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Chapter Text

The arena is alive, thrumming with electricity. Purple spotlights sweep over the crowd, reflecting off glittering banners and thousands of waving glow sticks, turning the venue into a pulsating galaxy.

Every heartbeat of every fan seems to sync with the pounding bass. The scent of excitement, sweat, and anticipation hangs thick in the air.

Violet Crescendo stands at center stage, long violet hair cascading in perfect waves, microphone in hand. Her eyes glint like amethysts, sharp and confident, scanning the audience like a queen surveying her kingdom. Nothing matters if I fight for my dreams, she thinks, letting the mantra settle in her chest, fueling every fiber of her being. I’m never giving up on myself.

The opening beat hits. Purple lasers slice through the haze, smoke machines shivering with every pulse of the music.

Violet steps forward, tilts her head, and belts the first line with crystal clarity:
“Nothing matters if I fight for my dreams! I’m never giving up on myself!”

The roar of the crowd is instantaneous, a living wave of sound and motion. Violet spins dramatically, microphone cord whipping through the air like a ribbon, hair flicking with deliberate grace. Every moment of my life—I’ll carry it on to my highway. She leaps onto the raised platform at center stage, ribbons trailing behind her, catching the lights and painting arcs of violet fire.

Confetti cannons explode, glitter raining down in shimmering waves. Fans scream, chant, jump, and wave their sticks in perfect unison. Violet bends low in a dramatic bow, letting the roar wash over her. I’m not scared of being alone… Already got this… Heading in my own direction! Her voice rises above the crowd, pure and strong, carrying not just melody but raw presence—her Quirk Resonance humming faintly around her, subtly amplifying the energy in the arena.

She launches into the chorus, twirling, leaping, landing in perfect synchronization with the lights and beat:

“There’s no time for me to look back… Holding on to keep on rising to the sky! I’ll be taking actions, no distractions!”

Purple spotlights chase her across the stage as she spins and poses, fingers tracing elegant arcs through the smoke.

Cameras from every angle swoop and pivot, capturing the motion, the shine of her hair, the curve of her gloves, the determination in her gaze. The audience becomes part of her choreography, every scream, every clap, every wave a note in her symphony.

"I just wanna be who I wanna be… I don’t need exceptions… No delusions… Chance is only once, you know!" Violet launches into the next verse, leaping high, ribbons trailing like shooting stars. The subtle pulses of her Quirk shimmer faintly around her body, vibrational echoes brushing the edges of the stage. She lands in a perfect spin, voice cutting through the roar, commanding the attention of thousands.

Backstage, a talent scout scribbles frantically on a clipboard, eyes wide. “Her quirk… it’s not just singing… Resonance! She can inspire, amplify, even disrupt… UA High material without a doubt.”

Violet doesn’t notice. Her world is the stage—the lights, the music, the adoration. She swings her microphone in a dramatic arc, spinning again, and belts the next verse:

“When I’m lost and start to fall, let me fly up more! Go on! I’ve been waiting for this so long! Fate is calling me, unlock another door! And shine the hope inside my heart!”

Confetti bursts again, swirling around her in violet chaos, catching the spotlights, forming trails that mirror her every movement. Fans jump in unison, waving sticks, screaming, some crying. Every motion, every note, every breath is theatrical perfection.

Violet slides gracefully across the stage, one hand extended to the audience, the other gripping the microphone. She spins mid-leap, landing flawlessly, letting the words hang in the air like tangible energy. "I don’t need your sympathy… Have it my way… I don’t care what people say… Moving forward till the end!"

She leaps into the final chorus, energy surging. Every note, every gesture, every arc of motion is a declaration: she is unstoppable. Her confidence radiates like sunlight, piercing through smoke, lights, and screams. Purple energy pulses faintly around her, invisible but present, shaping the air with the vibrations of her voice.

Then—a subtle interruption. A crisp envelope slides across the stage from an assistant, catching the purple light. Violet pauses mid-spin, plucking it from the air with grace. She tilts her head, reading aloud with dramatic flair:

“Congratulations, Murasaki Rina. You’ve been accepted to UA High School Hero Course.”

The roar of the crowd continues, deafening, but in this moment, it fades into the background. UA High. A place where applause doesn’t follow. Where skill, teamwork, and courage define worth.

Violet Crescendo freezes for a heartbeat, letting her diva mask slip just slightly. Her heart pounds—not from stage lights, not from adoring fans, but from the unknown that awaits her.

