Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hawks woke up to silence. No gentle rustling of feathers. No instinctive stretch of his wings as he greeted the morning. Just silence and the lingering, dull ache in his back where his wings had once been whole.

It had been months since they were torn apart. Months since he'd accepted that they would never fully heal. Some days, it barely bothered him. Others, like today, it gnawed at him the second his eyes opened. He reached a hand back on reflex, fingers brushing the uneven remains of what once defined him. The sensation was strange—phantom feelings of feathers that weren’t there anymore. He could still remember the weight of them, the way the wind would catch just right, how effortlessly he could take to the skies.

Now, all of that was gone. Pushing away the frustration welling inside, Hawks exhaled and sat up. He didn’t have time for self-pity. The war was looming closer every day, and there was still work to do. He got dressed quickly, throwing on a plain shirt and jacket over his compression gear before heading out. He still worked with Endeavor’s agency, though things had shifted significantly since his injury. He wasn’t on active duty as often, more involved in strategic planning and intel gathering. It wasn't exactly what he wanted, but it was what he had left. Just as he was about to hop on his motorcycle, his phone buzzed.

Incoming Call: Nezu

Hawks frowned. Nezu rarely called him directly. His gut told him to answer immediately.

“Yo, Nezu,” Hawks said as he picked up, keeping his voice light. “Something up?”

“Hawks. I need you to come to U.A. as soon as possible.”

Straight to the point. No usual pleasantries, no riddles. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Did something happen?” Hawks asked, already swinging onto his bike.

“No, but something may happen soon. And I would prefer to be prepared.”

Cryptic. Hawks hated cryptic. But Nezu was one of the few people he trusted to have a reason behind everything he did. If he was asking for a personal visit, it wasn’t just a casual check-in.

“I’m on my way,” Hawks said before hanging up.

The ride to U.A. was quick. The campus, once just a school, had turned into a fortress in preparation for the war. The security was tighter than ever, but as he pulled up to the main gate, the system recognized him instantly, allowing him through. Nezu was waiting for him at the entrance of the main building. The principal stood on his usual platform, hands neatly folded, expression unreadable.

“Follow me,” Nezu said without preamble, turning and leading Hawks through the winding halls.

Hawks followed in silence, watching as they passed a few students and teachers—people who were doing their best to stay strong despite the coming storm. He could hear the echoes of training sessions in the distance, drills being run, preparations being made. The tension in the air was almost suffocating.

They entered Nezu’s office, the door shutting behind them with a soft click. Hawks leaned casually against the nearest chair, arms crossed.

“So,” he said, “what’s the big secret?”

Nezu was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Hawks… I fear we may not win this war.”

That caught him off guard. Nezu was usually the most composed, the most confident in the heroes' ability to come out on top. Hearing those words from him sent a shiver down Hawks' spine.

“That’s a little bleak, even for war talk,” Hawks said, though his voice lacked its usual playfulness.

Nezu nodded. “Realistically, we have prepared to the best of our ability. The students, the heroes, the support teams—everyone has given their all. But… we are up against a force unlike any other. All For One has returned. Shigaraki has evolved beyond what we anticipated. Even with everything we’ve done, there is a chance that we will not be enough.”

Hawks didn’t respond right away. He didn’t want to admit that he agreed.

“I am not saying this to create doubt,” Nezu continued, “but rather to ensure that, no matter what, we have every possible contingency in place.”

Hawks tilted his head. “Alright, I get it. So, where do I come in?”

Nezu stepped away from his desk and opened a drawer. From inside, he pulled out a long, black case. He placed it on the table and flipped the latches open, revealing a sword nestled inside. It was sleek, the blade reflecting the dim light of the office. It wasn’t flashy like something from a fantasy novel—it was simple, functional, and somehow looked deadly just lying there.

Hawks raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for a sword guy, Nezu.”

The principal smiled faintly. “This was developed by both me and Mei Hatsume. It is a weapon designed with a very specific purpose.”

Hawks’ gaze lingered on the blade. “And what purpose is that?”

Nezu’s expression darkened. “It is a last resort.”

That set off alarm bells in Hawks’ head.

Nezu continued, “If everything else fails, if All For One and Shigaraki stand victorious… this sword is meant to ensure that they do not walk away unscathed. It was designed to counteract their power.”

Hawks narrowed his eyes. “How?”

Nezu hesitated for the briefest moment before answering. “You don’t need to know the specifics. Only that if the moment comes where you have no other choice… you use this.”

Hawks stared at him. The weight of what Nezu was saying settled heavily in his chest.

“Let me guess,” Hawks said finally. “You don’t expect me to walk away if I do.”

Nezu didn’t answer. Hawks let out a breath, looking at the sword again. Nezu had thought of everything. And if he believed that this was necessary… then Hawks had to take it seriously. Finally, he reached out and closed the case.

“I’ll hold onto it,” Hawks said. “But let’s hope I never have to use it.”

Nezu gave a small nod. “Yes. Let’s hope.”

Chapter Text

The battlefield was chaos. Endeavor and Shoto battled against Dabi, their flames clashing in a violent inferno that set the sky ablaze. Elsewhere, Toga and Uraraka were locked in a deadly game of cat and mouse, their fight vanishing somewhere amidst the rubble and destruction. But Hawks wasn’t watching them. His battlefield was here. Jeanist was down, unconscious but breathing. Tamaki and Hado were injured, their bodies barely moving as they lay scattered in the wreckage. Camie had disappeared somewhere, likely forced into retreat. Tokoyami was slumped against a broken slab of concrete, Dark Shadow barely flickering in and out of existence. And Hawks? Hawks was standing alone against All For One.

His mind was racing, even as his body screamed at him to move. He wasn’t new to situations like this. His whole life had been one desperate game of survival, one careful play after another. He could read people, anticipate their moves, assess their weaknesses. He had built his career on that tactical mind, on knowing when to strike and when to run.

And right now? Right now, his mind was calculating every possible way they could still win—and coming up with nothing. His hands clenched into fists as he forced himself to breathe. Think. There had to be something. There was always something. But the odds were grim. Hawks’ golden eyes flickered across the battlefield, taking in the crumbling remains of the city around them. They had fought so hard. Planned so carefully. And yet, they were still being overpowered. Even with all their combined efforts, even with the sacrifices that had already been made, All For One remained an unstoppable force.

Every attack thrown at him was met with devastating precision. Every effort to push him back had failed. And now, as the battlefield continued to crumble, Hawks couldn’t shake the bitter truth settling in his chest: They were losing. He exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on the sword strapped to his back—the weapon Nezu had given him, the one designed for a last resort. He had barely thought about it since that day. But right now, he was running out of options.

All For One loomed before him, his presence suffocating.

“You’re still standing?” The villain’s voice was mocking, almost amused. “Impressive, but pointless. You’ve lost. Just accept it.”

Hawks smirked, though the motion felt hollow. “Yeah, see, that’s the thing about heroes. We’re real bad at giving up.”

All For One sighed. “Then allow me to make this easier for you.”

And then he moved.

Hawks barely had time to react as All For One lunged forward, his power surging like a tidal wave. It was an overwhelming force—one that Hawks knew he couldn’t counter. But he had never been one to back down, not when it counted. Not when lives were on the line. He gritted his teeth and braced himself. The battle wasn’t over yet. And as long as he was still breathing, he would find a way to turn the tide.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: The Price of Power

The impact rattled his bones.

Hawks hit the ground hard, his body screaming in protest as pain flared through his already battered frame. The world blurred for a moment, ringing in his ears as dust and debris filled the air. His vision cleared just in time to see the dark figure looming over him. All For One.

The villain moved without hesitation, reaching down and seizing Hawks by the throat. A powerful, gloved hand lifted him effortlessly off the ground, his grip like iron. Hawks clawed at the fingers tightening around his windpipe, but it was useless. He couldn't break free. He couldn't even breathe.

All For One tilted his head slightly, almost as if studying him. “Your quirk has served you well, but it’s wasted on someone like you.”

Hawks felt it—the unmistakable, horrific sensation of something being ripped from within him. His feathers, already tattered and weakened, disintegrated into nothing. The connection he had always felt to them, the instinctive awareness of every fiber of his wings, vanished. It was like losing a limb all over again. He was quirkless.

The realization hit him harder than the battle itself. He couldn’t fight back, couldn’t fly away, couldn’t do anything. The one thing that had always defined him, the thing that made him Hawks, was gone. Stolen. But he wasn’t done yet. With the last of his strength, he gripped the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. Nezu’s words echoed in his mind. If the moment comes where you have no other choice…

This was that moment. He swung the blade upward with every ounce of strength he had left, driving it deep into All For One’s side. For a moment, nothing happened. All For One didn't even flinch. He remained standing, his grip on Hawks unyielding. There was no blood, no sign of injury. Hawks’ vision blurred as the lack of oxygen started to take its toll. He could barely register the voice in his head—the voice he knew couldn’t be real.

“You’re next.”

All Might’s voice.

It was faint, like an echo from the past, but All For One reacted instantly. His head snapped toward the distance, his grip loosening just enough for Hawks to drop like dead weight onto the ground. The villain hesitated for only a fraction of a second before turning and shooting off, leaving behind a gust of wind and the faint shimmer of his teleportation quirk. Hawks lay motionless, struggling to catch his breath. The sword was still clutched in his shaking fingers, All For One’s blood barely staining the blade. It hadn’t worked. The last resort had failed. And now he was helpless. The ground trembled as the next threat approached.

Toga.

Dozens of clones swarmed toward him, their eyes filled with pure, mindless rage. The battlefield had forgotten him, abandoned him. And now, with nothing left to fight back, Hawks could do nothing but stare up at the sky, his body unable to move. For the first time in his life, he felt truly powerless.

Chapter Text

All For One soared through the battlefield, his mind still lingering on the strange sensation that had overcome him. He had fought All Might—no, not the true All Might, merely the fragile man who remained. That confrontation had ended quickly, as expected. But something was wrong. Something had changed. He didn’t understand it yet, but he felt it. He had no time to dwell on the unease twisting in his gut. Bakugo was in front of him now, explosions bursting from the boy’s palms as he lunged forward in a frenzied attack. There was no hesitation in his strikes, only raw determination. Annoying, but predictable.

All For One lifted a hand, reaching for the young hero’s face. Bakugo’s quirk would be a powerful addition to his arsenal. A volatile, ever-expanding force of destruction, fitting for someone in pursuit of absolute dominance. It would be his. Just like every other quirk he had stolen before it. His fingers made contact. He activated his power. Nothing happened. The battlefield seemed to freeze. Bakugo blinked, still mid-motion, his own hands inches from All For One’s chest. Shigaraki, locked in his own battle against Izuku, hesitated. Even Izuku, breathing heavily as the embers of One For All flickered around him, stopped moving.

No one spoke. No one breathed. All For One’s fingers twitched. He pressed harder, willing his quirk to activate, demanding that Bakugo’s power be his. Still, nothing happened. The silence stretched, broken only when All For One finally voiced the question burning in his mind.

“…What?”

Bakugo’s confusion mirrored his own. “What the hell?”

Shigaraki narrowed his eyes. “Why isn’t it working?”

For the first time in over a century, All For One felt something cold curl in his gut—an unfamiliar sensation he had long forgotten. Doubt. But there was no time for doubt, no time for hesitation. Bakugo recovered first.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” he snarled, his gauntlet clicking into place. The next second, an explosion ripped through the air as he blasted himself backward, creating distance between them. Then, in the same motion, he threw his hand forward, releasing a concentrated blast of fire and smoke directly at All For One’s face.

The villain reacted on instinct, raising an arm to shield himself. The blast was powerful—more than it should have been. It wasn’t just heat. It was force. Raw, unrelenting force. His body skidded slightly, the ground beneath his feet cracking. When the smoke cleared, Bakugo was already moving again. His speed was blinding, his movements erratic and unpredictable. He zigzagged through the battlefield, using his explosions to propel himself forward in bursts of violent momentum. Every strike was aimed at a weak point—his joints, his mask, his exposed areas. There was precision in his chaos.

And All For One hated it. He struck out, aiming to grab him, but Bakugo twisted at the last second, narrowly avoiding his grasp. Another explosion sent him soaring upward, his gauntlet primed.

“Die already!” Bakugo roared, unleashing another devastating blast.

All For One braced himself, shifting his stance as the explosion hit. The force was immense, sending shockwaves across the battlefield. The villain slid back, his mind racing. Why wasn’t it working?

He tries to turn one of the dead heroes into a nomu... Nothing. Panic scratched at the edge of his mind. That couldn’t be right. It had to be a mistake. He tried again, to amplify his strength, one that would let him crush Bakugo’s skull in an instant. Still, nothing. He felt weaker. His power wasn’t completely gone—but three key pieces were missing. The ability to create Nomu. His slow-aging quirk that had made him nearly immortal. And worst of all, the original All For One quirk—the core of his power, the source of his ability to steal and distribute quirks at will.

The battlefield was still frozen in stunned silence, the realization settling over everyone at once. Izuku’s eyes widened. Shigaraki’s expression darkened. Even Bakugo, mid-attack, hesitated for a fraction of a second. All For One clenched his fists. His stolen quirks had always been his greatest strength. They defined him, made him untouchable. And now, the essence of what made him unstoppable—what made him who he was—was gone.

“…Impossible,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bakugo’s hesitation lasted only a moment. Then, his smirk returned, sharper than ever. “Ohhh,” he taunted, cracking his knuckles. “You’re screwed now.”

Before All For One could react, Bakugo launched forward again, the explosions at his feet propelling him like a missile. He crashed into All For One with a force that sent the villain sprawling, the impact shattering the ground beneath them. All For One coughed, dust and debris clouding his vision. His mind reeled, scrambling for an explanation, a strategy, anything. But there was nothing. Only a single, horrifying truth. He had lost the one thing he thought he could never lose.

And he didn't know why.

Chapter Text

Time passed in a blur after that. All For One, battered and without his original power, was pushed back further and further. His stolen quirks were still potent, but with each passing moment, the battle turned against him.

And then, he began to shrink. The effects of the rewind quirk accelerated, pulling him further and further back in time. His mask cracked, his limbs trembled, his once-mighty presence withering before the eyes of heroes and villains alike. He let out a final, defiant scream—before his body dissolved into nothingness.

The battlefield was silent. For a long moment, no one moved. The dust settled, the last echoes of destruction fading into the cold wind. Then—

"YES!"

Bakugo’s voice shattered the stillness. He threw up a fist, grinning like a madman, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. "WE WON!"

All For One was gone. The villain had been reduced to nothing, rewinding into oblivion until there was nothing left to rewind. For the first time in years, victory felt real.

Bakugo let out a sharp breath, the weight in his chest lifting—just for a second. He turned, locking eyes with Izuku. "Come on, nerd! Let’s finish this!"

Izuku snapped out of his daze. Across the field, Shigaraki stood alone. With no more backup. No All For One. No army. No future. Just him. Bakugo rocketed forward, explosions propelling him ahead. Izuku followed, lightning crackling around his body. Shigaraki didn’t even move. He had already lost. A minute later, it was over. Izuku’s fist slammed into Shigaraki’s chest, and with one last whisper of wind. Tomura Shigaraki was gone. A long silence followed. Then, a sound like thunder as the remaining villains collapsed to their knees, either retreating or surrendering. The war was won.

Bakugo stood with his hands on his hips, still panting. "Hah… finally," he muttered, catching his breath. His whole body ached, but it was done.

He turned to Izuku, who was staring at the place where Shigaraki had just stood. He looked… troubled.

Bakugo scowled. "Oi, what’s with that face?"

Izuku blinked, snapping back to reality. He shook his head. "I don’t know… Something just feels… off."

Before Bakugo could question him further, a shadow loomed over them. Endeavor. He looked exhausted, his uniform burned and torn, blood staining his skin. Beside him, Shoto stood, equally beaten but still standing.

"Shigaraki’s gone," Izuku said first, voice quiet.

