Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
Prologue
(...)
The interrogation room was small, windowless, dimly lit by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling. The faint hum of the fluorescent bulb was the only sound accompanying Izuku Midoriya. Seated with his wrists cuffed to a polished steel table, he had no company but his thoughts. The air reeked of metal, dried sweat, and something else—something he recognized all too well: guilt.
Beyond the door, the murmur of footsteps, hushed voices, and the rustling of papers kept him tethered to reality. He knew he was being watched. The same officers who had arrested him were behind the one-way mirror, observing, waiting for him to break.
But Izuku was already broken.
His fingers trembled slightly on the metallic surface, though not from the cold. His anxiety clenched his chest like an invisible vice. There was no escape. No comfort. His mind returned again and again to the same moment, like a blade reopening an old wound.
The blood.
He could still see it on his hands, even after washing them at the hospital. He felt it under his nails, in the creases of his palms, as if his skin had absorbed it. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was useless. There it was again—the smug smile of that man before he fell, the satisfied look in his eyes in those final seconds.
“She enjoyed it, didn’t she?” he had said.
And Izuku… Izuku didn’t know if it had been out of rage, fear, or an inhuman need for justice. But he did it.
He killed him.
The door remained closed. No one came in. They left him there, trapped with his memories, his shame, all of it weighing heavier than the handcuffs around his wrists. The air grew thicker, as if the entire room had sealed itself off to suffocate him with his emotions.
A drop of sweat rolled down his temple. He didn’t notice.
Guilt left no room for the rest of the world.
Every time he managed to recall why he had committed that sin, he arrived at the same answer: rage. A silent, blond, merciless fury—directed at himself, at others, at the system that had betrayed him.
And with it, like an inevitable tide, came sadness. Because in the end, there had been a victim. Someone who shouldn’t have paid the price for his incompetence, his weakness, his failure to protect her.
The clearest memory he kept wasn’t of the act itself, nor the blood, nor the screams of the witnesses who saw him do it. It was the image of himself, sitting on the edge of a bed, gripping the fragile fingers of a girl with tubes running into her, her face nearly unrecognizable beneath the bandages. Her brown hair still bore traces of dried blood. And even so, he held her hand as if his touch could breathe life back into her—as if his mere presence could alter the course of events.
Now, his beloved lay in a hospital bed at Musufatu Regional, trapped in a sleep from which she might never awaken.
And all he had left was regret. A weight that didn’t lessen with the passing days at her side, but grew with every heartbeat. Like a second heart, pulsing guilt.
The monitor beside her beeped slowly, rhythmically. The air was thick with disinfectant, sadness, and defeat. No one told him to leave. But he understood when footsteps approached, a rhythm that didn’t belong to nurses.
Three officers. In uniform. Silent. Avoiding eye contact. One of them brought out the handcuffs. The other two carried the report. No shouting. There was no need. Everything had already been said.
Izuku only managed to glance one last time at the girl he loved before they took him away, knowing that the only comfort he had left was that he had avenged her. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. He had run out of tears long before.
Several days passed in solitary confinement at a state prison before they called him back to the interrogation room, without offering any explanation.
He was a murderer now, and Izuku knew it all too well. He had crossed the line, and there was no turning back. All that remained was to await the sentence that loomed over him for having exacted his vengeance, even at the cost of losing everything.
However, what happened next was a twist of fate he never could have imagined.
It all began with a dry click—the sound of the steel door unlocking. But it didn’t open immediately.
Izuku raised his head, feeling the pulse in his neck intensify. The footsteps that followed weren’t hurried. They were deliberate, measured. Three pairs, maybe four. One of them lighter, almost inaudible.
And when the door finally swung fully open, he saw the impossible: Principal Nezu stepping over the threshold, flanked by men in dark suits—the same ones he had seen prowling the hallway when he was escorted there.
Nezu didn’t speak at first. He walked with the composure of someone intimately familiar with the ground he tread. His small, round eyes glimmered under the dim light. He stopped at the table, between the creaking of leather from his bodyguards and the ever-present buzz of the fluorescent bulb.
“Good afternoon, Izuku,” he said politely, almost warmly, as if visiting a student in his office and not a condemned boy in a prison cell.
Izuku didn’t reply. He just stared. The cuffs dug into his wrists, a constant reminder of what he had done.
“I read your companion’s medical report,” Nezu continued after a brief pause. “She’s alive. If you can call that living. Your mother, by the way, is alive as well. Though she’s barely sleeping while trying to scrape together funds. Do you know how much a competent attorney costs for a case like this?”
Izuku swallowed. One of his fingers twitched.