"Darling… this will be interesting", she murmurs, voice calm but tinged with intrigue. Her confidence hasn’t wavered, but inside, curiosity and apprehension flicker. Fame and applause have prepared her for everything, but UA High? That’s a stage with no script, no adoring crowd, and consequences far greater than glitter or glow sticks.

Violet straightens, chin high, arms lifting in final triumphant pose. The lights flare one last time, confetti swirls in a violet storm, and she beams with perfection.

I’ve been waiting for this. Time to take off… for real.

The crowd doesn’t know it yet, but the true stage—her real trial, her real rise—is about to begin. And Violet Crescendo will shine.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The gates of UA High rise before her like a fortress, but to Violet Crescendo, they feel more like a backdrop for her entrance than a school. Already, a sea of reporters and fans press forward, their cameras raised, flashes popping like fireworks. The hum of excitement is deafening, blending with the distant chatter of students and the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

She steps from the sleek black car, every movement calculated yet seemingly effortless. Her violet hair gleams under the morning sun, cascading perfectly over her uniform blazer, while polished shoes tap lightly against the pavement.

The first flash blinds her for a moment, and she raises a hand in a graceful wave. The crowd erupts, a tidal wave of cheers, camera shutters, and adoring voices.

“Violet!” someone calls, voice cracking with excitement.

She turns, offering a warm smile and a subtle bow, letting the lights catch the shimmer in her hair. A reporter leans forward, microphone extended. “Violet Crescendo, how does it feel to begin hero training at UA High?”

She lifts her chin, voice confident, clear, and smooth, carrying naturally over the din. “I’m thrilled to see what this stage holds. Every challenge is an opportunity—and I plan to give it my all.” Her smile widens, teeth gleaming, eyes sparkling with controlled excitement.

Every motion, every gesture is polished to perfection, as if she’s performing not just for the crowd outside, but for every lens pointed at her.

Fans scream louder, waving signed posters and glow sticks, some pressing phones to capture her every movement.

She pauses for a moment, hands outstretched to sign a quick autograph here, brush back a strand of hair there.

Cameras click incessantly, the flashes forming a staccato rhythm that mirrors her pulse. Each photo, each shout, each frantic cheer is fuel, a tangible reminder of the power of her presence.

The assistant beside her hustles to keep the envelope with her acceptance letter safely tucked, though Violet doesn’t seem to notice. Her focus is on the crowd—the energy, the screams, the sheer magnitude of attention.

A cameraman pivots to get a low angle shot of her stepping toward the school steps, and she tilts her head just enough to catch the light, letting the shot capture her profile perfectly.

She glances around, taking in the scene: students craning their necks from the other side of the gates, some whispering, some staring in awe. Reporters jostle for better angles, voices overlapping, shouting questions she only half-hears. Flashbulbs strobe in rapid succession, and the whirring of camera drones hums like an undercurrent.

Violet strides forward, waving briefly, smiling genuinely but maintaining that perfect professional distance. The crowd presses closer, some fans trying to touch her, some calling her name in breathless excitement.

She navigates the chaos effortlessly, spinning lightly to sign a quick autograph, letting the cameras catch the movement. The sound, the flashes, the chaos—it’s intoxicating, almost familiar, yet different.

Her eyes catch a group of younger students, shaking in awe. She kneels slightly, smiling warmly, adjusting her posture to meet their gaze. A small hand thrusts a notebook toward her. She scribbles a signature with flourish, handing it back with a gentle nod. The kid beams, clutching it like a treasure. Another flash goes off, and she raises both hands briefly, a gesture of acknowledgment for the photographers capturing every second.

The line of reporters stretches longer than she expected, but she moves like water, flowing seamlessly from one end of the throng to the other. Each wave of attention is a beat, every camera a spotlight. She feels the familiar rush—the thrill of performance without a stage, the chaos without choreography, yet somehow still commanding.

Finally, she reaches the gates themselves.

The crowd parts slightly as her presence radiates outward. She pauses at the threshold, glancing back once, letting the flashes catch the angle of her hair, the sparkle in her eyes, the subtle curl of her lips. Then, with a final, graceful step, she moves forward. Beyond these gates lies something different, something untested.

No adoring fans waiting to scream her name. No cameras perfectly angled for her every move.

Violet straightens, shoulders back, chin lifted. The crowd outside continues to roar, but inside, she feels the first tiny flicker of anticipation, the whisper of something unfamiliar. Fame has prepared her for applause, but this—this is something else entirely. UA High will demand skill, courage, and determination beyond the stage lights.

Violet steps through the gates, the roar of fans and cameras fading into a distant hum. The campus feels different up close: sprawling courtyards, tall buildings, and the subtle chaos of students moving between classes. It’s organized, controlled, but nothing like a concert stage—no applause to fuel her, no lights to highlight her every move. Just the raw energy of teenagers, quirks in motion, and the scent of early morning nerves.

