Chapter Text
The USJ grounds were sealed off by nightfall.
Rescue teams combed the wreckage, medics carried out the injured, and U.A.’s teachers moved like quiet sentinels through the dust.
What had started as a routine rescue exercise now lay behind yellow tape and floodlights.
Izuku sat on the back of an ambulance, mask off, arms resting loosely on his knees. His suit was torn, his gloves scorched from friction burns. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving only the dull ache of exhaustion and bruises.
He could still hear it—the echo of Shigaraki’s ranting voice, the sound of Nomu’s fists colliding with concrete, the thunder of All Might’s final punch.
A blanket settled over his shoulders.
He turned slightly to find Recovery Girl, her expression softer than usual. “You look like you’ve been through a war, young man.”
Izuku gave her a tired grin. “Feels like it.”
She smiled faintly. “You pushed your body past its limit again, didn’t you?”
“Not as much as before,” he said. “I—I kept the flow under control this time. Fifteen percent, full body.”
Her eyes twinkled despite the frown. “You’re learning, at least.” She tapped his shoulder gently with her cane. “Rest. The heroes can handle things from here.”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
As she walked away, the air filled with fragments of hushed conversations.
“Eraser Head’s stable, but he’ll need surgery.”
“They said All Might handled the creature alone.”
“Who was that student in the red suit? The one fighting beside him?”
Izuku tried not to listen, but the words clung to him. He wasn’t sure if he should feel proud or terrified.
A soft voice broke his thoughts.
“Midoriya.”
Tsuyu stood nearby, her uniform sleeves rolled up, faint scratches on her arms. Her eyes reflected the floodlight’s glow as she looked at him.
“Hey,” he said, smiling gently. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Mostly. Mineta’s still unconscious from fear, but he’ll live, ribbit.”
That earned a weak laugh from him. “Good. I was worried.”
There was a pause—a rare, quiet pocket amid the chaos. Then Tsuyu spoke again, her voice unusually soft.
“When you saved me earlier… you moved so fast, I didn’t even see you coming. You could have been killed.”
Izuku’s gaze dropped to his gloved hands. “If I hadn’t moved, you would’ve been. I didn’t think—I just acted.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re reckless.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“But…” She stepped closer, lowering her tone. “That’s what makes you a hero, isn’t it? You never think about yourself first.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The floodlights hummed above, and the distant chatter of teachers filled the air.
Izuku finally smiled, scratching the back of his neck. “I just… don’t want to lose anyone. Not after today.”
Tsuyu’s throat tightened. She looked at him—really looked at him. The tired but warm eyes, the faint curve of his smile despite the pain. Something fluttered in her chest again, confusing but undeniable.
“Then promise me,” she said quietly. “Next time, don’t go alone.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Promise.”
Her eyes softened. “Good. You’re not All Might, you know.”
He laughed softly. “Technically, that's who we're trying to become.”
That earned her first real laugh of the night—a quiet, melodic sound that made him grin wider.
A few yards away, Aizawa lay on a stretcher, eyes half-open despite the painkillers.
“Still awake?” Present Mic murmured, pulling up a chair beside him.
Aizawa’s voice was barely audible. “Had to make sure the kids are fine.”
Mic smiled faintly. “They’re tougher than we thought. Especially your problem child.”
“Midoriya,” Aizawa rasped. “He’s… something else. Moved like he knew what the Nomu was going to do before it did it.”
“Guess you got yourself a little spider in your web, huh?” Mic joked.
Aizawa huffed weakly. “He’s reckless. Like All Might. But his heart’s… right.” His voice grew softer. “We’ll need to protect them. The villains won’t stop.”
Mic’s grin faded. “Yeah. I know.”
Meanwhile, in another corner of the site, All Might stood half in shadow, leaning against a pillar. His body had already shrunk back to its frail form. Sweat dripped down his temples as he watched paramedics tend to his students.
He smiled weakly when his eyes landed on Izuku—sitting cross-legged, Tsuyu beside him, the two talking quietly under the floodlights.