Endeavor gave a slow nod. "…Dabi, too." His tone was unreadable.

A strange weight settled in the air. Had they actually done it? Was it finally over?

Before anyone could speak, Bakugo took a deep breath—then, suddenly, blurted, "Wait. What happened to All For One?!"

The question cut through the moment like a knife. All eyes turned to him.

Endeavor frowned. "What do you mean? He’s gone."

"I know that!" Bakugo snapped, waving a hand. "But I’m talking about what happened before that! He—he—" He let out a frustrated groan. "He couldn’t steal my Quirk. He TRIED. TWICE. And NOTHING. HAPPENED!"

That got everyone’s attention.

Shoto’s brows knit together. "Wait… what?"

"EXACTLY!" Bakugo pointed at him. "THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING! THINK ABOUT IT! That guy should’ve been able to steal my Quirk, right?! He was stealing Quirks the whole fight! But when he grabbed me—NOTHING."

A tense silence followed.

Then, finally, Izuku spoke, voice uneasy. "…That’s true."

He turned to Endeavor. "All For One was still taking Quirks when we were fighting him earlier, right?"

Endeavor nodded slowly. "Yes. He stole dozens—many from pro heroes before you even arrived."

"So why… didn’t he take Bakugo’s?"

Shoto crossed his arms, thinking hard. "Maybe… he ran out of time?"

"No, that doesn’t make sense," Bakugo said immediately. "His Quirk doesn’t just stop working like that."

The group fell into a troubled silence.

Endeavor narrowed his eyes. "He had that ability for over a century. He’s always been able to take Quirks. If he suddenly couldn’t…" His words trailed off.

Izuku finished the thought.

"Then something happened to it."

A weight dropped in the pit of their stomachs.

Shoto’s brows furrowed. "But what? How does something like that just stop working?"

Uraraka’s voice suddenly cut into the conversation.

"Wait, wait—hold on. What’s going on?"

The group turned to see Uraraka limping toward them, battered but alive.

"Toga’s gone," she announced bluntly. "She’s dead. It’s over." She sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. "But—what’s all this about All For One?"

Endeavor crossed his arms. "Apparently, he lost the ability to steal Quirks before he died."

Uraraka’s tired eyes widened slightly. "What? How? I thought that was, like… his whole thing?"

"EXACTLY!" Bakugo threw his arms in the air. "THAT’S THE PART THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE! How does that just go away?!"

The group exchanged uneasy looks. It didn’t make sense. Bakugo clenched his jaw. "It was weird, too. When he tried to take my Quirk, it was like… nothing even happened. Not like a failure or something. Just… nothing." He gritted his teeth. "That’s not normal."

The group sat with that for a moment. Then, Endeavor narrowed his eyes.

"Wait," he muttered. "If All For One’s Quirk really did disappear…" His gaze darkened. "Who was the last person to land a hit on him?"

The realization hit like a bullet. There were only a few people who could have touched All For One before this happened. And Hawks was one of them. Endeavor’s eyes widened. He suddenly turned, scanning the battlefield.

"Hawks," he said. "Where’s Hawks?"

Uraraka blinked. "Oh… uh—wait." She turned, her eyes widening in realization. "Wait, wait—I think I saw him before—he was fighting All For One, right?"

Bakugo stiffened. A horrible feeling dropped into the pit of his stomach. Endeavor clenched his fists. "Dang it—" Without another word, he turned, breaking into a run.

"Hawks was the last one to strike All For One."

And now he was missing.

Chapter Text

The battlefield was eerily quiet.

The war was over, but the ruins of battle remained. Smoke curled from the wreckage, distant cries of injured heroes and villains alike echoing in the wind. Blood, debris, and shattered remnants of buildings lay scattered across the ground. And in the middle of it all... Hawks. Endeavor spotted him instantly. He was barely breathing. The Number Two Hero lay crumpled in the dirt, his body covered in bruises, burns, and deep cuts. The remnants of his uniform had been torn away, leaving him in nothing but his tattered pants and boots. His back, once adorned with brilliant red wings, was now bare—hollow.

Endeavor’s chest tightened. He was too late.

His boots thudded heavily against the ground as he rushed forward. "Hawks!" His voice came out rough, urgency overpowering exhaustion.

No response. Endeavor dropped to one knee, hands moving instinctively. Hawks' pulse was there, but weak. His breathing was ragged, chest barely rising and falling. He looked like he’d been through hell and back—but something was wrong. And then—Endeavor saw it. The sword. It was lying just inches away, its surface-stained deep crimson. Blood. All For One’s blood. Endeavor’s gaze locked onto it, and his breath caught in his throat. The sword wasn’t just any weapon.

It had the UA emblem carved into the hilt. His mind raced. UA made this? But why? His fists clenched. The implications… the realization… Nezu. That little rat had known something. Endeavor’s thoughts were cut off as Hawks shifted slightly, a weak sound escaping him. His body twitched, but he didn’t wake. Endeavor immediately moved, lifting him up as carefully as possible. He was light—too light. Too fragile. His grip on his friend tightened.

"You idiot," he muttered under his breath. "You always do this."

Hawks had fought for them. He had risked everything. And now? Now, he had nothing left. The weight of it settled heavily on Endeavor’s shoulders. He looked down at Hawks, at the ruined state of his body. His back… it was bare. His Quirk was gone. Endeavor’s jaw clenched. He didn’t know what had happened yet, but he knew one thing for certain—

Hawks had given everything to win this war.

And Endeavor wouldn’t let that sacrifice go unanswered. With the sword in one hand and his fallen comrade in the other, Endeavor stood—and made his way toward the medical tents. Because whatever had happened here, whatever the truth was, they needed to find out. Fast.

Chapter Text

The medical tent was a blur of motion. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic, blood, and smoke. The surviving medics were moving quickly—too quickly, yet not fast enough. Hawks lay unconscious on the emergency cot, hooked up to monitors that beeped with a slow, uncertain rhythm. His chest rose in weak, shallow breaths. The sword, bloodstained and ominous, sat wrapped in cloth beside the cot. No one had dared touch it after Endeavor brought it in. Outside, a few of the remaining heroes were finally regrouping. Inasa Yoarashi, battered and winded but still standing tall, was one of the first to arrive. His wide eyes flicked to the tent as he noticed the others gathered around. Camie followed behind him, bruised and scraped, her illusions long gone. When she caught sight of Hawks through the open flap of the tent, her hands went to her mouth in silent shock.

"Whoa…" she whispered. "He looks… bad."

"He's barely hanging on," Tokoyami muttered beside her, his voice a mix of reverence and dread. The normally stoic student was shaken. "He saved us all."

Uraraka turned to Inasa, nodding quickly before stepping closer to him. "Hey… thank you. Seriously. If you hadn't been there when you were… a lot more of us might've gone down."

Inasa grins and responds with a proud gaze. "Anytime you need me!"

Camie didn’t respond. Her gaze was still fixed on Hawks, the image burned into her mind: his torn uniform, his broken form, the emptiness where his wings used to be. Endeavor stood nearby, arms crossed, shoulders heavier than ever. His face was hard to read—tired, grim, but not defeated. He’d been watching Hawks closely, silently taking in every weak rise of his chest.

"This man..." Endeavor finally spoke. His voice was rough, low. "He didn’t just fight. He gave everything. When we needed him most—he was there."

The others looked toward him, but Endeavor had already turned and begun walking away. There was something else he needed to do. He found Aizawa just outside another tent, seated in a wheelchair. His leg had never healed, but his presence still carried weight.

"Aizawa," Endeavor said flatly.

Aizawa didn’t look up immediately. He was watching the horizon, watching the war’s aftermath unfold quietly. Then, with a slow turn of his head, he looked up at Endeavor.

"What is it?"

Endeavor didn’t waste time. He reached into his coat and pulled out the bloodstained cloth. Inside it, the sword. Still humming faintly with the weight of something unspoken. He unwrapped it just enough to show the hilt. The UA emblem gleamed under the dim light of the tent. Aizawa blinked, his brow furrowing slightly.

"...Where did you get that?"

"Hawks stabbed All For One with it," Endeavor said. "Right before he lost his Quirk."

Aizawa stared at the sword.

"I thought it was just a weapon at first," Endeavor continued, keeping his voice low. "But this… this was made by someone from UA. Hawks wouldn’t have carried it unless someone gave it to him directly."

"And you're telling me this now because…" Aizawa asked, voice guarded.

"Because I figured you’d know something about it." Endeavor’s tone had a slight edge. Not accusatory. Not yet. But close.

But Aizawa shook his head. Slowly. Genuinely.

"I’ve never seen it before."

Endeavor narrowed his eyes. "You're telling me a UA-labeled, high-tier prototype sword meant for one of the strongest heroes just… slipped past you?"

"If it did, it wasn’t through my channels," Aizawa said plainly. "Principal Nezu runs his own projects sometimes. You know that."

Endeavor stepped back, processing that. A heavy silence passed between the two men.

"So," Aizawa finally said, looking again at the sword, "you’re telling me Hawks got this from Nezu?"

"That’s what it’s starting to look like." Endeavor folded the cloth back around the weapon, grip tightening. "He said nothing to the staff. Not even to you."

Aizawa didn’t reply at first.

Then he said quietly, "That’s not normal."

"No, it’s not."

The implications were growing. The symbol of evil had lost his power. A sword with unknown capabilities, likely developed in secret by the most intelligent mind in UA. And a hero who risked it all without even knowing what he was carrying. What did Nezu know? And more importantly... what did he do? Endeavor looked back toward the tent where Hawks lay motionless. Whatever had happened out there, it wasn’t an accident. It was part of something. And now they needed answers.

Chapter Text

The hospital room was quiet, except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. Hawks lay still in the bed, pale against the white sheets. Bandages wrapped around his chest and arms, and the spot where his wings used to be had been cleaned and treated—but the damage was deep, internal, and Quirkless. No one had said it aloud yet, but everyone in the room could feel it. He was alive. Barely. Endeavor stood near the window, arms crossed tightly. He hadn’t moved in half an hour. His gaze was locked on the sky beyond the glass, but his mind was racing with questions. Aizawa sat in a chair near the bed, his eyes half-closed, but he was clearly listening. Across the room, Tokoyami stood silently, hands clenched behind his back, not letting himself sit. He hadn't spoken in a while, but he hadn't left either. Not since they wheeled his mentor into the room.

The door opened quietly. Nezu walked in. No fanfare. No smile. Just him.

Endeavor turned immediately, face tightening. “You're here. Good.”

Nezu’s expression didn’t change. He carried a folder under one arm, and a calmness that rubbed Endeavor the wrong way.

“I want answers,” Endeavor said sharply. “Now.”

Nezu nodded, not surprised by the tone. “I expected as much.”

“That sword,” Endeavor continued. “It wasn’t just a last resort. It did something. We all saw it. Hawks stabs All For One, and suddenly the Symbol of Evil can’t use his own Quirk anymore. Can’t even steal from Bakugo. The entire tide of the war changed after that moment.”

Nezu didn’t flinch. He looked up at Hawks' motionless body, then over to Tokoyami. “How’s he doing?”

Tokoyami replied without turning. “He hasn’t moved. But he’s breathing.”

A pause. Nezu gave a small nod and placed the folder on the table, but didn’t open it.

“That sword,” Endeavor said again, slower this time, “was made at UA. You stamped it yourself. Why?”

Nezu finally looked at him. “Because we had no other options.”

“And that means what, exactly?” Aizawa cut in, voice low but firm.

Nezu stepped closer to the bed before answering. “I built the sword in secret. With Hatsume’s help. We had access to some limited pieces of research—bits of data from Eri’s Quirk studies, quirks relating to transfer and suppression, a few old notes from back in the days of the first Quirk Singularity theories. I used them all.”

Endeavor frowned. “You never told us.”

“Because it wasn’t ready,” Nezu replied, folding his paws in front of him. “It was unstable. Too dangerous to use. That’s why I told Hawks to only wield it as a last resort. It was a gamble—not just for him, but for the entire world.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “You gambled with the life of one of our best heroes.”

“I gambled with the fate of the next generation,” Nezu said calmly. “All For One was the cycle. His power, his ideology… the ability to take and manipulate quirks endlessly. It had gone on long enough. This sword wasn’t just to wound him. It was designed to extract his foundational quirk. Sever it.”

“You mean… All For One’s original ability,” Tokoyami said, turning to look at Nezu for the first time.

Nezu nodded. “Yes. That power was the lynchpin. Without it, the rest would fall apart.”

Endeavor’s voice was cold now. “So you’re saying Hawks… has it?”

Nezu didn’t answer directly.

Instead, he walked to the end of the bed and glanced at the folder. “We’ll know more when the blood tests come back.”

Aizawa tensed. “You still don’t know?”

“There are too many unknowns,” Nezu admitted. “The sword wasn’t meant to transfer anything. It was supposed to neutralize. If Hawks did inherit something… that wasn’t part of the design.”

Endeavor took a step forward. “You built a weapon you didn’t understand, handed it to someone who trusted you, and told him to throw himself at the most dangerous villain alive.”

Nezu didn’t respond. He simply looked at Hawks again.

“The sword gave us a fighting chance,” he said quietly. “It bought us time. Gave Bakugo the window. It gave the world a chance to live without the fear of All For One.”

“But at what cost?” Aizawa muttered, staring at the floor.

They all looked at Hawks. Silent. Still. Broken. Tokoyami stepped closer to the bed and rested his hand gently on the metal frame.

“If he wakes up,” he said softly, “I’ll be here.”

Another long silence passed between them. Nezu finally turned to leave but paused in the doorway. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “When the tests are done, we’ll know for sure… but if Hawks does carry any trace of that power now—”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“—then he may not have just taken it… he may have become something else entirely.”

The door clicked shut behind him. And in the stillness of the room, the beeping of the monitor continued.

Chapter Text

The sound of a monitor beeped steadily in the background. Light filtered softly through the curtains. Clean white walls, the faint scent of sterilized equipment. Silence, save for the hum of machines and faint footsteps outside the hospital wing. Then, a shift. Fingers twitched. A brow furrowed. Hawks slowly opened his eyes. His vision swam for a moment, shapes blurring together until the ceiling above him came into focus. The world felt heavy—like waking up at the bottom of a deep ocean. His body didn’t hurt so much as it felt… unfamiliar. Disconnected.

“...where…”

His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. A shape moved by the window. The blur sharpened into the familiar silhouette of Endeavor, his large frame tense, head turned in stunned relief.

“You’re awake…” Endeavor’s voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat. “Thank God.”

Hawks blinked again, more rapidly this time, adjusting to the light. His head turned slowly and saw his old teammate moving closer. His heart rate monitor picked up speed.

“Enji…” he rasped, a weak smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You're alive too…”

“I could say the same,” Endeavor said, taking a seat at his bedside. “You scared the hell out of us.”

From the other side of the room, Aizawa stepped into view. His arms were crossed, his face impassive—but even behind the bandages and tired eyes, there was something softer in his expression. Something like relief.

“Welcome back,” Aizawa said, simply.

Tokoyami stepped in next, practically sprinting to the bed as soon as he saw Hawks’ eyes open.

“You can't keep doing this to me, Sensei!” he blurted, voice strained with emotion. “You keep scaring me with these close calls!”

Despite the grogginess, Hawks gave a breathy chuckle and reached toward him instinctively. “You worried about me, bird boy?”

He tried to sit up more—then stopped. Froze. His eyes caught something on his forearm. It wasn’t just a bruise. It wasn’t just bandages. It was ink. No—something deeper. Black, twisting lines ran across his skin like burning veins etched into his flesh.

“What—” His voice pitched higher as he grabbed his arm and twisted it to see more. The marks were alive, pulsing faintly beneath his skin. They weren’t tattoos. Not exactly. They didn’t feel like his.

“Wh-what the hell is this!?”