“In case you were wondering, the Academy continues its usual activities. Your classmates keep asking about you… Well, there are rumors. Some struggle to believe it. Others don’t. Some understand. Others don’t want to. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Nezu took a seat in the chair one of the men subtly pushed toward the table. He leaned forward, maintaining his courteous tone.
“The prosecution wants to charge you with third-degree murder. Maybe they’ll succeed. Maybe not. But the truth is”—he said, with a slight curl of his lips that wasn’t quite a smile—“justice rarely has room to understand noble motives when blood has been spilled.”
Then he looked down, raised his gaze again, and met Izuku’s eyes with chilling clarity.
“You’re a murderer, Izuku. And no one will blame you for what you did. Not after what that bastard did to that poor girl. But unfortunately, in our justice system, you’re still a murderer.”
The silence that followed weighed heavier than any sentence.
“What you’ve done can’t be undone,” Nezu finally said, his voice lower now. “But there’s a way to make sure it doesn’t destroy what you still have left. You won’t be a hero in the public eye. There’ll be no applause, no costumes, no magazine covers. But you’ll be on the right side of this eternal war between heroes and villains.”
Izuku barely managed to lift his gaze. It was like being dragged toward a cliff from which he had already jumped.
“What… are you proposing?”
Nezu nodded, pleased to have broken his silence.
“A transfer. To a special class. Off the public record. We call it Class S. They're essentially faceless agents, trained to carry out missions no one can know about, but for which many will be thankful—without ever realizing why. You'll be taught how to disappear, how to hunt in the dark, how to make decisions the heroes on magazine covers wouldn’t dare make without soiling their capes.”
Izuku swallowed.
“A secret class? Of killers?”
“Of soldiers,” Nezu corrected. “Of shadows. Of those who clean the filth without expecting medals. You belong there. Not because you’re a monster, but because the world needs someone who has crossed the line—and still chooses not to be lost to it.”
One of the men in suits placed a manila envelope on the table.
“That’s the contract. It’s your only way out—without dragging your mother down with you… and without remaining just another boy shackled to a hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up.”
Izuku didn’t touch the envelope. He just stared at it.
“And if I refuse?”
Nezu rose from his chair, his voice never rising.
“Then the story ends here. You and your mother will bear a tragic fate that will drag you both down. You’ll be a martyr without an altar! Just another sad headline on the evening news. It’s your choice, Midoriya-san.”
Silence returned, sharp as a blade.
Izuku closed his eyes. Her bandaged face surfaced in his mind. And with a slow, almost imperceptible tremor, he reached for the envelope.
“I’ll sign.”
Nezu nodded, without satisfaction—only with a quiet resignation.
“Then, Izuku Midoriya… welcome to the dark side of heroism.”
And the room once again fell silent.
To be continued...
Chapter Text
Chapter [1]
(…)
Principal Nezu’s office was bathed in a golden semi-darkness when the clock struck 6:00 AM. At that hour, U.A. Academy was just beginning to stir: the hallways were empty, the classrooms still locked, and a soft breeze drifted through the nameless gardens, barely rustling the maple leaves outside the eastern windows. In the heart of the main building, a roar echoed.
The crash was brutal. A high-backed chair, its leather worn from years of use, flew across the room and slammed against the north wall, shattering part of the built-in oak bookshelf. The books rained down like casualties of an undeclared war.
The double doors burst open a second later.
All Might, despite his deteriorated condition, stormed out like a force of nature. His long coat billowed behind him, his breathing labored, barely under control. He ignored the security staff stationed outside—ignoring their tense stances, their alarmed expressions. One of them tried to follow him with his gaze, but the oldest among them simply shook his head. There was no need to say anything: the confrontation had already reached its climax.
Behind him, the office doors clicked shut. The lock engaged. Silence fell. Only the soft sigh of a tiny creature rose amid the wreckage.
Nezu, principal of U.A., slowly sank into the only chair that had remained intact. The cup of tea on his desk was still steaming, trembling from the residual echo. He lifted a gloved paw to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment.
Most likely, he thought, the professional friendship he had shared with Toshinori Yagi for over a decade had just come to an end.
Not out of hatred. Not out of betrayal. But for something subtler, crueler: a merciful lie.
"He’ll be fine," he had told All Might before he left. “I promise.”
They both knew it was a lie. Because even Nezu wasn’t sure if Izuku Midoriya would make it out whole from the abyss they had thrown him into.
"And still, he chose to jump..." Nezu concluded, filled with regret.
With a swift motion, he pressed a button beneath the desk. The blinds closed automatically, and on the opposite wall, a section of the bookshelf retracted inward, revealing a hidden conference room—modest in size, but equipped with cutting-edge technology.
Three holograms flickered to life, projecting figures seated in high-backed chairs. Their faces were barely illuminated, as though the shadows were part of the protocol.
