Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

Izuku Midoriya has been living with the Bakugo family since he was just 5 years ago after his mother tragically died during an attack in the city from some villains. His father died after he was born, so the Bakugo family took him as his family was close with the Bakugo’s. The story starts just before his class at UA goes to the USJ after dealing with the paparazzi breaking in. Izuku does not possess one for all and doesn’t know about AllMight’s secret but instead he manifested his own quirk which is just a general strength quirk. With it he can give himself extra strength in the required limbs (ex. In the arms when he does a punch, in the legs for a jump boost, etc.). He does not have One for All nor knows about AllMight’s secret.

Chapter 1

Aizawa stood at the front of the classroom, wrapped snugly in his infamous yellow sleeping bag, his unkempt black hair partially covering his face. His voice, flat and tired, cut through the chatter as he lazily unzipped the cocoon he had been dozing in.

"Alright, class, settle down. Today, we are going on a trip to an off-site facility for rescue training," he announced, stretching his arms as though waking from hibernation.

The students of Class 1-A instantly erupted with excitement, their enthusiasm filling the room like a sudden gust of wind. Voices overlapped as they speculated about what kind of training awaited them, their energy making the walls of the classroom feel almost too small to contain them.

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples as though already regretting bringing it up. His bloodshot eyes scanned the room before he continued.

"As we will be doing some training, grab your costumes if you wish to wear them. I suggest you do, as you aren’t used to them yet, and now would be a good time to try them out.”

The reaction was immediate. Chairs scraped against the floor as students shot up, a few even letting out cheers. Their eagerness was contagious, spreading through the class like wildfire.

Midoriya, however, sat still for a moment, taking it all in. His heart pounded against his ribs.

Rescue training.

Ever since he was a child, he had dreamed of becoming a hero. But it wasn’t just a dream—it was a promise to himself. A duty.

His fingers curled slightly against the desk as a memory stirred at the back of his mind.

He still remembered that day as though it had just happened.

The marketplace had been bustling, the scent of fresh produce mixing with the chatter of merchants calling out their prices. His mother’s warm hand was wrapped around his own, leading him through the crowd. She had been talking to him, smiling, but he couldn’t remember the words.

Then—

A crash.

A deafening sound that split the air like a thunderclap.

Screams followed.

People scattered, knocking over stands in their panic. Ahead of them, a villain burst onto the scene, muscles rippling beneath unnatural, mutation-type features. Behind him, a pro hero pursued, their cape billowing as they leaped onto a nearby building.

Midoriya had been frozen in place, staring as the villain moved with inhuman agility, leaping between structures with reckless abandon. He hadn't noticed his mother’s grip slipping—hadn't noticed when she let go.

It wasn’t until the villain landed with a forceful impact, sending shockwaves through the fragile buildings, that the world seemed to slow.

Bricks tumbled.

Wood cracked.

Dust filled the air like a dense fog, choking out the sunlight.

He reached out instinctively, expecting to find her hand again.

But it wasn’t there.

Confusion turned to dread as he looked down.

His mother was beneath the rubble, pinned by debris. Her face, usually so full of warmth, was contorted in pain.

"Mom?" His voice had barely been a whisper.

His legs gave out beneath him, and suddenly, he was on the ground, hands scraping against rough brick as he tried—desperately—to pull the chunks of collapsed structure away from her.

It was too heavy.

His fingers bled.

His Quirk had always been about strength. It was supposed to make him stronger.

So why—

Why wasn’t he strong enough?

The memory blurred after that. He didn’t recall the pro heroes who had arrived too late. Didn’t remember being pulled away, his screams lost in the chaos.

The only thing that had stayed with him, as clear as day, was the feeling of her hand slipping away for the last time.

A weight settled deep in his chest, but he shook it off.

That was why he was here.

That was why he was going to be a hero.

For her.

For the people who still needed saving.

The Bakugo family had been his rock after that. Without them, he wasn’t sure what kind of person he would have become. They had taken him in, supported him, made sure he never felt alone. Kacchan had been there too, in his own way—whether it was sparring with him to keep his mind occupied, or staying up with him on the nights he couldn’t sleep.

He had never said it out loud, but Midoriya was grateful.

Now, the sound of students changing into their costumes snapped him back to the present.

His own costume, however, was still being repaired from their last training exercise. He winced, glancing down at his gym uniform. He had taken a direct hit from Kacchan’s explosion gauntlets during their combat practice, and well—his costume hadn’t exactly survived.

When he stepped outside, he immediately spotted Kacchan standing near the others.

The golden glow of the afternoon sun reflected off the sleek black and orange of his costume, emphasizing the bold, aggressive design. His grenade-like gauntlets gleamed under the light, packed with raw explosive power. It was intimidating—powerful.

And, as much as Midoriya hated to admit it, really cool.

Kacchan turned when he spotted him, his smirk already forming.

“There you are, Deku! They still haven’t finished fixing your costume? Wonder what happened to it.”

Midoriya shot him a glare. Kacchan knew what had happened. He had caused it.

Kacchan only grinned wider, winking in response.

Midoriya huffed, resisting the urge to shove him—but before he could, the low rumble of an approaching engine made them both turn. 

The bus pulled up in front of them, its doors creaking open.

The time had finally come.

Rescue training.

Midoriya took a deep breath.

He wasn’t going to let himself be weak anymore.

Chapter Text

Midoriya is too excited to sit still. He can’t believe he’s finally taking real steps toward his dream of becoming a pro hero. He’s on the bus now with his classmates, all of whom are chattering excitedly about the rescue training ahead.

Their teacher, Aizawa, keeps shooting them glares, his sharp, tired eyes barely visible beneath his messy black hair. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, but that’s nothing new. Despite his exhaustion, there’s an unmistakable edge to him—he’s always alert, always watching. The students’ excitement only seems to wear on his patience.

They’re on their way to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint , or USJ, a massive dome-like structure designed to simulate various natural disasters. Through the bus windows, the cityscape gradually gives way to open land, and in the distance, the gleaming structure comes into view. The building looks futuristic—like something out of a sci-fi film. Its enormous, circular glass dome reflects the bright afternoon sky, and the bold letters USJ are emblazoned across the front in striking gold.

“Whoa, guys, look!” Kirishima, the red-haired student, exclaims, his face pressed against the glass.

Everyone rushes to the windows. As they get closer, the full scale of the facility becomes even more impressive. The dome stretches high into the sky, and through the transparent glass, glimpses of artificial landscapes—mountain ranges, a stormy shipwreck zone, and even a crumbling cityscape—can be seen inside.

Midoriya’s excitement surges all over again. He glances at Kacchan, his green eyes wide with anticipation. Kacchan smirks and nudges him with his elbow as he strides off the bus ahead of him.

The air outside is crisp, with a faint scent of damp pavement from a recent rainfall. The soft rustling of trees nearby contrasts with the sleek, futuristic atmosphere of the USJ facility. The metallic sheen of the building reflects the students' vibrant hero costumes as they step onto the platform.

Standing at the entrance is the pro hero Thirteen. She’s dressed in a space suit-style costume, her body completely covered, with a large, round helmet concealing her face. The fabric of her suit looks smooth but durable, and the distinct black-and-white color scheme makes her stand out.

Oh my god, that’s Thirteen! Midoriya thinks. She looks even more amazing in person!

He can hardly contain himself. He had expected the training to be led by All Might and Aizawa, which was already incredible—but now Thirteen was involved, too? This just kept getting better!

But then a thought crosses his mind. Wait… where’s All Might?

As the class steps off the bus, Aizawa moves to stand beside Thirteen. The two of them exchange hushed words, their expressions unreadable. Midoriya picks up fragments of their conversation—Thirteen asks where All Might is, and Aizawa responds flatly that something came up, so he had to stay behind.

A pang of disappointment flickers in Midoriya’s chest. All Might’s not here? But the feeling quickly fades—this is still a huge opportunity, and he won’t waste it.

Thirteen steps forward, addressing the class in a calm yet authoritative voice. “Welcome, students! This is the USJ.” She gestures toward the massive arena behind her. “This facility is designed to help you practice rescue operations in various disaster scenarios.”

Midoriya’s eyes dart across the landscapes inside. He sees a flooded zone with a capsized ship rocking against artificial waves, an earthquake-stricken city filled with toppled buildings, a landslide area with loose rock piles, and even a wildfire simulation, where controlled flames flicker against metal barriers. It’s like an entirely different world inside the dome.

Thirteen continues, her voice steady. “Now, it’s important that you all listen carefully. No matter how strong you are, your own powers can be dangerous if used recklessly. That’s why it’s crucial that you learn to control them properly. As heroes, our duty is to rescue others and ensure their safety, so we must train diligently to make that happen. Now, shall we get started?”

The class nods eagerly, their energy buzzing in the air. Midoriya takes a deep breath, trying to absorb everything at once.

Thirteen is so cool, he thinks.

As soon as they step inside, everyone falls silent. The sheer scale of the USJ takes their breath away. It looked massive from the outside, but from the inside, it feels even bigger. The high ceiling stretches into the distance, lined with artificial clouds that subtly shift, mimicking the real sky. The sound of rushing water echoes from the flood zone, and the scent of burning wood wafts in from the wildfire area. Every detail has been carefully crafted to feel as real as possible.

“Wow, this place is amazing!” Kaminari, the blond with the electric Quirk, exclaims.

As the students finish entering, they gather near the entrance, waiting while their teachers stand before them, backs turned to the arena. Aizawa is about to speak—

When suddenly, a strange purple mist begins swirling in the center of the facility.

A chill runs down Midoriya’s spine. Is that an effect they added for our training?

But then something feels… off .

The mist thickens unnaturally, curling like ink spreading through water. It moves with intent, not like a simple fog machine effect.

The teachers notice it, too. Mr. Aizawa and Thirteen’s posture stiffens.

Then, a figure steps out of the mist.

A tall, slender man emerges, dressed in dark clothing. His shaggy gray hair falls over his face, and hands are attached all over his body. The eerie sight sends a jolt of unease through the students.

More figures begin stepping out of the mist, slowly filling the empty space in the arena.

“Stay together and don’t move! Thirteen, protect the students!” Aizawa commands, his voice razor-sharp.

“Wait, has the training started already? I thought we were supposed to be rescuing people,” Kirishima asks, confused.

The students inch forward, trying to get a better look at what’s happening below.

“Stay back! This is real! Those are real villains! ” Aizawa warns as he unravels his capturing weapon.

Everyone freezes.

What? This is real?

Villains? Here?

But we’re just students—why are they here?

Midoriya can’t move. His legs feel locked in place. His hands tremble.

Why am I scared?

He hears shifting behind him—Kacchan. He can feel his presence, watching him, checking on him.

And then, a memory.

His mother.

The helplessness.

The overwhelming powerlessness when he couldn’t save her.

No.

Not again.

Not now.

Not when he’s stronger.

Midoriya forces himself to nod at Kacchan, signaling that he’s okay. He won’t let fear take over.

“So you scumbags used the press as a cover to sneak onto campus,” Aizawa mutters, his voice dripping with realization.

More villains continue pouring into the arena, but nothing sends chills down Midoriya’s spine like the last figure that emerges from the portal.

It isn’t human.

Standing nearly twice the height of a normal person, the creature has a monstrous beak-like mouth filled with jagged teeth. Its brain is exposed .

Gasps ripple through the class.

They had seen villains on television before, but nothing compared to what was standing before them now.

As the horde of villains moves toward the students, the monstrous beast remains still—standing directly behind the gray-haired villain.

Midoriya has a sinking feeling.

That guy… he must be the one in charge of this invasion.

Chapter Text

“Why aren’t the alarms going off?” Yaoyorozu asked, her voice tense as she turned to Thirteen.

The rescue hero, clad in a sleek black and white suit with a helmet-like mask, shook their head. “I’m not sure,” Thirteen responded, their voice unusually grave.

Todoroki, a boy with strikingly split-colored hair—white on the right and crimson red on the left—spoke up, his cold, calculating tone cutting through the tension. “Is the entire campus under attack, or is this their only target?” His eyes narrowed as he analyzed the situation. “Either way, if the alarm sensors aren’t detecting them, then one of these villains must have a Quirk that masks their presence. They carefully chose this isolated facility as an entry point at a time when a class was being taught. Fools for trespassing here… but they thought this out. Whatever their plan, they must have a concrete objective in mind.” His brows furrowed. “But what is it?”

The class exchanged uneasy glances. The weight of the situation settled in—their field trip had just turned into a battlefield.

Aizawa, their homeroom teacher, stepped forward, his usual tired expression replaced with something grim and focused. “Thirteen, get them out of here and alert the main campus.” He paused, scanning the gathering group of villains below. “Actually… if they’ve got the ability to block our sensors, then they might be jamming our regular communications too.” His sharp eyes landed on a blond-haired boy in the crowd. “Kaminari, try using your Quirk to contact the school.”

Kaminari, still processing the situation, snapped to attention. “Y-Yes, sir!”

As Aizawa lifted his hands to adjust his signature yellow goggles, realization hit Midoriya like a truck.

Wait… He’s not going to fight them alone, is he?

“What are you gonna do?!” Midoriya shouted, panic rising in his voice. “You can’t fight them on your own! There’s too many of them! Even if you can nullify their Quirks, your fighting style isn’t suited for this—you work best in stealth and one-on-one fights! There’s too many of them!”

Aizawa turned slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the fabric of his scarf. “You can’t be a pro if you only have one trick.” Without another word, he leaped off the platform, diving straight into the swarm of villains below.

Thirteen immediately motioned for the class to follow. “Hurry! We need to get to the entrance!”

The students stayed close to the pro hero, moving as one anxious mass. Every fiber of Midoriya’s being screamed at him. He couldn’t just leave. His teacher was fighting alone against impossible odds—he needed help. His fists clenched, his breath coming out unevenly as he turned to run back—

A firm grip clamped down on his wrist.

Kacchan?

Midoriya’s wide green eyes met sharp crimson ones. Katsuki Bakugo, his childhood friend and rival, wasn’t shouting, wasn’t smirking—just giving him a look.

Don’t.

It wasn’t often that Kacchan held him back from a fight, but this time, Midoriya understood. If he ran in now, he wouldn’t be saving Aizawa—he’d just be another body needing rescue.

Regret churned in his stomach, but he nodded. He turned and followed the group.

Just as they neared the entrance, a thick, eerie mist materialized before them. The same ominous purple haze from earlier billowed out, blocking their path.

A figure emerged from the fog—a distorted humanoid with yellow, pupil-less eyes glowing like lanterns. His dark, swirling form flickered, like a living shadow given shape.

“There is no escape for you,” the figure spoke, his voice smooth yet sinister. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. We are the League of Villains.”

The class froze.

“I know it’s impolite,” the villain continued with eerie politeness, “but we decided to invite ourselves into this haven of justice to say hello.” He tilted his head slightly. “We expected All Might to be here… but I see he isn’t. No matter.” A low chuckle escaped him. “We don’t need him here to hurt him.”

Midoriya’s blood ran cold.

The villain’s hand extended.

“I’ll scatter you across this facility! To meet my comrades… and your deaths!”

The purple mist surged forward like a tidal wave, enveloping the students before they had a chance to react.

Midoriya felt the ground vanish beneath him. A sharp sensation of weightlessness overtook him. The world twisted and blurred, his stomach lurching as gravity abandoned him.

Am I falling? He barely had time to process the thought before—

SPLASH.

His body hit the water, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasped, flailing for a moment before instinct took over, propelling him to the surface.

His head broke through, sucking in a ragged breath as he took in his surroundings. The cold water clung to his skin as he swam to the nearest ledge and pulled himself up.

Then he froze.

His heart dropped.

He was near the center of the arena.

Which meant…

Midoriya slowly peeked over a broken post, his breath shallow. His wide eyes locked onto the villains standing in the clearing.

A gray-haired figure stood near Aizawa, his fingers twitching as he spoke. Even from this distance, Midoriya could see his unsettling grin.

Then, before Aizawa could react, the villain lunged—grabbing his elbow.

Midoriya’s stomach twisted in horror.

What’s happening to his arm?!

His teacher’s flesh—his actual muscle—was disintegrating under the villain’s grip. Aizawa barely had time to grit his teeth before a monstrous figure lumbered forward.

The creature was massive.

Towering over Aizawa, it had bulging muscles wrapped in jet-black skin, its beady yellow eyes locked onto its prey.

Midoriya barely breathed as it raised an arm the size of a car and—

SLAM.

The ground quaked.

Midoriya’s hands flew to his mouth to stifle a sound. He could hear the impact, the crunch of bone, the heavy thud of his teacher’s body.

No… Mr. Aizawa…

The villain with gray hair spoke again, but Midoriya barely processed the words. The purple mist villain appeared beside him, murmuring something about Thirteen being out of commission.

But someone… escaped.

Hope flickered in Midoriya’s chest. Iida. It had to be Iida. If anyone could make it out, it was him.

His mind raced. His classmates—they had been separated, but they were strong. They had to be okay.

Midoriya stepped back. He had to regroup, had to—

CRUNCH.

The unmistakable sound of breaking glass beneath his foot.

His breath caught.

Two pairs of eyes snapped to him.

The leader was in front of him in an instant.

Midoriya couldn’t react—couldn’t move—as the villain’s hand reached for his face.

No time—no way to—

Then—

Nothing.

The villain’s hand hovered mere inches from his skin.

Midoriya blinked.

Aizawa.

His teacher—bleeding, battered, barely conscious—had lifted his head just long enough to erase the villain’s Quirk.

Midoriya’s vision blurred with emotion.

Then the monster—Nomu—moved.

Before Aizawa could lift his head again—before Midoriya could react—Nomu’s fist slammed down.

Midoriya clenched his fist, channeling every ounce of strength he had, and lunged forward, aiming a powerful punch straight at the gray-haired villain. As his fist connected, a shockwave rippled through the air, sending dirt and debris flying around them in a thick cloud.

Chapter Text

As the dust settles, Midoriya quickly realizes something is wrong. Where the gray-haired villain should be standing in front of him— he isn’t. Instead, looming over him is the Nomu. The monstrous creature's hulking figure casts a shadow over Midoriya, and to make things worse, his punch had absolutely no effect on it.

Midoriya barely has a moment to react before the Nomu moves with terrifying speed. A massive, clawed hand clamps around his arm, gripping it with crushing force before swinging him through the air like a ragdoll. Midoriya gasps as he’s slammed onto his back with a sickening crack. His vision blurs, pain radiating from his ribs. He winces, silently thanking his Quirk for softening some of the impact—without it, he’s sure more than just a few bones would have shattered. The throbbing ache in his side tells him something isn’t right, but he doesn’t have time to assess the damage. He has to move.

Through sheer willpower, he scrambles onto shaky legs, dodging a massive swipe just in time. Channeling what little strength he has left, Midoriya focuses his energy into his legs and delivers a hard kick to the Nomu’s back.

It doesn’t even flinch.

Midoriya's heart pounds as he realizes just how strong this thing is. Desperate, he leaps onto the Nomu’s back, aiming for what seems to be its biggest weakness—its exposed brain. If it can feel pain anywhere, it must be there. He cocks his fist back, ready to strike—

But before he can land the hit, a massive black hand grasps his shoulder.

In an instant, Midoriya is ripped off the Nomu’s back and hurled to the ground with monstrous force. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, but before he can even think about recovering, the Nomu raises both its fists and slams them down onto his back in a devastating blow.

Everything goes dark.

After fending off a wave of villains alongside Todoroki, Bakugo sprints back toward the entrance of the arena, his pulse hammering in his ears. The teleportation Quirk that separated them wasn’t just for show—the villains wanted them isolated, weaker. They’re easier to deal with when they’re scattered. If they’re going to have any chance of fighting back, they need to regroup.

As he nears the entrance, he spots a cluster of his classmates. They seem unharmed, which is a relief, but—

Where’s Deku?

A terrible feeling grips Bakugo’s stomach. He scans the group again. His friend isn’t here . That’s not good.

“Wait, do you guys see that? Over there!” Kirishima suddenly exclaims, pointing toward the center of the arena.

Bakugo’s head snaps toward the middle of the battlefield— and his blood runs cold .

There, in the heart of the chaos, is Midoriya. Helpless in the Nomu’s grasp. Bakugo watches in horror as the monstrous creature swings Midoriya over its shoulder and slams him into the ground like he weighs nothing. Then, as if to make sure he stays down, the Nomu’s massive fists come crashing down onto him.

Bakugo winces. His gut twists in panic.

“Deku!” he shouts, already moving to go help—but before he can take another step, Kirishima grabs his arm.

“Let me go! I have to help him!” Bakugo snarls, trying to wrench himself free.

“Look at that thing!” Kirishima argues, his voice urgent. “It tossed him around like he was nothing! It did the same to Aizawa! If it could do that to our teacher, what chance do you think you have?” His grip tightens. “Iida got out! Help is on the way! We just have to hold on until the teachers get here!”

Bakugo glares at him, eyes wild. He knows Kirishima is right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. How can he just stand here while Midoriya—his best friend—is down there alone?

He turns his gaze back to the battlefield. Midoriya is still on the ground, unmoving. Bakugo feels his breath hitch. Please just be unconscious. Please—

Then, to his horror, the Nomu reaches down, picks up Midoriya’s limp body, and starts walking toward the two villains standing by—the gray-haired leader and the eerie, misty figure.

A swirling, purple portal forms beside them.

They’re taking him .

Bakugo doesn’t think—he just acts. Without hesitation, he launches himself forward, using his gauntlets to propel through the air like a missile. He won’t let them take him.

But before he can reach them, a thick haze of purple mist suddenly appears in front of him. In the blink of an eye, the world distorts—

And then he’s back at the entrance, on his hands and knees.

By the time he scrambles to his feet, the villains—and Midoriya— are gone.

No.

No, no, no—

Bakugo’s mind reels. His breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps. How could this happen? How could he let this happen? Deku— his best friend —is gone.

Around him, his classmates are just as shaken, their faces stricken with disbelief. The silence is unbearable.

Then, the entrance suddenly bursts open, and a wave of relief washes over them.

Nezu, the principal, steps in, flanked by All Might, Present Mic, Cementoss, Recovery Girl, and Snipe.