“You did good, my boy,” he whispered to himself. “Better than I could’ve hoped.”
His chest tightened painfully, the familiar burn of his injuries reminding him that his time was running thin. But seeing Izuku—seeing that light in him—made the ache easier to bear.
He’s ready.
By midnight, the site had cleared. The students were loaded into buses under tight security. The ride back was quiet—no chatter, no teasing. Only tired faces and the low hum of the engine.
Izuku sat by the window again, staring at the reflection of the city lights.
Across from him, Tsuyu dozed lightly, her head tilted against the seat. Her breathing was slow and even, a rare sign of peace after chaos.
Izuku smiled faintly, adjusting the blanket that had slipped off her shoulder.
When she stirred slightly, he whispered, “Sleep well, Asui.”
Her lips moved in response, barely audible. “Tsuyu. Call me Tsuyu.”
He blinked, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Okay. Tsuyu.”
Outside, the city shimmered in the dark, unaware of how close its heroes—both old and new—had come to losing everything.
Inside the bus, two future heroes sat shoulder to shoulder, the chaos of the day fading slowly into memory.
And for the first time since the USJ, Izuku let himself breathe.
The next morning, Japan awoke to fear.
“Villains Invade U.A.”
“Symbol of Peace Targeted?”
“Are Students Safe Anywhere?”
Every channel ran the footage: the broken dome, the ruins of the USJ, heroes escorting battered students through the wreckage. The headlines blared across breakfast tables and smartphones alike, their words cutting deep.
At his apartment, Izuku woke to the faint hum of the city and the ache of sore muscles. He wasn’t in a hospital room — Recovery Girl had deemed him “miraculously intact,” despite the fight that should’ve torn him apart. Spider physiology and the careful control of One For All had left only dull stiffness, no real wounds.
Still, the memories hit harder than any bruise. Aizawa’s broken body. Shigaraki’s cracked grin. The Nomu’s roar echoing in his ears.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands.
I fought a monster built to kill All Might… and lived.
Pride and guilt tangled inside him until neither feeling made sense.
A soft click startled him — his phone lighting up with dozens of messages.
Uraraka: “Are you okay, Deku???”
Iida: “Report your condition at once, Midoriya. Please confirm safety.”
Tsuyu: “Morning, Izuku. Just making sure you’re really fine, ribbit.”
He smiled at the last one.
“I’m fine. Just tired. Thanks, everyone.”
At U.A., Recovery Girl sat alone in her infirmary, reviewing the night’s files. So many injured. But one name stood out. Midoriya Izuku — mild fatigue.
She exhaled softly. “That boy’s body heals faster than it should. Must be the spider in him.” Then, quieter: “Still reckless… but he saved lives.”
By midmorning, the teachers gathered in the U.A. staff room.
The room’s usual calm was replaced by heavy silence.
Aizawa sat wrapped in bandages, his hair tied back, face half-shadowed. Beside him, All Might — now in his frail form — leaned against the wall. Across from them, Principal Nezu, Recovery Girl, Snipe, and a few others took their seats.
Nezu clasped his paws together. “I won’t waste words. This was not a coincidence. They targeted us — and specifically, All Might.”
The teachers shifted uneasily.
All Might straightened slightly, his voice subdued. “The villains’ leader said as much. They created that… creature… to counter me. Its Quirks were designed for absorption and regeneration. It was meant to kill me.”
Gasps rippled through the room.
Aizawa’s voice was rough but steady. “Then this won’t be the last time. They’ll come again. This was just a test run.”
Nezu nodded grimly. “Then we prepare accordingly. We’ll upgrade security, double patrols, and integrate hero presence into the campus. The public must see we are not broken.”
He stood atop the table, his voice calm but sharp. “And we’ll remind Japan why U.A. stands above the rest.”
Recovery Girl frowned. “How do you intend to do that?”
Nezu smiled slightly. “By letting our students shine. The Sports Festival will proceed as scheduled — not just as an event, but as a declaration: U.A. remains unshaken.”
All Might’s tired eyes flickered with faint pride. “Then the next generation will stand tall.”