“Councilors,” Nezu said, his voice calm, sharp as a scalpel.
“Nezu,” replied one of them, a tall silhouette clad in a gray overcoat. “We received the final report on the new program and decided to begin this meeting. The incident with Mr. Toshinori… did it go as expected?”
“More emotional than predicted,” the principal replied. “But he left under his own power.”
“And containment?” asked another, her voice cold and poised like an opera singer’s.
“Activated. The office is sealed. No official recordings. Everything falls under Protocol S-0.”
The third figure tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed. He was the youngest among them, but the most incisive.
“Then we move forward with the Class 1-S Pilot Program?”
“Of course,” Nezu confirmed. “Midoriya’s file is already in progress. The new school year begins today. No one will know he’s in the new facility. No one that matters, at least.”
A brief silence followed. Then, the three holograms spoke almost in unison:
“We are concerned.”
Nezu didn’t flinch. He picked up his tea cup, took a sip, and responded in a calm tone:
“Concerned about the new program... or about the students?”
“Both,” growled the youngest councilor. “You sold this to us as a strategy to contain high-risk juvenile crime—not to form a legion of controlled killers.”
“I chose those students myself,” Nezu replied, voice dry. “Because I still believe they can be useful to society.”
“But they’re criminals!” the woman exclaimed, cutting him off. “Not all… but most! Several of them have records that would make any mobster pale. Some are still wanted by INTERPOL. Others have committed murder and confirmed high-impact crimes. And you recruited them for an elite classroom?”
“Do you honestly believe,” Nezu snapped, his voice barely rising, “that the world still runs on clean rules?”
A tense silence followed. Then Nezu continued.
“Criminal organizations are thriving. All Might’s retirement has left a void. Crime rates are rising in America, Eastern Europe, South Asia… Display heroes are not enough.”
“But Izuku Midoriya…” the third councilor said quietly.
The name hung in the air like a threat.
“Yes,” Nezu said.
“That boy was the reason All Might stormed in this morning,” the man continued. “Toshinori still hoped to save him from the fate we imposed on him—and I can’t blame him. Because of all this, I asked myself: why choose Midoriya? Of all the students in Class 1-S, he was the only one without a criminal record... until that incident in Tokyo.”
Nezu slowly set his cup on its saucer.
“Let’s just say what I saw in him—aside from the crime he committed—was something more… something special. Something that can only be understood after a full school year. And no, I’m not talking about his Quirk.”
A reverent pause followed Nezu’s statement. The holograms flickered. A sense of doubt crept into the air.
“You’ll see,” Nezu added. “Everyone will see it, in the peace this will bring. Class 1-S will not be a cage full of monsters. It will be our greatest wager against the threats the public doesn’t need to know about. I hope you understand.”
In the end, no one said a word, silently acknowledging the meeting had concluded positively. After giving their final approval, the holograms vanished one by one. Only the soft hum of the ceiling fan remained, and the slow creak of U.A.'s foundations, as if the academy itself were holding its breath.
Nezu stayed in silence. Then, he stood and walked to the hidden window. As he opened the blinds, he saw the shy light of dawn spreading over the gardens. In the distance, students were beginning to arrive. Some were laughing. Others, yawning.
None of them knew that, at that very moment, in a large section of land near the Academy’s forest, Class S was about to awaken.
Today marked the beginning of Izuku Midoriya’s new life.
(...)
(...)
Months Earlier
The station clock read 7:42 a.m.
As it did every morning, the westbound train arrived with its usual metallic clamor—a rush of damp wind and that fleeting moment of stillness in which the world seemed to drift in puffs of steam. On platform 4, the scent of wet earth clung between the poorly varnished planks and the distant whistle of a rusted boiler. It had rained overnight, and the sky allowed only a sliver of light through—a pearly gray, like memories that refuse to fade.
Izuku Midoriya stood there out of routine—more accurately, out of obligation. A night internship on the southern coast had left his body numb and his mind on edge, but protocol demanded an immediate report, and his supervisor, the veteran hero Gran Torino, had insisted he take the 7:30 train.
He was holding a thick folder stamped with Confidential seals when he felt it.
First, the red umbrella.
It stood out against the dull backdrop like an open wound in the sky. She walked with light steps, almost as if floating—untouched by the lingering drops that still slid from the station’s rusted roofs. The umbrella belonged to a girl who, for some reason, seemed completely out of place in that scene—like someone plucked from a vivid postcard sent from a warmer world.
She had light brown hair, straight and long, tied into a side braid that draped over her right shoulder. Two metal clips held back a rebellious fringe, and her large golden eyes regarded her surroundings with the calm curiosity of someone who still believed the world could offer pleasant surprises.