“Sorry for the delay, students,” Nezu announces, his voice firm but laced with concern. “We came as soon as we were informed, thanks to your class rep, Iida. Is everyone okay? What happened here?”

Bakugo barely hears him. The words are caught in his throat, stuck behind the weight of what just happened. Finally, he manages to force out the only thing that matters—

“They… they took him.”

Nezu’s eyes narrow. “Took who? And who took them?”

“The villains called themselves the League of Villains,” Todoroki answers, his tone calm but tense. “The one leading them was a gray-haired man—he called himself Shigaraki. He had another villain with him who could use a teleportation Quirk. But the real problem was that thing they called a ‘Nomu.’” He pauses, his fists clenching. “It wasn’t human. It took Midoriya. I don’t know why, and I don’t know where they went.”

A ripple of unease spreads through the class. Worry for Midoriya. Worry for their injured teachers. Worry for what happens next.

Recovery Girl wastes no time, moving swiftly through the crowd to tend to the wounded. She helps Thirteen and Aizawa first—thankfully, both are conscious now, though battered.

Bakugo, meanwhile, is beside himself.

He should have done more. He should have been strong enough to stop them. What are they going to do to him?

Shaking his head, he grits his teeth. Working himself sick over it won’t help bring Midoriya back. He has to stay focused.

Once the teachers handle the remaining villains, the students pile onto the bus to return to the school. Even though the ride isn’t long, it feels like an eternity. The air is heavy with unspoken thoughts, the weight of what just happened pressing down on them all.

Bakugo stares out the window, fists clenched.

He just hopes his friend is okay.

Chapter Text

Midoriya hears voices murmuring in the distance, their words blurred and indistinct at first. As his senses sharpen, he catches fragments of conversation—Shigaraki’s rasping voice discussing what happened at the arena, sneering about their next steps.
Midoriya shifts, instantly regretting it as a wave of pain crashes over him. His entire body throbs, his muscles screaming in protest. He lets out a shaky breath, his mind still foggy as he blinks against the dim light. The air is stale, thick with dust and something metallic—blood? He can’t tell.
His arms are bound behind his back, his wrists restrained with something tight, unyielding. A chair. He’s tied to a chair.
Panic surges in his chest.
What happened?
His breath quickens as he scrambles to remember, his thoughts sluggish and jumbled. The arena. The Nomu. Kacchan. The portal—
Oh no. No, no, no—
His eyes snap up, darting around the room. It’s dark, barely illuminated by a weak, flickering light overhead. He spots two figures standing in the distance, their conversation now fully hushed. His movements must have caught their attention.
One of them steps forward, the dim glow revealing a sickeningly familiar grin stretching across his pale, scarred face.
“Good to see you’re awake,” the man drawls, his voice laced with amusement. “Took you long enough. Welcome to your new home, hero.”
A cold, clammy hand grips Midoriya’s shoulder, making his skin crawl.
“I’m Shigaraki,” the villain continues, his fingers twitching as he speaks. “And this is Kurogiri. We are the League of Villains. And you—” He tightens his grip, making Midoriya’s body stiffen. “You, my little hostage, are going to be so much fun.”
A shiver runs through Midoriya’s spine, dread pooling deep in his stomach.
Why did they take him? What do they want?
“W-What’s going on?” he stammers, his voice hoarse.
Shigaraki’s grin widens, his bloodshot eyes gleaming. “Oh, just a little improvisation. You see, we were expecting All Might, but—” he sighs dramatically, “he was a no-show. Disappointing, really. So, we figured we’d make the best of it. If we can’t hurt him directly, then what better way to make him suffer than by breaking one of his precious students?”
Midoriya’s blood runs cold.
They don’t just want to hurt him. They want to use him to hurt All Might.
No. He won’t let them.
Despite the fear gnawing at his insides, Midoriya straightens his posture, forcing his face into a glare. He can’t show weakness. Not now. Not in front of them.
“You won’t get away with this,” he growls through clenched teeth. “All Might and the other heroes are already looking for me. It’s only a matter of time before they find me.”
Shigaraki chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, I really doubt that.” He leans in, his breath ghosting against Midoriya’s face. “You see, this little facility we’re in? It’s hidden. No tracking devices, no energy signatures—nothing. No one’s coming for you.”
Midoriya’s heart pounds against his ribs, but he refuses to let his expression falter.
Shigaraki is too close. Too smug.
Act.
Without thinking, Midoriya jerks forward, slamming his forehead into the villain’s nose. A sharp crack echoes through the room.
Shigaraki staggers back, clutching his face. “You little—”
A dark, venomous rage twists across his features as he lunges forward, his fingers wrapping around Midoriya’s shoulder.
The pain is instant.
White-hot, searing agony spreads through his arm like wildfire. It feels as if his very flesh is unraveling, his nerves screaming as if set ablaze. His entire body tenses, a strangled cry caught in his throat. He can’t breathe—can’t think—
And then, it stops.
Shigaraki releases him with a scoff, shaking out his hand as if dusting off crumbs. He glares down at Midoriya, eyes still burning with anger.
“You’re lucky I didn’t turn your whole arm to dust,” he sneers. “Next time, I won’t be so nice.”
With that, he turns sharply, gesturing for Kurogiri to follow. The two exit the room, leaving Midoriya gasping for air in the suffocating darkness.
His vision blurs, his breathing ragged as he slowly turns his head toward his shoulder.
Oh god.
The fabric of his uniform is scorched away, exposing the raw, gnarled flesh beneath. Blood drips steadily down his arm, staining the chair and pooling onto the floor. The pain is unbearable, a deep, relentless throb that makes his stomach churn.
But he can’t focus on that. Not now.
Midoriya clenches his jaw, trying to push past the agony. His mind flickers to Kacchan. To his classmates. To his mother.
To All Might.
Where was he?
Why wasn’t he at the arena?
If he had been there… this wouldn’t have happened.
Midoriya squeezes his eyes shut, trying to fight off the overwhelming sense of helplessness creeping in.
He has to get out of here.
No matter what it takes.

Chapter Text

Bakugo is never one to stay quiet. Usually, he has something to say—always loud, always confident. But now, sitting in the principal’s office with his parents, the silence is suffocating.
No one speaks. Not even him.
As soon as his parents got the call, they raced over to U.A., and they’ve been here ever since. Bakugo had barely stepped off the bus before he was ushered into the office. His mind is moving too fast to form words, thoughts colliding in a frantic, tangled mess. But even if he could say something… what would he even say?
His best friend was taken.
By villains.
And he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them.
The door creaks open, and Principal Nezu steps inside. “Thank you for coming,” he says, his voice calm but heavy. “I only wish we were meeting under better circumstances. But it’s important that we discuss what happens next.” He glances at Kacchan’s parents before continuing, “As I understand it, you are the legal guardians of Midoriya Izuku?”
Mitsuki, Bakugo’s mom, sits up straighter, her hands twisting in her lap. “Y-Yes, we are.”
Nezu nods solemnly. “As you may have heard, there was an incident earlier today at the USJ training facility. Without our knowledge, a group of villains infiltrated the area. Our communications were severed, so we were unaware of the attack until one of the students managed to reach us. During the chaos, as the students were fleeing… the villains took Midoriya with them.”
The room feels colder.
Mitsuki brings a trembling hand to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. She doesn’t speak, but Bakugo doesn’t need to hear anything to know what she’s feeling. He hasn’t seen her like this in years—not since the night they were all at the police station after Deku’s mom had her accident.
He clenches his fists, staring blankly at the wall, his mind drowning in noise. Deku is out there, trapped, surrounded by enemies, and Bakugo has no idea what’s happening to him. He can’t stand it.
Nezu exhales, his small shoulders rising and falling. “Unfortunately, we believe there is something blocking our ability to track him. But I assure you, we are doing everything we can. We will find him. I’ve already contacted other pro heroes across the city, and we will continue the search. The moment we have any leads, you’ll be the first to know.” He lowers his gaze. “I am so sorry.”
Bakugo’s hands won’t stop shaking. He presses them against his legs, willing them to be still, but it’s useless. His whole body is tense, his jaw locked so tight it aches.
This isn’t real. It can’t be real.
His mom looks at him, her face lined with worry, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She reaches for him hesitantly before pulling him into her arms.
He doesn’t fight it.
He presses his face into her shoulder, forcing himself to stay composed. He won’t cry. Not now. Not while Deku is still alive.
He will get him back.
He will do whatever it takes.
The car ride home is the quietest it’s ever been.
No yelling, no bickering, no small talk. Just the sound of the road beneath the tires and the weight of everything pressing down on them.
When they arrive home, Bakugo doesn’t say a word. He heads straight to his room, shutting the door behind him.
He won’t be able to sleep—not after this.
Lying on his back, he stares at the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides. His thoughts swirl, burning with frustration and guilt.
Deku, you idiot… You went and got yourself taken.
His grip tightens.
I’ll get you back. No matter what it takes.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Aizawa’s voice is sharp, laced with an urgency he rarely lets show.
Detective Tsukauchi exhales, his expression grim. “We’ve combed through every system we have, searching for any signs of a portal opening or closing—but we found nothing. It’s highly likely they have some method of hiding their movements from being tracked.”
The air in the room is thick with tension.
After sending the students home early, U.A. 's faculty gathered for an emergency meeting with the detective to discuss what had happened—and, more importantly, what to do next.
Everyone sits on edge, faces tight with unease. A student—a child—had been taken. They had failed to protect him. And they must make it right.
“I suggest we divide into search teams,” Tsukauchi continues, his tone firm. “Each group will be assigned specific areas of the city to investigate. Check abandoned buildings, question anyone acting suspicious, and follow up on any potential leads. I’ve already contacted other pro heroes—some have volunteered their departments to assist in the search. We’ll also release Midoriya’s image to the public in case anyone spots him. Our priority is bringing this boy home safe.”
A heavy silence follows his words, the weight of the situation sinking in.
Then, Vlad King, Class 1-B’s homeroom teacher, speaks up. “And if we don’t find him? What happens when we’ve searched every corner of the city and there’s still no trace? He could be miles away by now. What’s the plan then?”
Tsukauchi’s expression darkens. “We’ve already identified several locations suspected of being villain hideouts. If the initial search turns up nothing, we’ll send in teams to investigate those areas next. I’ll also be looking into any additional leads that might point us toward his location.”
The room is quiet for only a moment before a voice cuts through the silence.
“Tell me where to go, and I’ll go,” All Might says, stepping forward. “I won’t stop until we find him.”
“Me too,” Aizawa adds without hesitation.
One by one, more teachers stand up.
Present Mic. Cementoss. Vlad King. Midnight. Snipe. Others follow.
No one hesitates.
No one is backing down.
Midoriya is out there, somewhere. And they won’t rest until he’s found.

Chapter Text

Midoriya stirs awake to the sharp sting of something pressing into his wounded shoulder. His body screams in protest, battered and bruised beyond anything he’s ever endured. He must have dozed off—how long, he has no idea.

His instincts kick in immediately. He tries to move away from the unknown presence, but the harsh bite of restraints reminds him he’s still bound to the chair. Helpless.

“Stop squirming, you’ll ruin the dressing,” a voice mutters.

Dressing?

Midoriya blinks against the dim light, forcing his vision to focus. The figure standing before him is a short, stocky man with a completely bald head, a thick, bushy mustache, and gold-rimmed goggles perched on his nose. His stained lab coat hangs loosely over his hunched frame, and he smells faintly of antiseptic and something metallic—blood, most likely.

“I’m the doctor here,” the man explains in a monotone voice, adjusting the bandages with methodical precision. “I’ve mended your broken ribs as best I could, stabilized the fractures, and dressed that shoulder wound. It should heal quickly.”

Midoriya stares, his mind struggling to process the words.

Why?

Why would a villain bother treating his injuries? This entire situation makes no sense.

“Why are you helping me?” he finally asks, his voice hoarse.

The doctor barely acknowledges the question as he continues packing his medical bag. “Because an infection would kill you before we get what we need from you. And if your bones heal incorrectly, you’ll be useless to us.”

His words are cold, clinical. There’s no kindness behind them. This isn’t about helping Midoriya—it’s about keeping him alive.

Midoriya swallows. “...Thank you,” he mumbles, though the words taste bitter in his mouth.

The doctor simply nods before grabbing his bag and exiting the room, leaving Midoriya alone once more.

Despite everything, he can already feel the difference—the burning agony in his shoulder has dulled to a more manageable throb, and the weight pressing against his ribs isn’t quite as suffocating. They must have used something to accelerate the healing.

The thought unsettles him.

Why would they go through the trouble? What are they planning?

His stomach twists, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He needs to get out of here.

Midoriya immediately starts struggling against his restraints, wrists twisting, fingers clawing for any slack. He pulls, strains—again and again—until warm wetness trickles down his hands. Blood.

Damn it. He exhales sharply. I’m just making things worse.

He shifts, trying to move his feet—no use. He’s trapped.

Then, the door swings open.

Midoriya stills, every muscle tensing as Shigaraki steps inside, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

“What have you done to yourself now , hmm?” The villain sneers, gaze flickering to Midoriya’s bloodied wrists. “We can’t have you bleeding out on us, can we?”

Midoriya clenches his jaw as Shigaraki turns to someone outside the room, gesturing with his hand. Another figure steps in—one of the League’s grunts, holding a key.

Wait... what?

“Don’t get any ideas,” Shigaraki warns darkly. “We’re just loosening the cuffs a bit. No need for you to hurt yourself before we do it for you.”

Big mistake.

The moment Midoriya feels the first cuff loosen, he moves.

Summoning every ounce of strength left in his battered body, he jerks free and swings—his fist colliding hard with Shigaraki’s face.

A satisfying crack echoes in the room as the villain stumbles back, clutching his cheek. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth.

Midoriya glares triumphantly.

Shigaraki growls, eyes blazing with fury. “You brat! ”

Before Midoriya can react, the other villain seizes his arm, yanking it back into the restraint. The cuff locks with a sharp click.

Shigaraki doesn’t hesitate. He storms forward, his fingers reaching for Midoriya’s face.

Panic flares in Midoriya’s chest. No—!

But this time, the pain doesn’t come.

No searing burn. No crumbling flesh.

Instead, a strange, pulling sensation grips him.

It’s suffocating. Wrong.

A cold, unnatural force seeps into his veins like ice, draining something vital from within him. His vision blurs, his muscles weaken—his entire body feels like it’s being hollowed out.

He tries to speak, to struggle, to do anything .

Nothing.

The last thing Midoriya sees is Shigaraki’s twisted smirk before darkness swallows him whole.

Class 1-A sits in their homeroom in complete silence.

What could they possibly say?

It’s been two days since the attack. Two days since villains stormed their training exercise and stole one of their own right in front of them. UA shut down temporarily, reinforcing security and giving students time to rest at home with their families.

Now, back in class, the weight of Midoriya’s absence hangs heavy over them.

Bakugo sits at his desk, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are turning white. His jaw is locked, his entire body wound like a spring, ready to snap at the smallest provocation.

The quiet is shattered as the door slides open. Some students gasp as their teacher, Aizawa, steps inside. His face is half-covered in fresh bandages, his arms wrapped tight in gauze, evidence of the brutal fight he endured at the USJ. Yet, despite his injuries, he stands before them as if nothing has changed.

Nothing—not even near-death—could stop him from teaching.

Behind him follows Hound Dog, the school counselor. The atmosphere shifts slightly; some students fidget in their seats, others glance at one another uneasily. They know why he’s here.

Aizawa clears his throat. “Alright, class. I know a lot has happened in the past few days, but I need you to focus on the present.” His tone is firm, but not unkind. “As you all know, Midoriya was taken during the attack on USJ. I won’t be discussing this further, but I will tell you this—our search efforts haven’t stopped. We have multiple pro heroes patrolling the city, both from UA and outside agencies. There are locations being investigated as we speak. We will find him.” His voice hardens with certainty. “In the meantime, Hound Dog is available if anyone wants to talk about what happened—or anything else on your mind. A notice will also be sent home to your parents regarding the situation.”

The classroom remains eerily quiet, but Aizawa isn’t the only one bruised and battered from the USJ attack. His students carry wounds, too—some visible, some buried deep inside.

Finally, a hesitant voice breaks the silence.

“Uh, sensei…” Uraraka speaks up, her voice soft, uncertain. “Are you… going to be okay?”

Aizawa’s gaze flickers to her, his tired eyes holding the barest hint of warmth. “I’ll be fine,” he assures her. “Don’t worry about me.”

She nods but doesn’t look convinced.

Aizawa turns to Hound Dog. “Thank you for your time,” he says, dismissing the counselor.

Once he’s gone, Aizawa straightens, moving on. “Now, onto another topic,” he announces. “The UA Sports Festival is coming up.”

The tension in the room shifts, murmurs rippling through the students.

“I know it seems like bad timing,” Aizawa continues, acknowledging the hesitation in their faces, “but Principal Nezu and the staff believe this will be a good opportunity to lift morale. It’s a chance to show the world that UA stands strong, that we won’t be shaken.”

The students glance at each other, uncertainty warring with reluctant excitement.

For a moment, it feels wrong to think about a festival when Midoriya is still missing—possibly suffering, possibly… worse. But at the same time, they know him.

Midoriya wouldn’t want them to stop training for his sake.

Bakugo, however, can’t shake the bitterness curling in his chest.

How the hell are we supposed to celebrate when Deku is missing?

Midoriya would have loved this. He would’ve been practically bouncing in his seat, muttering about strategies and analyzing opponents. He’d be grinning, determined, ready to push himself to the limit.

But he’s not here.

And it feels wrong to go on without him.

Bakugo barely registers Aizawa continuing his explanation of the festival. He knows how important this is—knows that this would be a chance to prove himself, to finally crush Deku in a real competition. But what’s the point if Deku isn’t there to fight him?

The dismissal bell rings, shaking him from his thoughts.

Before he can even process it, a commotion erupts in the hallway.

Kirishima moves to open the door, revealing a crowd gathered just outside. Class 1-B stands in the hall, watching them with calculating expressions.

They're sizing us up.

Of course they are.

They’ll be competing against each other in the tournament.

Bakugo’s patience—already dangerously thin—snaps. “Move,” he mutters, pushing through the crowd.

But before he can get far, a blue-haired student from Class 1-B steps into his path, smirking.

“So this is Class 1-A,” the student says mockingly. “I heard you guys were impressive, but you just sound like an ass. Is everyone in the hero course like this, or just you? I heard you fought some villains, but maybe that was just a lie to boost your egos.”

Bakugo freezes.

Something inside him erupts .

His teeth grind together, his entire body shaking with fury.

“Yeah?” His voice is deadly quiet. “Is that what you think?”

He takes a step forward, eyes blazing. “Sure, let’s pretend it’s all a lie. Let’s pretend we didn’t lose a classmate. That he wasn’t taken by villains. That right now, he isn’t somewhere—being tortured, experimented on, or worse.”

His breath is ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Who the hell knows if he’s even alive ?” His voice rises into a snarl. “Shut the hell up!”

He lunges.

A fist aimed straight for that smug face—

But Kirishima’s hands clamp down on his arm, holding him back. “Dude, don’t —”

“Let go of me, extra! ” Bakugo roars, shaking him off with a violent shove.

His palms explode with heat, steam curling from his hands as he stomps off down the hall.

He’s been holding onto his anger for too long.

It was bound to escape eventually.

Chapter Text

Midoriya wakes up groggy, his body aching as if he had been hit by a truck. His ribs and shoulder, which had been screaming in pain before, feel noticeably better—but the rest of him is weak, too weak.

Why?

His mind is hazy, struggling to recall what happened after the doctor left him. As his vision clears, he realizes something strange—he’s no longer bound. Instead, he’s lying in a bed inside a small, dimly lit room. There’s nothing here but the bed, a simple desk, and a shut door.

What? How did I get here?

He tries to push himself up, but the moment he shifts his weight, his knees buckle. Before he can catch himself, he collapses onto the cold floor like a sack of bricks.

What…? His breathing stutters as he struggles to lift himself. What’s wrong with me?

Bracing against the desk, he pulls himself upright, his muscles shaking under the effort. He stumbles toward the door, using the wall for support. When he reaches it, he grabs the handle and turns it—locked, just as he expected.

But a locked door is nothing compared to his Quirk.

He clenches his fist, preparing to charge his arm for a smash—

Nothing.

His heart skips a beat. He tries again, willing his power to surge through his veins.

Still nothing.

A sharp panic stabs through his chest. His breathing grows unsteady as he focuses harder, desperately searching for that familiar rush of energy in his muscles.

It’s gone.

Wait—

No.

No, no, no, no—

His legs give out, and he drops to the floor, curling his knees to his chest. His breath comes fast and shallow, his lungs squeezing painfully tight.

What is happening? His mind is spiraling. What happened to my Quirk? Why isn’t it there?

And then—

A memory.

A cold hand gripping his face. A forceful pull.

That villain… He was taking my Quirk.

His entire body trembles as realization slams into him like a freight train. Did he… did he steal it?

Midoriya shakes his head violently, trying to rid himself of the thought—but it won’t leave. It’s lodged in his brain like a parasite, gnawing at every shred of hope he has left.

He stares blankly at the wall, his mind refusing to register the reality of the situation.

Eventually, exhaustion drags him under, and he falls into an uneasy sleep, still curled on the cold floor.

A loud bang jolts him awake.

His body is stiff, his limbs sore from spending the night on the floor. He stretches out slowly, grimacing as his joints protest. His thoughts are scattered, the past few days a chaotic blur in his mind.

For a brief moment, he considers letting go.

If he lets his mind drift, if he stops trying to process everything—maybe it won’t hurt so much. Maybe it’ll be easier.

But he can’t.

He clenches his fists.

He has to stay strong. If not for himself, then for his mom. For the Bakugos. For the people who are probably worried sick about him right now.

His eyes flicker to the floor, where a tray of food has been left just a few feet away. The door must have opened while he was asleep. On the tray sits a sandwich—peanut butter and jelly, of all things—and a glass of juice.

His stomach growls loudly at the sight, a painful reminder that he hasn’t eaten in who knows how long.

But…

He glares at the food.

I can’t trust it.

They could have drugged it, poisoned it, done anything to it. He won’t risk it. He can’t.

With a swift kick, he knocks the tray over, sending the sandwich and juice spilling across the floor.