Her heels click against the stone pathway as she moves toward the main building, posture impeccable, uniform pristine.

Students glance up, some whispering, others openly staring. Violet’s gaze sweeps across the crowd like a spotlight, acknowledging the awe silently, a small, knowing smile curving her lips.

“Whoa… she’s actually here,” a soft voice mutters.

Violet catches it, tilting her head slightly, letting her eyes flicker over the speaker. “It’s nice to see admiration is universal,” she says lightly, voice smooth, controlled, practiced. Her steps are slow, deliberate, as if every move is a choreographed performance.

She enters Class 1-A classroom. One green-haired boy, freckles scattered across his cheeks, looks up from a notebook, jaw dropping slightly. A spiky blond-haired boy beside him scowls, arms crossed, clearly unamused by the spectacle. Violet’s eyes slide over them, taking in the quirks, the personalities—the raw potential.

“Class 1-A?” she asks, voice lilting, almost playful. “I imagine you’ve heard of me.”

The green-haired boy swallows nervously, adjusting his backpack. “Uh… yes, we’ve heard of—well, I mean… you’re famous, right?”

Violet inclines her head, letting a smile bloom, not smug, but perfectly composed. “Yes. And now, I’m here to be more than just a performer. I intend to be a hero worthy of this school.” Her tone is confident, unwavering, carrying that same charisma that commands thousands at a concert, now directed at a handful of skeptical students.

The blond boy—Bakugou, she notes—narrows his eyes, arms still crossed. “Hmph. Famous, huh? You think that counts for anything here?”

Violet tilts her head, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “Fame isn’t my shield, and I don’t intend it to be. But I do know how to leave an impression. Isn’t that… useful?” Her gaze sweeps across the group again, lingering on each face just long enough to make them feel seen.

A girl with long green hair tied in a bow whispers to the green-haired boy, “She’s… intimidating, kero.”

Violet overhears and allows herself the tiniest chuckle, low and controlled, as if sharing a private joke with the universe. “Intimidation is just another form of attention,” she says softly, almost to herself, then straightens, letting her posture flare like a spotlight.

The students exchange glances. Some are curious. Some are cautious. Violet senses it all, the nervous energy, the competitiveness—it’s unlike fans screaming her name. Here, admiration isn’t automatic. Here, she must earn respect.

She steps forward, letting the weight of her presence settle into the classroom. “I hope we’ll get along,” she says, voice polite but edged with authority. “After all, the stage may end, but a hero’s performance never does.”

Her eyes flick to the green-haired boy again, noting his intense, eager expression. Something about him reminds her of energy, potential—someone who could challenge her, and maybe even teach her. She tilts her head slightly, a smirk forming. Interesting.

The classroom buzzes with the usual chatter of students settling into seats, but Murasaki Rina doesn’t just sit—she glides to an empty desk near the front, heels clicking against the floor with quiet authority.

She places her immaculate bag beside her, adjusts her uniform just so, and lets her violet hair fall perfectly around her shoulders. Cameras and reporters aren’t here this time, but that doesn’t matter. All eyes aren’t on her yet—but she makes a mental note: they will notice her.

The door slides open suddenly with a sharp swish, and a man enters. His dark hair is disheveled, eyes half-lidded, expression almost bored. “I am Aizawa Shota,” he says flatly. “I’ll be your homeroom teacher.”

Rina lifts a brow slightly, unimpressed at first. A new stage, a new audience. Interesting. She straightens in her seat, chin high, letting her presence radiate even without the glow of stage lights.

Aizawa continues. “Today, we’ll have a Quirk Apprehension Test. You’ll be using your Quirks for the first time since middle school.”

The room shifts nervously. Students glance at each other, some murmuring, some wide-eyed. Rina tilts her head, lips curling into a small, knowing smile. Finally. A test to see what I can truly do outside the applause.

“Put on your P.E. clothes and head to the P.E. grounds,” Aizawa adds. “No exceptions.”

Rina stands gracefully, letting her uniform jacket fall perfectly in place as she slips it off and drapes it over her arm. Every movement is deliberate, smooth, commanding attention even in a room full of other students. She catches a few glances from her classmates: admiration, confusion, and perhaps the tiniest hint of envy. She smiles faintly. Let them watch. Let them learn.

At the P.E. Grounds, the students gather around, some bouncing with excitement, others fidgeting nervously. Rina surveys the field, noting the setup, the distance markers, and the target structures.