She wore a ruffled pink dress with bare shoulders and a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with a black ribbon. A simple beaded bracelet hung from her wrist. She walked with an expression that bordered on joy—as if, despite the overcast sky, it was a sunny day in her eyes.
Izuku couldn’t help but stop.
And then the folder slipped from his hands.
Official documents—combat summaries, urban impact charts, even a diagram pinpointing the exact location where a suspect had been neutralized—scattered across the wet concrete.
She moved first. Without a word, she knelt beside him, catching a couple of sheets before the wind could drag them under the benches.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice warm and soft, like a wool scarf in winter.
Izuku blinked. The, he nodded awkwardly.
“Yeah. Just… uh, got distracted. Thanks,” he added, taking the pages she handed to him with a smile.
“Izuku Midoriya?” she read aloud from one of the sheets before passing it back. “Are you a U.A. student?”
“Yes. Well, I’m currently doing an internship, so technically I’m not a student for a few weeks,” he replied, unsure why he phrased it that way.
She gave him a mildly puzzled look but didn’t press further. Instead, she pointed at the station clock with a playful grin.
“Supposed to catch that train?”
“Yeah, I should...”
But he didn’t move.
“And you?” he asked suddenly. The question escaped without thought.
She tilted her head, thoughtful.
“I just came to say goodbye to someone. I wasn’t planning to board any trains… though I wouldn’t mind changing plans if the company’s interesting.”
Something in Izuku’s chest loosened.
As if that sentence had pierced the shell of discipline and guilt he’d worn since the trial.
“Would you like to...?” he began, then hesitated. “Get something to eat for dinner?”
She laughed—a sincere, musical laugh.
“It’s seven in the morning.”
“Breakfast....” he corrected, not thinking much.
“Depends... are there food stalls nearby?”
Izuku nodded. Without hesitation, he walked with her toward the station’s pedestrian bridge. They descended a creaky staircase and reached a corner where a small stand sold onigiri and instant noodles.
They sat on a rusted metal bench beneath a yellow canvas awning. She chose spicy ramen; he picked sweet curry. As they ate, the conversation flowed with ease.
“So, you really were from U.A.?” she asked, slurping noodles. “Is it true you need top-tier Quirks to get in? Like, you have to be part of the elite?”
“Not exactly... There are a lot of students with powers that don’t seem special at first glance,” he said, shrugging. “Honestly, I think the admissions process needs to change. There are people out there with real potential to be heroes—people who could fight villains—even if their abilities haven’t awakened yet... or if they have talents no one expects.”
“What kind of talents?”
“I don’t know... For example, I have this habit of analyzing every hero I see and writing my observations in a notebook.”
“Like a spy?”
“Like a nerd,” he admitted, smiling for the first time in days.
She laughed.
And Izuku, seeing her laugh, couldn’t help but watch her as the steam from their food rose between them. The rain had turned into a light mist. The red umbrella, resting by her leg, was the only barrier between them and the world.
“What’s your name?” Izuku asked, curious.
“My name is Asuna Yuuki,” she replied kindly.
It was then that he realized he had made a mistake.
Because, for the first time in his life... he wanted to be late to fulfill his responsibilities
And he did it.
That day became one of the happiest of his life. He had met the girl who would soon become his girlfriend. His very first girlfriend. From that moment on, everything seemed just a little bit sweeter. Although the pressure of being All Might’s successor didn’t disappear, he finally had someone waiting for him after class—
Someone who, for the first time, made him feel like just an ordinary boy.
(...)
Shortly after recalling that experience, he decided to retreat to his room for a few minutes to clear his mind. Not long after, as his thoughts dissolved into a thick haze, the door creaked slightly. A faint, polite sound—yet enough to pull him out of that silent pit where nothing existed but the echo of memories.
Izuku slowly turned his head. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.
She was already there.
The girl’s figure stood framed in the doorway like a ghost that didn’t belong in that moment—and yet, was the only one who had any right to be there. She wore an oversized hoodie, her short, fluffy, rebellious hair a shade of pink just darker than her skin. Beneath her eyes, faint shadows lingered—not from exhaustion, but from restraint.
She said nothing at first either. She closed the door gently behind her, as if unwilling to disturb the weight of the air in the room. She walked toward him, her steps barely stirring the dust that floated with each motion.
Izuku glanced toward the open box at his feet, where the stuffed toy lay among crumpled papers and a half-empty notebook. Then he stood up, slowly, as if his body resisted more than his will. He tried to offer a neutral smile. He didn’t quite succeed.
“You’re early, Mina-san” Izuku murmured, almost casually.
“Liar,” she replied—not harshly. “You knew I’d come. I was the only one who didn’t need an invitation.”
There was a pause. He nodded. She let her gaze drift across the empty room, over the peeled walls and remnants of a half-packed life.