Pushing himself up, he stands on shaky legs. He’s still weak, but he feels a little stronger than before.

If I’m going to get out of here, I need my strength back.

Even if he can’t use his Quirk, he can still train.

Carefully, he moves back to the bed and sits down, stretching his legs out in front of him. He pulls each knee toward his chest, alternating between them, working through the stiffness in his muscles. Once he’s done, he forces himself back onto his feet, pacing around the small room.

It’s not much, but it’s all he has.

Then—

Footsteps.

His head snaps up, heart pounding as he hears them approaching the door.

Without thinking, he backs away, pressing himself against the farthest corner of the room. If he still had his Quirk, he’d be preparing to fight. But now?

He doesn’t stand a chance.

The door swings open, and a towering, dark-clothed figure steps inside.

Immediately, Midoriya’s stomach twists into knots.

Behind the brute stands him.

The villain with gray, cracked skin. The one who stole from him.

A sharp jolt of fear races down Midoriya’s spine, but he forces his expression to remain neutral.

The villain tilts his head, a slow smirk creeping across his lips. “You need your strength, kid,” he says mockingly. “Eat your food.”

Midoriya glares. “Not a chance.”

The smirk widens. “Suit yourself. It’s your funeral.”

Midoriya doesn’t flinch. “I’m not stupid. I’m not eating your crummy food.”

The villain chuckles darkly. “Why would we poison you now when we have so many fun things planned for you?”

A shiver crawls up Midoriya’s spine, but he refuses to let them see his fear.

“Why don’t you come with us?” The villain’s grin stretches wider, eerie and unnatural. “We just want to have a nice little chat. ”

Midoriya’s muscles tense. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The villain sighs dramatically. “You really don’t get it, do you?” He waves a hand at his large minion. “Make him.”

The brute lunges.

Midoriya barely dodges, slipping past him at the last second. He moves fast, twisting behind the villain and slamming his foot into his back.

The bigger man stumbles, but doesn’t fall.

Midoriya seizes his chance. He leaps onto the villain’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck in a desperate chokehold.

Hands claw at him, but he tightens his grip, using every ounce of strength he has left.

For a moment, he dares to hope.

Then— WHAM.

A fist collides with the side of his head.

His vision explodes in white-hot pain. Another punch lands, then another, and his grip weakens.

Strong hands rip him away, and before he can react, he’s thrown to the ground.

A heavy boot slams down on his back, pinning him.

He gasps, struggling, but the pressure is crushing. If the villain presses down any harder, his ribs will break.

Shigaraki sighs impatiently. “Are you done yet?”

Midoriya doesn’t answer, only glaring up at him through gritted teeth.

Shigaraki clicks his tongue. “Put your arms out in front of you.” His voice sharpens. “Now.”

Midoriya doesn’t move.

Shigaraki’s fingers twitch. “If you don’t, I’ll do to your other shoulder what I did to the first one. Only worse.”

Midoriya’s breath catches.

He can’t risk it.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly obeys, stretching his arms out. The brute seizes his wrists, binding them together again.

Before he can resist, he’s yanked to his feet and shoved toward the door.

He barely has time to process what’s happening before he’s being dragged down a dimly lit hallway.

Then—

They enter a larger room.

In the center sits a metal chair, fitted with thick clasps for wrists and ankles.

Dread coils in Midoriya’s stomach like a snake.

What the hell is this place?

And what do they have planned for him?

As soon as Midoriya takes in the sight of the room, his feet freeze.

His heart slams against his ribs.

The cold metal chair at the center, the thick restraints on its arms and legs, the belt-like strap secured around the waist—it’s not just a chair. It’s a restraint device.

His stomach twists.

No.

Before he can stop himself, his body refuses to move forward.

A hard shove from behind sends him stumbling forward, and he barely manages to stay upright. The large villain grips his shoulder tightly, fingers digging in like a vice, and forces him toward the chair.

Midoriya struggles, but his body is still too weak.

He’s shoved down, his back slamming against the cold metal. A powerful hand pins him in place, unmoving and unyielding. His breaths come short and fast as he thrashes against the grip, but it’s no use.

He doesn’t even notice the ankle restraints clicking shut until he looks down. Thick metal clasps lock around his legs, securing him in place. Then, a heavy belt-like strap tightens around his waist, pressing him into the chair.

Panic claws at his throat.

He tugs at his legs— they won’t move. He tries to twist his torso— trapped.

Shigaraki steps forward, arms crossed, his dull red eyes gleaming with amusement. “We’re letting your hands loose so we can transfer,” he states, voice firm. “You can either cooperate, or we won’t hesitate to knock you out. It’s your choice.”

Midoriya glares up at him, his breath unsteady.

I don’t care.

Any harm to you is worth it.

The second his wrists are released—

He lunges.

His fingers tangle into Shigaraki’s brittle, ashen hair, yanking hard. A fistful of strands tear loose as he grips with everything he has.

Shigaraki hisses, his head jerking back from the force, but before Midoriya can do anything else—

A sickening crack.

Pain explodes through the side of his skull as something slams into his head.

His vision shatters.

Darkness creeps into the edges of his sight as his body slackens against the chair. His fingers slip from Shigaraki’s hair, the strands falling limply to the floor.

He can hear voices, muffled and distant.

The room spins. His eyelids grow unbearably heavy.

It was worth it, he thinks as the world fades into blackness.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since the incident, and in that time, heroes had scoured every inch of the city, searching tirelessly for any sign of their missing student. Yet, there was nothing—no clues, no sightings, no leads. Every minute that passed felt like another moment slipping away, another chance lost.

At the police station, the air was thick with tension as the heroes gathered for an emergency meeting. Detective Tsukauchi stood at the head of the table, laying out the results of his latest investigation. Though the city-wide search had yielded no breakthroughs, he had uncovered two more suspicious locations, bringing the total to four potential bases. They could no longer afford to waste time—every second counted.

“Smaller heroes from the local agencies will continue combing the streets,” Tsukauchi explained. “But we need our top heroes to move to the next stage. We’ll divide into four groups and sweep these locations simultaneously.”

Aizawa stood among the others, silent but burning with guilt. His body ached from exhaustion, his mind tormented by the same unshakable thought: This is my fault. He had let a student—his student—be taken right in front of him. He should have done more. He should have stopped it.

Beside him, Hizashi Yamada—better known as Present Mic—had been trying to comfort him ever since the attack. “You did everything you could, Eraser,” he had insisted more than once, his usual energetic voice softened into something far gentler. “No one’s blaming you. We know how much you care about them.”

But Aizawa barely heard him. The words bounced off, unable to break through the iron walls of self-condemnation he had built in his mind.

His bloodshot eyes flicked over the blueprint of the building they had been assigned to investigate. It was an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city, rundown and supposedly abandoned. If this was a former League of Villains base, then perhaps—just perhaps —it would hold some clue about where Midoriya had been taken.

During the last two days, exhaustion had begun playing tricks on his mind. As he scoured the city, he kept seeing flashes of green in the corners of his vision—an unruly head of hair, a fleeting figure darting just out of sight. But every time he turned, there was nothing. Just empty streets, just his imagination. It made his chest tighten painfully. He wished, just once, that when he turned his head, Midoriya would actually be there.

At least when he was partnered with Hizashi, he felt slightly more grounded. Not better , but less alone.

Now, the two of them stood before the entrance of the abandoned warehouse, moonlight barely illuminating its cracked brick walls and rusted metal doors. The air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and decay. Aizawa pressed his fingers to the doorframe, feeling the wood. No dust along the edge. Recently opened.

“It’s been used,” he muttered, his voice rough from lack of sleep.

Hizashi nodded. “Then let’s see what’s inside.”

The two heroes stepped inside, moving cautiously through the dimly lit space. The warehouse was eerily quiet, save for the faint creaks of the old building settling. Shelves lined the walls, mostly empty, but with a few stray crates left behind. A thick layer of dust coated the floor—except for a few places where it had been disturbed.

Someone had been here recently.

Aizawa’s sharp eyes followed the faint tracks leading deeper into the warehouse. He and Hizashi moved carefully, their senses on high alert. At the far end of the room, against a rusting metal desk, something caught Aizawa’s attention. A stack of old papers, yellowed and crumpled, scattered carelessly across the surface.

Sifting through them, his fingers brushed against something that made his breath hitch.

A single piece of paper, less aged than the others, its ink still fresh.

His stomach dropped as he read the contents.

It was a timetable.

And not just any timetable—this one listed the schedule for the USJ attack. The names of the teachers who were meant to be there were written out clearly: All Might, Aizawa, Thirteen. The villains had known exactly who to expect.

His grip tightened around the paper.

“They had inside information,” he growled.

Hizashi peered over his shoulder, his usual cheerful demeanor gone. His brows furrowed as he read the document. “Shit,” he muttered. “This means… someone at U.A. gave this to them.”

The weight of that realization settled heavily between them. Someone within their own school—one of their own—had provided the League with this information. It explained how they had been so prepared, how they had been able to attack with such precision.

Aizawa exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay level-headed. They needed to focus.

His eyes drifted back to the desk. Beneath the scattered papers was something else—a large sheet, folded and worn. Unfolding it revealed a detailed blueprint.

His heart pounded as he examined it.

This wasn’t the warehouse they were standing in. It was a different structure, unfamiliar yet meticulously designed.

Hizashi’s breath hitched. “Could this be… where they’re keeping him?”

Aizawa clenched his jaw. “Maybe. But there’s no location on it.”

The blueprint had no coordinates, no address, no indicators of where it could be. It could be anywhere. It was infuriatingly incomplete.

Still, this was something. A lead.

Aizawa folded the papers carefully and tucked them away. His exhaustion, his guilt, his self-loathing—all of it would have to wait. They needed to get these documents to the others now. If this blueprint was their key to finding Midoriya, then they had no time to waste.

“We’re leaving,” he said firmly, turning on his heel.

Hizashi followed without hesitation. “We’ll find him, Eraser. We will. ”

Aizawa didn’t respond. He couldn’t—not yet.

He just prayed that wherever Midoriya was, they weren’t already too late.

Chapter Text

Midoriya stirs, a dull ache radiating through his body as he slowly regains consciousness. His head throbs, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, making it difficult to focus.

How long was I out?

His vision swims, the dimly lit room shifting in and out of focus. He blinks, trying to clear the haze clouding his sight. As his awareness sharpens, he realizes his arms are stretched out before him, both hands trapped under heavy restraints bolted to the table. He tries to move, but his wrists remain pinned. A sharp tug at his legs sends a wave of panic through him—he had forgotten about the clasps securing his ankles, the thick belt strapped around his waist, rendering him immobile.

His breath catches in his throat.

Instinct kicks in, adrenaline flooding his veins as he frantically pulls at his bonds. He twists his wrists, strains his legs, but it’s useless. The restraints don’t budge. He’s trapped.

His breathing quickens, but he forces himself to focus, to push down the rising fear. Panicking won’t help. Not when he’s so exposed, so vulnerable. He takes a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself.

He can feel someone watching him.

His skin prickles under the weight of unseen eyes, but the room is empty.

A loud creak shatters the silence.

Midoriya tenses as the door behind him groans open, light from the hallway spilling into the dimly lit room. The uneven, dragging footsteps echo off the cold walls, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Shigaraki.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake,” the villain drawls, amusement lacing his tone. A slow smirk spreads across his chapped lips as he steps into Midoriya’s line of sight, his red-rimmed eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. “I was getting worried, you know.”

Midoriya glares at him, his jaw clenching.

Shigaraki chuckles, stepping closer. “You’ve been nothing but a pain this entire time, and, honestly?” He tilts his head, tapping his fingers against the table. “I’ve lost all my patience with you.”

Midoriya doesn’t respond, his muscles tensed as Shigaraki moves to the other side of the table, looming over him.

“You’re lucky we haven’t just put you down already,” Shigaraki continues, sighing dramatically. “But we wouldn’t want all our hard work to go to waste. So, how about we have a little chat?”

Midoriya’s glare hardens. “The heroes are coming.” His voice is steady, unwavering. “You won’t stand a chance against them. Just you wait.”

Shigaraki’s smirk widens, his expression darkening.

“Oh, really?” He leans forward, placing his palms flat on the table. “It’s been days, and yet, no sign of them.” His voice is dripping with mock sympathy. “I really don’t think they’re coming for you.”

Midoriya stiffens but doesn’t waver.

“They’re quite busy, you know,” Shigaraki continues, laughing dryly. “Why would they waste their precious—” he lets the word linger before chuckling—“time searching for you?” His smirk stretches wider, malicious and cruel. “You’re not special. And now?” His red eyes gleam with satisfaction. “You’re quirkless. They have much better things to do.”

Midoriya grits his teeth.

No. That’s not true.

They are coming.

It doesn’t matter if he has a quirk or not. He knows his teachers. They care about him. They will find him.

“That’s not true,” he states firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “Whether or not I have a quirk doesn’t matter. They are my teachers. They care about me.” His green eyes burn with defiance. “They will find me.”

Shigaraki scoffs, shaking his head as if disappointed. “You’re so sure of that, huh?”

Before Midoriya can react, a cold, clammy hand latches onto his right wrist, squeezing hard.

His breath hitches.

A slow, unsettling smile creeps across Shigaraki’s face, his wild eyes locking onto Midoriya’s.

“I’d hate for you to get your hopes up,” he murmurs, his grip tightening. “Are you sure they’re coming?”

“Yes.” Midoriya meets his gaze without hesitation. “They are.”

SNAP.

A white-hot explosion of pain shoots through his hand.

Midoriya’s body jerks involuntarily, but he bites down on his tongue, forcing himself to stay silent. His teeth grind together so hard it feels like they might crack. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

Did he just—

He glances down.

His index finger is bent at a sickening angle, the unnatural twist of it making his stomach churn.

A cold sweat breaks out across his skin.

Shigaraki watches him with glee, running a hand through his messy, unkempt hair. “Oops. Did that hurt?” he mocks, laughter laced in his voice.

Midoriya says nothing, forcing himself to keep his face neutral.

Shigaraki’s smirk falters slightly before he leans forward again, tilting his head. “I’ll ask again,” he murmurs, voice smooth but threatening. “Are your precious heroes coming for you?” He taps a finger against Midoriya’s broken hand. “Think carefully. I’d hate to move on to the next one.”

Midoriya’s breathing is ragged, but his mind is resolute.

If he says yes, Shigaraki will break another finger.

But if he says no—if he gives in, if he lies—he won’t be able to live with himself.

He has to believe.

He has to be strong.

“Yes.”

Shigaraki sighs dramatically. “Well, if you insist.”

His fingers tighten around Midoriya’s middle finger and—

SNAP.

Another wave of agony rips through him.

Midoriya squeezes his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath. He refuses to make a sound. He won’t give Shigaraki the satisfaction.

The cycle repeats.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

Each break sends white-hot pain searing through his nerves.

One by one, every single finger is bent and shattered under Shigaraki’s hand.

By the time the tenth and final break comes, Midoriya’s body is trembling. Sweat drips down his face, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

His vision blurs.

His body slumps forward, exhaustion and pain consuming him, dragging him into unconsciousness.

But as the darkness pulls him under, one thought remains.

The heroes are coming.

They have to be.

They are coming.

…Right?

Chapter Text

“Katsuki, I’m coming in. I have some news for you—it’s about Midoriya.”

His mother’s voice came through the door, quieter than usual.

Bakugo didn’t respond. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, arms resting on his knees, staring at the floor. It had been almost a week since the USJ attack—since the villains had taken Deku. Almost a week of restless nights, frustration, and the gnawing feeling that he should be doing something instead of sitting here, useless.

His mother pushed the door open anyway, stepping inside. “Your teacher just called,” she said, moving to sit at the foot of his bed. “They searched an abandoned warehouse and found what looks like a blueprint of an unknown building. They don’t know where it is, but… it could be where they’re keeping Midoriya. I know it’s not much, but it shows how hard they’re looking for him. I hope they find him soon.”

She let out a small sigh, shaking her head. For once, she wasn’t yelling at him to eat or to get out of his room. Instead, she gave him a small, tired smile as if to comfort him.

Bakugo clenched his fists.

He didn’t need comfort. He needed Midoriya back.

His mother stood up, giving him a lingering look before leaving the room. The second the door shut, Bakugo growled under his breath and threw himself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

Deku was supposed to be here.

The UA Sports Festival was today.

Three rounds. A race, a cavalry battle, and one-on-one fights.

Bakugo had been training relentlessly, pushing himself harder than ever. He had to win—for himself and for Deku.

The bus ride to the stadium was a blur.

Class 1-A was buzzing with excitement, everyone talking over each other about strategies, quirks, and the sheer scale of the event. After all, it was being broadcasted live across the country.

Kirishima plopped down next to him, grinning. “Man, this is gonna be awesome! Are you ready to show off?”

Bakugo grunted in response, staring out the window.

He was ready. He’d make sure everyone watching knew exactly who was the strongest in this school.

Deku would have loved this. He would have had that stupid determined look on his face, analyzing every opponent, muttering to himself about strategies.

The thought made Bakugo scowl.

He’d make sure this was a festival Deku wouldn’t want to miss next year.

Round 1: The Obstacle Race

The stadium thundered with cheers as Midnight announced the first round—a mad dash against every student in the tournament.

Bakugo positioned himself at the front of the starting line, knees bent, hands twitching in anticipation.

The moment the signal flared, he blasted off, explosions rocketing him ahead of the competition.

Ice surged across the field—Todoroki.

“Tch.” Bakugo snarled, twisting mid-air to avoid getting frozen in place.

He hated that bastard’s cool indifference.

The course was filled with traps—massive robots, bottomless pits, even a minefield. But none of it mattered. Bakugo tore through every obstacle, dodging, blasting, and overpowering anything in his way.

He saw Todoroki ahead, gliding effortlessly over his own ice.

Not happening, bastard.

With one final explosion, Bakugo launched himself past him, crossing the finish line first.

The crowd erupted.

He smirked. Damn right.

Round 2: The Cavalry Battle

Bakugo hated this round.

He didn’t do teamwork.

But if he had to, he’d win anyway.

His team—Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari—had one goal: Protect the headband and take down anyone who got in their way.

And Todoroki’s team? They had the most points.

Bakugo’s grin turned feral.

“Charge.”

Explosions and ice clashed in a chaotic, frenzied battle. Bakugo relentlessly went after Todoroki’s team, ignoring the others.

In the end, his team secured enough points to move on.

Fine. One step closer to his round.

Final Round: One-on-One Battles

The fights were where Bakugo thrived.

Kaminari? Knocked out in seconds.

Kirishima? Took longer, but his hardening had limits—Bakugo’s explosions didn’t.

Iida? Too predictable.

And then, the final match.

Bakugo vs. Todoroki.

The moment the match started, Bakugo was on him, explosions sending him forward in a blur of speed.

Todoroki countered instantly, ice surging forward in massive waves.

Bakugo blasted into the air, dodging each one, sending precise explosions at Todoroki’s defenses.

“Stop hiding behind your damn ice and fight me!” Bakugo roared.

Todoroki hesitated.

Again?

Bakugo’s frustration boiled over. He wanted a real fight, not another half-assed battle.

“You’re not even trying, damn it!” He blasted toward Todoroki, breaking through the ice. “USE YOUR FIRE!”

For a split second, it looked like Todoroki might.

But then—hesitation.

Bakugo saw it.

And he took advantage of it.

A massive explosion slammed Todoroki out of bounds.

The match was over.

Bakugo stood in the ring, chest heaving, fists clenched. The crowd was deafening.

He’d won.

But as he stared at Todoroki, still holding back, still refusing to fight at his full strength, Bakugo felt nothing but disappointment.

Not at Todoroki.

At the fact that the fight he wanted—the one he’d been waiting for—had never happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be Todoroki standing there.

It was supposed to be Deku.

That damn nerd.

He should have been here, standing across from him in the final round, pushing him to his limits, refusing to back down no matter how many times Bakugo knocked him down.

Instead, he was gone.

Taken.

And Bakugo had been powerless to stop it.

He clenched his fists.

He’d won the Sports Festival.

But it didn’t feel like a victory.

Chapter Text

Midoriya woke up with a start.

Something—someone—was touching his fingers.

A shiver ran down his spine, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers… they were broken. He remembered the pain, the way his bones had cracked under pressure, the way he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming. And yet, the agony that once consumed him had dulled to a faint throb.

His vision swam as he blinked rapidly, trying to focus. The dim room around him was as cold and lifeless as ever. The scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of dried blood on his skin.

The doctor.

Midoriya’s gaze landed on the figure tending to his hands, carefully wrapping wet gauze around his injuries. A tingling sensation seeped into his skin, the ache in his fingers beginning to fade as the minutes ticked by.

Fast-healing properties.

He clenched his jaw.

Of course.

He should have felt relief that the pain was lessening, that he could move his fingers without unbearable suffering. But instead, dread curled in his stomach.

They weren’t healing him out of kindness.

They were healing him so they could break him again.

His throat tightened.

The weight of his situation crashed down on him all over again. He needed to believe that they were coming for him. Someone had to be searching. Someone had to be fighting to find him.

But… how long has it been?

He had no way of knowing. There were no windows, no clocks, no hint of the outside world beyond these sterile, suffocating walls.

How much time has passed?

A day? Two? More?

His mind reeled, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that made sense.

If they could track him, they would’ve been here by now.

Right?

His chest tightened.

Unless they can’t.

Or worse—

Unless they won’t.

Midoriya squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the thought away.

No. That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

The doctor finished his work without a word, quietly leaving the room.

Midoriya was alone again.

But he wasn’t.

The feeling of unseen eyes boring into him never left. He knew they were watching. Waiting.

No one entered the room for the rest of the day. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. Eventually, sleep claimed him, his body slumping forward onto the cold metal table.

The sound of a door clicking shut jolted him awake.

Midoriya’s head snapped up, his mind sluggish from exhaustion. His hands felt—better. Too much better. The pain that had once been unbearable was now a mere whisper.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, a deep unease settling in his gut.

The villains had healed him completely.

Which meant they were ready to break him again.

His breath caught in his throat.

A shadow moved in front of him.

Midoriya’s blood ran cold as he met the red-rimmed eyes of Tomura Shigaraki.

He recoiled instinctively, his chair scraping against the floor as he tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and the villain.

