pursuit of you. For now, you need not plant distractions.”

Izuku exhaled, relief mingling with guilt as he slumped against a shimmering pillar. The news of Bakugo’s capture hit hard, memories of his own timeline, of racing to save his friend from the League of Villains, flooded back. He wanted to intervene, to ensure Bakugo’s safety, but the Weavers’ rules were ironclad: no actions beyond the assigned mission. Saving Kota had been his task, and meddling further risked unraveling the timeline.

“It’s… good they’re distracted,” Izuku said, his voice heavy. “But Bakugo… I know they’ll save him. They have to.” His green eyes flickered with resolve, though exhaustion weighed on every word.

The Weaver nodded. “Focus on recovery, Izuku. Your next mission will come soon. The threads of this timeline are stable, for now.”

Meanwhile, in the timeline where Izuku didn’t exist, Shota Aizawa stood in a secured briefing room at UA, surrounded by a handful of Pro Heroes, All Might, Midnight, Present Mic, and others. The air was tense, maps and intel reports spread across the table as they strategized Bakugo’s rescue. Aizawa’s usual stoicism masked a burning frustration, not just at the League’s audacity, but at the green-haired teen who’d slipped through his fingers yet again.

“We’ve got a lead on the League’s hideout,” Aizawa said, his voice clipped as he pointed to a map of Kamino Ward. “They’re holding Bakugo here, likely to recruit him or worse. We move fast, hit hard, and get him out.”

All Might’s gaunt face tightened, his eyes blazing with determination. “Young Bakugo is strong, but the League is cunning. We’ll need precision and overwhelming force.”

As the heroes debated entry points and contingencies, Aizawa’s mind drifted momentarily to the green-haired teen. The mystery gnawed at him, those quirks, that vanishing act, but Bakugo’s life was the priority. Class 1-A, too, had shelved their investigation, their worry for their explosive classmate outweighing their curiosity. For now, the hunt for the green-haired ghost was on hold, but Aizawa knew it wasn’t over. Once Bakugo was safe, he’d pick up the trail again.

Oboro managed a tired grin, his determination flickering back. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that? Alright, let’s keep at it. But if we’re hunting a ghost, we’d better be ready for him to slip through our fingers again.”

Aizawa nodded, his eyes fixed on the map. The green-haired teen was out there, and no matter how exhausting the chase, Aizawa wouldn’t stop until he uncovered the truth behind the shadow they were hunting.

Izuku Midoriya was in London, blending into the bustling city under the guise of another distraction mission. The Time Weavers had allowed him a brief “holiday” to maintain his cover as a globe-hopping vigilante, staging minor heroics to keep Aizawa and Shirakumo chasing false leads. He’d just finished redirecting a runaway bus in Camden when his temporal device buzzed, its glow signaling a new mission. The details flashed in his mind: return to the timeline where he didn’t exist, confront Muscular at the Beast’s Forest training camp, and save Kota Izumi, exactly as he had in his own timeline. Nothing more, nothing less.

Izuku materialized in the dense forest, the night air thick with tension. The training camp was under attack, Class 1-A and 1-B scattered, and Muscular’s hulking form loomed over a terrified Kota. Izuku’s heart clenched, memories of his own battle with Muscular surged, but he forced them down. The Weavers’ rules were clear: save Kota, minimize interference, and leave.

With One For All igniting his veins, Izuku launched forward, green lightning crackling. He slammed into Muscular with a Detroit Smash, sending the villain crashing through trees. Kota stumbled back, eyes wide, as Izuku stood protectively in front of him. “Run!” he shouted, voice muffled by his hood. Muscular roared, his muscle fibers swelling, but Izuku was ready. Blackwhip lashed out, binding the villain’s arms, while Float kept him agile, dodging brutal counterattacks.

The fight was a blur of calculated strikes, Izuku channeling every ounce of his experience to overpower Muscular without altering the timeline’s broader events. He landed a final, bone-shattering blow, leaving Muscular unconscious in a crater. Turning to Kota, he ensured the boy was safe, guiding him toward the camp’s edge where heroes would find him.