“The others didn’t come,” Mina said in a neutral tone. “Not because they didn’t want to. But because you asked them not to. Because you knew that if someone cried, someone else would yell—and this would turn into a protest. Another one against Nezu.”
Izuku sighed, almost in a whisper. The silence returned—thick, but not uncomfortable.
She sat down on the sheetless bed, folded her legs like she used to when they were kids, and looked at him with that familiar expression: a mix of patience, affection, and a hint of resignation.
“And yet, here you are,” he said at last.
“I’ve always been here.”
That phrase—simple, undramatic—struck deeper than any speech.
Izuku allowed himself a broken smile and sat beside her.
“Remember when we snuck out to see the Hosu fireworks?” he asked after a while.
She let out a soft laugh.
“Yeah. And you passed out when one exploded too close.”
“I was a baby, I know.”
“And you still insisted on shielding me with your body. We both ended up with singed pants and your knees all scraped.”
“You couldn’t stop laughing,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought you were going to pee yourself.”
This time, she laughed for real. It sounded like a charm against sorrow. And for a moment, the room felt warmer.
“Do you remember that boy who shoved us at the autumn festival?” she asked, still smiling. “You threw your onigiri in his face.”
“Because you’d spent an hour choosing that onigiri!”
“That brat was 8 years old, Izuku. ¡Eight!.”
“And he had a horrible attitude,” he replied with a shrug.
Their laughter faded like a fire left to die out. The girl looked down. A tear slid down her cheek without warning, without tremor. It simply fell.
He saw it. Said nothing.
She leaned into him effortlessly, without a second thought, as if gravity had drawn them together. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, as if her body were the only thing keeping his from falling apart.
Izuku didn’t move. He closed his eyes, feeling her heartbeat against his chest. His own arms reacted slowly, uncertainly, but eventually returned the gesture.
“I don’t want you to leave like this,” she whispered.
“I won’t go far,” he said, without conviction. “It’s just… another part of U.A.”
“You know that’s not true.”
Izuku didn’t answer. He just stayed there, holding on to the warmth of the only person who had known him before the symbol, before the trial, before the blood.
The only one who knew who he truly was.
When they pulled apart, she gently touched his face with her fingertips, wiping away a tear he didn’t remember shedding.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything. I’ll keep it.”
“Come back whole. I don’t want you to change for anything in the world.”
Izuku swallowed hard, fully aware of the kind of life that awaited them. He nodded.
“I’ll try.”
She stood up. Walked to the door slowly. Paused at the threshold, and without turning around, said:
“The Class C has no idea how lucky they are.”
To be continued...
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed it. Don’t forget to leave a comment and let me know what you think.
What are your thoughts on Mina being Izuku’s childhood friend? Let’s say they’ve known each other since they were two—practically their whole lives.
Chapter Text
Chapter [2]
(...)
There was no turning back. The last box landed hollowly against the edge of the metallic truck bed, and with that final sound, Izuku Midoriya knew he had just buried his previous life. He closed the institutional van’s hatch with a metallic creak that felt more like sealing a tombstone. The sky was beginning to lighten—gray, heavy—as if even dawn itself was reluctant to arrive.
Izuku climbed into the passenger seat, silent and unwilling. And there he was. That same rugged face, the scar slicing across his cheek like a broken smile, and that gray hair that didn’t seem to age—just harden. Mad Dog Kishibe. The grizzled agent he had met not long ago, right after the trial, when he was acquitted and taken to the Commission to discuss his future as the newest member of Class S.
“You took a damn century,” Kishibe muttered without looking at him, as if his voice were part of the ignition. “Your first class starts in less than an hour, and I’m not giving you an extreme sports tour to make it on time.”
Izuku leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes for a second.
“Whatever. Just start the engine and take me to hell.”
Kishibe scoffed with a hollow, sarcastic laugh, starting the engine with one hand while holding a rusted thermos with the other.
“Kids these days... wasting time when a cute girl cries to say goodbye. I guess that pink-haired brat didn’t know you were off to school-registered prison today.”
Izuku opened his eyes and glanced at him sideways. Mina. He was talking about Mina. Had he seen her? Spied on her? He didn’t ask. There was no point. He just turned his gaze back to the road.
The rear gate of U.A. closed behind them like the jaws of a predator. They drove past the cameras, beyond the visible limits of the campus. Three government vehicles emerged ahead, joining the convoy—dark and silent as hungry crows.
“A full escort,” Izuku said, voice flat. “I suppose you don’t want your ‘new investment’ running away.”
“We don’t want surprises on your first day. Especially if your Quirk involves speed,” Kishibe replied. “You’re a valuable asset… on paper.”