Shigaraki smirked, standing across the table.

Midoriya clenched his fists, his heart pounding. He hated how his body reacted, how his fear was so plainly visible. But after everything—after the pain, the threats, the feeling of helplessness—his body betrayed him.

Shigaraki rested his hands on the table, fingers twitching.

“Now,” he drawled, his voice slow and taunting, “shall we continue our little chat from earlier?”

Midoriya’s breath caught.

His mind screamed—move, run, fight back—but the cuffs on his wrists made escape impossible.

Shigaraki moved fast.

Midoriya jerked back, but there was nowhere to go. The villain’s grip closed around his hand, fingers pressing hard against his knuckles.

Pain shot up his arm.

Not as bad as before, but bad enough to send a jolt through his system.

“So,” Shigaraki murmured, his voice mockingly sweet, “do you still think the heroes are coming for you?”

Midoriya grit his teeth.

The pain was manageable. He could handle this.

“It’s been four days,” Shigaraki continued, tilting his head. “If they were coming, wouldn’t they be here already?”

Four days.

Midoriya’s breath hitched.

No.

That can’t be right.

His chest tightened, panic creeping into his thoughts. Four whole days? How? It felt like an eternity… or maybe it had only been hours. His sense of time was completely shattered.

They should be here by now.

They should be.

Right?

Heroes didn’t abandon people. Heroes never gave up.

Right?

Midoriya clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe. They’re coming. I know they are.

“Yes, they are,” he spat.

SNAP.

A strangled yelp tore from his throat before he could stop it.

White-hot agony exploded in his hand, worse than before. Even though his fingers had healed somewhat, the fresh break sent his vision spinning.

Shigaraki let out an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, kid. You’re only hurting yourself by lying. This would be so much easier if you’d just accept the truth.”

Midoriya gasped, pressing the fingernails of his other hand into his palm.

“They’re not coming,” Shigaraki pressed, his smirk widening. “They have more important things to deal with. Bigger things.”

Midoriya wanted to shout back, to deny it, but his voice was shaking.

What if…

What if he was right?

SNAP.

Midoriya’s body jolted violently, his breath cutting short. His vision swam, his head throbbing.

Why hasn’t All Might come yet?

Wasn’t he the Symbol of Peace?

Didn’t he care?

His resolve—his belief that someone was out there looking for him—wavered.

“Have you changed your mind yet?” Shigaraki asked, sounding almost bored.

Midoriya’s body screamed at him to end this, to just say anything that would make it stop.

But he had to be strong.

“They… they will come,” he whispered, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

SNAP.

Midoriya trembled.

His fingers. His hand. His thoughts.

All breaking.

Where are they?

He clung desperately to his belief that someone was searching. That someone cared.

But if they were…

Why haven’t they found him?

His breathing hitched.

His vision blurred.

His fingers trembled.

The process repeated.

Again.

And again.

By the time Shigaraki reached the eighth finger, Midoriya was barely conscious.

His head bobbed forward, exhaustion swallowing him whole.

Shigaraki tilted his head. “What’s your answer now?”

Midoriya barely heard him.

He was too tired. Too weak.

I don’t think they’re coming.

Maybe… maybe he had been lying to himself all along.

His breath was shallow, his limbs weak.

“No,” he whispered. “They aren’t coming.”

Shigaraki grinned, triumphant.

“Finally.”

The villain left with a satisfied hum.

The door clicked shut.

Midoriya’s body slumped forward, his breathing ragged.

It was that easy?

He didn’t have the strength to think anymore.

But as unconsciousness crept in, an ache settled deep in his chest.

Not from the pain.

But from the realization—

That maybe… maybe he really was alone.

Chapter Text

Midoriya woke groggily, his body feeling heavy with exhaustion. A dull ache throbbed in his hands, but as he flexed his fingers, he realized they were bandaged—carefully wrapped in fresh gauze. The doctor must have already been by to mend his injuries while he was unconscious.

I must have been really out of it…

His head felt foggy, the weight of exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. With a strained effort, he forced himself to sit up, lifting his head off the cold table. His vision swam for a moment before finally sharpening, and as the haze lifted, so did the memories.

He remembered what had happened before he passed out.

How Shigaraki had broken his fingers. Again and again.

How, in the end, he had given in.

The realization made his stomach twist.

His resolve had crumbled. His belief—the stubborn, unyielding hope that had kept him going—was gone.

He couldn’t bring himself to believe anymore.

The heroes… they weren’t coming.

Maybe they never had been.

He had clung to the idea for so long, convincing himself that someone—anyone—was searching for him. But how much longer could he keep holding onto something that might not even be happening?

He exhaled shakily.

He would believe it when he saw it.

Midoriya stared at the wall in front of him, his vision unfocused. A bitter emptiness grew in his chest, something he couldn’t name. It was more than despair. More than sadness.

Betrayal.

His breath hitched as his thoughts shifted.

Kacchan…

How could he forget about him?

Midoriya’s fingers curled slightly against the table. A pang of longing coursed through him. He missed him. The thought of his childhood friend, his rival—the one person who never backed down from anything—made something deep inside Midoriya ache.

Even if the heroes weren’t looking for him, Kacchan wouldn’t give up.

At least… he hoped that part was true.

He sat in silence, the throbbing in his hands pulsing with each heartbeat. His stomach growled faintly. Hunger gnawed at him, but he felt too drained to care.

Then, the sound of a door opening behind him snapped him from his thoughts.

Footsteps.

Two sets.

Midoriya tensed, but his body was too weak to react. He could only watch as the blurry figures approached.

Shigaraki stepped into his view, his red-rimmed eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Beside him stood the same hulking grunt who had dragged Midoriya to this chair in the first place.

Midoriya swallowed, his shoulders stiffening.

Why is he here? What’s their plan? Are they going to hurt me again?

But—he agreed with them now. Wasn’t that what they wanted?

Shigaraki leaned forward, placing his hand near Midoriya’s wrist.

“So, the question is,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Are the heroes still coming to rescue you?”

Midoriya flinched violently, leaning back as far as his bound wrists would allow. His hands trembled, his breath coming out shaky. He shook his head fast—silent, desperate.

Shigaraki smirked. “Glad to see you’ve finally accepted the truth.”

He tapped his fingers against the table lazily.

“No need to be so tense. How about we get you back to your room?”

Midoriya’s eyes widened.

Wait… what?

They were—letting him go back?

To his room?

A bed?

His foggy mind reeled, trying to process the words.

Shigaraki chuckled, clearly enjoying his confusion. “Don’t get any ideas. If you try anything, we’ll have to use more force.”

Midoriya swallowed hard and nodded. He didn’t want to get hurt anymore. He would behave.

With that, his wrists were unshackled, only to be re-tied with thick rope. The restraints around his waist and ankles were loosened, allowing him to move.

As soon as he tried to stand, his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

The grunt beside him caught him easily, his strong grip pressing under Midoriya’s arms to keep him upright. His body felt weak—too weak. Days without proper movement, coupled with exhaustion and stress, had left him barely able to stand.

Each step was slow, his legs trembling as he was half-dragged through the halls.

When they finally reached the room, he was set down on the bed. His wrists were untied, but the guards’ sharp eyes lingered on him for a moment longer—watching.

Then, without another word, they left, locking the door behind them.

Midoriya let out a shaky breath.

The exhaustion crashed into him all at once.

His gaze drifted to the desk.

A tray sat there.

Food.

Without hesitation, he reached for the sandwich, tearing into it hungrily. The taste was bland, but it didn’t matter. The moment the food hit his stomach, he felt better.

The juice washed down easily.

And nothing happened.

No tricks. No poison.

Just food.

He almost felt stupid for ever thinking they would tamper with it.

With his stomach full and his body weak, he sank into the mattress. The warmth of the bed—the comfort of it—was overwhelming.

Sleep took him before he could think another thought.

Two days passed.

Midoriya stayed in his room. He ate three meals a day, always thanking the grunts when they dropped them off.

And… he didn’t feel hostile toward them anymore.

How could they be evil if they were bringing him food?

They hadn’t hurt him. The only time they did was when he had lied.

Right?

That thought plagued him constantly.

He still didn’t fully understand what was happening. So much had happened in such a short time. His mind was exhausted, struggling to process it all.

So he stopped trying.

It was easier to focus on the present.

Then, on the third day, something changed.

A knock.

Midoriya froze.

That was new.

No one had knocked before.

It was… polite. Almost respectful.

It caught him off guard.

“…Come in,” he said hesitantly.

The door opened, revealing a tall man dressed in a pristine black suit. A helmet obscured most of his face, sleek and eerie.

Midoriya straightened slightly.

The presence this man carried—it was different.

“Good morning,” the stranger greeted smoothly. “I take it your name is Midoriya. Is that correct?”

Midoriya hesitated. He wasn’t used to casual conversations anymore.

“Uh… yes, sir.”

The man smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his unseen eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Midoriya. My name is All For One. I run this organization, though I allow Shigaraki to lead the group while I undergo… certain procedures.” He gestured briefly to his helmet.

“I apologize for any discomfort he has caused you. He can be—” All For One let out a sigh, “—a bit extreme. But he means well.”

Midoriya blinked, his mind reeling.

He means well?

What was happening?

“I wanted to speak to you about an opportunity.”

Midoriya’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

All For One’s voice was smooth, almost gentle. “I have the ability to grant quirks. That is my original quirk.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened.

Grant quirks?

Give people quirks?

“That’s… possible?”

All For One nodded. “I can bestow multiple quirks upon others. And I’d like to offer one to you.”

A flicker of something—hope—ignited in Midoriya’s chest.

“…A quirk?”

“Yes. A speed quirk. It would allow you to move incredibly fast.”

Midoriya’s heart pounded.

They trusted him enough to offer this.

He didn’t want to ruin that.

He nodded. “I-I’ll take it.”

All For One smiled. “Splendid. Now, lie down. This may wear you out.”

Midoriya obeyed, his breath hitching as a warm pulse surged through him.

A strange, electric sensation filled his veins.

And then—

Darkness.

Chapter Text

When Midoriya wakes up, a strange, electric energy hums beneath his skin, coursing through his veins like a second heartbeat. He blinks sluggishly, his vision still adjusting to the dim light of his room. Instinctively, he moves to run a hand through his messy curls but stops when his fingers brush against a bandage wrapped around his forehead.

Huh? A bandage? When did that get there?

He furrows his brows in confusion, but the thought doesn’t linger long. There’s no pain, no immediate distress—just a vague emptiness where an answer should be. Brushing it off, he stretches his stiff legs, feeling the unfamiliar energy bubbling within him. Excitement sparks in his chest. He doesn’t know exactly what this new quirk can do, but he’s itching to find out.

The room is small, restricting, but it’ll have to do for now. He pictures himself standing at the opposite wall, visualizing the movement in his mind. Then, with a single step—

Boom!

A sharp impact slams through his body as he crashes headfirst into the wall. The force rattles his skull, leaving his head spinning as he crumples to the ground. A groan escapes him as he blinks away the fuzziness clouding his thoughts. What just happened?

Dazed, he stirs and glances around, confusion settling in when he realizes—he did make it to the other side. It was so fast he hadn’t even registered it. It was like blinking and suddenly teleporting across the room.

His fingers dig into the floor as he pushes himself up, brushing dust off his clothes. He readies himself again, this time more focused, more in tune with his body. When he moves, the world slows. Everything feels suspended in time, like he’s moving while the rest of the world struggles to catch up. By the time he stops, reality snaps back into place in a dizzying rush.

This… this is amazing.

A grin spreads across his face as giddy excitement thrums in his chest. Before he can process it further, the door creaks open. A grunt steps inside, holding a tray of food. The man pauses, eyes flickering to the human-sized dent in the wall. His gaze lingers for only a second before he silently sets the tray on the desk and walks out, offering no reaction.

Midoriya flushes in embarrassment but is secretly relieved nothing was said. With a small chuckle, he sits down and digs into his meal, momentarily forgetting about everything else.

For the first time in a while, he feels good. Strong. Almost… happy.

And yet, a nagging thought tugs at the back of his mind.

Why am I here?

The question lingers, a quiet whisper he can’t quite ignore. It’s strange—his memories feel scattered, like puzzle pieces that refuse to fit together. Something tells him he was taken , but that idea seems ridiculous. Surely, he must have gotten injured somehow and was brought here to recover. Right?

Every time he tries to focus on the gaps in his memory, they slip away like sand through his fingers. It’s too much effort to make sense of, so he lets it go.

For now.

The door creaks open again, and this time, Shigaraki steps inside.

Midoriya stiffens instinctively, a sense of unease creeping up his spine—but why? Something tells him to be wary, but the reasoning is buried too deep in his foggy mind. He pushes the feeling aside, forcing himself to relax as he remains seated on his bed.

“How are you feeling, kid?” Shigaraki asks, arms crossed. His tone isn’t mocking or cruel—just… curious.

Midoriya hesitates before responding. “I think I’m okay. My head’s a little foggy, but it’s nothing too bad. I’ve been trying to get used to my new quirk, but…” He glances at the damaged wall, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Shigaraki waves it off with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t use this room much anyway.” Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Now, go take a shower. You stink.”

Midoriya’s face burns red with embarrassment.

In the bathroom, he finally takes a good look at himself in the mirror. His reflection stares back—messy, unruly hair, deep bags under his eyes, and a worn-down look that makes his chest tighten uncomfortably.

Why do I look so… rough?

His fingers reach for the bandage on his forehead. With slow, hesitant movements, he peels it away.

Two red marks sit just at his hairline. They look… unnatural, like something was inserted there. His breath catches.

What happened to me?

He tries to dig through his fragmented memories, but nothing surfaces. The harder he focuses, the more elusive the answers become. His frustration simmers, but he pushes it aside. If it was important, he would remember—right?

Stripping off his shirt, his eyes land on a jagged, angry red scar stretching across his shoulder. His stomach twists at the sight.

This was serious.

But just like before—no memories, no recollection of how it got there.

His fingers ghost over the rough skin before he shakes his head, deciding to ask Shigaraki about it later. For now, he steps into the warm shower, letting the water wash away his exhaustion.

After changing into clean clothes—ones provided by Shigaraki—he steps back into the room.

“Much better,” Shigaraki remarks with an approving nod. “Now, how about we move to a bigger space? I’m sure you’d like to test out that quirk properly.”

Midoriya’s face lights up. “Really? Yes! Thank you!”

Excitement bubbles in his chest as they head to a spacious training area. For the next thirty minutes, he pushes his new quirk to its limits, sprinting from one side of the gym to the other, testing his speed, agility, and reflexes. At one point, he playfully dashes up behind Shigaraki, startling him just enough to earn an amused chuckle.

As he slows, catching his breath, a thought resurfaces. Now seems like a good time to ask.

“Uh… Shigaraki?” His voice is hesitant.

“What’s on your mind?”

“When I was in the bathroom, I saw this huge scar on my shoulder. Do you… know what happened?” His fingers twitch at his sides. “Every time I try to remember, my brain goes fuzzy.”

A pause.

Shigaraki exhales through his nose, then places a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. “How about we head back to your room for now? Rest up. We’ll talk about it another time, okay? I promise. I have to go somewhere tomorrow so I’ll see you after that.”

Midoriya is disappointed but nods anyway.

When they return to his room, a familiar figure is already seated at his desk—All for One, clad in his pristine black suit, his masked face unreadable.

“I see you’ve adjusted well to your new quirk,” he observes. “Very impressive. You should be proud.”

Midoriya hesitates before excitement takes over. He launches into an eager explanation, talking fast about everything he’s experienced with his new ability. He feels light, unshackled, free .

All for One listens with interest before finally speaking.

“I have an offer for you.”

Midoriya blinks. “An offer?”

“How would you like your original quirk back? As well as something to help you.”

Midoriya stills. His original quirk? The realization hits like a lightning bolt—oh. Oh! Of course! His original quirk was a strength quirk. How could he forget? His heart leaps.

“Yes! I’d love that! Thank you!”

A small, pleased smile tugs at All for One’s lips. “Good. Now, as before, lay down and relax. When you wake up, you’ll feel even better.”

Midoriya eagerly follows instructions, stretching out on the bed. As All for One’s hand hovers over him, a familiar warmth pulses through his body. His limbs grow heavy, his mind drifts, and darkness pulls him under.

But this time, he isn’t afraid.

This time, he welcomes it.

Chapter Text

When Midoriya wakes up, his entire body thrums with newfound energy. But this time, alongside the electric buzz beneath his skin, there’s something else— strength . His muscles feel denser, his limbs sturdier, as if raw power has been packed into every fiber of his being. He flexes his fingers experimentally, marveling at how natural it feels. He doesn’t quite know how to describe it, but the sensation fills him with pure excitement.

Sitting up, he notices more bandages wrapped around his head. Carefully, he peels them away, his fingers brushing over the two raised spots near his hairline—the same ones he discovered yesterday. They feel more pronounced now, fully healed but undeniably there . A nagging thought creeps in as he traces the indentations.

What happened to me?

No matter how hard he tries to recall, his mind is frustratingly blank. It’s not just the past day that’s foggy—large chunks of his memories are simply gone . Entire weeks, possibly more, are missing, reduced to nothing but an unsettling void. His stomach twists as he realizes he can’t even remember his parents.

His breath quickens.

Pressing his palms against his forehead, he clenches his eyes shut, trying with all his might to force something to surface. Anything. But the more he pushes, the more the memories slip through his grasp like grains of sand.

Why can’t he remember?

A sharp frustration builds in his chest, but he takes a deep breath, forcing himself to let it go. Not now. Focus on the present.

Shigaraki told him they would talk about it. If anyone knew what was going on, it was him. So, for now, Midoriya decides to wait.

But waiting doesn’t mean he has to sit still.

Standing up, he flexes his fists, rolling his shoulders. The power flowing through him is incredible—he needs to test it out. His gaze shifts to the damaged wall from yesterday. It’s already ruined, so what’s the harm in using it as a punching bag?

Bracing himself, he pulls his arm back, feeling the raw energy gather in his muscles. Then, with a sharp exhale—

Boom!

A deafening crack echoes through the room as his fist connects with the wall. Dust and debris scatter as a clean hole is blown straight through the concrete.

Midoriya stares, wide-eyed.

Woah…

He flexes his fingers, his skin tingling with leftover adrenaline. His knuckles sting slightly from the impact, but—wait. His eyes widen as he watches the small cuts and scrapes on his hand begin to close up right before his eyes. The torn skin knits itself together, sealing as if an invisible thread is stitching it shut.

What the hell?

He thinks back to last night. The gentleman… —what was his name again?— he said something about giving me another quirk. Could this be it? A regeneration quirk?

Excitement bubbles inside him. He has to ask about this the next time he sees the man. Though, a part of him wonders why he was given such an important ability. He doesn’t want to believe it was just given to him for free .

Still, he can’t deny how incredible it feels.

The rest of the day is quiet. Too quiet.

Midoriya spends hours alone, the only interruptions being when food is delivered. He thanks the people who bring it, but they never respond. They never even acknowledge his questions. It’s as if they don’t see him, or maybe they just don’t want to.

By the time night falls, he finds himself growing restless.

Then, faintly, he hears it—

Clatter! Crash!

His head snaps toward the hallway, ears straining. It’s distant but unmistakable—the sound of something being thrown, followed by muffled yelling.

It takes a moment, but he recognizes the voice.

Shigaraki.

Midoriya steps closer to the door, pressing himself against the cold wood to listen more carefully. He can only make out fragmented words through the walls, but one line comes through clearly—

"We didn’t even make the front page!"

Midoriya blinks in confusion.

Whatever happened, Shigaraki sounds pissed.

He doesn’t know what it’s about, but he hopes it isn’t anything serious. For some reason, a part of him wants to check on him, but he stays put. It’s not his place to intervene.

Katsuki Bakugo couldn’t believe it when he heard the news.

The Hero Killer—captured by Endeavor in Hosu City.

For the past few days, he’s been grinding through his internship with Best Jeanist. After the U.A. Sports Festival, several agencies had scouted him—he was the winner, after all—but Best Jeanist offered the best opportunity. And as much as he initially hated the strict lessons on “proper hero behavior,” he knew he had made the right choice.

Still, when he heard about the battle in Hosu, his stomach twisted .

Some of his classmates had been caught in the chaos, and while they were reportedly fine, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have been there. He was confident he could’ve taken down the Hero Killer himself.

But one detail about the incident rattled him to his core.

Multiple Nomu-like creatures were spotted in Hosu.

The moment he heard that, his mind snapped back to the attack at U.S.J.—to the monstrous, thing that nearly crushed them all. To the villain who commanded it.

Shigaraki.

Was he in Hosu, too?

There were no reports mentioning him, but the thought gnawed at Bakugo’s brain. The heroes had been too busy fighting Stain and the Nomu to conduct a proper search.

What if Midoriya had been there?

What if those things had led them straight to him?

The lack of answers made his head throb . It had been over a week, and the only lead the heroes had found was a single blueprint . Nothing else. They hadn’t even pinpointed where it led.

Bakugo clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms.

He wasn’t the type to lose hope easily, but this—this was getting harder every day. Every time he asked their teachers for updates, he got the same response: “We’ll tell you if there’s anything new.”

It was starting to piss him off.

At school, his eyes would constantly flicker to Midoriya’s empty desk, willing him to just walk through the damn door like nothing happened. He spent more time hanging out with Kirishima, and while it helped a little, the thought of Midoriya always crept back into his mind.

At home, the tension was unbearable.

Even though Midoriya wasn’t their biological son, his parents had raised him, loved him. And now, the house was quieter than ever. Too quiet. Conversations were shorter. Arguments happened more often. It felt like a heavy fog had settled over everything.

It wasn’t right.

Nothing was right.

He needed Midoriya back.

Bakugo’s throat tightened as he clenched his fists.

They fought, sure. They brawled like crazy. But it was never out of hatred. They pushed each other to be stronger. To be better .

Because that’s what rivals do .

Chapter Text

Midoriya had just finished his breakfast when the door creaked open. Shigaraki stepped inside, his posture slouched with exhaustion. Dark circles framed his narrowed eyes, his usual unsettling presence dulled by fatigue.

Midoriya stiffened instinctively but quickly masked it. After last night, I don’t want to upset him.