His sudden movement sent the heart monitor spiking. A loud beep broke the calm. A nurse burst in—followed by two more. Their expressions weren’t calm. They weren’t routine. They were afraid.

“Stay back,” one said instinctively, though she caught herself quickly. “Hawks—Keigo—please don’t move too much. You’re still recovering.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Hawks barked, panic now creeping into his tone. “What are these marks!?”

The lead nurse held a folder tightly in her arms—sealed, stamped, and fresh from the lab. The corner had a UA emblem on it. She looked at Endeavor, then Eraserhead, uncertain.

“The blood test results,” she said quietly, holding the file out with shaking hands.

Endeavor took it. He glanced at Aizawa before opening it. His eyes scanned the pages quickly. Then stopped. Then slowly, looked up. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just stared at Hawks, jaw tight.

“…What is it?” Hawks asked, chest rising faster. “Enji. What’s in it?”

Aizawa took the folder next, reading beside him. Tokoyami stepped back, sensing the tension rise again. The nurse whispered something into her colleague’s ear. They both backed out of the room quickly, leaving the four of them alone again. Aizawa closed the file.

“Hawks…” he said slowly. “You’re not just Quirkless anymore.”

Hawks blinked. “...what?”

“You’re something else now,” Aizawa continued. “We’re not sure what yet… but those marks on your body? They match the unique quirk-signature patterns from All For One’s core.”

Hawks stared at him, blank.

“…What are you saying?”

Endeavor exhaled through his nose, voice low. “The sword didn’t just steal All For One’s power…”

Aizawa nodded. “It gave it to you.”

Hawks sat in stunned silence. The room was quiet again—only the monitor still speaking, one heartbeat at a time. And the black marks, pulsing ever so faintly, like something had just begun to wake inside him.

Chapter Text

The room was gripped by silence. No one moved. No one even breathed too loudly. The monitor next to Hawks’ bed ticked steadily, the only sound in a space suddenly thick with tension. The marks on his arms—those dark, jagged lines—still pulsed faintly. Like veins filled with ink. His body wasn’t just healing… it was changing. And everyone in the room knew it. The nurses stared for a moment longer, eyes wide with something between awe and dread. Then, without a word, they turned and hurried out of the room. The click of the door behind them sounded louder than it should have. Endeavor stood frozen, folder still in hand, fingers tightening unconsciously around it. Tokoyami’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something—but closed again, unsure. His mentor—the man he admired—was now housing the power of All For One. The original Quirk. The one responsible for everything. Aizawa lowered his head slightly, eyes narrowed, like he was working through every possibility at once. The pieces weren’t fitting right. Not yet. The quiet broke when the doctor entered. He looked pale. His clipboard shook slightly as he addressed them.

“The lab re-ran everything twice. There’s… no mistake. Hawks’ quirk factor shows fragments—no, imprints—of the original All For One. Not a copy. Not an offshoot. It’s… it’s part of him now.”

Hawks didn’t blink. He felt cold. He didn’t feel evil. Didn’t feel like some monster. He just felt—tired.

“How?” he whispered.

The doctor shook his head, backing toward the door. “We don’t know. The sword must’ve acted as a conduit. The moment it pierced All For One’s core… whatever was left must’ve latched onto the closest viable host.”

Hawks swallowed hard. “Me.”

The doctor gave him one last look—then turned and walked out of the room in a hurry, almost bumping into someone else trying to come in.

“All Might?!” Tokoyami said, startled.

The door flung open with a sharp clack. All Might stood in the doorway, his civilian form ragged, eyes wide and breath sharp. He was sweating, like he’d just run across the entire campus.

“I heard the report," he said, tone strained. “Tell me it's not true.”

Aizawa met his gaze. No words. Just a small nod. All Might’s face cracked. His eyes slowly turned toward the bed. Toward Hawks. It was a heavy look—not of blame, not yet, but of something deeper. Something wounded.

Hawks sat up straighter, trying to force calm into his voice. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. Nezu gave me the sword. It was supposed to stop him, not—transfer anything.”

All Might took a single step into the room.

“You mean to tell me that after everything... after all the sacrifice, all the lives, all the years fighting this monster... we put his Quirk into a hero?”

Hawks’ throat tightened. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t even know what the sword would do.”

“But it did.” All Might’s voice cracked. “It put All For One’s Quirk into the hands of a hero. Into the hands of a symbol that was supposed to represent hope.”

The words hit harder than any villain’s punch.

Hawks opened his mouth. “I’m not him. I would never—”

“I need some air,” All Might said suddenly, turning around.

“Wait—” Hawks started, reaching out with a trembling hand, but All Might was already halfway through the door.

He didn’t look back. The door closed softly behind him. Hawks lowered his hand, staring at it. At the black marks that crawled up his arm. They looked like chains now. A reminder of what he’d done—what he now carried. Endeavor was still standing there, jaw locked tight, anger and confusion blending behind his eyes. Aizawa remained still, watching Hawks, silent as ever—but there was something in his expression that said: we’ll figure it out. Tokoyami stepped forward, hesitant.

“…Sensei?”

Hawks turned his head slightly.

“You’re still you,” Tokoyami said. His voice wasn’t confident. It wavered. But it was there. “Right?”

Hawks forced a small smile. “I think so.”

But inside, a terrible thought echoed louder than any monitor or voice.

What if I’m not?

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Hawks woke up. He’d healed—physically, at least—fast enough to make the doctors nervous. Even the faint pulse of black marks along his arms had dulled to a faint hum. But he could still feel them—like a second heartbeat, always there in the background. Watching. Waiting. He didn’t argue when they discharged him. There were no cheers, no welcome-back fanfare. Just quiet eyes. Curious stares. Uneasy silences in the hallway. Tokoyami waited outside his room the entire time. Endeavor stood beside him, arms crossed. Unintentional bodyguards. Or, maybe, unspoken protectors. Or, more realistically—watchdogs. They walked down the hallway with Hawks between them. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t ceremonial. It was just a silent procession, like they weren’t sure where to go, or what they were supposed to do next. That’s when they ran into All Might. He was already waiting. Still in civilian form, still with that same conflicted expression on his face—one Hawks had never seen on him before the war. A mix of duty, fear, and something close to regret.

“You shouldn’t be out in the open yet,” All Might said flatly, his voice missing its usual warmth.

Hawks paused. “I’m not dangerous.”

“We can’t know that,” All Might replied, too quickly. “Not yet.”

Endeavor took a step forward, voice tight. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

All Might didn’t flinch. “I’m not. We all saw what happened. Hawks carries the original All For One quirk in some form. That means he's a potential—”

“A potential what, Toshinori?” Endeavor snapped. “A threat? The man who ended All For One’s legacy is now somehow the next in line?”

“He was trained to lie,” All Might said firmly. “Trained to manipulate. You know the HPSC built him that way.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut. Everyone stopped. Even Hawks. A heavy silence followed. Tokoyami’s eyes widened. Aizawa, who had appeared just around the corner, slowed to a stop. Everyone was listening now.

Endeavor growled under his breath. “That’s low. Even for you.”

But Hawks didn’t speak. Because… it was true. He looked down at his hands. The marks were faint, but they hadn’t gone away. They wouldn't. Neither would everything else.

“...He’s not wrong,” Hawks finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was quieter now. Tired. “The world knows my past. All of it’s public now—the killings, the double agent work, the lies.”

He looked up at All Might, expression unreadable. “I’ve always been good at lying. Even to myself.”

That quiet admission made the air colder.

Tokoyami turned sharply. “Even if that’s true… I don’t care.”

Hawks blinked.

“You’re my mentor,” Tokoyami said, firm and unwavering. “You made hard choices. You weren’t perfect. You were used. But you still fought for us. You still fought for the future.”

He stepped between Hawks and All Might.

“I don’t know what’s happening inside you. But I know who you are. And I’m not going to leave your side just because some people are afraid of what you might become.”

Hawks stared at him, stunned. Endeavor’s jaw unclenched slightly. He looked between the two and gave a small nod of approval. But then his eyes turned back to All Might.

“You’re pointing fingers in the wrong direction.”

All Might frowned. “Excuse me?”

Endeavor gestured toward Hawks. “He didn’t make that sword. He didn’t ask for that power. You want someone to hold accountable? Talk to the ones who built the thing. Hatsume and Nezu.”

All Might froze. He hadn’t said a word about them since the beginning. He didn’t have to. The uncertainty in his eyes was enough.

“I didn’t know,” All Might said finally. “Not about the weapon. Not about what they were planning. Nezu kept it quiet.”

“And now one of our heroes is living with the consequences of a secret project he didn’t understand,” Endeavor replied.

There was no venom in his voice. Just cold, hard truth. No one said anything for a long time. All Might turned away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I just… I don’t know what to do with this,” he admitted, voice quiet. “After everything we fought for… the idea that even a piece of All For One could survive, inside a hero... it’s hard not to feel like we failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” Hawks said. “You won. We all did.”

He took a breath, steadier now.

“And if I’m carrying something dark inside me, then I’ll figure out how to live with it. I’m not running from it. Not this time.”

All Might didn’t answer. He just nodded—barely—and stepped aside. Hawks kept walking. Tokoyami followed close. And Endeavor, for the first time in days, let himself exhale. They had no answers yet. But at least Hawks wasn’t walking this path alone.

Chapter Text

The drive to U.A. was silent. Hawks sat in the back seat, his posture tense. His arms were wrapped in black compression sleeves, hiding the dark markings that still crawled beneath the surface. He could still feel them, like a constant pressure humming in his veins. He wished he didn’t. Ahead of him, Endeavor drove with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming impatiently against the console. Aizawa sat in the passenger seat, his single visible eye narrowing every time they hit a bump in the road. All Might had said little since they left the hospital. And when All Might went quiet, it meant something was wrong. Badly wrong. By the time they arrived, the sun was setting over the domes of U.A.’s reinforced campus. The place felt still, almost too calm after everything they’d just survived. Inside, tension was immediate. Izuku had been waiting. His arms were crossed, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He was trying to stay calm—he really was—but when he saw Hawks enter the main hall, covered up and quiet, his foot slid forward without thinking.

“Izuku,” Aizawa said calmly, raising a hand before Izuku could step closer. “Don’t.”

Izuku stopped, but his voice was sharp. “He has All For One inside him. You really expect me to just stand here and act like that’s nothing?”

Behind him, Bakugo was already storming over. His boots hit the floor like thunder. “Move, Deku. I knew something felt off. If no one’s going to ask what’s crawling around inside his head, I will.”

“Bakugo—” Shoto stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Not like this.”

Bakugo glanced at him, teeth clenched. But he stopped. Barely. Behind Hawks, Dark Shadow expanded instinctively, moving in front of him like a winged shield. Its glowing eyes locked on Bakugo with a rare intensity.

“No one touches him,” it rumbled. “Not unless they want to try me.”

Hawks blinked in quiet surprise. He’d never heard that tone from his student's Quirk before. All Might had seen enough. Without a word, he turned and stormed down the hall toward the principal’s office. Nezu’s voice could be heard faintly behind the door when All Might opened it without knocking.

“All Might,” Nezu said, startled. “This is unexpected—”

“No. You don’t get to talk yet,” All Might snapped, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

His voice wasn't loud—but it was sharp.

“I want answers. I want to know why you handed that sword to Hawks without telling any of us what it could do.”

Nezu’s ears flattened slightly. “It wasn’t meant to transfer the Quirk—”

“But it did!” All Might’s voice cracked. “You made a weapon with the power to change the course of this war, and you put it in the hands of someone you knew wouldn’t question you!”

“I was trying to stop a legacy that’s haunted our world for generations,” Nezu said carefully. “And I did. Hawks ended All For One.”

“All For One ended All For One,” All Might growled. “And now Hawks is stuck with the aftermath. You didn’t give him a choice. You gave him a loaded gun with no safety, no instructions, and no way out.”

Nezu’s paws trembled ever so slightly.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said quietly.

“But it did,” All Might repeated. “And now everyone is watching him. Wondering when—not if—he’ll become the next monster.”

Outside the office, Aizawa turned away from the door. He muttered something under his breath and left the group behind. He had a different idea. As the tension boiled between the veterans, Aizawa made his way to U.A.’s lower labs. The air changed the moment he entered—buzzing tech, the faint scent of solder and metal shavings. He found Mei Hatsume hunched over a cluttered workbench, goggles on, humming to herself as sparks flicked across a half-formed gauntlet. She didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“Hatsume.”

She jumped. “Whoa—Sensei, you scared me!”

Aizawa stepped closer, arms folded. “We need to talk.”

She paused. Blinked behind the goggles. “Is this about the sword?”

“Yes.”

Mei rubbed the back of her head. “I guess Nezu told you I helped with it.”

“He did. And right now, there’s a room full of people upstairs trying not to rip each other apart over what happened with Hawks. So, I need you to tell me—everything.”

Her shoulders sank.

“…It was just a theory,” she said. “A long shot. We studied old quirk-suppressing tech, Eri’s reversal data, the way some abilities store genetic quirk patterns in organic tissue… we were trying to create something that could scrub All For One from existence. That was the goal.”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “You knew it could go wrong.”

Mei looked up, eyes serious for once. “I didn’t know it would attach itself to the nearest living host. That wasn’t part of the equation.”

“But it happened.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It did.”

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Get ready,” he muttered. “Because if Hawks loses control, people won’t be asking for the science. They’ll be asking for someone to blame.”

Chapter Text

Hawks sat quietly just outside Nezu’s office, separated by one thin wall from all the shouting inside. He didn’t need to hear every word to know what they were arguing about. Him. Even now, his arms were wrapped in those tight sleeves—covering the black marks like they might go away if no one could see them. But he still felt them. Always. Pressing against the inside of his skin like something alive. His fingers twitched. His breathing was shallow. The second hand on the clock above him ticked far too loud. Everyone wanted to know if he was still the same man. Even he wasn’t sure anymore. Then—something snapped. The arguing escalated, voices overlapping, frustration boiling over.

“All of this happened because you kept it from us!”

“You gave a dangerous weapon to a hero without consent—!”

“He could become the next All For One!”

“ENOUGH!”

Hawks’ voice cut through the hallway like a knife. And then—reality shifted. The air around him rippled. A sound, somewhere between a heartbeat and static, vibrated in his ears. His vision blurred for half a second. His body tensed like his muscles were being pulled in directions he didn’t understand. And then… it appeared. The ground cracked softly beneath him, a shape rising out of the shadows—fast, instinctual, wrong. It was humanoid, but too tall, lean, and twitching as if trying to remember how to move. Everyone in the hallway screamed—voices echoed, boots scrambled, chairs flipped over. A Nomu. But not like the others. It wasn’t monstrous or grotesque—no exposed brains, no mechanical parts. It looked… almost human. Almost elegant. Its black skin shimmered faintly, and its eyes—bright and gold—locked directly onto Hawks. Frozen. Everyone froze.

Hawks slowly turned, feeling the surge in his blood finally ebb. The mark on his arm glowed faintly beneath his sleeve. “…What… did I just do?”

Dark Shadow immediately positioned itself in front of Tokoyami again, braced for a fight. Izuku had stepped into a stance without even thinking. Bakugo’s hand sparked with rising panic. Shoto’s ice had already crawled halfway up the wall in defense. All Might looked ready to rush in again. But Hawks didn’t move. He just stared at the thing. It wasn’t moving toward anyone. It hadn’t attacked. It just stood there, breathing, waiting—as if it didn’t know what it was yet. Hawks looked down at his trembling hands.

“This isn’t what I meant to do…”

Behind him, heavy footsteps approached in a sprint. Aizawa and Mei burst into the hallway—Aizawa already mid-stride, scarf lashing out like instinct.

“Hawks—!” he started, eyes glowing red.

But he stopped when he saw Hawks’ face. The panic. The confusion. The shame. Hawks looked back over his shoulder, eyes wide and glassy.