They traveled in silence for ten minutes. Only the engine’s hum and the dull thump of tires broke the quiet. Then Kishibe spoke, eyes still fixed on the road.
“I’ve been assigned as the lead supervisor for the project. I’ll be your babysitter, Midoriya. The liaison between Nezu, the Commission… and all the ‘charming classmates’ you’ll meet.”
Izuku crossed his arms.
“The Commission needs a babysitter for a bunch of teens who no longer own their freedom? We’re under surveillance, exiled from normal life. Even the teachers are people from the underworld who used to work for you. And they still need you?”
Kishibe let out a dry chuckle, rasped by the cigarette he lit without asking.
“I’m here to watch Nezu, not you. To make sure the rat honors the deal. This whole initiative... could be genius, or a teenage catastrophe more powerful than anything hero society has ever seen.”
He exhaled a slow stream of smoke.
“When the first covert op comes... I’ll be your damn babysitter. Because everything depends on one thing: not screwing it up too badly.”
He said nothing more. None was needed. Silence stretched until the pavement gave way to gravel, and the convoy rolled to a stop.
They had arrived.
Ahead lay a rural dirt path hidden among trees and farmland. An unmarked fork in the road, absent from any map, eerie enough to send a chill down Izuku’s spine.
Kishibe stepped out first. He looked back at the boy from outside the vehicle and said bluntly:
“Get out. I’m serious.”
Izuku frowned but obeyed. A damp breeze swept through the nearby crops. He stood face to face with the agent. In one swift, almost aggressive motion, Kishibe yanked out his earpiece and crushed it under his boot.
“All units,” he said loudly, “go blind for five minutes. I’m calling in one of the many favors you owe me.”
Within seconds, the convoy’s windows polarized. No one could see them now.
Kishibe locked eyes with him. And, surprisingly, he didn’t look like a soldier. He looked tired.
“What I’m about to do, I did with all your future classmates. I brought each of those bastards here and offered them the same thing: a final way out. I’m still shocked that every single one said no. Now we’ll see if the last recruit—meaning you—will accept or reject what I’m about to offer.”
Izuku swallowed hard and crossed his arms.
“Tell me what you have to say! And make it quick—I’m going to be late on my first day.”
Kishibe sighed, his expression hardening.
“Before you enter that path, you’ll cross a barrier. An invisible dome. It blocks communications and inhibits signals. Only Nezu and his people can monitor inside. But before you cross it, I’m under orders to implant this.”
He pulled out a metal capsule. Inside was a black syringe that resembled a weapon more than a medical device. The first rays of dawn reflected coldly off its surface.
“It’s a tracker chip. State-of-the-art tech from Yaoyorozu Industries. It’ll record your every move, your meals, your dreams… even your shits. Virtually all your vitals. But that’s not all.”
From his coat, he retrieved a cylindrical detonator. A small touchscreen displayed changing numbers. A button waited silently on its side. Izuku couldn't help but assume the numbers matched their roster positions.
“If any of you rebel against the government, the Commission, or the world... this activates a very special poison.”
His tone never shifted. But the weight of his words struck like iron.
“It was developed in a Commission lab. Designed to destroy your immune system in seconds. Turns out every human has a genetic weak point. We identified yours.”
He raised the device slightly.
“When the chip is triggered and injects the poison, it’ll target that weak spot. The result will be fatal. In exactly four minutes… nothing can save you.”
Kishibe paused. Then smiled—coldly.
“With one click… goodbye.”
The air grew heavier. Izuku’s lips tightened.
“Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
Kishibe stared straight at him.
“Because I wanted you to know the truth before officially starting this life. Just like your classmates, I’m giving you a chance to run. If you flee now, I’ll play dumb. We stage a fight. You escape.”
He paused again.
“Sure, the government will put a bounty on your head. But you’d have a few years of peace. Maybe a family. A child. At least someone to cry at your funeral.”
Izuku stared at him in silence. There was no mockery in Kishibe’s face. Just that damned scar—always smiling, even when he couldn’t.
His mind raced with echoes. The trial. The blood. The hospital bed where his girlfriend had lain. His mother crying before the cameras.
And then… the memory of signing that contract. That damned deal Nezu offered, cloaked in salvation but reeking of hell.
There was only one conclusion.
“I already signed a deal with the devil,” Izuku said quietly. “The day I killed that son of the bitch, I stopped being innocent. And there’s a part of me that can’t help but believe…”
He drew a breath. Then said something he never imagined he would:
“I don’t regret what I did. I probably never will. I did what I had to do. And if that damned my soul to hell… so be it.”
Izuku bowed—clean and solemn. The traditional Japanese way.
“Thanks for offering me a way out. But I’ve made my choice. I chose this road. I chose to walk into hell.”