Shigaraki exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before speaking.

"Alright, kid. I came here to talk. I'm sure you’ve got a few questions, and I'll see what I can do to answer them."

Midoriya wasted no time.

"I keep forgetting things," he blurted out, voice tight with frustration. "Every time I try to remember, my head feels… fuzzy. I don’t even know why I’m here. I don’t remember how I got this scar on my shoulder."

He pulled down his sleeve, revealing the rough, uneven scarring etched into his skin. His fingers brushed over the raised flesh as unease settled deeper in his chest. "I feel like I’m losing it," he admitted, his emerald eyes burning with anxiety.

Shigaraki raised a hand in a calming gesture.

"Okay, okay—slow down. One thing at a time." His voice was oddly gentle, a stark contrast to his usual sharp tone. "Let me start by telling you who I am and what my group is about. From there, we’ll figure things out. Sounds good?"

Midoriya hesitated but nodded.

Shigaraki pulled over a chair and sat down, leaning forward slightly, his fingers interlacing.

"I’m part of a group of people with unique quirks," he began. "We aren’t exactly heroes, but we fight to make life better for people like us. You see, every member of my group has been wronged by the so-called 'heroes' of this world."

His eyes darkened, resentment flickering in his voice.

"Society treats us as lesser just because our quirks don’t fit their idea of what a hero should be. It’s unfair. People like us are cast aside, ignored, or worse—hunted down."

He leaned back, exhaling slowly.

"I created this group to help others like us. To protect those who don’t fit into their perfect little mold. But the heroes don’t see it that way. To them, we’re villains. They twist the truth and make us out to be the bad guys just because we’re different."

Midoriya swallowed.

"And you… how did I end up here?"

Shigaraki’s lips curled into something unreadable.

"One day, Kurogiri and I were walking when we saw you being attacked."

Midoriya’s breath caught.

"Attacked?"

"Yeah. By a U.A. student. A hero in training."

Midoriya’s blood ran cold.

"He was a student at U.A.—that school where kids go to train for their hero licenses. He had bright blond hair, an explosive quirk. We only caught the end of it, but we saw him hit you. He burned you badly—that’s how you got the scar on your shoulder."

Midoriya’s fingers twitched, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"We managed to get to you before things got worse," Shigaraki continued. "We took you back to our base to heal you. You were completely out of it. It was safer for you to stay here while you recovered."

Midoriya's mind reeled, trying to piece everything together.

"We looked into your past," Shigaraki added, his voice lowering slightly. "And we found out you don’t have any parents."

Midoriya's stomach twisted.

"I’m sorry, kid. Truly."

Midoriya blinked. No parents? The words didn’t feel real.

"That’s why we kept you here," Shigaraki said. "I know it’s been a little… shut-in, but I wanted to talk to you first. I didn’t want you to panic and run off. I was scared you’d get yourself hurt."

Midoriya stared at him, his chest tightening. His breathing grew shallow.

"So what happened to my parents?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why don’t I remember them?"

Shigaraki sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

"We’re not entirely sure why your memory is like this," he admitted. "Maybe it was from the fight with that student—maybe you hit your head too hard. When we found you, you were barely conscious."

Midoriya clenched his jaw, frustration boiling under his skin.

"And my parents?"

Shigaraki hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Your father passed away when you were just a baby. And your mother…" His voice softened, almost regretful. "You lost her when you were five."

Midoriya’s heart pounded.

"How?"

Shigaraki’s expression darkened.

"There was an incident in a downtown market. A hero attacked an innocent person—someone like us. Your mother got in the way. She tried to protect them." He paused, voice heavy with something unreadable. "The hero killed her."

Silence.

Midoriya’s breath hitched. His mind refused to process the words.

"No," he whispered. "That… that can’t be…"

But there was no memory to refute it.

Nothing.

He searched the depths of his mind, desperate to recall even the smallest detail. A face, a voice, a touch— anything. But all he found was an empty void where his mother should have been.

He didn’t remember her.

I don’t even know what she looked like.

His stomach twisted painfully.

A mother takes care of you. She feeds you. She loves you.

But mine… mine was taken away from me.

By heroes.

The words rang in his skull, over and over, like a haunting echo.

Heroes killed my mom.

Heroes let this happen.

Heroes hurt me.

Midoriya clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as a hot, unfamiliar rage boiled inside him. His breathing grew heavy, uneven.

They were supposed to save people.

But they didn’t save her.

They killed her.

And now she was gone.

Forever.

A deep, smoldering anger settled in his gut, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

They can’t get away with this.

Midoriya glared at the wall, his fingers twitching with the urge to break something. A new resolve burned in his chest, sharp and unyielding.

He wouldn’t let this go.

He couldn’t.

Chapter Text

Later that day, Shigaraki came to get Midoriya. It was time to introduce him to some of the team.

They walked up a set of creaky stairs, passing dimly lit hallways until they reached what looked like a common room. The space was cluttered but lived-in—couches scattered around, tables covered in papers, half-eaten food containers, and stray playing cards. It smelled faintly of smoke.

The first person they ran into was a girl.

She was small, almost delicate-looking, with sharp blonde hair tied up in two messy buns. But her eyes—wide, golden, and full of excitement—gave her an unhinged energy. As soon as she spotted Midoriya, her face split into a grin so wide it nearly took up her entire face.

"Hi! I’m Toga!" she greeted enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "It’s really nice to meet ya!"

Midoriya nodded, offering a small smile in return. There was something oddly warm about her greeting, despite the unsettling glint in her eyes. She has a nice smile, he noted absently.

Behind her stood a man dressed in a full black suit, the upper half of his mask white with matching white accents tracing his outfit.

"Name’s Twice!" he greeted, his voice shifting erratically. "Nice to meet ya—wait, no, terrible to meet ya—no, wait, I mean great to meet ya!"

Midoriya blinked at the rapid contradictions, but before he could process it, another figure stepped forward.

A tall man with reptilian features—scaly green skin, sharp claws, and a tail—offered a stiff nod.

"Spinner," he introduced himself simply.

Next was a man in a suit and a dramatic mask, twirling a small red sphere between his fingers.

"Mr. Compress," he said smoothly. "A pleasure, young man."

Midoriya barely had time to return the greeting before he met Magne, a broad-shouldered woman with a strong presence who had the power to magnetize objects. Then came Muscular, a grinning brute whose arms bulged unnaturally with shifting muscle fibers, making Midoriya stare in reluctant fascination.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Muscular smirked, flexing his arm as the muscle seemed to swell like living armor.

Midoriya nodded, genuinely impressed.

Then there was Mustard, a younger-looking boy in a gas mask who barely spared him a glance.

And finally—

Midoriya felt his breath hitch as he laid eyes on him.

Dabi.

He stood slightly apart from the others, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, head tilted ever so slightly like he was observing Midoriya from behind the curtain of his dark bangs. His entire body was covered in ragged, purple-stained burns, stapled together like patchwork. But he carried himself with an ease, a confidence, that made it seem like he barely noticed the damage.

Something about him felt… commanding.

Midoriya wasn’t sure why, but he respected him almost instantly.

Later, Midoriya sat beside Shigaraki on the worn-out couch.

"So, kid—what do you think?" Shigaraki asked, leaning back with a rare relaxed posture.

Midoriya was still buzzing with energy. It had been so long since he’d been around people, since he had been able to talk and interact freely. He hadn't realized just how much he missed it. And more than that—this was the first time Shigaraki had trusted him enough to let him out of his room, to introduce him to the others.

"They’re really great," he said honestly, his voice light. "It’s really nice to meet them. I hope we can spend more time together."

He felt something warm in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a while.

Was this… happiness?

Shigaraki nodded, satisfied.

"From now on, you can go anywhere within the building, alright?" he said. "You don’t have to stay cooped up in your room anymore."

Midoriya’s face lit up, but Shigaraki quickly raised a hand.

"The only thing I ask is that you don’t go outside. Or leave the building."

Midoriya tilted his head slightly, but Shigaraki’s voice was firm.

"That boy who attacked you before—he might still be looking for you. And I don’t want you getting hurt. You understand that, right?"

Midoriya hesitated, then nodded.

"Yeah… I understand."

"Good. And if you need anything, just let me know. I’ll make sure you get it." Shigaraki’s lips curled slightly. "Besides, we have something planned in the next few days that I want to talk to you about later. I think you’ll like it."

Midoriya felt a spark of curiosity.

"Okay," he said, trying not to sound too eager. "Thank you."

Midoriya spent the rest of the day talking with Twice and Toga.

They asked him about himself—where he was from, what he remembered—but when he told them about his memory issues, they didn’t pry. They just accepted it.

He was grateful for that.

That evening, Shigaraki called him into what looked like an office.

Midoriya could tell it was his immediately—the room was a disaster, covered in scattered papers, gaming controllers, and empty cups.

Shigaraki didn’t seem to care about the mess as he leaned against the desk.

"Thanks for being patient, kid," he started. "I wanted to tell you this privately so you fully understand the plan."

Midoriya listened intently.

"In two days, we’re going to hit a training camp. Some U.A. High classes will be there, along with a few pro heroes. They took something valuable from us, and we plan to take it back."

Midoriya’s stomach twisted slightly.

"There will be students there?" he asked hesitantly.

Shigaraki must have noticed the flicker of uncertainty in his expression because he quickly added—

"Don’t worry—we’re not going after the students. Everyone here has been instructed to only defend themselves against them. Just knock them out if they get in the way. The real threats are the pro heroes."

Midoriya exhaled slowly, tension easing.

"Once we get our property back, Kurogiri will teleport you all out. Unfortunately, I won’t be coming on this trip, but you’ll be in good hands with the group I introduced you to. So relax."

He gave Midoriya a pointed look.

"You’ll stay near the back. You don’t have experience in something like this yet, so they’ll keep you safe. Just watch and learn."

Midoriya swallowed, taking a moment to process everything.

He was going outside.

With the group.

On a mission.

He wasn’t being left behind. He was part of this.

A surge of excitement burned in his chest.

Shigaraki had done so much for him. Saved him. Gave him a place where he belonged. Now, he had a chance to prove himself. To show that he wasn’t weak. To show that he could help.

His fists clenched.

"I’ll do it," he said, his voice steady, his resolve firm. "Thank you."

Shigaraki smiled lightly.

"That’s great," he said, tossing something toward him. "Wear these."

Midoriya caught them—a large black hoodie and a pair of dark pants.

"There will be lots of shade where you're going. This will help you blend in."

Midoriya held the clothes close to his chest.

Excitement buzzed in his veins.

He wouldn't let them down.

Chapter Text

“Now that you’ve finished your first semester at U.A. High, it’s time for your summer vacation to begin,” Aizawa announced, his tired eyes scanning the room. “However, don’t think these will be months of rest for you heroes in the making.”

Excitement rippled through the classroom. The students of Class 1-A and 1-B had been looking forward to this moment for weeks. They were headed to a summer training camp deep in the forest, designed to push their Quirks to the next level. The recent surge in villain activity had made it clear—if they wanted to survive in this world, they needed to get stronger.

The room buzzed with energy, students chattering about the trip, making plans for campfires, swimming, and, of course, training.

But Bakugo sat at his desk, arms crossed, eyes locked on the board but not really seeing it.

He should’ve been excited too. He was. But a part of him couldn’t ignore the empty seat in the room.

Midoriya should’ve been here.

Ever since the League of Villains took him, everything had felt… off. It was like the nerd had left behind a hole in their class, one no one wanted to talk about. Everyone was trying to move forward, to focus on their training and their futures.

But how the hell were they supposed to just move on?

Bakugo clenched his fists.

Deku wouldn’t want him to sit here sulking. He wouldn’t want anyone to. The idiot was probably somewhere trying to fight his way back.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to shake it off. This training was important, and if Midoriya were here, he’d be pushing himself to get stronger. Bakugo wasn’t about to fall behind.

As the class filed out toward the bus, Bakugo walked beside Kirishima. Hardheaded as he was, Kirishima was fun to be around, and lately, Bakugo had been hanging out with him more.

Everyone piled onto the bus, and Aizawa slumped into the front seat, already looking exhausted.

“We’re going to be on the road for about an hour before our next stop,” he muttered. “So try not to—”

“Anyone got music to play?” Kirishima suddenly shouted, earning a nudge from Bakugo’s elbow.

Aizawa sighed, running a hand down his face. “Why do I even bother?”

The bus erupted into chatter, and for the first time in a while, Bakugo allowed himself to relax, even if only a little.

The bus eventually came to a stop on the side of a mountain road, overlooking a vast forest below. The air smelled of pine and fresh earth, and a second vehicle was parked nearby.

As the students stretched their legs, some wandered toward the railing, peering down into the thick trees.

“This is amazing!” Ashido beamed, leaning over the edge.

Then a realization struck.

“Wait… if the camp’s down there,” Jiro started, narrowing her eyes, “then why did we stop up here?”

“I think we already know the answer to that…” Sato muttered, frowning.

Before anyone could question it further, the doors to the parked car swung open, and two energetic figures leaped out. They wore matching outfits with cat-eared helmets and oversized furry gloves.

“Welcome, students of U.A.!” one of them cheered, striking a dramatic pose.

“We’re the Wild, Wild Pussycats!” the other added with a bright grin.

The taller one, Mandalay, waved. “I’m Mandalay, and this is Pixie-Bob!”

Pixie-Bob’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “And we’ll be overseeing your training here at the camp!”

The students exchanged glances, the excitement returning.

That was until Mandalay’s smile turned mischievous.

“The camp is at the base of this mountain.”

Silence.

Then Jiro asked the obvious question. “Then… why are we up here?”

“Because your training starts now!” Pixie-Bob announced, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

Panic immediately set in.

“We have to get there on foot?!” Kaminari yelped.

“Training camp has already begun,” Aizawa said, smirking.

Before anyone could protest, Pixie-Bob slammed her hands into the ground. The earth rumbled beneath their feet. In a matter of seconds, the ground beneath them shifted violently, and without warning—

The mountain collapsed beneath them.

“OH, COME ON—”

Students screamed as the rocky slope gave way, sending them tumbling down into the dense forest below. Trees rushed past, branches snapped, and dirt flew into the air as they plummeted toward the wilderness.

Bakugo barely had time to brace before he hit the ground running.

“Tch. What a joke.”

Unlike the others, he didn’t waste time panicking. Instead, he gritted his teeth and launched himself forward, explosions propelling him through the air as he adjusted to the terrain.

He wasn’t worried.

But he was ready.

After what felt like an eternity of battling through Pixie-Bob’s earth monsters, dodging falling debris, and sprinting through uneven terrain, the students finally made it to the training lodge.

The structure was sturdy and welcoming, the golden glow from inside promising warmth, food, and rest. But the students were too exhausted to admire it for long.

“Welcome to the camp!” Mandalay announced. “You all did great!”

Some students groaned in exhaustion. Kaminari flopped onto the ground, his face buried in the dirt.

“That was not great…”

Bakugo ignored them, stepping into the lodge. Inside, the scent of polished wood and fresh linens filled the air. Dormitories lined the halls, with bunk beds neatly arranged. The common area had plush couches and a fireplace crackling with warmth.

Dinner was lively. Plates clattered, voices rose in laughter, and, for a moment, everything felt normal.

But as Bakugo ate, his gaze kept flickering toward an empty seat.

Midoriya’s seat.

He wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. He focused on the training ahead. If the villains dared to come near him—near them—he’d be ready.

And he’d end them.

But deep down, he still couldn’t shake the feeling.

Something bad was coming.

The students were jolted awake by a thunderous THUD.

Bakugo's eyes snapped open, his senses immediately on high alert. Around him, groggy students stumbled out of their bunks, stretching and rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered, throwing off his blanket and heading toward the window.

Outside, the once-dark forest was ablaze. Towering flames consumed the treetops, casting an eerie orange glow across the camp. Thick black smoke curled into the night sky, and the heat from the inferno made the glass pane warm under Bakugo’s palm.

His stomach twisted. This isn’t normal.

“Is this part of our training?” Kaminari yawned, scratching his head.

Before anyone could answer, the dormitory door was kicked open, slamming against the wall.

Aizawa stood in the doorway, eyes sharp and serious. “Everyone, stay alert and follow me. This is real. Villains are attacking.”

The weight of his words was enough to send ice down Bakugo’s spine.

That woke everyone up.

The students scrambled into action, throwing on their shoes and readying their gear. In minutes, they were gathered at the lodge entrance, their breath visible in the cold night air. The pro heroes stood at the front, forming a protective barrier, their stances tense and ready for battle.

Beyond them, the forest was chaos—flames crackled, smoke thickened the air, and a dense, unnatural fog curled through the trees. It felt intentional. Like they were being herded into the open.

Bakugo wasn’t scared. His hands twitched at his sides, tiny pops of smoke curling from his palms as he prepared for the fight.

Then, without hesitation, the battle erupted.

The villains charged, and the heroes retaliated.

There weren’t enough pro heroes to match the enemy numbers, so the students were forced to step in. Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He shot forward, eyes locking onto a hulking villain whose muscles bulged unnaturally, shifting and growing with each movement.

“Tch. What the hell is that?” Bakugo scowled.

“Not sure,” Kirishima said, hardening his fists. “But we’re taking him down.”

Todoroki, standing beside them, exhaled, frost forming under his palm. “We need a plan. His strength seems limitless.”

Bakugo grinned, explosions crackling in his hands. “Then we break him.”

As they lunged at their opponent, Bakugo’s focus was razor-sharp, every sense honed in on the fight. But then—

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved.

A shadow in the treeline.

His instincts screamed at him, and his eyes flickered toward the figure.

A dark hooded silhouette, barely visible through the flickering firelight. It wasn’t moving to attack. It was just… watching.

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. Who the hell—

Before he could think, the figure vanished, reappearing at another point along the treeline. It was fast. Too fast.

Something about it bothered him.

His stomach twisted again. Why wasn’t this one fighting? Why was it just observing?

Then—suddenly—the figure stepped into the firelight.

The glow illuminated the lower half of their face, casting sharp shadows over their features. But what Bakugo saw made his blood run cold.

Eyes.

Emerald green.

Hair.

Messy, dark, with hints of green catching in the fire’s glow.

No.

Bakugo froze. His breath caught in his throat. His mind reeled.

It couldn’t be.

It was impossible.

But those eyes—he knew those eyes.

His heart pounded violently in his chest.

“Deku?”

His voice barely came out, lost in the roar of battle.

Before he could move, his opponent took advantage of his distraction. The muscle-bound villain swung at him, a massive fist crashing toward his side.

“BAKUGO!”

At the last second, Todoroki intercepted, ice shooting up to block the attack. Bakugo stumbled back, snapping himself out of his shock.

What the hell am I doing?

He whirled back toward the treeline, but the hooded figure was gone.

Bakugo stood there, fists clenched, chest rising and falling heavily. He felt sick.

Did he imagine it? Had he lost his damn mind?

No.

He knew what he saw.

That was Midoriya.

It had to be.

Bakugo’s jaw tightened. His fingers twitched. His emotions were a tangled storm, rage and confusion swirling together into something unbearable.

What the hell was going on?

What had they done to him?

But now wasn’t the time for answers. He forced himself to keep fighting. There was too much happening, too many moving pieces, too many lives at stake.

But when this was over—

He was going to find him.

And he was going to bring him back.

Chapter Text

“You ready, kid?”

Shigaraki’s voice was calm but expectant as he addressed Midoriya. The rest of the group was finishing their preparations, checking their gear and getting into position.

Midoriya adjusted the sleeves of his black sweater and pulled the hood over his head, his emerald eyes shimmering with excitement beneath the shadows. He nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Kurogiri, standing a few feet away, activated a swirling portal, its purple mist casting eerie light onto the trees around them. Midoriya could feel a hint of nervousness creep into his chest—this was his first real mission. But more than anything, he was excited. He wanted to see his new team in action, to prove himself useful with his speed quirk.

This was his chance.

Together, the group stepped through the portal.

The moment they emerged, they were greeted by the stillness of the night. The forest around them was dark, the sky littered with brilliant stars. Midoriya took a moment to stare at them in fascination. They looked familiar.

“Hey, kid, pay attention. We aren’t here to play around.”

Dabi’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

The blue-flamed villain dragged his hand along the trees as he walked, igniting them in a trail of destruction. Within seconds, the once-calm forest became a battlefield. Thick smoke curled into the air, and the heat from the flames made Midoriya’s skin prickle.

Their plan was officially in motion.

Midoriya hung back, staying at the edge of the treeline. His job was to keep watch, to ensure no one tried to sneak up on them. With his speed, he could cover ground quickly and silently. He would observe. He wouldn’t let them down.

As the battle broke out, Midoriya’s gaze locked onto a particular figure in the chaos.

A boy with sharp blond hair moved through the battlefield with explosive speed, his gauntlets resembling grenades. He fought like he was born to win.

Midoriya’s fingers clenched into fists.

So that’s him.

The boy Shigaraki had told him about. The one they had saved him from.

Midoriya’s shoulder ached at the memory—though, strangely, he couldn’t remember much about how he got the burn. He only knew that it came from that boy.

He should hate him.

And yet, instead of charging in, Midoriya simply watched.

Something about the way the boy fought fascinated him. It was wild, aggressive, but also precise. Controlled chaos. Midoriya’s muscles tensed—he wanted to fight him, to test himself against that power.

But he wasn’t foolish enough to try. Not yet.

Midoriya shifted slightly, moving just enough to avoid direct eye contact. But then—

The blond noticed him.

Midoriya moved again, shifting a few feet over, hoping it would break the boy’s focus. But he followed him with his eyes.

Again.

Then, Midoriya made a mistake.

He moved into the firelight.

And the moment the flames illuminated his face, the boy froze.

Wide-eyed. Stunned.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t hatred.

It was recognition.

Midoriya’s breath hitched.

Why?

The blond stood still, completely still, his eyes locked onto Midoriya as if he had just seen a ghost.

Midoriya felt something stir in his chest. A strange, aching sensation. It made his head buzz, his vision blur at the edges.

Why does he look at me like that?

Midoriya expected rage. He expected loathing.

Instead, what he got was… something else.

Something he couldn’t understand.

His hands trembled slightly as he backed away, his mind clouded with static. It doesn’t make sense.