“I didn’t mean to call it. I just—” His voice broke. “I just wanted them to stop…”

Aizawa lowered his scarf, slowly. Everyone was still tense, still waiting for something to go wrong. The Nomu—if that’s what it really was—tilted its head… and then vanished, crumbling into black mist, like it had never been there. Silence. The kind that makes your heartbeat feel too loud.

Mei stared in shock, hands twitching. “That… that wasn't possible,” she whispered. “There wasn’t anything in the design that could do that…”

Hawks collapsed to his knees, pressing his hands to the floor as if grounding himself would stop whatever had just surged out of him. He didn’t cry. But his voice was hollow.

“I don’t know what I’m becoming.”

No one answered him. Because no one had an answer to give.

Chapter Text

No one spoke. Not right away.

The hallway was frozen in time. Even the lights felt dimmer, the air thicker. The last echo of Hawks’ voice—“I don’t know what I’m becoming”—still lingered.

Then came the whispers. Soft. Subtle. Slipping beneath the silence like fog under a door.

“Did he summon that?”

“It looked… like a Nomu.”

“Is it under his control?”

“What if it’s not the only one?”

They weren’t loud. Weren’t directed at him. But Hawks heard them anyway. Every word pressed into his chest like weight on already unsteady lungs. He lowered his head. Tried to breathe. Tried not to panic. Tried not to feel anything. But the feeling was still there—simmering. That strange sensation from earlier. That surge. That thing didn’t come out of nowhere. It came from him.

“Hey!”

Bakugo’s voice cut through the tension like lightning. Hawks looked up just in time to see the boy already mid-sprint, palm crackling with heat. His eyes locked onto the space where the Nomu had disappeared—and just as fast, it reappeared. Not from the floor. Not summoned. It was just there again, standing quietly beside Hawks. Not snarling, not hostile. But watching. Protecting. Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He fired. An explosion erupted across the hallway, slamming into the Nomu’s side. It staggered, taking the hit—but didn’t strike back. Didn’t move. It stood its ground, arms raised. Shielding Hawks.

“What the—” Bakugo skidded backward, staring in disbelief. “It’s guarding him?!”

Hawks tried to get up. “Stop—Bakugo, don’t—!”

Bakugo raised another hand, ready to fire again. That was when Dark Shadow surged forward, intercepting with a growl so loud it made the walls vibrate.

“Stand. Down.”

Everyone froze again. Even Bakugo. The two creatures—Nomu and Shadow—stood facing each other, neither attacking. Neither blinking. And Hawks, caught between them, looked like he was barely holding together.

“Everyone shut up!”

The yell came from Tokoyami, of all people. The hallway recoiled at his voice.

“Look at him!” Tokoyami pointed to Hawks, his usual calm cracking. “He’s not controlling it. It’s reacting to his fear! He’s scared, and that thing—whatever it is—is acting on that.”

Shoto stepped up beside him, voice lower but firm. “He’s not ordering it. This isn’t an attack. It’s a reflex.”

All Might, quiet until now, stepped closer, cautious. “Or it’s learning. Testing. Seeing what it can get away with.”

“Then maybe we help him control it,” Aizawa said, stepping between the factions. “Instead of treating him like a time bomb.”

Mei slowly nodded. “If it’s connected to him, we can study it. Figure out the signal path. There has to be some kind of—quirk-response system. Neural imprint maybe. Something we can measure.”

Hawks didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He felt empty—not emotionally. Literally. Like part of him had been scooped out and replaced with something foreign. Something that now walked and breathed on its own beside him. A part of him that wouldn’t leave. And for the first time, standing in the middle of heroes he trusted, he asked himself the question he hadn’t dared voice yet. Am I already turning into him?

Chapter Text

The tension in the hallway still hadn't lifted. Even with the Nomu gone again—phased out into smoke—the energy hung over everyone like a storm that hadn’t fully broken.

Aizawa broke the silence first. His voice was low but full of steel. “Mei. Midoriya. Bakugo. Todoroki—back to your dorms.”

Mei started to protest, but Aizawa raised a hand. “Now.”

Izuku looked like he wanted to say something, anything—but he saw Aizawa’s face and stopped. Bakugo clenched his jaw, sparks flickering silently from his fingertips before he turned and stormed off, muttering something no one could quite hear. Shoto lingered a moment longer, his gaze flicking from Hawks to the empty space where the Nomu had stood. His breath misted faintly in the air—he’d unconsciously activated his ice. But he said nothing. Just nodded and followed the others.

Aizawa turned slowly back toward the others. “I knew Tokoyami wouldn’t leave.”

Tokoyami didn’t answer. He was still standing close to Hawks, like he’d planted roots and refused to move. His expression was unreadable. But his eyes—firm and determined—never left his mentor’s face. Nezu stepped out from the office next, paws clasped together, expression tight.

“I understand this is difficult,” he began, his usual calm voice now sounding more strained. “But we’re handling something unprecedented. There are no exact blueprints for how to—”

“Don’t.” Endeavor's voice cut through him like a blade.

Nezu blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to be the one calming us down,” Endeavor growled. “This—all of this—started because of your secret project. You handed a loaded weapon to a soldier and didn’t tell anyone what it could do.”

Nezu’s expression faltered for the first time.

“You gambled with his life,” Endeavor snapped, stepping closer, towering over him. “And now that we’re seeing the consequences, you’re asking us to stay calm? That Nomu—whatever that thing is—it isn’t some quirk malfunction. It’s a living response to Hawks’ state. You gave him a sword that pulled that out of him.”

“I understand you’re angry—”

“No. You don’t understand,” Endeavor snarled. “Because you still think this was worth it. You still think the result justifies what you did.”

Silence followed.

Then—unexpectedly—Endeavor turned to face All Might.

“You owe him an apology.”

All Might’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve already said this situation is complicated—”

“That’s not what I said.” Endeavor’s tone darkened. “You didn’t treat him like a soldier. Or even a hero. You treated him like he was already corrupted. You acted like he was a time bomb the moment you learned what he was carrying. You’re smarter than that. And more human than that.”

All Might didn’t answer right away. His fists clenched at his sides. He looked at Hawks—at the way he stood so still, his head slightly bowed, the black markings hidden under his sleeves but heavy on the air, nonetheless.

“...I was afraid,” All Might admitted. “And I let that fear speak for me.”

Still, Hawks didn’t look up. Because in that moment, something shifted again. Everything around him—voices, faces, the warmth of Tokoyami’s loyalty, the heat of Endeavor’s rage—all of it began to fade. The hallway blurred. His heartbeat slowed. His vision tunneled. And then… he wasn’t in U.A. anymore. The light dimmed. The floor beneath him became black, like a void with depth. Not cold, but vast. And in front of him—something moved. A presence. A pressure. A silhouette rose from the dark, regal and unmistakable. Eyes gleaming like polished steel, face split by a quiet, knowing smile. All For One. Or at least… what was left of him. A shadow of the original. A fragment. A backup. Hawks didn't move. Of course he had a failsafe. Of course there was something left behind. The villain smiled wider.

“I always knew you were dangerous,” the echo said. “And now, so do they.”

Hawks clenched his fists. He wasn’t sure if this was a vision… or the beginning of something much worse.

Chapter Text

The void stretched in every direction. No sound. No light—except for the one that illuminated the figure standing across from him. All For One. Or rather, something like him. A projection, a parasite, a mental echo—Hawks didn’t know exactly what this was. But he felt it. It wasn’t just a hallucination. It was real. Not in body. But in spirit. In presence. The villain stood upright, composed, like a man giving a lecture rather than speaking from inside someone else’s soul. His white, expressionless mask was gone. In its place, a sharp smile carved into a face that should’ve been long erased from existence.

“Well, well,” the voice drawled. “I’d hoped it would be someone interesting. And it was you.”

Hawks took a slow breath, keeping his eyes locked. “You’re not real.”

“Real enough.” The grin grew. “You're talking to me, after all. And from the look on your face, you already know what I am.”

“I know what you are,” Hawks said coolly. “You’re a backup. A twisted safety net you installed in your Quirk in case things went sideways.”

All For One chuckled, clapping his hands slowly. “Very good. You always were smarter than you looked.”

Hawks didn’t react.

The villain stepped closer—not walking, just gliding, like the rules of space didn’t apply here.

“I must say, it’s poetic,” he mused. “That someone like you—someone who’s spent a lifetime pretending—would end up carrying me.”

Hawks’ fists clenched.

“You’re wasting your time.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” All For One said, voice soft and taunting. “I know you, Keigo. You’ve lied to villains. To heroes. To the public. You’ve lied to children, to friends… to yourself. Every time you smiled in the mirror, you knew it was a mask.”

“That doesn’t make me like you,” Hawks said sharply.

All For One’s grin widened. “No. Not yet. But you’ve done terrible things in the name of good, haven’t you?”

Silence.

“You killed. Lied. Betrayed. Obeyed the orders of those who saw you as nothing more than a tool.” The villain’s voice slithered around him. “You sold yourself to a system that rewards obedience and punishes honesty.”

“I made my choices,” Hawks said. “I lived with them.”

“Did you? Or did you hide behind the idea of ‘the greater good’ so you could sleep at night?” All For One’s smile faltered for a split second—then returned even sharper. “And now, here you are. Alone. Broken. Quirkless… or rather, not quite. Not anymore.”

The black around them pulsed faintly. Hawks felt that hum again in his arms—like static electricity waiting to spike.

“You feel it, don’t you?” the voice whispered. “The strength. The possibility. The pull. I’m part of you now.”

“You’re nothing,” Hawks growled. “You’re a dying echo trying to scare me.”

“No.” All For One leaned forward. “I’m the truth you don’t want to face. That no matter how hard you try to play the hero, you’ve always been just one bad day away from becoming the very thing you hunted.”

Hawks stepped forward now, defiant. “You think you’ve won because I’m scared? Because I’m unsure? You think that makes me yours?”

“I know what happens next,” All For One said with a smile. “You’ll be watched. Feared. Isolated. The people who called you ‘hero’ will start to whisper, 'Was he always like this?' And when the time comes, when the world finally gives up on you—I’ll still be here.”

A long silence.

Hawks took a breath and smirked faintly. “You’re right about one thing.”

“Oh?”

“I am good at pretending,” Hawks said. “Good at smiling through fear. Good at saying what needs to be said.”

He stepped closer, face to face with the specter.

“But if you think that means I’m weak enough to become you—you don’t know me at all.”

All For One stared at him. The grin faltered.

“Enjoy your little corner in my head,” Hawks said. “Because that’s all it’ll ever be. A cage.”

All For One's eyes narrowed. “We’ll see.”

And with that— The void cracked. Light spilled through the cracks in the black. And Hawks woke up.

Chapter Text

Hawks woke up slowly, to the sound of—

“YOOOOOOOOOO—HE’S AWAKE!!”

He jolted upright, eyes wide, only for a sharp stab of pain to spike through his head as Present Mic’s voice thundered through the apartment like a sonic boom.

“Mic—” Aizawa’s voice snapped dryly from the other side of the room. “Volume.”

“Sorry, sorry! But seriously, he’s up!” Mic grinned, pacing excitedly around the living room in socks and a hoodie.

Hawks blinked, still adjusting. His heart was racing from the wake-up call. It took him a second to realize where he even was. This wasn’t a hospital. It was... an apartment. Warm lighting. Mismatched furniture. Bookshelves. A guitar in the corner. Someone’s scarf draped over the couch. He looked over and saw Endeavor standing near the window, arms crossed, and Tokoyami sitting at the edge of the couch, looking like he hadn’t moved in hours. A steaming cup was placed in front of him.

Dark Shadow had apparently taken it upon himself to play nurse, gently nudging the mug toward him with a quiet, “Drink. It’ll help.”

Aizawa then spoke afterwards. “You’ve been out for hours. We didn’t risk the hospital again—too many eyes. Brought you here instead.”

Present Mic turned down the volume, walking over and plopping into a beanbag. “Man, I heard everything while you were out. The sword, the Nomu, the lab work, Nezu... I already chewed him out for pulling a fast one on us. Like we wouldn’t figure it out eventually.”

Hawks blinked as he sipped the coffee. “You really yelled at Nezu?”

“Like I was on stage at Summer Sonic.”

Endeavor turned toward him, expression stern—but not cold.

“You alright?” he asked.

“...Define alright,” Hawks muttered, rubbing his temples.

Tokoyami leaned forward, brow furrowed. “You were sweating a lot. Like something was hurting you in your sleep. What happened?”

Hawks looked around the room. All eyes on him. He inhaled slowly… then told them everything. The void. The conversation. The twisted shadow of All For One. The threats. The idea that this might not be over—that it might never be. By the time he finished, the room was silent again. Present Mic had lost the grin. Aizawa leaned forward, one hand covering his mouth, processing. Tokoyami looked visibly shaken but held his composure.

Endeavor closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. “That man… left backups in everything. A piece of himself, hoping it would latch onto something. And it did.” He looked at Hawks. “But you fought it. And you’re still here.”

Hawks gave a tired shrug. “For now.”

Endeavor stepped closer. “You’re still you, Hawks. Don’t let him use your past as chains. Everyone’s done things they regret. I’ve lived that truth for years. The world loves to decide who’s a hero and who’s a villain—but morality’s not black and white. You know where you stand.”

It hit harder than Hawks expected. Coming from him, that meant something.

Aizawa finally spoke. “We need a next move. The public thinks Hawks is quirkless now. That works in our favor—if we keep it quiet.”

Present Mic raised a hand. “Or… we go the other route. New look, new energy. Lean into it. Give him a costume that makes him look less like someone who used to fly and more like someone adapting. People love a comeback story.”

Tokoyami nodded slowly. “Both plans have merit. Keeping things quiet could give us time to prepare for whatever’s inside him. But… public support matters.”

Endeavor glanced between them. “Let’s sit on that for now. Right now, he needs time to adjust. And we need to protect him until we know more.”

The conversation might’ve gone deeper—but then Endeavor’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered. His face hardened immediately.

“Villain attack. Downtown. Civilian casualties reported. My agency’s responding now.”

Everyone stood up at once.

Present Mic clapped his hands together. “Well… talk about timing. You up for it, Birdman?”

Hawks stood slowly, rolling his shoulder with a slight wince. “I could use the distraction.”

Mic pointed toward the door. “You’ve got your gear in the entry closet. Tokoyami brought it.”

Tokoyami was already moving. “We’ll go together. Like we’ve done before.”

“Like we always do,” Hawks said with a small grin.

As they moved, Endeavor stepped out first rising into the air in a burst of heat, shooting toward the skyline. The rest followed down the stairs—Present Mic throwing on a jacket, Aizawa tightening his capture weapon. Tokoyami and Hawks moved in sync, practiced from countless missions. Hawks opened the driver’s side door of a sleek, low-profile black car—his car. He slid in, flipping switches, the engine growling awake. The others piled in without a word.

He glanced at Tokoyami in the passenger seat. “Let’s make it look easy.”

Tokoyami gave him a nod. And just like old times—they were off. The city wouldn’t wait. And neither would they.

Chapter Text

The sound of rubber on asphalt screeched across the empty street as Hawks swung the car into a hard right. The city blurred by. Sirens were distant but growing louder, and in the backseat, Tokoyami gripped the handle above the window with quiet focus while Present Mic hummed with rising excitement.

“You sure you’re not a getaway driver on the side?” Mic asked in amusement.

Hawks gave a tight grin as he changed gears. “Only when I’m bored.”

“You always had a thing for making an entrance,” Mic muttered, noticing something. “Hey—is that a gun on your belt?”

Hawks smirked but kept his eyes on the road. “Had it custom-fitted after I lost my wings. Didn’t see much of a choice.”

“And that sword on your back? You going full medieval now?”

“Little bit,” Hawks replied. “Don’t worry—I’m still more of a precision guy.”

“Man, wings or not, you’re still full of surprises.”

They didn’t have time to chat longer—because Tokoyami’s eyes narrowed, pointing toward a column of smoke in the distance.

“There.”