Kishibe laughed—this time, without mockery.
“Kids these days... diving into hell more willingly than we ever did. But I respect that. You’ve got balls, kid.”
Without another word, he stepped forward and readied the implantation kit. Izuku didn’t resist, offering his left arm.
“Hold still.”
The injection was deep, but clean. A sharp pain, brief and precise. The chip activated beneath his skin, blinking a cold shade of blue.
Kishibe handed him a medical patch to speed up the healing.
“You’re ours now, Midoriya. From this moment on, your ass belongs to the Commission… and to U.A. So behave. Don’t make me press this button.”
Izuku turned, the sting of the chip still pulsing beneath his skin. Kishibe was already walking away.
“Where are you going?” Izuku called out.
The agent paused for a moment, raising a hand as he climbed into one of the cars.
“You know how to drive, right? Think of it as your first test of independence. Good luck, kid.”
And just like that, he was gone. The entire convoy vanished with him.
Izuku was alone—facing the nameless road, the invisible dome, the gilded cage. He let out a quiet sigh, walked over to the vehicle loaded with his belongings, and, for the first time in his life, drove straight into hell.
(...)
The entire drive, Izuku remained silent, hands gripping the steering wheel with determination. The chip beneath his skin still pulsed with a persistent discomfort—a constant reminder that he was no longer free. On either side of the road, the trees began to close in, and the gravel under the tires loosened with every turn. There were no signs, no lights, no indication that they were approaching an “educational facility.” Just open fields, damp earth, and a sky torn between rain and clearing up.
After about ten minutes, the underbrush started to retreat, almost as if some invisible force was keeping it at bay. Then he saw it. His foot hit the brake instinctively.
In front of him stood a smooth, concrete wall reinforced with armor. Dark gray, lined with rivets the size of his fists and discreet towers camouflaged within the surrounding foliage. It wasn’t just a wall—it was a boundary. A warning. It didn’t look like a school; it looked like a maximum-security prison.
Only one entrance was visible. A black gate, adorned with a metallic "S" symbol in the center—polished and gleaming. And that “S,” at least to Izuku, didn’t feel like a welcome. It felt like a warning label. He knew exactly what they were being trained for.
Izuku swallowed hard, pushing down his anxiety. No one was visibly present, but he was certain they were being watched. That’s when he spotted it: an intercom mounted on a reinforced metal pole, encased in a secured box. A narrow slit served as the microphone. One button. Just one.
He pressed it.
A short buzz.
Click.
“Identify yourself.”
The voice was female—professional, firm, calm. Controlled.
Oddly enough, she sounded like someone who might offer you tea… or execute you with the same polite efficiency.
“Izuku Midoriya. New member of Class S. I’m here for the first time and bringing my belongings. I’m driving an official U.A. vehicle.”
There was no verbal response. Just another, longer buzz—then the low hiss of hydraulics engaging. The gate began to open.
He gripped the wheel tighter. Drove forward.
And then he saw it.
He looked around with a mix of expectation and caution, but nothing he had imagined came close to what now stood before him. This wasn’t a student dorm—not even by U.A.’s elite standards. It wasn’t a military base either.
It was a goddamn mansion.
No… it was a fucking palace.
Imposing. That was the word. The façade was symmetrical and luminous, with pale marble columns, high ceilings crowned by black domes, balconies adorned with wrought-iron filigree, and gardens so perfectly aligned they looked sculpted by a Greek goddess. The main building connected to other large structures on both the east and west sides, each sharing the same architectural elegance.
“I have to explore this place,” Izuku muttered to himself, without thinking.
There were also vast recreational areas—multiple bleachers seemingly designed for both sports and combat training. Ornamental fountains, classical statues, and flowerbeds arranged with meticulous care filled the rest of the sprawling estate. Even the birds flying overhead seemed trained not to disrupt the decor.
He stopped the car, his heart pounding in his throat.
Was this a trap? A mistake? Had he driven to the wrong address? Was this some twisted prank from Kishibe? Or had he died and arrived in the millionaire version of hell?
Was he really going to live here?
In the distance, near the main entrance, stood a figure. And then he saw her.
She wore a tailored black maid uniform with a long, form-fitting skirt, a refined corset, dark stockings, and a crisp white headpiece that contrasted sharply with her jet-black hair. Her posture was perfect—flawless, as if protocol were second nature. Her hair was tied back with surgical precision, her skin smooth and porcelain-pale, and her eyes reflected calculation rather than warmth. But what truly caught his attention… were her proportions. She was stunning.
And Izuku… nearly reverted to the stammering mess he’d been before ever having a girlfriend.
He parked awkwardly and jumped out quickly, trying to salvage whatever dignity Kishibe hadn’t already trampled on.