Shigaraki said this boy hated him. That he had given him the scar on his shoulder.

Then why did he look like he knew Midoriya?

Why did it feel like… like Midoriya knew him, too?

His head pounded. He needed to focus.

The battle shifted. The heroes were gaining control, forcing the villains back.

“Kid! Get over here—we’re leaving. Quick!”

Dabi’s voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Looking into the clearing, Midoriya saw the heroes huddling together, tending to their wounded. They were distracted. It was the perfect time to retreat.

Kurogiri’s portal opened, a gust of wind from the swirling void blowing back Midoriya’s hood. His green curls were exposed to the firelight.

And then—

A murmur rippled through the battlefield.

People were staring.

People were whispering.

Midoriya’s breath quickened. Why? Why were they looking at him like that?

Then—

“Deku! Mi—Midoriya!”

The voice roared through the air like a cannon blast.

Midoriya barely had time to process before the blond-haired boy launched himself forward, explosions propelling him at full speed.

Midoriya’s entire body locked up.

That name.

Deku.

The way he said it, the desperation in his voice—

Why does that name feel like it belongs to me?

Before the boy could reach him, the portal snapped shut.

Midoriya stood frozen in place, his breath coming out in short, uneven bursts.

His hands reached up, grabbing at his messy curls, trying to steady himself.

His stomach churned.

His heart pounded.

And in his head, something was clawing its way forward, something he wasn’t supposed to remember.

That boy—he knew him.

He didn’t know how.

He didn’t know why.

But it was bugging him.

Chapter Text

The fight raged on.

Bakugo, Todoroki, and Kirishima continued their battle against the hulking villain, but Bakugo’s mind was elsewhere. He swore he saw him.

Deku.

That dark figure in the treeline—it had to be him. The green eyes, the messy hair—it was him.

But Bakugo couldn’t afford to stop. Not now. His classmates and teachers needed him. The villains were strong, but they were outnumbered. If they just kept fighting, if they just held on a little longer—they could win.

And yet, even as he fought with everything he had, Bakugo couldn’t stop the image from replaying in his head.

The hooded figure. The firelight catching those emerald green eyes. The way he stood, frozen, watching them.

And the way he disappeared.

The battle stretched on endlessly, each moment heavier than the last. But finally—finally—the villains began to retreat.

They must have realized they had bitten off more than they could chew.

Bakugo took the chance to look around, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his brow. Where was he?

His gaze darted through the battlefield, searching— desperate —but he didn’t see him.

And then—

A dark purple portal flickered to life just past the treeline.

Bakugo’s blood ran cold.

That portal—it’s the same as before.

The USJ attack. The same portal they dragged Deku through.

Then that means— he has to be here.

Bakugo’s stomach twisted as he turned toward his teacher, Aizawa. He had one of the villains trapped in his capture weapon—a kid. That must have been the one responsible for the gas attack. The one who tried to keep them separated and weak.

On the ground beside the captive lay a crumpled gas mask, the lenses cracked from battle.

And then—

There.

The hooded figure.

The moment the wind shifted, his hood blew back—and Bakugo forgot how to breathe.

Messy green curls.

Emerald eyes.

It’s him.

Ochaco gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god—is that Midoriya?!”

The battlefield froze.

The figure stood there, still as stone, staring back at them.

But his eyes— his eyes —

They weren’t just blank.

They were confused.

Bakugo’s chest ached.

Why does he look confused?

Why wasn’t he running to them? Why wasn’t he shouting back?

What did they do to him?

Bakugo could feel nothing but shock. He wasn’t prepared for this. None of them were.

And then—Deku moved.

He turned, stepping toward the portal.

His body acted before his mind could. Bakugo launched forward.

“Deku! Mi—Midoriya!”

It had been a long time since he called him by his real name. But what if—what if he didn’t recognize “Deku” anymore? What if they had taken that from him too?

He reached out, fingers outstretched, heart pounding in his chest.

He was right there.

Just a little further —

The portal closed.

Gone.

Bakugo crashed to his knees.

The world was spinning.

His lungs burned, but he couldn’t catch his breath. He was right there.

Right in front of me.

And I couldn’t reach him.

A strangled, pained cry ripped from his throat. His fists slammed into the ground, his explosions crackling weakly against the dirt.

Tears pricked at the edges of his vision, but he forced them down. He swore he’d never cry again.

But—

What did they do to you?

Why didn’t you recognize me?

The others stood frozen, just as stunned as he was. They saw it too.

Their friend.

Their classmate.

Alive.

But—not himself.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

Kirishima knelt beside Bakugo, silent, offering quiet support. He didn’t try to say anything. Didn’t try to comfort him.

And Bakugo appreciated it.

Aizawa’s grip tightened around his capture weapon.

His missing student.

The one he failed to protect.

The one he let slip through his fingers—again.

Why didn’t he react faster? Why didn’t he move to grab him?

Why didn’t he do something?

His jaw clenched. He looked down at the captive villain in his grasp.

At least now—he had a lead.

He would find him.

No matter what it took.

He wouldn’t fail him a third time.

The attack had ended. The emergency response team arrived, and the wounded were tended to. The school buses were prepared for departure.

As Class 1-A boarded, not a single word was spoken.

The bus ride home was the quietest it had ever been.

The battle had pumped them up. They had fought together, pushed past their limits, grown stronger as a team.

But none of that mattered.

Because at the very end—

They lost something far more important.

And none of them knew how to get him back.

Bakugo sat by the window, his hands clenched into fists.

Kirishima sat beside him, silent, respecting the storm brewing inside his head.

Bakugo was glad for it. He didn’t want to talk.

He was too angry.

Too frustrated.

Too confused.

He replayed the moment over and over again—Deku’s blank stare, the way his expression twisted in confusion, the slight anger behind his eyes.

Why?

Why didn’t he recognize us?

What had they done to him?

His teeth clenched.

Aizawa wasn’t on the bus.

Bakugo’s head snapped up, scanning the seats. He wasn’t here.

Then—

The captured villain.

He must be with him.

A flicker of hope lit in Bakugo’s chest.

They had someone who knew where Deku was.

If he didn’t talk willingly—Bakugo would make him.

As the buses pulled into the school, Bakugo saw a crowd of parents waiting anxiously. Faculty members stood alongside them, Principal Nezu among them.

The moment the doors opened, Nezu stepped inside, his voice soft but somber.

“Welcome back, students. I’m glad to see you all safe.” His small black eyes scanned the room, his usual chipper tone nowhere to be found. “We’re sending you all home to rest with your families. If you need to talk, you may reach out to Counselor Hound Dog at any time.”

A pause.

“For now—go home. Get some rest. We will contact your parents soon regarding the next steps.”

Bakugo stepped off the bus, his body tense.

His parents found him immediately, relief washing over them.

But all he could manage was a whisper—

“It was him.”

His voice cracked.

“He was th-there.”

His mother and father froze.

Their eyes widened in shock.

They knew exactly who he was talking about.

Chapter Text

All Might and Aizawa secured the captured villain in quirk-dampening cuffs before binding him to a chair in a dimly lit interrogation room at the police department. Detective Tsukauchi stood nearby, arms crossed, his sharp eyes studying the young captive.

There was no time to waste.

Nearly two weeks. That’s how long Midoriya had been missing—kidnapped—only to make a shocking appearance during the recent villain attack. They had too many questions and even fewer answers. Most importantly, they needed to know—

Where was he?

Aizawa’s gaze settled on the young villain before them.

He looks like a kid.

Dirty blonde hair, youthful features—too young to be involved in something like this. A pit formed in Aizawa’s stomach. He’s the same age as Midoriya.

He sighed before speaking, his voice firm but weary.

“Listen, kid, this can be very simple. We just want to know where your base is—specifically the one where you’re keeping the green-haired boy.” His tone hardened. “The one we saw during the attack.”

The kid’s expression didn’t change, but at the mention of Midoriya, a small smirk flickered across his lips before he quickly masked it.

“And why,” he drawled, voice dripping with boredom, “would I tell you that?”

Aizawa and All Might exchanged a glance.

Neither of them wanted to resort to force.

They needed another approach.

Aizawa reached into his coat and pulled out a blueprint, unfolding it in front of the captive.

“Take a look.” His voice was measured, neutral. “Does this look like the building he’s in?”

The villain didn’t speak, but his eyes lingered on the document, scanning it intently.

All Might stepped forward, his voice gentler than usual. “We just want to bring him home. That’s all. If you cooperate, we may be able to negotiate a lighter sentence—maybe even let you off with a warning.”

Silence.

The villain didn’t so much as flinch.

With a sigh, the three heroes stepped out of the room. Maybe time would make him reconsider.

Inside Tsukauchi’s office, Aizawa clenched his fists against the desk.

“This is getting us nowhere,” he muttered, his voice low with frustration. “We finally get a lead, only to be met with this. It’s been almost two weeks, and we’re still grasping at straws.” He exhaled sharply, his exhaustion palpable. “What if he never talks? We can’t hurt him—he’s just a kid.”

The room was heavy with unspoken tension.

All Might folded his arms. “Let’s take this hour by hour. If he won’t give us an exact location, we can try to narrow it down. Any information is better than nothing.” He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “If he still refuses, we may need to offer him something in return.”

Aizawa dragged a tired hand down his face.

“You didn’t see him, All Might,” he muttered, voice thick with something dangerously close to grief. “Midoriya—he was right there.” He swallowed. “ Alive .”

That word should have brought relief.

It didn’t.

“It was like he was a whole different person.” His fingers curled into his palm. “I couldn’t get a close look, but I swear—he didn’t recognize us.”

All Might tensed.

Aizawa’s voice grew strained. “His face was blank, confused—like he didn’t even know who we were .” He gritted his teeth. “And the weirdest thing? He looked almost angry. ”

The silence was suffocating.

Aizawa’s next words were barely above a whisper.

“What did they do to him?” His voice cracked at the end.

No one had an answer.

Because they were all thinking the same thing.

A few minutes later, they returned to the interrogation room.

Aizawa crossed his arms. “So? Have you thought it over?”

The young villain looked up. His expression was unreadable.

“I have.” He leaned back slightly, eyes sharp. “I’ll tell you the location.”

Aizawa narrowed his gaze. “And?”

“There’s something I need in return.”

A pause.

“Let’s hear it,” Aizawa said evenly.

“If I tell you where he is and my boss finds out, I’m dead.” His voice was serious, the cocky bravado gone. “That can’t happen.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering.

“I need to know I can trust you.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.

The villain continued, “I need safe transportation out of town—somewhere far away from here. Discreetly.” His jaw clenched. “My boss is smart. He sees everything. If he even suspects I betrayed him, I’m done for.”

He nodded toward the blueprint still on the table. “And yeah—that’s the place.”

Aizawa, All Might, and Tsukauchi exchanged looks before stepping out once again.

Back in Tsukauchi’s office, the detective exhaled sharply. “So the ‘boss’—he’s not talking about Shigaraki, is he?”

Aizawa shook his head. “No. Shigaraki’s dangerous, but he’s not subtle. Whoever this is—they run things differently.”

“Which means,” Tsukauchi muttered, rubbing his chin, “this organization is bigger than we thought.”

Aizawa sighed. “Either way, we can make the transfer happen. My agency operates in the shadows—less public than other hero groups. If we work with heroes in a city a few towns over, we can move him quietly.”

He turned to the others. “What do you think?”

All Might nodded. “A sound plan.”

Tsukauchi grunted in agreement. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

For the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope sparked in their chests.

They had a location.

They had a plan.

They might actually get him back.

The three of them returned to the room, determination burning in their eyes.

“All right, kid,” All Might said, voice firm. “We can transport you to a city a few towns away—quietly. We’ll have people watching you, ensuring your safety. If you’re worried about being followed, we can put extra measures in place.”

The villain nodded, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

“Then I’ll tell you everything.”

He leaned forward, and at last, he gave them the location.

The blueprint.

The place where Midoriya was being held.

Aizawa’s fists clenched at his sides.

They were finally going to bring him home.

Chapter Text

The teacher’s lounge was filled with all of U.A.'s faculty members and Principal Nezu—all except for Aizawa and All Might, who were still at the police station interrogating the recently captured villain from the attack on the summer training camp.

It was Nezu who had called for this emergency meeting, summoning not only U.A.'s teachers but also the pro-heroes assisting in the search for Midoriya. The air was tense, heavy with unanswered questions and unspoken fears.

Vlad King broke the silence first, his tone impatient.

“How did they even know the students would be there?” he demanded. “There was a reason we chose an isolated location. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless they were leaked that information—just like what happened at USJ.”

Nezu sighed, his small paws folded neatly in front of him.

“Unfortunately,” the principal said, his voice calm but firm, “it appears that may be the case.” He glanced around the room. “As of now, we have no leads on how the villains obtained that information.”

The room fell into a heavy silence.

“As for the students,” Nezu continued, “I believe it would be in their best interest to spend the rest of the summer at home with their families. We want them to relax and recover.” His voice remained level, but the weight of the situation was evident in his next words.

“We don’t believe the League of Villains is targeting the students directly—not yet. Their focus seems to be on us, the heroes. That said, we will be keeping watch over their homes during our sweeps, just in case.”

Nezu let his words settle before delivering the final announcement.

“Once the new school year begins, we will be moving to dorms. Ensuring our students' safety is now our top priority.”

Nezu’s expression darkened. “Now, for what occurred at the training camp.”

Some teachers tensed, already aware of what he was about to say. Others stiffened, eyes widening as they realized what was coming.

“If any of you were unaware,” Nezu continued, “Midoriya was seen alive.”

A few gasps echoed in the room.

“That’s good news, right?” Midnight asked hesitantly.

Nezu hesitated—just for a moment.

“It is… but the problem is that he was with the villains.”

Silence.

“He was seen standing alongside them—and leaving with them.” Nezu’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable. “We don’t yet know the circumstances that led to this, but we do know one thing for certain—”

The principal’s next words sent a chill through the room.

“He didn’t seem to recognize anyone.”

A cold weight settled in Yamada’s stomach.

“We believe the villains must have done something to him—manipulated him in some way. But until we learn more, we can’t be sure.” Nezu’s voice was measured, but there was an underlying urgency to his tone. “Right now, Aizawa and All Might are with Detective Tsukauchi at the station, interrogating the villain they captured. We can only hope they get more information about Midoriya’s whereabouts.”

“Is that right?”

Vlad King scoffed, crossing his arms. His voice was sharp, dripping with skepticism.

“Who knows? Maybe he turned on us.”

A thick tension settled in the room.

A few teachers glanced at one another, uncertain how to respond.

Yamada was the first to break the silence, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I don’t think so.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “Midoriya has always been determined to be a hero. I’d never believe he would choose this—not ever.” He looked around the room. “He’s a good kid.”

Other teachers nodded in agreement.

An hour passed before Aizawa and All Might finally returned.

The moment they stepped into the lounge, the room went silent.

Everyone sat at attention.

There was no time to waste.

Aizawa didn’t bother with pleasantries. He strode to the front of the room, pulling out a blueprint and laying it flat on the table.

“Okay. We know where he is.” His voice was sharp, his exhaustion barely concealed beneath his serious tone. “He’s being held in a hidden building on the outskirts of town—about thirty minutes north.”

He tapped the blueprint, pointing out the location and the routes leading there.

“The blueprint we found earlier was the right one,” he confirmed. “We’ll use it to plan our approach.”

The faculty listened intently as Aizawa outlined the next steps.

Their priority was Midoriya.

Capturing the villains was secondary—if they had the opportunity, they would take it. But above all else, their mission was clear:

Bring Midoriya home.

But there was one major concern.

His reaction.

They didn’t know how he would respond.

Aizawa frowned, his fingers tightening into a fist.

“At the camp, he didn’t recognize us. We have no idea how he’s going to react when we get there.” He let out a slow breath. “But no matter what, we’ll bring him back safely.”

The heroes divided into teams, assigning entry points and roles for the raid.

They weren’t going to wait.

They were going tonight.

No more delays.

This was their chance—and they weren’t going to waste it.

With one final check, ensuring everyone was ready—

They moved out.

Midoriya sat in his room, staring blankly at the wall.

As soon as they returned from their mission, he had shut himself inside, unable to face Shigaraki.

His mind was a storm—a relentless wave of voices, images, confusion.

He couldn’t get their faces out of his head.

The shock in their expressions. The recognition in their eyes.

He felt like he knew them.

Like they were… friends.

And that boy—the one with the sharp blond hair.

The way he shouted—

His name.

Midoriya pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to understand.

Shigaraki told him that boy attacked him.

That he was looking for him—to finish the job.

But… he didn’t look angry.

He looked—

Desperate.

Sad.

Midoriya curled into himself, gripping his head. His breath came faster, more erratic.

Why would Shigaraki lie?

He trusted Shigaraki.

But this didn’t make sense.

Something wasn’t right.

His fingers brushed against his hairline—where two small, bumpy scars sat against his skull.

His breath caught.

Wait—

His hands trembled.

Did someone do this on purpose?

Did… did they do something to my head?

Midoriya’s vision blurred. His breathing became erratic, shallow.

“No… no, they wouldn’t…” he muttered, shaking his head violently. “They wouldn’t…”

His chest tightened.

Then—

CRASH.

His glass shattered against the wall.

His fingers dug into his scalp, pulling at his hair.

The door swung open—

“Whoa—whoa there, kid,” Shigaraki said sharply, stepping inside. “What’s going on?”

Midoriya’s head snapped up, wild-eyed.

“What did they do to me?!” His voice cracked, rising into a desperate yell. “Why can’t I remember anything? Why—why did they know me?! They knew me, Shigaraki! They knew me!”

Shigaraki’s expression was unreadable.

“They’re messing with your head,” he said calmly. “That’s what heroes do.”

Midoriya shook harder.

“I—don’t—understand.” His voice wavered. His hands moved to the scars on his head. “Did someone… mess with me?”

“You’ve had a rough day, kid. I’ll get you some cocoa—it’ll help calm you down.”

Midoriya hesitated but nodded.

Shigaraki returned a few minutes later, handing him a warm mug of hot cocoa.

Midoriya took it, his hands still trembling. He sipped slowly, the warmth spreading through him.

Strangely, his body felt heavier.

The exhaustion grew stronger—more sudden than before.

His vision blurred.

His muscles relaxed.

His mind fogged.

He barely registered Shigaraki guiding him to the bed, adjusting him so he was lying down.

His eyelids felt like lead.

Midoriya tried to keep his thoughts straight—

But within seconds, he was out cold.

Shigaraki watched him for a moment, his face unreadable.

Then, with a small, satisfied hum, he turned off the light—

And walked out.

Chapter Text

The heroes waited in the treeline, concealed by the shadows, their breathing hushed as they scanned the one-story building ahead. The blueprints had revealed multiple rooms inside, and a basement with even more. The problem?

They had no idea where Midoriya was.

Because of that, the team had split into pairs, ensuring they could cover more ground. All Might and Aizawa were assigned to enter through the back. Their objective was clear—find their student and get him out.

The moment the cue was given, they moved.

All Might reached the back door first. With his strength, a locked door was no different from an open one—it stood no chance. A single push and the door was off its hinges.

The two heroes stepped inside.

Aizawa’s sharp eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. Before them stretched a long, dimly lit hallway. At the far end, an open archway led to what appeared to be a common area.

Slowly, carefully, they peeked inside.

A dark figure sat motionless on the couch.

Both heroes immediately pulled back behind the corner, silent.

They waited.

No movement.

No reaction.

No noise.

After a tense moment, Aizawa signaled for them to turn right instead—leading to a staircase descending into the basement.

Midoriya was their top priority. If they engaged in fights too soon, they’d compromise their position and make it harder to reach him. They could deal with the villains later.

The stairs were old, creaking faintly beneath their steps. The air down below was stale, thick with the scent of damp concrete.

They moved forward, keeping close to the walls.

Suddenly—

A commotion erupted above them.

Sounds of struggle. A sharp crash. Then shouting.

Aizawa exhaled quietly. Some of the others must’ve run into the villains.

He wasn’t worried. They were all capable. If anything went wrong, they’d send a signal.

As they crept down the hallway, Aizawa tested a doorknob. It turned easily.

Silently, they stepped inside.

Their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and in the next second—

They froze.

Their breath caught in their throats.

A single metal chair sat in the center of the room, its ankle and wrist restraints glinting in the dim light. A table was positioned nearby—on it, traces of dried blood.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough.

Enough to make their stomachs drop.

Aizawa’s hands clenched into tight fists.

“Oh my god,” All Might murmured.

Aizawa forced himself to move forward, inspecting the scene. His mind raced with horrifying possibilities.

What did they do to you, kid?

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No time to think about it now.

They moved on, checking each room. Nothing.

Then—at the very end of the hallway—one last door.

Aizawa halted suddenly, his arm shooting out to stop All Might.

His eyes locked on the door handle.

It locked from the outside.

They exchanged a glance.

Without a word, Aizawa carefully unlatched the lock and slowly pushed the door open.

Inside—

There he was.

Midoriya lay motionless on the bed, his breathing soft, his face partially obscured by shadows.

Aizawa’s chest tightened.

It’s really him.

For a moment, neither of them moved—both heroes simply staring, their minds struggling to process the relief, the disbelief, the overwhelming need to get him out of here.

Aizawa blinked multiple times, half-expecting this to be some cruel trick.

But it wasn’t.

All Might stepped forward first, crouching beside the bed. Gently, he placed a hand on Midoriya’s arm.

“Midoriya,” he whispered, giving a light shake.

No response.

He tried again, a bit firmer.

Nothing.

All Might’s expression darkened. Aizawa could feel his own heart pounding.

Without hesitation, he reached down, pressing his fingers to Midoriya’s wrist.

A pulse.

A strong one.

Relief flooded him, but it was immediately replaced by dread.

He’s been drugged.

Aizawa’s gaze swept the room, taking in the smashed wall, the broken glass on the floor. Something happened here.

Later. Worry about that later.

“All Might,” Aizawa whispered, glancing toward the door.

All Might nodded. Carefully, he scooped Midoriya into his arms, cradling him protectively.

Aizawa pressed the communication button in his earpiece.

“We have him. Moving out.”

That was… too easy Aizawa thought as they took off.

The journey back was a blur.

They moved swiftly, silent shadows in the night. With added security at U.A., it was the safest place to take Midoriya.