Just as he activated his temporal device, a familiar scarf whipped through the air, grazing his arm. Aizawa’s voice cut through the chaos: “Stop right there!” Izuku’s heart pounded, his breath catching as he glimpsed Aizawa’s piercing gaze through the trees. The scarf was inches from ensnaring him when the world dissolved into light, the temporal jump pulling him away.

Back in the Weavers’ hub, Izuku collapsed against a pillar, his heart still thumping from the near miss. Aizawa had been so close. The adrenaline of the fight paled compared to the fear of being caught, of his secret unraveling. He clutched the temporal device, its glow steadying his nerves. “Too close,” he whispered, resolve hardening. He’d saved Kota, kept the timeline intact, but Aizawa’s pursuit was tightening like a noose. Izuku couldn’t afford another slip-up.

Shota Aizawa stood in the clearing of the Beast’s Forest, his scarf still taut in his hands, the air heavy with the aftermath of the training camp attack. His heart pounded with frustration, the image of the green-haired teen burned into his mind. He’d been so close, his scarf had grazed the kid’s arm, inches from capturing him—but then, in a flash of unnatural light, the teen vanished, leaving nothing but a faint hum in the air. Aizawa’s jaw clenched, his tired eyes narrowing at the empty space where the stranger had stood.

“Damn it,” he muttered, coiling his scarf back around his neck. The teen had fought Muscular with terrifying precision, saving young Kota Izumi before slipping away like a phantom. Aizawa’s instincts screamed that this was no ordinary vigilante, every encounter with the green-haired kid only deepened the mystery. But there was no time to dwell on it now. The camp was in chaos, villains swarming, and his students were in danger.

He turned, barking orders to the scattered Class 1-A and 1-B students, rallying them to safety while Vlad King and other pros engaged the League of Villains. But as he scanned the group, a cold realization hit him, Bakugo was missing. His sharp eyes caught the telltale signs: scuff marks, a faint trail of smoke, and the distant echo of a portal closing. The League had targeted Bakugo, and they’d taken him.

Aizawa’s frustration boiled over, his fists tightening. He’d been distracted, chasing the green-haired teen when he should’ve been protecting his students. Now Bakugo was gone, kidnapped by the same villains who’d orchestrated this attack. The weight of his failure pressed down, but Aizawa shoved it aside, his mind shifting to cold, calculated focus.

“Vlad, secure the students!” he shouted, already moving toward the trail left by the villains. The green-haired teen was a puzzle he’d have to shelve, for now, rescuing Bakugo was the priority. But even as he coordinated with the pros, Aizawa’s mind lingered on the teen’s vanishing act, the unnatural light, the impossible speed. He couldn’t pursue him now, not with villains to fight and a student to save, but Aizawa swore to himself: the next time he saw that green-haired ghost, he wouldn’t let him slip away.

Izuku Midoriya materialized in the Time Weavers’ hub, his body aching from the battle with Muscular and the near-capture by Aizawa’s scarf. The glowing threads of countless timelines pulsed around him, but for once, the Weaver before him had no urgent mission waiting. Their hooded form regarded him calmly, their voice a steady hum in the ethereal void.

“You’ve earned a respite, Izuku,” the Weaver said. “Aizawa and Class 1-A’s attention has shifted. The kidnapping of Katsuki Bakugo has overtaken their pursuit of you. For now, you need not plant distractions.”

Izuku exhaled, relief mingling with guilt as he slumped against a shimmering pillar. The news of Bakugo’s capture hit hard, memories of his own timeline, of racing to save his friend from the League of Villains, flooded back. He wanted to intervene, to ensure Bakugo’s safety, but the Weavers’ rules were ironclad: no actions beyond the assigned mission. Saving Kota had been his task, and meddling further risked unraveling the timeline.

“It’s… good they’re distracted,” Izuku said, his voice heavy. “But Bakugo… I know they’ll save him. They have to.” His green eyes flickered with resolve, though exhaustion weighed on every word.