Interesting… a new stage. I like that.

Bakugou steps forward first, sparks flying from his hands as he demonstrates his Quirk with a fiery launch of explosive power. The crowd of students reacts instantly—cheers, impressed murmurs, laughter. Rina watches, lips pressed together, not clapping, not cheering, but allowing herself the tiniest smirk. Amusing. Cute.

When Aizawa’s cold eyes sweep the field, he doesn’t seem pleased by their excitement. Rina senses the shift in tone, but instead of fear, she feels a spark of challenge. This is different from a concert, isn’t it? No applause, no instant adoration. Hmph… intriguing.

Then, the rules drop like a heavy curtain: “The student who ranks last in total points will be deemed hopeless and immediately expelled.”

Gasps ripple through the students. Rina tilts her head, considering. The threat isn’t exciting or threatening—it’s simply a new metric, a new test of skill. Her diva persona flares internally. Expelled? No one will leave before seeing me perform my full act.

She steps forward when instructed, letting her voice carry smoothly over the grounds. “Shall we begin?” The words are soft, polite, but every syllable commands attention. Students glance her way, some startled by the calm confidence that cuts through the tension like a spotlight.

As the first trial begins, Rina studies the field, her mind racing: how to showcase her Quirk, how to move, how to make each action both effective and graceful. She senses the eyes on her, not just her classmates, but Aizawa’s as well, evaluating, calculating. Very well… let’s see who truly shines under pressure.

The real stage has shifted. Gone are cameras, fans, and confetti—but the spotlight is still there. Only now, it’s not adoration—it’s survival, skill, and the raw test of what she can do. Murasaki Rina straightens, violet eyes gleaming.

Let’s take off.

The P.E. grounds buzz with tense energy as Class 1-A lines up for the Quirk Apprehension Test. Sunlight glints off the track markings, the measuring tapes for the jumps, and the tall structures for the Pitch.

Murasaki Rina stands near the starting line of the 50-meter dash, posture impeccable, violet hair catching every stray glimmer of light. Even here, with no cameras and no cheering fans, she radiates confidence—a presence impossible to ignore.

Her classmates glance at her, some with curiosity, others with barely concealed envy. She tilts her head, a small smirk playing on her lips. No flashes, no screaming fans… but let’s see if they can keep up with this stage presence anyway.

The 50-meter dash begins. Rina moves like liquid, every step measured, efficient, graceful, yet explosively fast. She crosses the finish line with perfect timing, barely breaking a sweat, eyes flicking over her classmates. Midoriya struggles behind her, Bakugou storms ahead, and Uraraka floats gracefully. Rina’s score is impressive, but she doesn’t linger on it—she’s already assessing the next challenge: the Grip Strength Test.

Hands wrapped around the bars, she lets her fingers flex and tense, Quirk subtly resonating as she exerts a burst of controlled energy. Her grip is firm, elegant, precise. Around her, the other students strain, sweat glistening on foreheads. Rina lets a faint, imperceptible grin form.

Technique, focus… power doesn’t need to be loud to be commanding.

Next comes the Standing Long Jump. She measures her steps carefully, adjusts her posture, and leaps, landing with perfect balance. The tape stretches far beyond most of the others, drawing impressed murmurs. Still, she straightens instantly, already shifting attention to the Sustained Sideways Jump.

By the time the Pitch arrives, the crowd of students is buzzing with tension. Balls in hand, they prepare to showcase their quirks in action. Bakugou goes first, sparks flying as his explosive pitch tears through the air. Students cheer, a few flinching at the intensity. Rina watches with detached amusement, calculating how she can make her own throw both powerful and graceful. Not enough flair? Perhaps. But efficiency? Impeccable.
Then Midoriya steps up. He grips the ball, determination in his green eyes. As he releases it, nothing happens—the ball drifts, slow and ordinary. Gasps ripple through the students.

Rina raises an eyebrow, lips pressing into a thin line. Interesting… perhaps the famed “One For All” doesn’t always shine outside the spotlight.

Aizawa steps forward, voice calm but cutting through the chatter. “I erased your Quirk,” he says flatly. The revelation lands like a shockwave. Rina watches, noting every flicker of Midoriya’s reaction—the sudden panic, the disbelief, the raw determination that starts to simmer beneath it.

“He’s the Erasing Hero,” she murmurs to herself, tilting her head. An erasure ability… now that’s a stage challenge I would savor.

Aizawa continues, outlining the risks and drawbacks of Midoriya’s power: how relying on others for rescue is a weakness, how the hero’s path demands self-reliance.