“Welcome, Mr. Midoriya,” she said with a flawless bow. “I am Yuri, head maid of the Class S facility. I’m responsible for domestic administration and attending to the needs of all resident members… including yours.”
Izuku swallowed hard. Blinked. His brain struggled to reconnect with language.
“N-nice to meet you… thank you…”
“Please, don’t waste time,” she interrupted, offering a faint smile—one that felt more polite than warm. “Allow me to assist you with your luggage.”
She stepped forward without waiting for permission. When she lifted Izuku’s heaviest box with one hand as if it were made of cardboard, he knew immediately—she had a powerful Quirk. The way her muscles moved, the precision of every gesture—it was more refined than anything he’d seen from a pro-hero.
“What kind of Quirk do you have?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
“Enhanced strength. Muscular modification. Nothing impressive,” she replied without turning, as if carefully avoiding any hint of arrogance.
Then, still without glancing back, she added:
“First period starts in a few minutes. I suggest you hurry. The classroom is in the east wing of the building. If you get lost… the cameras will let me know.”
Izuku didn’t wait for another word. He ran.
Yuri was already walking toward the mansion with his things, calm and composed, while he bolted like the devil himself was chasing him.
He sprinted across the perfectly maintained stone gardens, passing fountains, statues, and plants that probably cost more than his entire childhood home. Near one of the paths, a small group of adult women—elegant, beautiful, some dressed in formal attire that suggested they were instructors—sat around a garden table sipping tea. One of them, lounging lazily on a tree branch, had long bicolor hair: dark blue with streaks of pink. She was reading a novel with a bright pink cover and seemed to be the only one not engaged in conversation. Her eyes briefly met his, and she smiled—mocking, amused.
“Poor boy. He has no idea what’s coming.”
Izuku ran faster.
By the time he reached the classroom in the east wing, he was panting, drenched in sweat, and his heart was hammering in his chest. He burst through the door without thinking.
“I’m sorry I’m late—!”
And then he froze.
His pupils dilated as if he had stepped through the wrong door and into a Milan fashion show by mistake. Nearly twenty girls turned to look at him from their desks. All of them beautiful. No—beyond beautiful. Staggeringly so. Their uniforms hugged their bodies in all the right places, their eyes sharp, some of them posed with effortless elegance. They looked like they had walked straight out of an idol magazine or the feed of some influencer with millions of followers.
And no. That wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part… was that there wasn’t a single other boy.
Not one.
His face turned crimson.
“Is… is this a classroom… or a damn romantic comedy harem straight out of a light novel?” he muttered under his breath.
His stupid comment earned a few laughs from some of the girls—those who had actually been paying attention to his arrival. Eventually, the horror, the sweat, the panic—it all caught up to him. This wasn’t what he was promised when he spoke to Nezu.
“Damn you, Nezu!” he shouted at the ceiling like a Greek hero cursed by the gods.
And that’s how Izuku Midoriya’s first day in Class S began.
To be continued.....
Notes:
Sorry for the delay with the update, hehe. I just wanted to mention that I’ve been wanting to include Yuri from Overlord in a Boku no Hero fanfic for a while now, and luckily, I already have a few ideas for her. I’d like her to be a character who supports the residents of Class S and, of course, I also want her to be part of the harem. I’ve more or less figured out how her relationship with Izuku could develop and how they might fall in love.
Finally, I apologize in advance for the grammatical errors. What do you think of the episode? I hope you enjoyed it.
UnderLava on Chapter 1 Sat 07 Jun 2025 11:53AM UTC
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Tykronos on Chapter 1 Sat 07 Jun 2025 04:10PM UTC
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Nickbuckhart32 on Chapter 1 Sat 07 Jun 2025 04:31PM UTC
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Tykronos on Chapter 1 Sat 07 Jun 2025 04:33PM UTC
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Nickbuckhart32 on Chapter 1 Sat 07 Jun 2025 04:56PM UTC
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Matthias_Infinitus on Chapter 1 Thu 12 Jun 2025 06:12AM UTC
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Nickbuckhart32 on Chapter 1 Fri 13 Jun 2025 06:57PM UTC
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Wolfx88 (Guest) on Chapter 2 Wed 11 Jun 2025 05:00PM UTC
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DragonBlaze10 on Chapter 2 Sat 14 Jun 2025 03:59AM UTC
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omnimon11 on Chapter 2 Thu 19 Jun 2025 01:42PM UTC
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Nickbuckhart32 on Chapter 2 Fri 20 Jun 2025 08:24AM UTC
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DragonBlaze10 on Chapter 3 Thu 10 Jul 2025 03:19AM UTC
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Matthias_Infinitus on Chapter 3 Fri 18 Jul 2025 02:59PM UTC
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