The air vibrated faintly with the sound of gunfire. As they drew closer, it became obvious—this wasn’t a minor skirmish. It was chaos. Screams rang out, and panicked civilians were huddled behind half-crushed cars and scattered storefronts. A group of junior heroes were attempting to hold a crumbling perimeter—but they were outmatched. And at the center of it all—

“...You’ve got to be kidding me,” Endeavor muttered from above, descending in a trail of flame. “Muscular. Again?”

Sure enough, the deranged villain stood tall near a half-destroyed bank, muscles rippling grotesquely as he laughed maniacally, swinging a small armored truck door like a club. Behind him, Spinner yelled from atop a crushed police van, holding a jagged blade made of rusted scrap.

“The League is GONE because of you! You took everything from us! From him! From me! I’ll make all of you BLEED for what you did!”

Behind them, several smaller villains—former League supporters and prison escapees—guarded hostages inside the bank. The walls were half-shattered, but the people were all still bound and shaking.

Hawks gritted his teeth.

“Alright. We split,” Aizawa said, stepping forward. “Enji, take Muscular. Mic and I will handle Spinner.”

Tokoyami’s voice was steady. “Dark Shadow and I will keep the smaller group off you.”

“I’ll get to the hostages,” Hawks said, tightening the strap on his sword. “Quietly.”

No one questioned it. Hawks pulled the car over behind a barricade and stepped out. This time, he reached for a new addition to his gear: a matte-black mask with a full faceplate and subtle red trim. Sleek. Anonymous. He pulled up the hood of his jacket over it and vanished into the chaos. He drew his sword as he moved through the debris—light, curved, and efficient. A villain rushed him with a pipe—he ducked low, swept their leg, and brought the pommel down on their skull. A second charged with a gun—Hawks pulled his own and shot once to disarm, once to disable.

He moved like smoke, cutting through the battlefield unnoticed, growing more confident with each step. Even without wings, his speed was sharp. Natural. There was something new in his movements—stronger, somehow. Like whatever power he’d inherited wasn’t just lying dormant—it was enhancing him. But he didn’t stop to question it. He reached the hostages inside the bank and slipped behind cover. None of the villains had recognized him. Good. With practiced movements, he cut through restraints, tapping each hostage on the shoulder before guiding them toward a side exit he’d cleared. One by one, they slipped out. Until a stray blast from Muscular outside shook the foundation. The dust fell like snow. One of the smaller villains turned—eyes locking on Hawks.

“Who the—”

Too slow. Hawks lunged, slamming him into the wall and knocking him cold before he could speak. He turned back. Most of the hostages were gone. Just a few more. He stayed low, helping the last two out, even as his body burned from pushing too hard. He didn't care. He could feel it.

Outside, the fight was brutal. Endeavor slammed Muscular through a car, fire erupting as the villain snarled and regenerated. Spinner screamed in frustration, dodging sonic blasts from Present Mic and evading capture as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed with every opening. Dark Shadow surged above the street, tendrils sweeping the lesser villains back. Tokoyami guided him like a conductor, sharp and focused. And then—finally—Spinner blew a cloud of debris from a hidden bomb charge, shielding Muscular as both vanished into the alleys behind the bank. Cowards retreating. Police vehicles rolled in minutes later. Clean-up began fast. Casualties? Low. Damage? High. But it could’ve been far worse.

After a brief round of statements, and a lot of silent glances, Hawks slipped back into the driver’s seat. He didn’t remove the mask until they were two blocks away. His hand trembled for just a second as he pulled it off. He was exhausted—but the adrenaline still pulsed. The others climbed in. No one spoke. Aizawa leaned back and closed his eye. Mic cracked his knuckles but said nothing. Tokoyami stared straight ahead. And Endeavor… just sighed. They drove in silence, the lights of the city fading behind them. Just another day in a world still trying to piece itself together. And in that silence, Hawks thought: I’m still here. And I’m not done yet.

Chapter Text

The apartment was warm again. After hours of tension, smoke, and combat, the soft hum of the heater and the familiar scent of takeout were exactly what everyone needed. Hawks let out a soft sigh as he collapsed onto the couch, dropping his mask and jacket on the floor beside him. His legs were sore, his shoulders tight, but his movements were still sharp with energy—something had clicked tonight. Something good.

“Dinner’s on me,” Present Mic said, practically singing as he set paper bags on the table. “Leftover yakisoba, katsudon, curry, the works!”

Endeavor raised an eyebrow. “You bought out a street cart or a restaurant?”

“A little of both,” Mic said, shrugging as he cracked open a drink. “Sue me. We earned it.”

Tokoyami and Aizawa each took a seat around the low table. Dark Shadow gently floated a dish over to Hawks, who caught it with a tired but grateful smile. The mood was… relaxed. Relieved. Lighter than any of them had expected to feel after a mission like that.

“Not bad, kid,” Mic said, nodding toward Hawks. “You handled yourself clean.”

“You’re adjusting fast,” Aizawa added.

Hawks smirked faintly. “Still getting used to not flying… but I think I’m adapting.”

“Dramatically,” Tokoyami agreed. “You moved like a shadow.”

Present Mic elbowed Endeavor. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Endeavor grunted. “Let’s see what the news thinks.”

He reached for the remote and flipped on the TV. The broadcast was already rolling. Footage from earlier filled the screen—blurry phone videos, drones, helmet cams. Shots of fire and smoke, civilians fleeing, and the heroes rushing in like something out of an action film. Then: the masked man. Swift. Clean. Unnamed. He blurred through the frame, slicing down a thug, disarming another with expert shots. The camera caught the moment he guided civilians out of the bank. The moment the sword flashed in his hand. The way he moved like he'd always been built for this.

“Who is that?” one of the on-screen commentators asked. “Is that a new underground hero? A vigilante?”

“No listing in the registry yet,” the second host replied. “But whoever it is, they were fast—maybe a quirk enhancement? Or quirkless? Either way, they clearly saved lives.”

Back in the apartment, Hawks raised an eyebrow.

Mic laughed. “You’ve got fans already and they don’t even know it’s you.”

Tokoyami looked pleased. “It seems you’ll have room to reinvent yourself. Your strength… it’s not just physical. It’s who you are.”

Even Aizawa cracked the faintest smirk. “They’re already building a legend. Might as well take advantage.”

Hawks glanced between them. He wasn’t sure what to say—so he didn’t. He just took another bite of curry and leaned back in his seat. They weren’t afraid of him anymore. They were hopeful. And somehow, that meant more than any recognition ever had.

Elsewhere... the streets were damp from an earlier rain, the neon signs bleeding into puddles. A lone villain in a patchwork coat ran through the alleyways, panting hard, looking over his shoulder every few steps. He was heading back to the hideout. But he never made it. A hand reached out from the shadows, yanking him into the dark. A punch to the gut knocked the wind from him, and before he could scream, another strike clipped his jaw. Then a rough voice. Low. Gravelly. Sharp.

“Who’s the masked guy?”

The villain coughed hard, trying to squirm free—but the grip was steel.

“I—I don’t know! I just saw him! Some new guy! Sword and a gun, moved real fast!”

The man stepped into the dim light. Knuckleduster. Older, rougher around the edges than five years ago, but still built like a walking threat. His eyes burned with intensity.

“New guy, huh?” he muttered. “What’s his quirk?”

“Didn’t see one! I swear! I thought maybe speed or reflexes—but maybe quirkless! Just... crazy good!”

Knuckleduster grunted. He let the villain go, letting him crumple to the ground.

“Interesting.”

“Wh—what are you gonna do to me?”

“Nothing.”

And with that, he was gone—vanishing into the alley’s deeper shadows. The villain scrambled to his feet and limped his way back toward the hideout. By the time he reached the hideout’s entrance, Spinner and Muscular were already waiting, surrounded by their latest batch of recruited thugs.

“Report?” Spinner asked.

“I saw a new guy,” the villain wheezed. “Fast. Smart. Masked. Real clean fighter.”

Spinner frowned. “Quirk?”

“Maybe enhanced speed. Or quirkless. I couldn’t tell. He was that good.”

From the back of the room, Muscular finally stood, arms folded.

“New hero?” he asked.

“Maybe. Or a vigilante.”

Muscular’s grin stretched. “Haven’t had a challenge in a while.”

Spinner narrowed his eyes. “Keep your eyes open. If this guy’s stepping into our world, he’ll cross us eventually.”

The villain didn’t mention the man who’d intercepted him. Didn’t mention Knuckleduster. But somewhere above them, in the crumbling skyline of the city, a veteran vigilante stood watching from a rooftop. Waiting. For the next time the masked man would move.

Chapter Text

The mask slid into place with practiced ease. Sleek. Featureless. Black with a red trim, the edges almost glowing in the light of dawn. A hood pulled over it gave him the shadowed silhouette of a hunter, not a hero. Hawks stood on the rooftop, breathing in the cold air. The wind blew through the city, sharp and restless, but he stood steady. He wasn’t alone anymore.

“Does it ever stop feeling weird?” came a voice behind him.

He turned slightly. Lady Nagant stood beside him, adjusting the strap of her own mask—deep purple and silver, matching the tone of her eyes. Her rifle arm was locked in, the barrel customized and reworked with new tech.

“Yeah,” Hawks said. “Eventually. Or maybe we just get good at pretending it’s not weird.”

Nagant smirked beneath her mask. “Fitting, coming from you.”

It hadn’t been easy convincing her. But in the end, it had come down to one thing.

“We both lost everything chasing what the HPSC told us was right,” Hawks had said to her in the quiet, sterile light of her hospital room. “And we’re still here. So maybe… we make something new. Together.”

She’d stared at him for a long time. Then nodded once. Now, the city had started to give them names. Red Sword and Purple Sniper. A pair of masked operatives cutting through villain activity with silent precision—one a blur of blades and fluid motion, the other an invisible shot from across a city block. Their teamwork was tight. Their results were better. They didn’t work alone for long.

The team had formed fast. Hawks. Nagant. Aizawa. Present Mic. Endeavor. Sometimes Tokoyami, when his school schedule allowed, would shadow them—still fiercely loyal, still watching his mentor with sharp eyes and quiet pride. It wasn’t an official task force. Not yet. But they were showing up to missions together more and more often. And the results spoke for themselves. Rescues completed. Villains captured. Hostages freed. Collateral minimized. Public trust rebuilding around names and faces they didn’t even know.

“They’re calling them urban specters,” Present Mic laughed one evening over takeout. “Like mythological ghosts who fight crime. There’s even fan art!”

Endeavor just raised an eyebrow, looking slightly disturbed. “Fan art?”

“Yeah! Like posters and concept art. You’re on them too—just less popular.”

Hawks leaned back on the arm of the couch. “That’s a first.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Nagant said flatly, but her voice held a hint of humor.

Mic raised his chopsticks. “I think it’s good. People see you two and realize strength doesn’t have to come from what you were—it can come from who you are now.”

Hawks nodded slightly, then looked to Aizawa. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m thinking,” Aizawa replied.

“Dangerous,” Mic quipped.

“I’m thinking,” Aizawa repeated, “about how to keep you all under the radar and effective before the higher-ups start asking questions.”

Hawks tilted his head. “Think they’ll come after us?”

“Eventually,” Aizawa muttered. “We’re too successful. That makes people nervous.”

Still, the victories kept coming. And so did the sightings. Knuckleduster stood on a rooftop, arms crossed, eyes locked on a distant scene. He watched Hawks dart down an alley in pursuit of a fleeing villain, mask catching the sun like a flash of red lightning. From a building two blocks over, Nagant’s shot rang out—clean, fast, controlled—dropping the second runner without hesitation. He didn’t move. Didn’t interfere. Just observed.

“Red Sword and Purple Sniper,” he muttered under his breath.

It didn’t take a genius to recognize skill. Or see that these weren’t some kids playing vigilante—they were dangerous. And adults. Efficient. Trained. But Knuckleduster wasn’t convinced they were fully stable yet. He’d seen what happened to people who wore too many masks for too long. Still. He watched. He waited. And in his own way, he began to protect them—by making sure no one came after them while he figured out who they really were.

Chapter Text

The meeting room inside the Hero Public Safety Commission headquarters had changed little in the past few years. Same sterile walls. Same round glass table. Same leather chairs that creaked when anyone shifted. But now, there was a seat at the head of the room—empty and still draped in black cloth. The president of the HPSC was gone. The war had not spared them. And now, with the balance of power shaken and public trust fractured, the organization needed a voice. A new face. A temporary one, at least. The assembly of officials—dozens of them, all dressed in somber greys and navies—sat around the room with stiff backs and clipped tones. The decision had already been made.

“Effective immediately,” one of the senior board members announced, “Yokumiru Mera will act as Interim President of the Hero Public Safety Commission until a formal election can be conducted.”

The announcement was met with quiet nods. Yokumiru stood slowly from his seat. The man looked tired, lines etched deep into his face, the war having added weight to every movement. His usual sharp suit was a little more rumpled than it used to be.

“I’ll serve as long as needed,” he said simply.

There was no applause. Only silence. Then—business resumed.

“The next item of concern,” another board member began, flipping through a digital tablet, “is the matter of the vigilantes. Specifically, the two dominating the eastern districts of Tokyo and surrounding neighborhoods. The press has named them—Red Sword and Purple Sniper.”

Another groan rolled through the room. Someone scoffed.

“They are not registered heroes,” the member continued. “Not officially. No patrol reports, no agency tags, no chains of command. No licenses. And yet—”

“They’ve cleaned up more post-war gang activity than half our scattered pro teams combined,” another interrupted, voice sharp with frustration. “That’s the problem.”

“We can’t track them.”

“We can’t control them.”

“They’re making us look obsolete.”

The room began to bubble with tension.

Yokumiru tapped the table once, silencing the group.

“They are effective,” he said. “But they are also unsanctioned. And we cannot afford chaos—especially now, with the world still piecing itself together.”

He looked down briefly, thumb brushing over a thin file labeled HAWKS – STATUS: UNKNOWN.

“There’s one more thing,” he said. “Before the president passed, she left a personal directive.”

Several members leaned in.

“She named a successor. One she trusted above all else, in the event of her death.”

Yokumiru lifted the file for all to see.

“Keigo Takami. Hawks.”

The room erupted.

“He’s gone!”

“He’s Quirkless! What kind of leadership is that?!”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Yokumiru didn’t flinch.

“He may be gone, but she trusted him for a reason. His skills, his intelligence, his capacity to work with the worst of people to get the best results. And no one knows how to rebuild a broken system better than someone who was burned by it.”

A long silence followed.

“Regardless,” he continued, “we need to find him. Not just because of the directive—but because we have a bigger problem.”

He tapped his tablet. A hologram flickered to life in the center of the table.

Recent Villain Escapees – Coordinated Patterns

Faces. Names. Heatmaps. Dots forming constellations of known enemy activity.

“They’re not moving randomly. They’re not retaliating.”

He paused.

“They’re waiting.”

The image changed—notes pinned together with strings. The kind of planning that didn't belong to gangs or scavengers.

“This isn’t chaos. This is preparation. And I believe they’re waiting for something… or someone.”

Someone whispered, “A new symbol?”

Yokumiru nodded grimly.

“We need Hawks. Even Quirkless, he's the best information operative we’ve ever had.”

“And the vigilantes?” one of the members pressed. “They’ll keep escalating. What happens if they cross the line?”

Yokumiru exhaled through his nose.

“The law will catch them. Eventually.”

At the end of the table, silent through the entire exchange, sat All Might. His presence was mostly symbolic—a gesture of respect to the older generation. He hadn’t spoken once. Just watched. But when the name Keigo Takami was spoken, and that file appeared, something shifted in his eyes. He didn’t wait for the meeting to adjourn. He stood up and walked out. Outside, he pulled out his phone. The contact's name was still there. Hawks—though the last message had been weeks ago. Left unread. All Might stared at the screen, then slowly put the phone away.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered. “All this time, you weren’t gone. You were building something else.”