As soon as they arrived, they rushed him to Recovery Girl.

A private room had already been prepared.

All Might gently laid Midoriya on the bed, stepping back as Recovery Girl entered.

The elderly healer hurried over, her expression tight with concern.

“Oh dear… the poor boy looks rough,” she muttered. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

She reached for the bandages wrapped around his head.

Aizawa and All Might watched, unmoving, as she carefully unraveled them.

The moment they saw what lay underneath—

They gasped.

The wound looked partially healed, but the scars were unmistakable—two raised bumps near his hairline.

All Might’s jaw tightened.

Aizawa’s stomach dropped.

What the hell did they do to him?

He barely had time to process that horror before Recovery Girl carefully removed Midoriya’s shirt.

That’s when they saw it.

A jagged, gruesome scar marked his shoulder.

Aizawa felt his blood run cold.

His own hand unconsciously moved to his elbow.

A scar identical to the one Midoriya now had.

His mind clicked.

His breath caught.

Shigaraki.

“That’s from Shigaraki.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s the same as mine. He… he used his Quirk on him.”

All Might’s face darkened, his hands clenched into fists.

Aizawa ran a shaky hand down his face, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Midoriya was in worse shape than they had thought.

When Recovery Girl finished her examination, she turned to them.

“He was definitely drugged.” She sighed. “With my healing, he’ll recover faster, but he’ll probably be out for a while longer.”

Her expression grew serious.

“For his safety, we’re locking the door from the outside.”

Aizawa nodded. They couldn’t risk losing him again.

They didn’t know what to expect when he woke up.

So they needed to be prepared.

The two heroes took their positions outside the door.

They wouldn’t leave.

They wouldn’t sleep.

Not until Midoriya woke up.

Chapter Text

Midoriya stirs awake, his mind sluggish, his body heavier than usual. His head throbs slightly, and as he instinctively runs a hand through his hair, his fingers pause at the strange bumps near his hairline. His brows furrow. Something feels *off*. His vision sharpens as he blinks himself into focus, scanning his surroundings.  

Where… am I?

Panic sets in. He’s not at the base. He’s not where Shigaraki is. His breath quickens as his gaze darts around the unfamiliar room. The walls are too clean, too white. There’s no room like this at the hideout—this place feels sterile, controlled. Wrong.

He bolts upright, scrambling toward the door. He reaches for the handle— locked.  

What?

Shigaraki said he wouldn’t lock him in anymore. Had something changed? Was he in trouble? His pulse pounds in his ears as his mind races through possibilities. Before he can piece anything together, a mechanical ‘click’ sounds from the door. His body tenses.  

The door swings open.  

Midoriya takes a sharp step back, his instincts screaming at him to move *away*.  

A towering figure steps inside, his presence nearly suffocating. Midoriya knows that face. He remembers Shigaraki talking about him. All Might.   

Behind him, a smaller, scruffier man follows. Black, messy hair. A tired expression framed by a long, tattered scarf.  

Midoriya freezes.  

They’re heroes .  

A deep, primal fear surges through him, overriding everything else.  

Heroes killed my mom.

His body moves before his mind catches up. His quirk flares to life, and in an instant, he zips to the farthest corner of the room. He has to stay away—All Might is blocking the exit, and if he’s as strong as Shigaraki said, Midoriya doesn’t stand a chance in a direct fight. His heart pounds as he plants his feet, eyes locked onto the two figures standing before him. His entire body is on high alert, ready to defend himself if they try anything.  

But what throws him off—what confuses him—is the way the two heroes react.  

They gasp. 

Wide eyes. Stiff postures. They exchange a glance, their expressions filled with something Midoriya can’t quite understand.  

Why are they looking at me like that?  

Shouldn’t they be angry? Shouldn’t they be attacking him?  

“Woah there, young Midoriya,” All Might says, his voice hesitant, careful. “We’re not here to hurt you, okay? We just wanted to check on you since you woke up. You don’t have to worry.”  

Midoriya glares at him, his fists clenching tighter. How does he know my name?

They’re lying. Shigaraki warned me about this. They’re trying to trick me, trying to get me to trust them so they can strike when I let my guard down. 

“I don’t believe you,” he snaps, his voice sharp, defensive. “You’re heroes . I can’t trust you. I won’t let you trick me—I’m not dumb.”  

The two heroes exchange another look, something silent passing between them before All Might carefully responds, “Can I ask why you think that?”  

Midoriya scoffs. “Because a hero killed my mom. Right in front of me! How can I trust heroes when they murdered my own mother? All heroes do is lie .”  

His hands tremble at his sides. He hates that they won’t stop. He hates feeling this way.  

The scruffy hero—Aizawa, if Midoriya remembers correctly—steps forward slightly. His tone is measured, steady. “Woah there, kid. That’s not what happened. Why do you think it went down like that? I read the report about the incident—it was a villain attack.”  

Midoriya’s heart nearly stops.  

What?  

They’re doing it again. Trying to mess with him. 

“You’re lying .” His voice wavers with anger, but underneath it, there’s something else. Something shaky. “Shigaraki told me what really happened, and he’s right about you guys! You blame everything on so-called villains just because they’re different! Because they don’t fit into your perfect little society. You treat them like monsters when it’s your fault they were cast aside!”  

Midoriya can’t stand to hear another word.  

He moves.  

With a burst of speed, he dashes toward All Might, attempting to slip behind him, to run. He has to get out of here. But before he can make it through the door, a powerful grip clamps down on his upper arm.  

He freezes.  

The panic is instant, wild, suffocating. His breaths come short and fast as he struggles, thrashing against All Might’s ironclad hold. His mind is screaming at him to get away.

“Let me go!” he yells, desperate.  

He swings his free arm back, charging a punch—but then, suddenly, the energy leaves him. 

His body stutters mid-motion.  

He tries again, but his quirk—his speed—isn’t there.  

His breath catches. His eyes dart to his hand, opening and closing his fingers in confusion. What?

His gaze snaps to Aizawa, whose eyes are glowing red.  

He—

Midoriya’s chest tightens. He feels powerless.  

Panic turns to terror. He pulls harder against All Might’s grip, frantic, desperate. He needs to get away—he needs his quirk.  

All Might releases him.  

Midoriya stumbles backward, his legs too shaky to catch him. He crashes onto the floor, scrambling to push himself up. His movements feel slow —or at least, slow for him. Without his speed, he feels vulnerable. Exposed .  

He stumbles back into the farthest corner of the room, curling in on himself. His arms wrap around his knees, his body pressing tight. He’s trapped.  

He hates this.  

The heroes call out to him, but he doesn’t respond. He can’t. He just presses his forehead to his knees, trying to keep his breathing steady.  

A moment later, he hears their footsteps retreat.  

Then— click.  

Midoriya’s stomach drops.  

He’s stuck in a locked room.  

Again.

Chapter Text

As Aizawa and All Might left the room, an unsettling silence hung between them. They exchanged a glance, both struggling to process what they had just witnessed. Without a word, they moved across the hall into another room, shutting the door behind them.

What the hell happened to him? Aizawa thought, his stomach twisting with unease.

“It’s like he’s a completely different person,” All Might murmured, his voice heavy with disbelief.

“I expected him to be... off, but I never imagined it would be this bad .” Aizawa ran a hand down his face, trying to keep his composure. “And did you see how fast he moved? That’s not his quirk. How did he get it?”

All Might took a deep breath, dread settling in his chest. “Wait… unless… he’s back.” His voice was barely above a whisper, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

Aizawa’s eyes widened. “Who’s back?—oh, shit. Do you really think so?”

All Might clenched his fists. “He’s the only person I know who can give quirks, at least in this area. It can’t be a coincidence. They wanted to get back at me, and what better way than through him? Oh, poor young Midoriya…” He trailed off, his gaze shifting toward the room where Midoriya sat, alone and afraid. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, an aching guilt settling deep in his bones.

A heavy silence stretched between them as they tried to process the reality of the situation. All Might had harbored suspicions that All For One might be involved, but now, with the truth staring him in the face, it felt like a gut punch. The fact that Midoriya didn’t even recognize them—that he *feared* them—hurt more than either of them could put into words. They had never felt more powerless.

“They must have done something to his head,” Aizawa muttered, recalling the faint marks near Midoriya’s hairline. “The way he reacted just now only confirms it. The real question is… how do we fix it?”

All Might thought for a moment. “Maybe if we brought the Bakugos here, the sight of them could help jog his memory.”

Aizawa shook his head. “Not yet. Seeing how he reacted to us, I don’t know how he’ll handle them. Besides, they’ve been struggling with this whole situation. I don’t want them to see him like this until he’s at least a little more himself . I just hope we won’t have to wait long.”

“We should have Recovery Girl examine him now that he’s awake,” Aizawa  suggested. “Maybe she can help with his memory or whatever they did to his mind. I’ll be there in case he reacts the same way again. With that new speed quirk, he could easily slip away.”

AllMight nodded. “Good idea.”

Just then, Yamada hurried down the hallway, peering through the glass window of Midoriya’s room, his expression filled with concern. Spotting Aizawa and All Might, he quickly stepped into the room where they were discussing the situation.

“So… he’s really back?” Yamada asked, almost as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.

Aizawa exhaled heavily. “Yeah. And it’s worse than we thought.” He hesitated before continuing. “He acts like we’re the bad guys. Like he’s afraid of us. He truly believes it was heroes who killed his mother—when it was actually villains. His body is in terrible shape too. From the looks of it, Shigaraki used his disintegration quirk on his shoulder, and I’m almost certain someone tampered with his mind. The marks near his hairline suggest as much. His memories… they’ve been altered, or at the very least, erased. He says Shigaraki told him things, and now he believes them.” Aizawa’s jaw clenched. “And worse? He has at least one new quirk that we know of—a speed quirk.”

Yamada’s eyes widened. “What? A new quirk?” He let out a sharp breath. “How is that even possible?”

All Might’s expression darkened. “There’s only one person I know with the ability to give quirks. Someone I thought was dead… but clearly, I was wrong. All For One.”

Yamada swallowed hard, glancing toward Midoriya’s room, his heart heavy with regret. “That poor kid… he’s been through so much.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “So… what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to see if he’ll let Recovery Girl check him over now that he’s awake,” Aizawa explained. “I’ll be with her in case I need to use my quirk. I hope I won’t have to. Right now, we think it’s best to limit how many heroes interact with him—less chance of overwhelming him.” He turned to All Might. “In the meantime, can you call the Bakugos? Let them know what’s going on, but make it clear that visiting in person isn’t an option right now. Just tell them Midoriya is *confused* and it’s safer to wait. Ask them if they can send in some photos of themselves—including ones with Midoriya. Maybe seeing them will trigger something.”

All Might nodded. “That sounds like a solid plan.”

About thirty minutes later, Aizawa stood outside Midoriya’s room, Recovery Girl waiting patiently beside him. With a deep breath, he cautiously stepped inside, careful not to startle the boy. 

Midoriya immediately tensed, his eyes darting toward the door like a trapped animal searching for an escape route.

Aizawa raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Hey, kid. It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you—I just want to talk.”

Midoriya’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you keeping me here? I want to go home.”

Home? Aizawa stiffened. He’s calling their base home? A dull ache formed in his chest.

“We’ll talk about that later, I promise,” Aizawa said carefully. “You’re safe here. You don’t have to worry.” He hesitated before continuing, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “I brought a doctor with me. She’s really good, really gentle. I wanted her to check you over—maybe she can help.”

Midoriya’s head shook quickly, his eyes filled with unease. His reaction sent alarm bells ringing in Aizawa’s mind. Why is he so scared? Did he have a doctor at the base? What did they do to him?

“I-I don’t need a doctor,” Midoriya stammered. “Nothing’s wrong with me! I heal really fast—I don’t *need* help.”

Aizawa didn’t push. “That’s fine, kid. No one’s going to force you.” He studied him for a moment before asking, “Do you get headaches? Pain in your head?”

Midoriya hesitated. His fingers twitched slightly as if debating something, but when he finally looked up, his gaze barely met Aizawa’s before shifting away—almost as if he were ashamed.

“No,” he mumbled.

Aizawa sighed but didn’t press further. “Alright, kid. That’s okay. She’ll be nearby in case you change your mind.” He took a step back. “I’ll be back soon with some food. It might help.”

Feeling defeated, Aizawa left the room. When he returned a short while later, he placed a tray of food on the table beside Midoriya before quietly stepping out again.

As he walked back toward the room where Yamada and All Might were waiting, he sank onto the couch with a heavy sigh. 

He had never felt more helpless.

Chapter Text

Midoriya scans the room desperately, searching for anything that might help him escape. His heart pounds in his chest, his mind racing with possibilities. Before he can formulate a plan, the door suddenly creaks open. His body tenses, and he immediately whips around, eyes locking onto the smaller, dark-haired hero standing in the doorway.  

Panic grips him. Instinctively, he backs away, pressing himself against the farthest wall, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. He doesn’t dare use his quirks—not with Aizawa there. He knows exactly what the man’s quirk does, how it strips him of everything in an instant, leaving him feeling weak and powerless. That feeling—it’s disturbingly familiar.  

The hero speaks to him, his tone gentle, reassuring. But Midoriya barely hears him. He doesn’t care what Aizawa has to say. He just wants to go back home—to Shigaraki. His chest tightens at the thought. Why did they take me? Are they trying to hurt him? Is Shigaraki looking for him?  

Then, the hero mentions a doctor.  

Something in Midoriya snaps. His breath quickens, his body trembling as panic floods his veins. He shakes his head violently, his wide, frantic eyes darting around the room. His body is reacting on its own, fear clawing at him, but he doesn’t know *why*. He doesn’t remember anything.  

The scars near his hairline burn at the thought. His fingers twitch to touch them, but he stops himself. Were they always there? *Did a doctor do this?* The memories won’t come. It’s like his body remembers things his mind refuses to.  

Then, Aizawa’s next words catch him off guard.  

“Does your head hurt?”  

Midoriya hesitates. He’s been having terrible headaches—sharp, splitting pains that strike without warning. Ever since the night they took him. Ever since the flashes started. Visions of faces he doesn’t recognize. Whispers of voices he should know but can’t place.  

But he doesn’t trust Aizawa.  

So he forces himself to meet the hero’s gaze—just for a second—before quickly looking away.  

“No,” he mutters.  

Aizawa watches him closely but doesn’t push further. Instead, he sighs and steps back. “Okay, kid. That’s fine. But if you change your mind, she’ll be nearby.”  

And just like that, he’s gone.  

Minutes later, the door opens again, and Aizawa returns, placing a tray of food on the table before leaving without another word.  

Midoriya stares at the food, his stomach twisting painfully as hunger gnaws at him. But he doesn’t move. *Why are they being nice?* It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know if this is a trick or if they’re telling the truth. He wants to believe they’re lying—it would be easier that way.  

But something about their concern unsettles him.  

Frustrated, Midoriya kicks the chair away, his body filled with restless energy. He *hates* being locked up. His chest feels tight, his thoughts spiral out of control. He can’t stand this. What are they going to do to him?  

His hands shake as he collapses into the corner of the room, curling into himself. He hugs his knees to his chest, burying his face in them, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He just needs to calm down. There’s no point in panicking—not until he knows what their plans are.  

For now, all he can do is wait.  

Bakugo sits in his room, his head resting on his desk, his leg bouncing impatiently. His room is a mess—papers scattered, furniture slightly displaced from his pacing. He’s barely slept since that night at the training camp. The weight of it all hangs over him like a storm cloud, suffocating and relentless.  

No matter how many times he replays it in his head, he can’t shake the anger. *I should’ve tried harder. I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t stop them.* He knows he did everything he could, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.  

Then, his mother’s voice breaks through his thoughts.  

She’s on the phone with someone, her tone laced with shock and relief.  

“Okay, I’ll do that now. Thank you so much.”  

Bakugo’s head snaps up. What was that? 

His instincts scream at him, telling him to move. Without hesitation, he rushes down the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps.  

“Who was that? What was that about?” He demands, breathless.  

His mother looks at him, expression unreadable. “Katsuki, sit down.”  

He barely hears her. “That was AllMight,” she continues. “They got him. Midoriya. He’s okay.”  

For a moment, everything stops.  

Bakugo stares at her, trying to process the words. They got him. Deku is safe.  

The tension in his shoulders loosens just a bit. But only for a second.  

“Okay, let’s go,” he says immediately, pushing himself up. “We need to see him now.”  

But before he can take a step, his mother places a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down into the seat. Bakugo glares at her, confusion and frustration burning in his chest.  

“What? Why aren’t we going?”  

She exhales, her eyes softer than usual. “That’s the thing… AllMight didn’t tell me everything, but he said Midoriya is confused. That… it might not be a good time for us to see him. Not yet. They want to wait until he’s better.”  

Bakugo’s heart sinks. Confused? 

His mind flashes back to that night. The way Deku looked at them—like they were strangers. The fear in his eyes.  

His mother continues, “They asked us to gather some pictures of all of us to send to the school. Something to help jog his memory.”  

Bakugo clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms.  

“Fine,” he mutters. He gets up and heads toward his room, pausing only when his mother speaks again, her voice quieter.  

“Even if he’s confused, he’s alive. And he’s in the safety of the heroes. It’ll be okay.”  

Bakugo doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know if she’s saying it for his sake or her own.  

In his room, he rummages through drawers, yanking out old photos, flipping through every possible memory that might help. Then, his gaze lands on something on the bed.  

A familiar, worn-out plushie.  

It’s small, old, but unmistakable. An AllMight plushie.  

Deku has had this thing since they were kids. It was always with him—tucked in his bed, held close to his chest when he was scared. His mom had given it to him, and he never let it go.  

Bakugo picks it up, gripping it tightly.  

If anything can reach him, it’s this. Right? 

He hopes so.  

God, he hopes so.

Chapter Text

Midoriya couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t just the endless racing of his thoughts—it was the feeling of unease that settled deep in his chest, refusing to leave. This place was unfamiliar, filled with heroes he didn’t trust. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t lower his guard. If he slept, he’d be vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn’t an option.

So, he stayed awake.

He spent the night pacing the room, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. By the time the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, he was seated at the table, his body slumped forward, his eyes heavy with fatigue. His head buzzed with a dull, incessant hum, the latest in a series of splitting headaches making his limbs feel like lead.

Then came the whispers.

Soft, distant voices echoed behind him—familiar yet unrecognizable. Flashes of blurred faces flickered in his mind like a broken film reel. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his head with trembling fingers. Stop. Just stop. But the pain only grew sharper, stabbing into his skull like a thousand needles.

The door creaked open.

Midoriya flinched at the sound, forcing himself to snap back to reality.

Aizawa entered, his expression unreadable, exhaustion evident in his dark eyes. Behind him stood another man—a tall figure dressed in a long gray coat. His stance, the way he carried himself, screamed authority. A police officer, Midoriya realized.

His body tensed automatically, but he was too drained to react beyond that.

“How are you feeling, kid?” Aizawa asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Midoriya swallowed. His throat was dry. He didn’t know how to answer that.

“I brought Detective Tsukauchi with me,” Aizawa continued. “We just wanted to see if you were up for a chat. You’re not in trouble, so please try to relax.”

Midoriya hesitated, his gaze flickering between the two men. Something about their patience unsettled him. Still, after a long pause, he gave a small nod.

Aizawa exchanged a glance with the detective before speaking again.

“What do you remember about your time with Shigaraki? The gray-haired man with the scars on his face?”

Midoriya frowned. The name felt distant, like something hovering just outside his reach. He tried to grasp at it, to pull at the edges of his fragmented memory, but the moment he did, his head throbbed violently.

“I… I don’t really remember any details,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. He rubbed his temples, willing the ache to subside. “Every time I try to think about it, my head goes fuzzy. It starts to hurt.”

He paused, exhaling shakily before adding, “But I know he’s nice to me. He helps me. I trust him.”

At his last statement, he heard a sharp intake of breath.

It came from the detective.

Midoriya’s brows furrowed. Why does that surprise him?

Aizawa, however, didn’t react. He simply nodded, as if he had expected the answer.

“That’s okay. Thank you for telling us,” he said. His voice remained calm, careful. “There’s one more thing.”

Midoriya blinked up at him, wary.

Aizawa stepped forward slightly. “I have some items here I’d like you to look at whenever you feel ready.” He set a small pile on the table—a few photographs and a worn-out plushie.

Before Midoriya could say anything, Aizawa continued, “Before you do, I need you to understand something. I am telling you the truth. I have no reason to lie to you. I know you don’t remember me. I know you don’t remember them. And that’s okay.”

His tone was steady, unwavering.

“We’ll take this at your pace. You don’t have to force yourself. But I want you to know—we are here to help.”

With that, Aizawa gave him a small nod and turned, walking toward the door. The detective followed without another word.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Midoriya alone.

Midoriya stared at the items on the table, unease twisting in his gut.

How the heroes were acting—it didn’t match up with what Shigaraki had told him. They were supposed to be cruel. Manipulative. The enemy. But their words… their patience… it didn’t fit.

Still, he didn’t trust them.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. Finally, curiosity won over, and he hesitantly reached for the photographs.

The first image showed two adults standing behind a young child.

Midoriya felt his breath catch.

The kid. The one Shigaraki told me about. The boy who attacked him.

His grip tightened on the photo. Why was Aizawa showing him this ? Was this some kind of trick? Were they trying to mess with his head?

Frustration mounting, he moved to the next picture.

The second he laid eyes on it, his entire body froze.

His fingers trembled, and the photograph slipped from his grasp, fluttering to the floor.

Heart hammering in his chest, he scrambled to pick it up, his vision blurring.

Two young boys. Around six years old. Sitting next to each other.

The one on the left had wild blonde hair and sharp red eyes. Bakugo. The same kid—just younger.

And next to him—

A boy with emerald-green eyes and messy green curls.

Midoriya’s breath hitched.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled at a strand of his own hair, comparing it to the image. His hands shook. His lungs burned.

What—

How—

Is that… me?

His pulse pounded in his ears as he grabbed the next picture.

It was all four of them together—laughing, smiling, like a family.

Another showed the two boys, a little older now, maybe eleven.

Then another. And another.

More memories that didn’t exist in his mind.

Midoriya staggered back, the photos slipping from his grasp.