The Weaver nodded. “Focus on recovery, Izuku. Your next mission will come soon. The threads of this timeline are stable, for now.”

Meanwhile, in the timeline where Izuku didn’t exist, Shota Aizawa stood in a secured briefing room at UA, surrounded by a handful of Pro Heroes—All Might, Midnight, Present Mic, and others. The air was tense, maps and intel reports spread across the table as they strategized Bakugo’s rescue. Aizawa’s usual stoicism masked a burning frustration, not just at the League’s audacity, but at the green-haired teen who’d slipped through his fingers yet again.

“We’ve got a lead on the League’s hideout,” Aizawa said, his voice clipped as he pointed to a map of Kamino Ward. “They’re holding Bakugo here, likely to recruit him or worse. We move fast, hit hard, and get him out.”

All Might’s gaunt face tightened, his eyes blazing with determination. “Young Bakugo is strong, but the League is cunning. We’ll need precision and overwhelming force.”

As the heroes debated entry points and contingencies, Aizawa’s mind drifted momentarily to the green-haired teen. The mystery gnawed at him, those quirks, that vanishing act, but Bakugo’s life was the priority. Class 1-A, too, had shelved their investigation, their worry for their explosive classmate outweighing their curiosity. For now, the hunt for the green-haired ghost was on hold, but Aizawa knew it wasn’t over. Once Bakugo was safe, he’d pick up the trail again.

Chapter Text

Back at UA, the Class 1-A dorm buzzed with restless energy as Katsuki Bakugo stood in the common room, his usual scowl softened by a rare, grudging respect. Freshly rescued from the League of Villains’ hideout in Kamino Ward, he recounted the chaotic escape to his classmates, their eyes wide with rapt attention. “Some green-haired punk showed up outta nowhere,” Bakugo growled, arms crossed. “Took out the League’s goons like they were nothing, black whips, crazy speed, the works. Got me out before those bastards could do anything. Then he just… vanished.”

Mina’s eyes lit up, her hands slamming onto the table. “Green hair? That’s our guy! The one from the USJ and Hosu! He’s everywhere!”

Uraraka leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “He saved you too? That’s, like, the fourth time he’s popped up. He told us he’s a foreign student on a secret mission, but… it’s so weird there’s no trace of him.”

Iida adjusted his glasses, his voice serious. “His actions are heroic, but his secrecy is concerning. We attempted to investigate, but Aizawa-sensei instructed us to leave it alone. Perhaps we should respect that, given Bakugo’s safe return.”

Bakugo snorted, his eyes narrowing. “Tch. Secret mission, my ass. That guy’s hiding something big. Nobody moves like that and stays off the radar without a reason. I’d be digging into him myself if we didn’t have bigger crap to deal with.”

Kirishima nodded, his expression torn. “Yeah, I wanna know more about this ‘Deku’ guy too, but… the hero license exam’s coming up fast. We can’t afford to get distracted right now.”

Todoroki, quiet until now, spoke up. “He’s too skilled to be just a student, foreign or not. But Kirishima’s right, the exam is the priority. We can’t risk failing because we’re chasing a mystery.”

The class murmured in agreement, their curiosity about the green-haired teen, now known as “Deku”, still burning but overshadowed by the looming pressure of the Provisional Hero License Exam. Mina pouted but relented. “Fine, but after we crush the exam, we’re totally picking this back up. That guy’s too cool to just forget!”

As the group shifted to discussing exam strategies, their focus realigned, the mystery of Deku momentarily shelved. They didn’t know that, miles away, Izuku Midoriya was catching his breath in the Time Weavers’ hub, unaware that his fleeting encounter with Bakugo had reignited Class 1-A’s curiosity. For now, the exam demanded their attention, but the green-haired enigma lingered in their minds, a puzzle waiting to resurface.

Shota Aizawa stood in the empty safehouse, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the reinforced chair where the green-haired teen, Deku, had been bound just hours ago. The capture scarf lay coiled on the floor, its fibers undisturbed, as if the teen had simply phased through it. The quirk-dampening tech in the walls still hummed, but the room was eerily silent, the strange device on Deku’s wrist gone along with him. Aizawa’s frustration boiled over, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles whitened.