He looked toward the horizon. Toward where reports of Red Sword were coming in every night.

“I have to stop you,” he whispered. “Before you go too far.”

Chapter Text

The warehouse was quiet—too quiet for the number of villains it contained. No shouting, no growling. Just hushed voices and sharpened eyes, all focused on the flickering hologram in the middle of the room. The spy had just returned from the HPSC meeting, water dripping from their soaked coat as they dropped a data stick onto the table. Spinner picked it up without a word.

“What’s the word?” Muscular asked, arms crossed tightly.

The spy smirked. “The Commission’s a mess. No leadership. No direction. Mera’s sitting in as acting head until they find someone permanent.”

“Didn’t they have a plan for that?” Spinner asked.

The spy nodded once. “They did. And get this—turns out the president’s final wish was for Hawks to take over.”

That earned a ripple through the room.

Muscular raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? The guy’s Quirkless. Thought he disappeared after the war.”

“That’s what they all think,” the spy replied. “MIA. Ghosted.”

“But we know he’s still around,” Spinner said quietly, eyeing the map behind him. “They don’t. We're already searching for the hidden man."

The spy hesitated—then added, “They also think something bigger’s moving. The villains that broke out of Tartarus, and a few from the fringes… they’ve all gone quiet. Like they’re waiting for something.” From the shadows, the flickering monitor buzzed to life.

Doctor Ujiko appeared in glitchy form, adjusting his glasses with steady hands. Even in fragmented pixels, his presence filled the room.

“I can confirm,” he said smoothly. “Before All For One's final battle, I embedded a contingency message within the quirk’s core.”

Spinner stepped closer. “And?”

Ujiko’s eyes narrowed. “It activated. A signal, short and direct: The successor has been chosen.”

The room went still. Even Muscular straightened up.

“You’re saying the next All For One’s already out there?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ujiko confirmed. “But the identity remains unknown. It could be anyone. The quirk has chosen a host… and it’s evolving.”

The silence stretched. Then Muscular asked the question lingering in everyone's mind.

“What if it’s Hawks?”

Spinner didn’t blink. “Then we don’t kill him.”

Muscular blinked. “...We don’t?”

Ujiko smiled faintly. “No. Killing would waste the potential. The successor—whoever it is—doesn’t need to be destroyed. They need to be corrupted. Shaped.”

Muscular grinned wide. “Now that’s a plan I can get behind.”

Spinner leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “Doesn’t matter who the quirk chose. The result will be the same. They’re still human. Still vulnerable. Everyone breaks eventually.”

“We bring them low,” Ujiko said calmly. “Give them no choice but to lean into the power that’s growing inside them. Once they embrace it, they’ll become what All For One always wanted.”

“A new king,” Spinner muttered. “Not by force. But by need.”

“We won’t find them by hunting them,” Ujiko added. “But by drawing them out. Tension. Pressure. Desperation.”

Muscular chuckled. “Good. I like pressure.”

“Gather your forces,” Spinner ordered. “Stay quiet but stay alert. Whether it’s Hawks or someone else—when they make their next move… we’ll be ready.”

The others nodded and began to scatter. Spinner looked up at the map, at the two masked figures pinned at the center: Red Sword and Purple Sniper. Beneath both, a single word written in red ink: UNKNOWN.

Chapter Text

The Todoroki household had become a strange kind of base lately. Quiet enough to think. Secure enough to talk. Neutral ground. Inside, Present Mic and Aizawa were slouched on the couch, half-watching a muted news broadcast. The room was filled with the soft slurp of noodles as Hawks sat cross-legged on the floor, a bowl of ramen balanced on his knee, sleeves rolled up, hood down. Endeavor stood by the back door in sweatpants and a faded T-shirt, preparing to mow the lawn. Just a quiet afternoon with half the city’s danger magnets in one room. That was, until Endeavor turned his head—and spotted a familiar, lanky figure approaching from down the path. His face dropped.

“...Oh no,” he muttered, facepalming.

“Who is it?” Hawks asked between bites.

Endeavor didn’t answer—he just opened the door. All Might walked in, tall and tired, his civilian form looking even thinner than usual. But his presence filled the room like he was still able to level buildings.

Aizawa raised a brow. Present Mic just said, “Uh oh.”

Hawks glanced up, a strand of noodles still hanging out of his mouth. “Hey, All Might.”

All Might didn’t sit down.

“Running two lives now, are you!?”

The words hit the room like a slap. Not loud, but firm.

Hawks blinked, swallowed. “...You saw the news?”

“Everyone did,” All Might said. “Masked vigilante with a sword and a gun, moving like he owns the streets. And then the Commission sends word—guess who they want for their new president?”

Hawks let out a low whistle. “That’s what I get for being good at multitasking.”

All Might didn’t smile. “You’re playing with fire, Keigo.”

“I always have been.”

Aizawa sat forward slowly, rubbing his temple. “Let me guess. The HPSC wants to meet soon?”

“They’re already preparing an offer,” All Might confirmed. “They need a face. One that the public will trust. And you're it.”

Hawks gave a bitter grin. “That’s rich. They want their poster boy back.”

“You were their most successful agent,” All Might said. “And you’re still the best infiltrator in the system.”

“That system broke me,” Hawks muttered, more to himself. “Now they want to hand me the keys to the wreckage?”

“It can’t get much worse,” Endeavor offered from the side, voice dry.

All Might turned to him, eyes grim. “Actually, it can.”

He pulled a folded sheet from his jacket and set it on the table. It was a report—classified markings all over it.

“Villain activity is shifting. There are multiple cities with increased underground movement. Small-time villains are rallying. But no one's attacking yet. They’re waiting. For something.”

Everyone’s expression changed.

“They know something’s coming,” All Might continued. “And if what the HPSC is sensing is true, they’re waiting for the next symbol. Whether it’s for good… or for something else.”

Hawks set his bowl down. His appetite was gone.

Aizawa nodded slightly. “So whether you’re the Red Sword or the next HPSC President… you’ve got a target on your back either way.”

“Fantastic,” Hawks said. “Nothing like high-stakes responsibility layered with emotional damage.”

“Hey,” Present Mic added with a grin. “You’ve always had a fake persona ready to go. This is just the deluxe edition.”

Hawks actually laughed—dry and sharp. “Habit. Hard to break.”

The room held that uneasy amusement for a moment, until Endeavor stepped forward again.

“There’s something else. Something we haven’t told the Commission.”

Everyone looked at him.

He nodded toward Hawks. “They don’t know about the marks. Or the Quirk.”

The laughter died. Silence settled over the room again.

Present Mic frowned, glancing toward Hawks. “They… really don’t know?”

“I didn’t exactly send a press release,” Hawks said. “The mask helps. New style, no wings, clean tactics. Most people think Red Sword is some new vigilante. I’ve kept it that way.”

“And you plan to keep doing that?” Aizawa asked.

Hawks shrugged. “I’ve hidden things before. This isn’t different.”

No one spoke. Because it was different. The marks. The Nomu. The fight with something inside him that hadn’t fully surfaced yet. They all knew what he was dancing around. And so did he. In the quiet, something cold tickled the back of his mind. A voice. Soft. Confident. Familiar.

“You can’t hide your true power forever.”

“You’ll come to understand… who you really are.”

Hawks blinked. He didn’t flinch. He just scoffed quietly and shook his head.

“Creep,” he muttered under his breath.

The others didn’t hear it—but they knew he wasn’t laughing anymore. And somewhere, deep inside, a hum pulsed again. Quiet. But growing.

Chapter Text

It was just past midnight in Naruhata. Fog curled around rusted rooftops and half-lit alleys, clinging to the bones of a city still recovering from war. On top of a decaying apartment complex, a familiar shape crouched by the edge of the building, his long coat fluttering slightly in the wind. Knuckleduster. He watched the streets with a predator’s patience, eyes tracking every movement below. The information he’d gathered over the past few weeks had led him here: a hot zone of gang activity, suspicious weapon trades, and increasingly erratic villain sightings. But that wasn’t what had his attention tonight. He’d been following someone else. She moved like a ghost. Perched on rooftops, vanished in flashes of violet. He didn’t know her name. The news called her Purple Sniper. He just called her target number two. Tonight, he finally caught her setting up a shot from the rooftop across the street. He didn’t wait.

By the time she noticed, he was already behind her.

"You’re fast,” she said without turning.

“You’re not subtle,” Knuckleduster replied.

He stepped into the moonlight, expression unreadable beneath his worn mask. "Lady Nagant. Should’ve known."

She tensed, then gave a small shrug, rifle still locked on a shadowy alley two blocks down. “I’m not hiding.”

“You’re not registered either,” he said. “Same as your partner.”

Nagant pulled back from the scope, standing to her full height. Her mask—sleek, stylized, and unmistakably hers—obscured her face, but Knuckleduster didn’t need to see it. He could feel her eyes behind it.

“I’m not here to talk about licenses.”

“You don’t get to wear a mask and clean up the streets without people wondering who you’re answering to,” he said. “I don’t care about the news headlines. I care about who you’re protecting. Who he is.”

“My partner?”

Knuckleduster nodded. “He’s hiding something. And if you're working with him, you are too.”

They stared at each other. She didn’t raise her weapon. But she didn’t lower it, either. Then—he asked something that caught her off-guard.

“You the one the villains are waiting for?”

Nagant blinked.

“What?”

Knuckleduster didn’t back off. “They’re not just moving randomly. I’ve been hearing the same thing over and over: ‘He’s coming.’ ‘The new one.’ And you? You’re moving like someone who’s been preparing for a war.”

The silence grew. Her hand twitched slightly on her rifle stock.

“…No,” she said finally. “It’s not me.”

“Then who?”

She looked toward the horizon.

“…I don’t think they know yet. That’s what makes it dangerous.”

Knuckleduster stepped forward. “You think the HPSC can handle what’s coming?”

Lady Nagant gave a short laugh—low and bitter. “They’re the reason it’s coming.”

Another silence. And in that space, something passed between them. Not trust. But understanding. Two ghosts of two broken systems. No longer on anyone’s payroll. No longer under anyone’s leash.

“You’re still a vigilante,” Knuckleduster muttered.

“So are you,” she replied.

After a pause, she nodded toward the alley. “There’s a shipment of stolen tech and a few creeps moving in. My partner’s not around tonight.”

“You need backup?” Knuckleduster asked.

“No.”

“But you’ll take it.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she moved to the edge of the rooftop, rifle reloaded and ready. Knuckleduster cracked his knuckles and smirked beneath his mask.

“Let’s ruin their night.”

Together, they vanished into the shadows, two masked remnants of the old world—unregistered, unrelenting, and utterly uninterested in permission.

Chapter Text

The Hero Public Safety Commission building still stood tall, its steel and glass façade polished to a sterile perfection. From the outside, it looked untouched by war—untouched by guilt. But Hawks knew better. He stood in the elevator alone, staring at his reflection in the polished chrome walls. His old hero suit fit perfectly. Same tan jacket. Same feathers lining the collar. Same gloves, boots, and visor. To the world, he looked like the man he used to be. But underneath that—his arms still burned faintly with the marks that hadn’t left. The hidden power sleeping in his blood like a virus waiting for the right signal. He pulled his gloves tighter. Hid them like everything else. The elevator dinged. Doors opened. A dozen staffers stood waiting as he stepped onto the executive floor, flashing polite, nervous smiles. He wasn’t just another hero anymore. He was the President. The new head of the HPSC. The ceremony was brief. No press. Just a room full of suits, some nodding out of respect, some out of fear. Yokumiru handed him a leather-bound folder, nodded once, and stepped aside.

“Good luck,” he muttered. “You’ll need it.”

Hawks didn’t smile. He didn’t have time for speeches. Instead, he opened the folder, reviewed the latest intel, and got to work.

One Week Later

The public still didn’t know the full story. They did know he had returned to take over leadership of the Commission. They did know he had revealed his past as a government-trained spy—the missions, the lies, the hits. It had been broadcast everywhere: his calm voice in a pre-recorded message, apologizing to the people he misled and promising to do better. Not perfect, not clean—but honest. The world responded slowly. At first with skepticism. Then curiosity. Then... respect. Because change followed fast. Keigo wasn’t just sitting behind a desk signing policy briefs. He was rebuilding the structure from the inside out. He announced a joint initiative between Quirked and Quirkless citizens—new support programs, education access, job equity. He spoke publicly about the need to repair trust not just in heroes—but in each other. And then? He started cutting out the rot. Every face he remembered from his training days. The names behind the cold commands. The ones who built systems that turned children into weapons and justified it as "security." The ones that did it to him. He fired them all. One by one. No discussion. No appeals. Some stormed out of the building, some tried to talk their way back in. He didn’t blink.

In their place, he reached out to the people who had been pushed aside—retired pros, counselors, educators, even rescue workers with deep moral records and no interest in glory. The ones who still believed in service, not control. They answered the call. Quietly. Willingly. They believed in Hawks now—not the symbol, but the man. And just in case the vultures circled back? Endeavor stood beside him. Officially appointed as Hawks’ personal security by the board, believing him to be Quirkless and vulnerable. What they didn’t know: Hawks could still fight. Still move. But he let them believe he needed guarding. It made the vultures comfortable. And that gave him time to finish building the machine the right way. Late one evening, Hawks sat alone in his office, visor off, jacket folded beside him. The lights were low. The room was quiet. He looked out over the city through the glass wall. It looked peaceful. But he knew it wasn’t. His reflection flickered in the glass. And faintly—just faintly—he could hear the whisper of All For One’s voice again.

“You’re sitting in the chair now. That’s how it starts.”

“You’ll realize… this is who you were always meant to be.”

Hawks didn’t answer. He sipped his coffee. Reviewed his notes. Then spoke softly, with a faint smirk.

“Funny. I thought being the one in control meant you were finally done talking.”

The voice didn’t reply. Not this time. And outside, the news ran footage of Hawks visiting a Quirkless youth shelter—smiling, calm, sleeves down. The caption below read: "HPSC PRESIDENT MR. TAKAMI: A HERO FOR EVERYONE."

Chapter Text

It was quiet in the villain hideout. Too quiet. Spinner stood before a wall covered in old maps, red strings, and marked-up photos of targets, allies, and long-gone ghosts. His claws scraped against the concrete as he stared at the screen playing news footage on loop. There, framed in government lighting, was Hawks—wearing the same suit from before, same clean face, same false calm. The new President of the Hero Public Safety Commission. Spinner’s fingers twitched. He wanted to drive a blade straight through the screen.

“How is he already everywhere again?” he muttered through clenched teeth. “He was gone. Gone.”

The warehouse echoed with the groan of pipes and distant humming generators. Muscular leaned back against a wall, arms folded, watching the broadcast like it was a joke.

“They eat that crap up,” he said. “Pretty boy says he’s sorry, and boom—public worships him again. Just like that.”

Spinner turned. “It’s not just PR. He’s rebuilding them. And the people are letting him.”

“They need to be led,” came the voice from the far end of the room.

A flickering screen flared to life, casting cold blue light across the dusty hideout. On it appeared the face of Doctor Ujiko, his expression hard, glasses gleaming.

“This was not part of the plan,” the Doctor said.

“No kidding,” Muscular scoffed.

Ujiko’s voice deepened. “Hawks stepping into the role of power was always a possibility… but we didn’t expect it to happen so soon. And so smoothly. He’s undoing the damage we caused faster than we can move.”

“And he still might be the successor,” Spinner added darkly.

Ujiko nodded once. “Which is why this just became urgent.”

He tapped a few commands on his end, pulling up diagrams of villain activity across multiple prefectures.

“Cells are moving. Coordinated. Quiet. They're not attacking. They're waiting. Waiting for the signal from whoever’s inherited All For One’s power. But if Hawks becomes a new symbol before that… everything we’ve built dies with us.”

“And you still don’t know who the successor is?” Spinner asked.