What’s going on—

Why don’t I remember—

Why can’t I—

A sharp, piercing pain tore through his skull.

Midoriya gasped, crumpling to the ground, gripping his head as if he could physically hold his thoughts together.

The images hit him like a tidal wave.

A flood of moments—running through the streets with Bakugo, their laughter echoing in the air. Sitting around a dinner table with people who felt warm . Hands ruffling his hair, voices calling his name with familiarity and love.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense .

His breathing came in ragged, uneven gasps.

His chest felt too tight. His vision swam. His head hurt.

He barely registered the moment the door burst open.

Two figures rushed in, their voices sharp with urgency. His ears rang too loudly to make out what they were saying.

Through blurred vision, he saw movement—someone pulling up their sleeve.

Then a cool mist hit his face.

The world tilted, his body swaying. The chaos in his mind dulled, the pain fading into nothingness.

Finally, he let himself slip into the darkness, surrendering to the relief.

Chapter Text

Aizawa burst through the door, Midnight following closely behind.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, his voice sharp with alarm.

He had been waiting just outside, anticipating that the images might provoke some kind of reaction. He had asked Midnight to stay close, prepared for the worst-case scenario. Right now, staring at the scene before him, he knew this was it.

The room was in chaos.

Photographs lay scattered across the floor, some face up, others crumpled from where they had been gripped too tightly. In the farthest corner of the room, Midoriya was curled into himself, his body trembling violently. His breathing was erratic—fast, shallow gasps that barely drew in air.

Hyperventilating.

Aizawa’s stomach twisted in horror. He had expected something , but not this . Not to this extent.

He turned to Midnight, who was already stepping forward. She crouched down beside Midoriya, her expression soft with concern. Without hesitation, she activated her Quirk, releasing a calming scent into the air. It didn’t take long before Midoriya’s body went slack, his frantic gasps slowing until he finally succumbed to sleep.

A heavy silence filled the room.

Aizawa let out a quiet breath before carefully lifting the unconscious boy into his arms. He carried him over to the bed, laying him down gently. For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at him.

He looks so young when he sleeps, Aizawa thought, his expression darkening. It was painful to see him like this—so vulnerable, so lost. A child who had been forced to endure far too much.

The guilt pressed down on him like a weight.

Breaking himself from his thoughts, Aizawa turned to Midnight. “Stay with him,” he said firmly. “I’m getting Recovery Girl.”

Midnight nodded, settling into the chair beside the bed as Aizawa left the room, his pace brisk.

By the time Aizawa returned with Recovery Girl, Midoriya was still out. That was a relief. He hated calling her in when he was unconscious, but his condition needed to be assessed.

The elderly healer took one look at the boy and sighed.

“You say he’s been experiencing headaches?” she asked, glancing up at Aizawa.

“That’s what I suspect,” Aizawa admitted. “He hasn’t directly told me, but I’ve noticed the signs. When we entered the room earlier, he was clutching his head like he was in severe pain.”

Recovery Girl hummed thoughtfully, then shook her head. “Poor boy. I want to take an image of his head—just to be sure. Considering those marks on him, I need to see exactly what’s going on in there.”

Aizawa gave a firm nod. “Do whatever you need.”

A short while later, Recovery Girl returned, holding a scan of Midoriya’s skull. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, troubled.

“If you look here,” she pointed at the scan, tracing her finger along a small section of the skull, “there’s a crack in the bone. It didn’t heal properly. I can try to fix it—or at least lessen the damage—but I don’t think that’s the real issue.”

She adjusted the image, shifting her attention to the front part of Midoriya’s brain.

“This,” she said grimly, “is where the real problem lies.”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes, taking in the details. There were visible abnormalities, small areas that looked… disturbed.

“Near these incision points,” Recovery Girl continued, “someone tampered with his brain. Poked and prodded. It wasn’t done cleanly either. Whoever did this knew what they were doing, but they weren’t precise. It’s messy. That poor healing is likely the cause of his headaches. The trauma to these areas explains his memory loss.”

Aizawa’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Shigaraki. The League. They did this to him.

Recovery Girl exhaled, determination settling over her features. “Now that I know the extent of the damage, I can try to help. I may not be able to reverse it completely, but I can ease the pain… and maybe, just maybe , help him recover some of those lost memories.”

Without wasting another second, she moved toward Midoriya, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. A soft glow surrounded her lips as her Quirk activated.

Aizawa, Midnight, and Recovery Girl left the room soon after, hoping— praying —that this would help.

Midoriya slowly drifted back into consciousness.

His limbs felt heavy, as if he had been asleep for a long time. He stretched slightly, shifting beneath the blankets before slowly pushing himself upright.

Something felt… different.

For once, his head wasn’t threatening to crack open. The usual, relentless pressure was gone. It was strange —like something had changed overnight. But instead of questioning it, he simply accepted it.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the room.

For a split second, he almost forgot where he was.

Then, his gaze landed on the desk. The photographs.

His stomach twisted.

Slowly, he stood up and approached them, his fingers hesitating before picking up the top image.

Two young boys.

One with bright blonde hair and crimson eyes. The other with messy green curls.

Midoriya’s grip tightened on the picture.

That’s… me?

He tried to remember.

The memory was faint, like a whisper at the edge of his mind, but it was there. A flash of laughter. Running alongside the blonde-haired boy. Playing together.

We were friends…

Midoriya swallowed thickly.

Did that mean… Shigaraki lied ?

A dull ache settled in his chest. He didn’t want to believe it, but—nothing Shigaraki had told him about the heroes had been true so far.

They locked me in here… but maybe they had a good reason?

Shaking his head, he set the photo down and turned his attention to the small plushie sitting beside it. He picked it up, running his fingers over the worn fabric.

All Might.

Something about it felt right in his hands. A familiar weight.

Muscle memory.

Is this mine?

He wanted to remember , but the pieces weren’t fitting together. Not yet.

Feeling overwhelmed, he made his way to the bed and sat down, pulling his knees to his chest. His head started to ache again—not as bad as before, but enough to remind him that something was still missing.

The door opened.

Midoriya looked up to see the black-haired hero enter cautiously.

“Good to see you awake,” Aizawa said. “How’s your head today?”

Midoriya hesitated before answering honestly. “…It feels a bit better. Still sore, though.”

Aizawa nodded. “I can get you something for that. No pressure to take it, but when I bring your food, I’ll leave it with you so you can decide.”

A pill? Midoriya wasn’t sure if he could trust it. But Aizawa said he wouldn’t be forced to take it.

After a moment, he nodded.

Aizawa’s gaze flickered to the desk, where the photographs and plushie lay scattered. He hesitated before asking, “Did you look at the pictures again today? I’m sorry if we overwhelmed you last night.”

Midoriya glanced away. “…Yeah, I did,” he admitted quietly. “My brain feels… less foggy. I see those people sometimes when I sleep. That means something, right?”

He didn’t know how to explain it. He should remember them. But he didn’t.

“…Can I ask you something?”

Aizawa nodded.

“Did… did Shigaraki lie to me?”

A sad look crossed Aizawa’s face.

Midoriya swallowed hard. “He said heroes were bad. That they lie. That they killed my parents .” His voice shook. “But… you haven’t tried to hurt me. A lot of things he said aren’t true. He’s the only one I remember, and now—I don’t know what to think. It feels like everything I know is falling apart.”

Aizawa took a long breath before speaking.

“I have a recording,” he said carefully. “It might be hard to watch, but it could give you some answers. If you want, we can watch it together in another room.”

Midoriya hesitated. Another room?

Shyly, he nodded. “…Okay.”

Chapter Text

After hearing Midoriya’s final words in their conversation, Aizawa felt a crushing weight settle in his chest. The sadness in the boy’s voice cut deep, like a knife to the gut. He wished he could take away all of Midoriya’s pain, to fix everything in an instant. But there were no quick solutions to this.

Still, he had noticed a change in the boy after Recovery Girl’s visit. Midoriya wasn’t as tense, not as constantly on edge. But the confusion—the uncertainty—still lingered in his eyes. Aizawa could work with this, though. He would guide Midoriya through each step of recovery, doing whatever it took to help him find his way back to who he was. Or, at the very least, until he saw that smile again.

Midoriya’s smile had always been bright, contagious in a way that could make even the coldest of people soften. Aizawa rarely smiled himself, but the happiness of his students—that was enough. If he had to take a hit to protect them, he would. That was why he pushed past his limits during the USJ attack. But even then, it wasn’t enough. Not entirely. And Aizawa knew he wouldn’t be able to fully rest until Midoriya’s suffering was dealt with.

Now, as they walked together toward Principal Nezu’s office, Aizawa kept a close eye on the boy. He walked slightly behind him, alert for any sudden movements—just in case Midoriya decided to run. Since they had brought him back, it had been impossible to read what was going on inside his head. His posture, his expressions, even his voice—it all wavered unpredictably between uncertainty and deep-seated fear.

Nezu had prepared the recording in advance, setting up the tape in his office as requested. Aizawa hoped that showing Midoriya the footage of the USJ attack would help him piece things together. At the very least, it would give him clarity about how he had ended up in Shigaraki’s hands. Unfortunately, there was nothing Aizawa could do to undo the suffering he had endured while he was there—but he would do whatever he could to help him now.

When they entered the office, it was empty—just as Aizawa had planned. Too many people in the room might overwhelm Midoriya, and the last thing he wanted was to push him further into distress. He gestured for Midoriya to sit in the large chair behind Nezu’s desk. The boy hesitated for a moment before sinking into it, his hands gripping the armrests as if grounding himself. Aizawa remained standing behind him, arms crossed.

“Alright, kid,” he began, keeping his voice steady. “This footage was taken about two to three weeks ago. It’s from the day I took my students to the USJ facility for a training exercise. We were supposed to practice rescue scenarios—but as you’ll see, things didn’t go as planned.” He gestured to the keyboard. “If at any point you want to stop, just press this key here, alright? Don’t push yourself if it gets too overwhelming.”

Midoriya nodded stiffly. Aizawa studied his face for a moment before pressing play.

The screen flickered to life, showing the class standing before Thirteen and himself as they prepared to explain the day’s lesson. Midoriya’s eyes widened slightly as he leaned closer, his gaze locked onto the boy in the footage.

His own face.

Aizawa saw the moment recognition hit—Midoriya turned to him with a questioning look, as if silently asking for confirmation. Aizawa gave a slow nod, his face unreadable.

Midoriya’s brows furrowed, his fingers twitching slightly in his lap. He said nothing, but he didn’t look away.

Then the fog appeared.

Midoriya tensed. His breath hitched, eyes flickering with something close to recognition—like a half-formed memory on the edge of his mind. Aizawa remained still, watching him closely.

And then Shigaraki appeared on the screen.

The boy’s reaction was immediate. His body went rigid, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. Confusion and disbelief flashed across his face. He didn’t look away, though. He kept watching as the footage showed Aizawa launching into battle, using his Quirk against Shigaraki.

Aizawa noticed the way Midoriya’s hand instinctively went to his own shoulder—the same spot where Shigaraki had touched him during the attack. Did he even realize he was doing it?

The video continued, and Aizawa knew what was coming next.

The Nomu.

Midoriya flinched as the monstrous creature grabbed Aizawa on-screen and slammed him into the ground over and over. He barely seemed to breathe as he watched himself appear again—watched the moment he was captured. The portal opened, swallowing him whole.

And then the screen went black.

Silence filled the room.

Aizawa waited. He didn’t want to push the kid to speak first—he wanted to let him process it on his own terms.

Midoriya’s face was twisted in deep thought, his eyes darting as if trying to rearrange the pieces of a puzzle in his head. His breathing was uneven but controlled—no hyperventilating, no sudden panic. Just struggling to comprehend.

Finally, Aizawa broke the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Midoriya hesitated before answering.

“I just… don’t know where to start.”

Aizawa nodded. “Then let’s start at the beginning. What did you think?”

Midoriya swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That—that was me, right? With the students?”

“Yes.”

Midoriya’s hands curled into fists. “And… did I hear that right? Kurogiri said they were after All Might? But if they couldn’t get to him, they’d take a student instead?” His breathing grew quicker, uneven.

Aizawa didn’t interrupt. He let the boy process it.

“So… so that was me at the end? They took me?” Midoriya’s voice cracked.

Aizawa let out a slow breath and gave him a firm nod.

Midoriya’s whole body trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“So… Shigaraki lied to me?” His voice wavered, thick with emotion. “He—he used me like a pawn?”

Aizawa stepped forward slightly. “Hey, kid,” he said gently. “I know this is a lot. But we’ll work through it, okay? Right now, I need you to focus on your breathing first.”

Midoriya inhaled shakily, then nodded, forcing himself to regulate his breaths.

“You’re doing good,” Aizawa assured him. “Like I said, I’ll answer any questions you have. We’ll work through this at your pace. But I need you to keep yourself grounded, alright? It won’t do you any good to spiral right now.”

Midoriya nodded again, his grip slowly relaxing.

“To clarify what you saw—yes, you were a student at U.A. You were at that training exercise. Shigaraki led the invasion, thinking All Might would be there. When he wasn’t, they decided to target his students instead.” Aizawa’s tone was calm but firm. “You were taken by their Nomu. That’s how you ended up with Shigaraki. You were with them for over two weeks.” He hesitated. “I don’t know everything that happened during that time… but if there’s anything you remember, anything you suspect, you can tell me. We also have a counselor who can help, but the choice is yours. No one is going to force you into anything.”

Midoriya swallowed thickly, nodding.

“As for the marks on your head…” Aizawa continued. “We found evidence that your brain was tampered with. That’s likely why you’re having memory issues. But we’re going to do everything we can to help you, alright?”

Midoriya said nothing, but his eyes were locked onto Aizawa’s, searching for any sign of deception.

“You’ve had a long day,” Aizawa finally said. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more when you wake up.”

They walked back to Midoriya’s room in silence.

Before leaving, Aizawa hesitated at the door. “I only lock this door for your safety, alright? We just want to keep an eye on you. If you need anything, knock—I’ll be close by.”

Midoriya didn’t respond, but he nodded.

Aizawa sighed as he walked down the hall. Exhaustion pulled at his body, but his mind wouldn’t rest.

He just hoped things would start getting easier for the kid soon.

Chapter Text

As soon as Bakugo received the news, he wasted no time getting ready, standing by the door impatiently as he waited for his parents. Normally, it would take his mother yelling at him before he begrudgingly dragged his feet to school, but today was different. Today, he was finally going to see Deku—his best friend—after three long weeks. Not counting that brief, painful moment during the training camp, it had been far too long since they had last spoken. He couldn’t get there fast enough.

Even now, sitting in the car, watching the scenery blur past the window, it still didn’t feel real. He had made his mother repeat the news just to be sure he hadn’t misheard. Midoriya was back. This is real. Yet, even with that certainty, a strange unease settled in his chest. Excitement and relief warred with something deeper—something he refused to acknowledge as fear. He still remembered the way Midoriya had looked at him during the camp. That expression. The confusion. The lack of recognition in those familiar green eyes.

What if it was the same now?

Aizawa hadn’t given them many specifics over the phone. They had been told that Midoriya was safe, that he was stable—but beyond that? No details. Bakugo could only hope that, when he saw his friend, really saw him, there would be something there. Some kind of recognition.

Stepping into the school, Bakugo hesitated for the first time. The tension in the air was suffocating, weighing down on his chest like a stone. His parents walked beside him in silence, their usual bickering absent for once. Without a word, they made their way to Principal Nezu’s office, where Aizawa and Nezu were already waiting.

Nezu greeted them with his usual calm demeanor, but there was a solemn edge to his voice.
“Thank you for coming,” the principal said, folding his paws neatly on the desk. “As you’re aware, Midoriya has been through a great deal. We’re doing everything in our power to help him recover. For now, he is no longer hostile and is able to comprehend what’s being said to him, but...” Nezu paused briefly, his expression unreadable. “One of the biggest obstacles we face is memory tampering. We have confirmed that his brain was deliberately altered. Recovery Girl has been working with him, and while there has been progress, his memories remain fragmented.”

Bakugo swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists. Tampered with.

Nezu continued, “We’ve been helping him piece things together. The images you provided seemed to spark something in him, and we’re hoping that seeing you all in person will help advance that even further.” His sharp eyes flickered to Aizawa, who remained silent but watchful. “There is no indication that Midoriya will act violently, but as a precaution, Aizawa will remain nearby. We don’t know how he will react, but all we can do is be prepared. Shall we proceed?”

Bakugo didn’t hesitate this time. He nodded firmly before heading toward the room where Midoriya was waiting. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached, and when he finally saw him—really saw him—he froze.

Three weeks.

It had only been three weeks, but Midoriya looked like an entirely different person.

His once bright, determined eyes were now dull and uncertain, shadowed by exhaustion and pain. Dark bags sat heavily beneath them, and his already small frame seems thinner than before. His posture was closed off, cautious, as if he were bracing for something.

Bakugo felt an ache in his chest.

Growing up, Midoriya had always been so full of life. Even when Bakugo had been an angry little brat, throwing insults and challenges his way, Midoriya had always smiled. He had always pushed forward, never backing down. But the boy sitting before him now…

This wasn’t the same Deku.

This boy looked lost.

For a moment, Bakugo hesitated at the doorway, unsure of what to do. Finally, he forced himself to take a deep breath and stepped inside. He entered alone—better to keep the room from feeling too crowded. He stared at the floor for a moment before looking up, locking eyes with Midoriya.

At first, Midoriya tensed, shoulders going rigid, but then—gradually—he relaxed.

The silence stretched between them. Just as Bakugo was about to break it, Midoriya spoke first.

“You... You’re that boy from the pictures, right?”

Bakugo’s breath hitched.

Midoriya wasn’t angry. His wide green eyes weren’t hostile. But there was confusion there—so much confusion. He was staring at Bakugo like he was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, like he was trying so hard to string together memories that wouldn’t come.

Bakugo nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to overwhelm him. Damn it. He wanted nothing more than to ruffle Midoriya’s hair, to drag him into a rough hug, to shake him and tell him to stop scaring him like this. But he couldn’t.

He hated this.

“We were... are friends?” Midoriya corrected himself hesitantly, but Bakugo could tell he still wasn’t certain.

Bakugo swallowed, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Yeah... We’ve been friends since we were born. You’ve been living with me and my parents since you were five.” He deliberately left out the part about Midoriya’s mother, unsure of how much he remembered and unwilling to cause unnecessary distress.

Midoriya hugged his knees to his chest, staring at the ground. His fingers curled anxiously around the fabric of his pants.

“C-Can I ask you something?” His voice was quiet, uncertain.

Bakugo felt his stomach twist. “Yeah, sure.”

Slowly, Midoriya reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it down, exposing his raw, scarred shoulder.

Bakugo’s blood ran cold.

The scar was huge—jagged and deep. It looked like it had hurt like hell. And it was familiar.

“D-Did you do this to me?” Midoriya stammered. “Shigaraki... He told me that you did this. I-I just don’t know if it’s true.”

Bakugo’s breath caught in his throat. He knew how hard that question must have been for Midoriya to ask. He could hear the fear in his voice—the hesitation, the uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, Bakugo forced himself to answer carefully. “No. I didn’t do that to you.” His voice was firm, but his hands trembled. “I would never hurt you like that. Yeah, we fought a lot growing up, but it was never out of anger. We pushed each other to get stronger—that’s just who we are. But hurting you?” His voice cracked slightly. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make me want to do something like that.”

Midoriya flinched slightly, but he didn’t look away.

Bakugo wasn’t sure what made him more upset. Seeing the damage of that scar that must’ve hurt like hell on his friend or the fact that he thought - was told - that he had done it. Guilt swarms in Bakugo’s stomach.

Bakugo clenched his fists, his voice growing quieter. “I’m sorry, Deku—Midoriya. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to save you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” His breathing hitched, his vision blurring slightly as he wiped his face on his sleeve. He had sworn he wouldn’t cry, but the weight of everything was too much. He had bottled it up for too long, and now it was bursting .

Then, through his haze of guilt, he felt a small hand on his arm.

He blinked.

Midoriya was watching him carefully, his green eyes wide and searching.

“It’s not your fault,” Midoriya said softly. “I saw the video... The Nomu was too strong. I don’t think there was anything anyone could have done.” He hesitated, then gave a small, uncertain smile. “I... I don’t remember everything, but this —this feels right. Maybe we can start with that.”

Bakugo exhaled, nodding slowly.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t the reunion he had wanted.

But it was a start. And that was enough.

Eventually, Bakugo’s parents joined him, easing into the conversation naturally as they followed his lead. They spoke about home—their routines, the things that hadn’t changed, and the trouble he and Midoriya used to get into when they were younger.

Mitsuki, never one to hold back, told Midoriya about Bakugo’s latest stunt—one that had nearly gotten him grounded. “This brat thought he could get away with sneaking out in the middle of the night to ‘train,’” she scoffed, shaking her head. “Like I wouldn’t hear him stomping around like a damn elephant.”

Midoriya blinked, his eyes flickering toward Bakugo. And then, for the briefest moment, the corner of his lips twitched upward.

It was small, barely there, but it was a smile .

Bakugo froze, his chest tightening at the sight. It wasn’t the bright, beaming grin he had grown up with—it wasn’t the wide, unrestrained smile that could light up an entire room—but it was something.

After about an hour, Mitsuki and Masaru decided to wrap things up, not wanting to overwhelm Midoriya too much in one sitting. They said their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon.

As they stepped out of the room, Aizawa was waiting for them in the hallway. His expression was neutral as always, but his voice was steady, reassuring. “I just spoke with Recovery Girl,” he said. “If Midoriya continues progressing like he has, she’s willing to approve his return home within the next week.”

Bakugo’s heart stopped.

He gets to go home ? Back home?

He barely heard the rest of Aizawa’s words—his mind was racing too fast. He couldn’t believe it. After everything, after three weeks of hell, after thinking he had lost him for good—

Deku was coming home.

A slow exhale left his lips, his hands clenching at his sides. It wasn’t relief—not yet. Not until it actually happened. But it was hope.

And now was his chance.

He would do everything he could to help him—to support him, to get him back to the way he used to be. He would make up for everything.

No matter how long it took.

He would make it right.

Finally he thinks, things are going right.