Oboro paced behind him, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Three hours, Shota. Three hours. We leave for UA to deal with the post-Kamino mess, and this kid pulls a Houdini? The safehouse was locked down, quirk suppressors, reinforced walls, no windows. It’s impossible for a normal person to just… vanish like that!”

Aizawa’s jaw tightened, his voice a low growl. “He’s not normal. We knew that from the start. That device on his wrist, it’s not just tech. It’s something else, something that let him slip through my Erasure and our security like it was nothing.”

Oboro stopped pacing, running a hand through his blue hair. “You think it’s what’s letting him pop up all over the globe? London, Seoul, now here? Maybe it’s not a quirk at all, maybe it’s some kind of advanced teleportation tech. But even then, how’d he get out of your scarf? It’s like he’s not playing by our rules.”

Aizawa crouched, inspecting the chair and the scarf for any sign of tampering. Nothing. Not a single thread out of place, no burn marks, no residue. “He didn’t break out,” Aizawa muttered. “He didn’t need to. Whatever that device does, it bypassed everything, my quirk, the suppressors, the physical restraints. We underestimated him.”

Oboro’s eyes narrowed, his frustration mirroring Aizawa’s. “So what now? We had him, Shota. We had him, and he’s gone again. We’ve been chasing this kid for months, and every time we get close, he slips away. It’s like he’s mocking us.”

Aizawa stood, his expression unreadable but his resolve unshaken. “He’s not mocking us. He’s running. And people who run that hard are scared of being caught. He’s protecting something, something big. We double down. Check the safehouse logs, analyze any residual energy from that device. If he’s using tech or something beyond quirks, there’s got to be a trace.”

Oboro nodded, though his exhaustion was clear. “Alright, but this is starting to feel like chasing a ghost that doesn’t want to be found. What if he’s… I don’t know, not even from this world?”

Aizawa’s gaze hardened, the thought lingering from their earlier discussions. “If he’s not, we’ll find out. He’s not getting away forever.” The safehouse’s failure stung, but Aizawa’s frustration only fueled his determination. The green-haired teen, Deku, was out there, and Aizawa would tear through every lead to catch him again.

Izuku Midoriya slumped against a shimmering pillar in the Time Weavers’ hub, his body still trembling from the adrenaline of his narrow escape. The sterile glow of the temporal chamber felt like a cold comfort, the pulsing threads of countless timelines weaving around him a stark reminder of the weight he carried. His head throbbed, not just from the blow that had knocked him out in Kamino Ward, but from the sheer terror of being trapped, bound by Aizawa’s scarf, his temporal device suppressed, and his secret teetering on the edge of exposure. If Aizawa and Oboro hadn’t been called away to UA, he might still be in that safehouse, facing questions he couldn’t answer.

He ran a shaky hand through his green hair, exhaling a ragged breath. “I need a vacation,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the empty void. The thought of Aizawa’s weary, bloodshot eyes from his own timeline flashed in his mind. He’d always admired his teacher’s relentless drive, but now, after months of dodging Aizawa’s pursuit across timelines, Izuku understood that exhaustion on a bone-deep level. “No wonder Sensei always looks so tired,” he said softly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I bet I look worse than him right now.”

The memory of the safehouse lingered like a shadow. If Aizawa and Oboro hadn’t had work to attend to, if they’d stayed just a little longer, Izuku might not have escaped. The thought sent a chill through him. His temporal device had only reactivated once Aizawa’s Erasure was out of range, and even then, it had taken every ounce of his focus to trigger the jump. He glanced at the device now, its faint glow reassuring but fragile. It was his lifeline, but Aizawa had proven it wasn’t infallible.

A Time Weaver materialized before him, their hooded form as enigmatic as ever. “You are shaken, Izuku Midoriya,” they said, their voice calm but piercing. “Your escape was fortunate, but Aizawa and Shirakumo’s pursuit grows more dangerous. You must recover, for your next mission awaits.”