“No,” Ujiko admitted. “The signal we received was minimal—just a confirmation. The Quirk chose someone. But it hasn't surfaced fully. It's dormant. Growing. Waiting to awaken.”

“So what do we do?” Spinner demanded. “If we can't find them—”

CRACK.

Something exploded above them. Metal screeched. Concrete shattered. Before anyone could react, a dark figure dropped into the warehouse, landing with a thud that echoed like a gunshot. Knuckleduster.

He didn't wait.

“Here’s the thing about hiding underground,” he said, already moving. “You forget who knows how to follow rats.”

He blitzed forward. Spinner barely raised his arm before Knuckleduster slammed a fist into his face, sending him sprawling into a crate. The wood shattered, splinters raining down.

“What the hell?!” Muscular growled, rising to full height.

A crack echoed through the warehouse—a sniper round.

Lady Nagant, perched across the alley from a broken window, let loose a second shot that nailed Muscular in the shoulder, spinning him back against the wall. He roared, tried to charge forward—but another round clipped his leg, dropping him to one knee.

“Vigilante trash!” he shouted, slamming a fist into the floor, cracking the concrete.

Knuckleduster didn’t even look at him. His focus was all on Spinner.

“You’ve been planning something,” he growled, slamming his foot down on Spinner’s chest. “What is it?”

Spinner struggled, claws scraping at the floor. “You don’t get it…”

“I don’t care,” Knuckleduster snapped, landing another punch. “You and your freak show think this is still your world? It was. Not anymore.”

Muscular stumbled to his feet, panting heavily, blood dripping from his shoulder. He stared down at the ground, growling like a dog. Then turned. And ran.

“Let them have Spinner,” he spat. “I’ll find the successor myself.”

He burst through the far wall, disappearing into the night with the sound of shattering brick and fleeing footsteps. Nagant didn’t chase him. Her scope lowered. Knuckleduster crouched beside Spinner, grabbing a handful of his collar. “Tell me. What’s your endgame? Who’s next?” Spinner’s lip curled. Blood trickled from his nose.

“You think you’ve won?” he rasped.

Knuckleduster said nothing.

Spinner chuckled bitterly. “We don’t need to stop you. We just need to survive long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

“Three targets,” Spinner hissed. “That’s all we need. Red Sword. Hawks. And the successor.”

Knuckleduster froze. Nagant’s breath caught in her comm. Spinner smiled, broken teeth-stained red.

“Doesn’t matter which one it is. We’ll break one. And the rest will fall.”

Knuckleduster stared for a beat longer—then dropped him.

“No time,” he said into the comm. “We’re moving.”

Spinner’s laughter echoed behind them as Knuckleduster slipped back into the night. Lady Nagant was already gone. The message was received. The villains had named their targets. And now? Now the vigilantes knew exactly what they had to protect.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a simple day. Training at the Todoroki estate had become a new routine. Quiet. Secluded. Safe. Hawks, Aizawa, and Present Mic were out behind the house, running through tactical simulations. They kept it light. Hawks had even started cracking jokes again. Tokoyami had left for class an hour earlier. Endeavor was inside. The sun was warm. The air, calm. And then—Nagant arrived. She landed hard in the yard, boots skidding across the grass, out of breath and shaking slightly. Her purple sniper mask was still clipped to her belt. Her eyes were wild with urgency. Endeavor, stepping outside with a towel slung around his neck, saw her immediately.

“Lady Nagant?” he asked, stepping toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t waste time.

“All Might was right,” she said quickly. “They’re after him.”

Endeavor’s face darkened. “Be specific.”

“They’ve declared three targets. The Red Sword. The President of the HPSC. And the successor of All For One.”

Endeavor froze.

Nagant’s voice trembled. “They don’t know he’s all three.”

The towel slipped from Endeavor’s shoulder. He didn’t stop to ask questions. He ran.  In the training yard, Hawks had just finished a clean disarm maneuver on Aizawa when Endeavor burst through the gate at full sprint.

Aizawa straightened. “Something happen?”

“Everyone shut up,” Endeavor barked. “We’ve got a problem. Nagant just reported intel straight from Spinner’s mouth—Hawks is being hunted. Not once. Three times.”

Present Mic, who’d been drinking from a thermos in the shade, immediately choked and spit the entire thing across the grass—and directly onto Aizawa.

“Mic.” Aizawa hissed.

“My bad!” Mic wheezed. “Did he just say three times?!”

Endeavor nodded. “As Red Sword. As the Commission President. And… they think he might be the AFO successor.”

A heavy silence fell over the yard. Hawks didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a moment. He just stared at the dirt. Three targets. Three identities. All of them… him. All Might had warned him. Had told him this would happen. That running parallel lives, chasing shadows, dodging the truth—it would catch up. And now, it had.

Aizawa stepped forward slowly. “You okay?”

Hawks nodded faintly.

Then said, “Yeah… yeah, I’m just realizing something.”

Mic tilted his head. “What’s that?”

Hawks looked up. Not with fear. Not with panic. With resolve.

“If I don’t master this thing… if I don’t take full control over All For One’s Quirk—every piece of it—then it’s going to come for me.”

He looked down at his hands. Gloved. Covered. But still marked underneath.

“I need to master every ability buried in this curse before it tries to claim me. Before they try to twist it. Before it awakens on its own.”

Nagant stepped into the yard behind Endeavor, still tense. “You’re saying you’ll use it?”

Hawks nodded. “I’m not going to run from it anymore. I’m done hiding. If they’re afraid of what I could become—then I need to become strong enough to prove them wrong.”

Aizawa exhaled slowly. “That’s a dangerous path.”

“I know,” Hawks said. “But so is waiting for someone else to walk it first.”

Mic crossed his arms. “You think you can handle it?”

Hawks looked out toward the treeline.

“I don’t have a choice anymore.”

And in the silence that followed, the wind carried the faintest voice—one only Hawks could hear.

“You’re already mine.”

He shut his eyes. Then opened them. And the fire there? It wasn’t AFO’s. It was his.

Chapter Text

The wind was still that morning. Too still. No birds. No rustling trees. Just the sound of breath and distant footsteps pacing in the dirt. The old clearing at the back of the Todoroki estate had been turned into a private training ground—shaded, isolated, reinforced with stone barriers that Tokoyami helped design weeks prior. Today, it wasn't for sparring. It was for something else. Something buried. Something waiting. Hawks stood in the center of the clearing, his old hero jacket pulled open, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The gloves were off. Gold-marked lines ran across his arms and hands, faintly glowing beneath the skin like veins lit from within. They pulsed softly— waiting to be acknowledged. Waiting to be used. Present Mic leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed. Aizawa stood silently beside him, eye narrowed and locked on Hawks. Endeavor paced the edge of the training area, keeping close but distant. And in front of Hawks, standing tall but untransformed, was All Might. He wasn’t there to fight. He was there to teach.

"You ready?" All Might asked, his voice calm but firm.

Hawks flexed his fingers. “Define ready.”

“You’re standing there, aren’t you?”

“…Then yeah. Let’s go.”

All Might nodded once. “We’re starting simple. One of the quirks embedded in All For One’s arsenal was called Spearlike Bones. It lets the user generate hard, conical bone spears from anywhere on their body. Should be easy to start with—if you don’t stab yourself.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow. “Reassuring.”

“You need to picture it as an extension of your limbs. Not a weapon you’re holding—one you’re becoming. Start with your fingers.”

Hawks looked down at his hand, turning it over slowly. The gold marks were glowing brighter now, like the quirk heard them talking about it.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Palm first.”

He took a breath, focusing. Visualizing it—sharp cones of hardened bone. Piercing. Clean. Direct. He pushed— CRACK. A sudden burst of force shot from his shoulder blade, launching a spear of bone backwards into a nearby boulder with a solid THWACK. Everyone flinched.

“That wasn’t my finger,” Hawks said calmly.

“Yeah,” Present Mic muttered. “We noticed.”

All Might chuckled, then walked closer. “Focus. You’re reaching from the wrong anchor point. Quirks like this—especially body mods—they’re instinctive. Think of your hand as a part of the weapon, not just a trigger.”

“Visualize it extending,” Aizawa added. “Like you're shaping a tool from your body, not pulling it out of thin air.”

Hawks nodded again. He closed his eyes this time. Focused. The power hummed beneath his skin like a living circuit. His fingers twitched—and again, he pushed. Another spear jutted—from his elbow—and clattered against the dirt.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Closer.”

All Might stepped forward. “Now picture it growing from your palm. A blade that cuts forward, not sideways. Let the feeling guide it. The quirk already knows what it wants to be—you’re just shaping the flow.”

Hawks breathed in slow. He opened his eyes. Stared at the open palm of his hand. Reach. Shape it. Control it. He pushed— WHAM. A thick, cone-shaped bone snapped out of his palm with a brutal force, glowing gold at the base—launched like a javelin straight into the center of a tree twenty meters away. The tree shook, bark splintering, the spear embedded deep into the trunk. Silence followed.

Then a low whistle from Present Mic. “Yo.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “Not bad.”

Endeavor blinked. “You impaled a tree on your third try. That’s better than I expected.”

All Might grinned. “That’s more like it.”

Hawks flexed his hand, feeling the sensation. A light ache. A strange heat. But no pain.

“Didn’t hurt,” he said, surprised.

“That’s because it came out right,” All Might said. “The quirk obeyed.”

Hawks stared at the glowing spot on his palm as it slowly faded. The gold marks along his arms dimmed again, resting. One down. Dozens more to go. But it was a start. And Hawks knew, from that first clean strike—there was no turning back now.

Chapter Text

The forest clearing had only just calmed after the successful test of Spearlike Bones. The impaled tree still vibrated slightly from the force of the strike, its trunk split by Hawks' first clean success. But Hawks wasn’t celebrating. Not yet. All Might walked over with a sealed folder. Not military-issued. Not HPSC-stamped. Just black leather, old and worn. He handed it to Hawks.

“Here,” he said. “It’s everything we’ve found—compiled from old intelligence and surviving HPSC archives. These are the quirks that are likely embedded within you now.”

Hawks opened the file slowly, flipping through page after page. Diagrams. Notes. Old threat assessments. Dozens of quirks. Some with red markers labeled: "reawakened." Others with blue: "mutant/innate—stable."

He raised an eyebrow. “So some of these… I don’t have to train?”

All Might nodded. “Some are passive. Physical adaptations. Like enhanced vision, or altered muscle density. You won’t need to learn them—they’re already part of your body now.”

“But others…” Hawks flipped to the next section.

“Will need work,” All Might finished. “Like Search.”

Hawks stopped at that page.

Quirk: Search
Type: Emitter
User: Ragdoll (former)
Function: Can monitor and detect up to 100 people at once, tracking location and weaknesses in real time.

“Never thought I’d see this one again,” Aizawa muttered from the side.

“She’s alive,” All Might said, softly. “But the Quirk never returned to her. It stayed in the stockpile.”

Hawks exhaled slowly.

“Alright. Let’s give it a shot.”

He focused. Closed his eyes. And then—opened them. The world shifted. A pulse ran through the trees. A rush of golden light flooded his peripheral. Within seconds, outlines began appearing. Human forms—dozens—rendered in gold. Positions, posture, even directional movement. He could see them. All of them. He saw Aizawa’s weakness in his blind spot. Present Mic’s slowed right leg. Endeavor’s shoulder where the burn still limited his range. But then… Farther out. Movement. Fast. Violent. Glowing red. Something was coming. And then Hawks saw him.

“Wait—”

CRASH! The ground exploded near the perimeter. The barrier wall ruptured as a massive force barreled through—shoulder-first—into Endeavor, who was flung across the clearing and slammed into a tree, groaning as bark cracked around him. Muscular. Wild-eyed, grinning, arm already pulsating with layers of dense, mutated muscle. Blood from a previous scuffle was still drying across his cheek.

“Well,” Muscular laughed, dusting himself off. “Didn’t expect a whole camp in the woods.”

A pause. He looked around—spotted the barricades, the training dummies, the fortified gear and scars in the dirt. His eyes narrowed.

“This place smells like secrets.”

Behind him, three smaller villains burst through the gaps—low-level thugs with stolen gear and haphazard Quirks. Not strong, but ready. Muscular took a step forward.

“You hiding something in here, huh? Looks like a training zone. Little secret project maybe?” He smiled. “I love projects.”

Present Mic was already charging a blast. Aizawa snapped into a stance, scarf unraveling from his shoulders. Endeavor grunted, pushing himself off the tree, flame spiraling around his fists. And Hawks… His arms were already glowing faint gold again, the marks flaring as he stepped into the center of the clearing. Muscular pointed. Muscular grinned. “This was just a pitstop—but maybe I hit the jackpot.” And then—the fight broke loose.

Chapter Text

The forest exploded into chaos. Dust kicked up from craters. Fire lit the treetops. Sonic blasts echoed off reinforced walls. And at the center of it all, six figures stood braced for war. Well—five. All Might stood back, his breathing shallow, hands shaking slightly at his sides. His body couldn’t keep up anymore. The Symbol of Peace was now a strategist… not a fighter. And this fight didn’t need strategy. It needed firepower. The four villains who had followed Muscular into the breach were already scattering—each one taking a different target as the makeshift hero unit responded in kind.

Present Mic charged the first, voice surging into a wall-shattering shockwave that sent debris flying. His opponent—a thin, twitchy guy with gravity distortion pads—buckled under the pressure but held his own, grinning maniacally through the noise. Lady Nagant, already perched up high in the trees, was on another, trading fire with a villain using a quirk that mimicked warped sound to jam her aim. It didn’t work for long. Her countershots were calculated, sharp. She’d wait… then strike. One bullet at a time. Aizawa, scarf snapping in the wind, engaged a villain whose limbs turned liquid. He moved fast, slippery—but Aizawa moved smarter. His eyes glowed red. The moment the enemy's quirk shut off, he swept the legs and brought him down hard. That left the last two. Endeavor. And Muscular. The clash was thunderous. Flame met raw force, over and over. Muscular slammed through a pillar of fire like it was mist, tackling Endeavor into the dirt, grinning through burns.

“You’re slowing down, fire-man!” he barked, shoving Endeavor through a barrier wall with brute strength. “Used to be I couldn’t get close to you without frying—now I’m tossing you like a toy!”

Endeavor growled, driving a burning knee into Muscular’s chest, sending the larger man stumbling back—but not for long. Muscular laughed through the blow, regenerated muscle cords bulging again, stronger than before. Off to the side, Hawks stayed mobile. He wasn't fighting head-on. He was watching. Using his sword to intercept stray blasts, reflecting fatal hits with precision. He tracked the battlefield like a hawk—every move, every slip, every heartbeat. He couldn’t reveal himself yet. Not fully. Not while Muscular was eyeing him like a puzzle piece.

“Hey…” Muscular muttered mid-fight, still exchanging blows with Endeavor. “You’re the new HPSC president, right?”

Hawks said nothing, standing high on a piece of broken scaffolding, sword angled.

Muscular chuckled. “You’re quiet. Real quiet. That whole press tour was nice and neat, but I’m looking at you, and something ain’t adding up.”

Hawks just gripped the sword tighter. Then—Endeavor faltered. A muscle spear from Muscular’s body slammed into his shoulder, pinning him down. Another strike hit him in the ribs. He dropped to one knee, flame flickering weakly around him. Muscular raised a massive fist.

“I’ve always wanted to punch the number one hero into the ground.”

Hawks’ instincts roared. He nearly activated the strength-enhancement quirk buried in his blood. He could feel it pulsing, begging to be used. Just one shot—one clean blow, and he could take Muscular down. But he hesitated. Because using that might awaken everything else. Then—Aizawa appeared. With the flick of a glare, Muscular’s quirk shut off, muscle mass shriveling in an instant. The villain’s eyes widened.

“What the—?!”

A moment later, Endeavor surged back up and punched him in the jaw with a flaming right hook, sending Muscular flying across the clearing.

“Back. Off,” Aizawa muttered, panting hard.

Hawks was already moving. He flew across the field—not with wings, but with speed that wasn’t quite normal. Faster. Sharper. He landed next to Endeavor, sliding to one knee.

“Enji! You good?!”

Endeavor coughed, blood in his teeth. “I’ll live.”

Hawks’ hands trembled slightly as he checked the damage. Burned armor. Fractured ribs. Nothing fatal—but close. Too close. He swallowed back the shake in his voice. That was almost it. Across the field, Muscular staggered back up. He cracked his neck, wiping blood from his mouth.

“Maybe Spinner’s right,” he muttered. “There’s something weird about you…”

He looked directly at Hawks.

“Three targets. And here you are. Right in the middle.”

Then—suddenly— BOOM. A distant explosion echoed from the city, just over the ridge. Then another. Smoke. Screams. Roaring. Nomu.

Hawks’ head snapped toward the skyline. Muscular grinned. “Well, that looks fun.”

Without another word, he turned—and bolted toward the city, ignoring calls from the other villains as he disappeared through the trees.

“He found it,” Hawks muttered. “The nomu I accidently made."

Chapter Text

The villains had retreated. The heroes were back at the Todoroki household, exhausted, sore, and quiet. Endeavor sat stiffly in a reclining chair; his side wrapped in medical gauze. Aizawa hovered nearby, bandaging a few light wounds of his own. Present Mic tried to lighten the mood, but even his jokes couldn’t cut through the silence. Hawks sat alone. His hero costume was still on, but the mask rested beside him on the floor. The gold of the marks underneath his suit pulsed faintly—slowly, steadily.

At first, it felt like a headache. A soft pressure behind his eyes.

Then came the whisper.

“How long do you think you can hold out?”

Hawks blinked. The voice was in his head, not around him. He recognized it instantly. Cold. Controlled. All For One. He stayed perfectly still, but his grip tightened on the couch arm.

“You’ve always lived with one foot in the dark. It’s why you were such a perfect candidate,” the voice continued, smooth and venomous. “Double agent. Executioner. Government tool. The only thing different now... is that you’ve tasted real power.”

Hawks inhaled through his nose, slow.

“Shut up.”

“Oh? That’s all? No speech? No righteous fury?”

“You’re dead.”

“Dead men don’t leave fingerprints on your soul.”

The gold markings on Hawks’ back flared brighter beneath the fabric. Sweat beaded at his temple.

“Every quirk you use… every step forward… you get closer to me. To what I made.”

“I’m not yours,” Hawks snapped, eyes narrowing. “I don’t care what quirks are in me, or who put them there. I’ve always made my own decisions.”

“You think I didn’t? Everything I took, I took with purpose. Just like you. The difference is—I embraced what I was. You’re still pretending.”

“Pretending?” Hawks stood up sharply now, breathing heavy. His voice dropped low. “You think I want this? You think I enjoy being split in three directions—watched, hunted, and chased by your ghost?”

“No… but you will.”

The room blurred. The world around him faded. And suddenly—he was inside his own mind. The hallway was endless, made of feathers and concrete and gold light. At the end stood All For One. Not in his crippled body—but tall, unscarred, radiating authority. Dressed in black. Smiling faintly. Hawks stared him down.

“You think if I break, you win,” he said, quieter now. “But this isn’t about power. Or legacy. This is about control. You needed a puppet. I’m not that.”

“Not yet.”

All For One’s hands folded behind his back.

“But you will come to understand, Keigo. Heroism is a mask. Just like your Red Sword. Just like your President title. And when enough masks pile up… you forget who you really are underneath.”

That hit deeper than it should’ve. Hawks’ jaw clenched.

“I know exactly who I am.”

“Do you?” AFO stepped forward now. “Then why did you come back to the Commission? Why play both sides again? Because deep down… you know the world doesn’t work in black and white. And that makes you mine.”

“I came back,” Hawks said, stepping forward too, “so people like you don’t crawl out of the cracks and start rewriting the world again.”

They were close now.

Face to face.

“You are the crack. I just showed you how deep it goes.”

The silence hung for a moment—until Hawks’ fists sparked with golden light. He stared into the villain’s face. And then:

“Get out of my head.”

He struck. The illusion shattered like glass. Hawks gasped and collapsed back onto the couch in the living room, eyes wide, breath ragged.

Everyone turned.

“Hawks?” Aizawa asked, moving forward.

Present Mic stood up from the table, frowning. Hawks didn’t answer. His hand trembled as it hovered over his chest. He finally looked up, blinking away the lingering haze.

“I’m fine,” he said again, voice raw.

But this time, nobody believed him. And this time, he didn’t care. Because for the first time… he knew the threat wasn’t just out there. It was already inside.

Chapter Text

It started gradually. While the others trained, ran drills, reviewed new intel, or patrolled, Hawks kept pushing. Every day, he worked to master the quirks within him—starting with the basic ones: body enhancements, sensory boosts, bone weapons. But as the days passed, the voice got louder.

It was subtle at first. A whisper. A murmur under thought.

“You’re wasting time.”
“They don’t trust you.”
“You were stronger before you started pretending.”

He shook it off during the first few sessions. Forced himself to focus on the strikes, the angles, the energy flow. But it got worse.

When he closed his eyes… the whispers grew.

“You’ll never be just a hero again.”
“You wear three masks and think you have a face.”
“Let me show you who you are.”

By the end of the week, Hawks had stopped sleeping soundly. He didn’t tell anyone. Why would he? It wasn’t like he hadn’t had nightmares before. The HPSC had trained him to ignore fatigue. He’d pushed through worse. But these dreams… were different. Not memories. Projections. Scenes of fire. Chains. Cities split in half by Quirks he couldn’t control. The faces of people he couldn’t save. Himself… standing on a pile of rubble, wearing the mask of the Red Sword—but behind his visor? All For One’s smile. He’d jolt awake in sweat, gasping. Each time, earlier than before. 3:00 a.m. Then 2:40. Then 1:10.

Eventually, he’d get no more than an hour of real rest at a time. And even that didn’t feel like sleep. Because even after nine hours? He still woke up exhausted. Bone-deep exhaustion. The kind that sank into his limbs and stayed there. He’d try to stand and feel like he hadn’t moved in days. Sometimes, he’d blink and realize he was staring at the wall for minutes without thinking. The bags under his eyes weren’t just from training anymore. The others noticed he looked tired.

But none of them saw what was really happening. Not yet. Because Hawks didn’t have answers either. No reason for why he was feeling this drained. No quirk explanation. No diagnosis. Nothing in any database about what happened when All For One’s will started digging its claws deeper. All he had were questions. And a sense of something watching him. Always. One night, just past 2 a.m., he sat on the edge of the bed, hands buried in his hair, breath shallow. Another nightmare. Another flash of gold. Another warning.

“You’re not the one in control.”

He clenched his fists. Stared at the floor. And whispered to himself:

“I have to win.”

Even if no one else ever understood what that really meant.

Chapter Text

By the end of the second week of training, All Might had stopped calling it “sparring.” He said it aloud that morning, sweat beading on his brow as he watched Hawks land another blow that could’ve shattered a human ribcage. Hawks had been pulling his punches—he thought he was, anyway—but even then, the impact of his strikes was getting heavier. Sharper. Too sharp. Like something inside him was beginning to weaponize his instincts. All Might was breathing hard, arm braced after parrying a slash with Hawks’ training sword. Not a real blade—wooden, padded, harmless by design. But the way Hawks moved with it? There was nothing harmless about it.

"That’s enough," All Might said, taking a step back.

Hawks lowered the sword, blinking. “I was holding back.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Later that day, Aizawa called it.

“No more training,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “You’re starting to slip. Not just physically—mentally.”

“I’m fine,” Hawks replied, voice clipped.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re snapping under pressure. You almost broke All Might’s arm. That’s not fine.”

“I’ve hit harder. He can handle—”

“This isn’t about him,” Aizawa snapped. “It’s about you. And how much longer you think you can keep walking this line before you lose your footing.”

Silence. Then Aizawa stepped closer.

“Take the night off, Hawks. Don’t go vigilante. Don’t chase. Don’t train. Rest. Or you’re going to wake up one morning and realize you’re not on our side anymore.”

But by nightfall… Hawks was gone.

The streets were quieter than usual. Hawks—no, the Red Sword—moved across rooftops with calculated silence, his full-face mask catching glints of moonlight. His jacket snapped behind him, sword sheathed but always ready. He wasn’t looking for a fight. He was just trying to feel like himself again. But as he landed near a worn alley exit, preparing to head back—he stopped. Someone was already standing there, arms crossed, hunched slightly forward like he was daring the night to challenge him. Spinner. Of course it was Spinner.

“Evening,” Hawks said, keeping his voice lower than usual. Neutral. Masked.

Spinner tilted his head. “So you’re the pest everyone’s talking about.”

“Pest? Bit harsh. I think I’m more of a polite headache.”

“You’ve been tearing through our runners. Slowing down everything. Even Muscular couldn’t get a clean read on you.”

“Tell him to stop skipping arm day. Maybe he’d have better luck.”

Spinner didn't laugh. He stepped forward instead. “You’re a pain. But I’ll give you credit—you’ve survived this long without anyone figuring out who you are. That’s impressive.”

Hawks didn’t move.

“Let me guess,” Spinner continued. “You’re one of the washed-up pros. A drop-out. Maybe one of the Quirkless vigilantes trying to look like something.”

He took another step.

“But I’m tired of not knowing. So, here’s the deal—”

He pulled a long, jagged blade from behind his back.

“You unmask, or I rip it off.”

Chapter Text

The alley lit up in steel and tension. Spinner lunged first, jagged blade gleaming under the streetlight as he charged with reckless frustration. He wasn’t thinking tactically—he wasn’t even thinking smart. He just wanted to cut this masked thorn out of his path. But Hawks wasn’t there. A single sidestep, fluid as smoke, put the Red Sword behind him in a blink. Spinner turned fast—but not fast enough. A dull, precise blow to his shoulder sent the blade skittering from his hand. Another to the ribs dropped him to one knee. He looked up, growling.

“This isn’t—you’re not—”

But Hawks didn’t speak. He just took one slow step forward. Silent. Measured. And then—the air shifted.

Spinner’s instincts screamed. Because in the dim alley, he saw it. A flicker of light. Not steel. Not reflected. Gold. It glowed faintly—just for a second—along Hawks’ wrist under the sleeve. Something not normal. Something wrong. Spinner froze. Hawks tilted his head, the mask’s lenses catching just enough light to look inhuman.

Then he spoke, voice low and cold.

“You don’t want to see what’s under the mask.”

Spinner swallowed hard, backing up slowly.

“You’re… you’re not just a vigilante,” he muttered. “You’re something else.”

Hawks took another step. Spinner didn’t wait to find out what came next. He turned and ran, scrambling down the alley, boots skidding against the pavement as he vanished into the dark. Gone. Silence returned. Hawks stood alone, his breath steady, the gold glow fading beneath the fabric of his suit. He didn’t chase. He just stood there for a while, letting the shadows settle, before finally turning back toward the rooftops. The line between man and weapon was getting thinner. And tonight, he’d chosen to let the weapon speak.

The warehouse hideout had gone quiet again. The remaining members of the splintered League of Villains sat scattered around the room—restless, tense, waiting for news. Muscular was still out, causing chaos wherever his fists landed, and morale was fractured at best. But when Spinner returned, panting, scraped up, and unusually pale—everyone stopped what they were doing. He slammed the door behind him.

“Where the hell were you?” one of the lesser members asked.

Spinner didn’t answer. He walked straight to the middle of the room and dropped to one knee in front of the old monitor that had flickered to life just moments earlier. The static buzzed. Then: Doctor Ujiko appeared.

“Spinner,” the Doctor said. “Report.”

Spinner looked up slowly. Eyes wild. Shaken.

“I found him.”

Ujiko’s smile was small. “The vigilante?”

“Yes. The Red Sword. I saw him. I fought him.”

“And?”

Spinner’s mouth opened, but for a moment, he couldn’t find the words for a second.

“That’s no vigilante.”

Ujiko tilted his head. Spinner stood, voice gaining volume with every sentence.

“He didn’t fight like a hero. He didn’t move like a person. He was faster than he should’ve been. And the way he looked at me—like I wasn’t even a threat.”

He rubbed his arms, like he was still shaking it off.

“And then I saw it. Gold. Glowing under the suit. Just for a second. Something alive. It was like looking at… at him.”

The room went dead still.

“You’re saying…?” Ujiko’s voice was softer now.

Spinner nodded.

“There’s no way that was Hawks. Not the Commission’s puppet. Not the guy from the news.”

He stepped forward.

“That was All For One’s successor. And he’s already here.”

The rest of the room broke into murmurs and low curses. Some looked shocked. Others—excited. But Ujiko? Ujiko smiled. Long. Cold. Delighted.

“At last,” he whispered. “The will of All For One blooms again. Even if he does not yet know it.”

Spinner stepped back, still shaken.

“He told me not to look under the mask. I believed him.”

The Doctor’s screen flickered.

“Then we prepare. No more waiting.”

One of the lieutenants leaned forward. “Should we capture him?”

“No,” Ujiko said. “Not yet. He’s still incubating. The power is asserting itself, which means the true inheritance is near. The more he resists, the more it evolves.”

He folded his hands with eerie calm.

“We don’t have to claim him. We only have to let the world turn against him.”

Spinner frowned. “And if he’s not one of us?”

Ujiko smiled wider.

“Then we make sure he becomes one.”

Chapter Text

The morning light cut across the clean glass of the Hero Public Safety Commission’s executive offices. Everything gleamed. Every surface was spotless. The image of control. Inside the top floor conference room, Hawks sat alone at the head of the table, reviewing a stack of reports in absolute silence. The sharp scent of coffee lingered in the air. His sleeves were rolled up neatly, suit perfectly pressed. No sign of disorder on the outside. But inside?

There was a chill in the room that hadn’t been there before. Not from the air conditioning. From him. He hadn’t smiled in over an hour. A few aides passed through the hall with files, glancing in through the window—and none dared interrupt. Something about him felt heavier now. Not tired. Just… coiled. Like a blade drawn just far enough to be seen.

Downstairs, Endeavor entered the main lobby, signing off a dispatch report and heading to the elevator. The moment the doors closed and he hit the top floor button, his expression changed. He wasn’t here for a security check. He was here for Keigo. The doors slid open. The moment he stepped out, he saw it—Hawks through the glass, head low, fingers drumming against the edge of the table, golden light faintly pulsing under his glove. It flickered once. Then stopped. Hawks looked up.

“Hey,” he said flatly. “You’re early.”

Endeavor walked in slowly, watching him.

“You didn’t answer your comm last night.”

“I slept.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“…You’ve been sleeping better lately?” Endeavor asked, cautious.

“Better than before,” Hawks said. “Still tired.”

Another pause. Hawks stood and crossed the room to grab more coffee. His movements were fluid—too fluid. Like a machine that didn’t need to pause to think anymore. Endeavor noticed it. He also noticed the lack of sarcasm. The charm was gone. The casual grin. The lazy confidence. Replaced with quiet efficiency. The kind you find in people who’ve stopped expecting things to get better.

“You’re drifting,” Endeavor said finally.

Hawks paused. Turned slightly.

“…What?”

“You’re changing,” Endeavor clarified. “You’re getting quieter. Colder. The way you look at people, talk to them. You used to light up a room, Keigo. Now people don’t even want to be in the same room too long.”

Hawks didn’t answer. He sipped his coffee, staring out the window at the skyline.

“…I have a lot on my plate,” he said quietly.

“You always did,” Endeavor replied. “Didn’t stop you from being you.”

Another silence. Then, Hawks turned fully toward him. His voice was calm. Measured. But off. Just enough to notice.

“I’m not broken, Enji. I’m just… sharper.”

Endeavor’s stomach twisted. Because that word? Sharper? That wasn’t a Hawks word. That was a weapon’s word.