Izuku’s shoulders sagged, exhaustion outweighing his usual resolve. “Can I… have a moment? Just a little time to rest? I almost got caught, and I’m…” He trailed off, unwilling to admit how rattled he was. The Weavers didn’t operate on sentiment, but he hoped they’d see the toll this was taking.

The Weaver’s hood tilted, as if assessing him. “Rest is permitted. Your actions have preserved the timeline, but your condition must be optimal for what lies ahead. Take this time, but know the threads of time wait for no one.”

Izuku nodded, sinking to the floor, his back against the pillar. He closed his eyes, letting the hum of the hub soothe his frayed nerves. He understood Aizawa’s weariness now—chasing or being chased, it wore you down to the core. But even as he craved a break, Izuku knew he couldn’t stop. Not with Aizawa and Oboro still hunting him, and not with the Weavers’ missions binding him to countless lives across countless worlds. For now, he’d rest, but the shadow of the safehouse, and the relentless gaze of his former teacher, would follow him into the next jump.

The next month passed with an uneasy calm in the timeline where Izuku Midoriya didn’t exist. At UA, Class 1-A threw themselves into preparing for the Provisional Hero License Exam, their focus razor-sharp after the chaos of Kamino Ward and Bakugo’s rescue. The common room, once a hub of speculation about the green-haired “Deku,” now buzzed with late-night study sessions, quirk training plans, and debates over exam strategies. Mina occasionally brought up the mysterious teen, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, but Kirishima or Iida would steer the conversation back to the exam. Even Bakugo, still grudgingly grateful for his rescue, kept his thoughts on Deku to himself, channeling his energy into perfecting his explosions. The class’s obsession with the green-haired enigma had faded, at least for now, under the weight of their looming test.

Meanwhile, Izuku, recovering in the Time Weavers’ hub, found himself with lighter missions, brief, scattered interventions designed to maintain his cover as a globe-hopping vigilante. The Weavers, wary of Aizawa and Shirakumo’s relentless pursuit, instructed him to keep his appearances random, unpredictable, and fleeting. To Aizawa and Oboro, it felt like Deku was mocking them. A report of a green-haired teen saving a family from a collapsing building in Sydney. A blurry security feed of him thwarting a bank heist in Cape Town. A whispered rumor of a hooded figure stopping a quirk-fueled riot in Mumbai. Each incident was heroic, precise, and gone before anyone could pin him down.

In UA’s staff room, Aizawa and Oboro pored over these reports, their frustration simmering. Aizawa’s coffee had gone cold, his bloodshot eyes scanning a tablet filled with fragmented leads. “Sydney, Cape Town, Mumbai,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. “No pattern, no trace, just… taunting us. He’s doing this on purpose.”

Oboro leaned back, rubbing his temples, his usual grin long gone. “It’s like he’s laughing at us, Shota. We had him in that safehouse, and now he’s out there, playing hero all over the world like nothing happened. How’s he moving so fast? That device of his—it’s gotta be more than tech.”

Aizawa’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming on the desk. “It’s not just the device. He’s too deliberate. Every move keeps us chasing shadows, keeps us from getting close. He’s scared we’ll figure out what he’s hiding.” He didn’t voice the suspicion that had been growing since the safehouse escape, that Deku might not be bound by their world’s rules, that he could be slipping through time itself.

Oboro sighed, tossing a report onto the pile. “We’re not giving up, right? Even if he’s making us look like idiots.”

Aizawa’s gaze hardened. “Never. He slipped through once. He won’t again. We keep tracking, keep analyzing. Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake.”

As Class 1-A honed their skills for the exam, unaware of their teachers’ quiet obsession, Izuku continued his fleeting heroics, each act a calculated distraction. In the Weavers’ hub, he felt the strain of these taunts, knowing they kept Aizawa and Oboro at bay but deepened their resolve. The peaceful month was a fragile illusion, and Izuku braced for the moment when the chase would ignite again.