Rina’s violet eyes narrow thoughtfully. Power without poise, talent without control… such theatrics are admirable, but they’re nothing without discipline.

Taking a deep breath, Midoriya throws again. This time, the ball arcs high into the sky, glowing faintly as the Quirk pulses visibly around it. It lands perfectly within the scoring zone. Rina allows herself the tiniest nod of approval. Technique, courage, and precision… impressive. Even without the applause, he performs.

Midoriya turns to Aizawa, proving that he can still move, still act, still overcome despite his Quirk being erased temporarily.

The homeroom teacher’s eyes flicker with the tiniest hint of recognition, a silent acknowledgment of the student’s resolve.

Rina watches all of it, taking in the lesson quietly. No cheering fans, no red carpet—just skill, courage, and focus under pressure. A different kind of stage, she thinks. And one I intend to master as well.

She steps forward when her turn arrives, violet hair catching the sunlight as she grips the ball. Every movement is calculated: posture, timing, Quirk resonance, wrist snap. She releases, and her pitch arcs beautifully, energy flaring faintly around it as it lands with perfect precision. No screaming fans, no confetti—but every eye is on her, acknowledging skill, poise, and confidence.

As she steps back, letting the next student approach, Rina allows herself the smallest, satisfied smile. This is different from a concert stage. This is raw. Real. And she thrives on the challenge.

Let’s see who truly commands the spotlight, she thinks.

The air is thick with tension as the last few students prepare for their pitches. Rina steps aside, letting the others go first while she observes closely. Her violet eyes flick between Midoriya, Bakugou, and the rest of Class 1-A. Each throw, each burst of quirk energy, is measured, precise, and revealing—proof not just of power, but of control, courage, and composure.

When it’s finally her turn again, Rina moves to the line with effortless grace. She positions herself, letting her body fall into perfect alignment. She grips the ball lightly at first, feeling the pulse of her Quirk resonate—a subtle hum in her throat, a vibration that dances along her fingers.

This is her instrument, her stage, but the stage is different. Here, precision outweighs spectacle.

She releases, and the ball arcs through the air. A faint, shimmering energy trails it, her Quirk subtly enhancing its trajectory. The throw lands squarely in the target zone, impressive in both distance and control. A few students murmur, clearly impressed.

Rina allows herself a small, satisfied smile—but it falters as she glances at Bakugou, who watches her with that familiar scowl, unamused yet measuring. She senses the undercurrent of challenge in the class, the quiet rivalry forming around skill, not popularity.

Midoriya, cheeks flushed with the effort of his second throw, glances her way. “That… was amazing,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and encouragement. Rina tilts her head, considering. Not bad. He’s growing… perhaps more than I expected.

The murmurs of her classmates reach her ears: whispered comments, some admiring, some skeptical. “She’s… really good,” Uraraka says softly. “But kind of intimidating.”

Rina feels a faint tug at her confidence, the first real crack in her usual composure. On stage, applause washes over her like sunlight; here, her skill earns only quiet acknowledgment, murmurs, and measured admiration. No flashes, no screaming fans, no adoring voices echoing her name.

She straightens, taking a deep breath. This is different. And I like it.

Aizawa’s cold gaze sweeps across the group, landing on her for a fraction longer than necessary. Rina feels the weight of evaluation pressing down—not praise, not fanfare, just scrutiny. It’s unsettling, unfamiliar—but exhilarating. Finally, a test that matters.

The final scores are tallied, murmurs rippling through the students. Rina’s performance is among the highest. She glances at Midoriya, who beams nervously at his result, and Bakugou, still scowling but clearly aware she performed well. The realization hits her: admiration here is earned, not automatic. Talent alone isn’t enough. Every action, every choice, every display of skill matters.

As she steps back, letting the others move past her, Rina’s mind is already racing. She knows the next steps won’t be easy—UA High doesn’t coddle stars or celebrities.

Here, she’ll need more than charisma and poise; she’ll need grit, courage, and resilience.

Yet, a small thrill runs through her. This stage… this challenge… it’s unlike anything I’ve faced. And I will master it.

She adjusts her uniform, violet hair falling perfectly around her shoulders, and allows herself the tiniest, private smirk. Let them watch. Let them learn. This diva doesn’t just perform for applause—she performs to rise.

And with that thought, Murasaki Rina steps aside, ready for whatever UA High throws at her next.

Chapter Text

The sun hangs low over the training field, the heat of the Quirk Apprehension Test still clinging to the air.

The students of Class 1-A cluster together, sweat on their brows, nerves buzzing as Aizawa finally gathers them around. His capture scarf hangs loose, his entire body language screaming boredom.

“Results,” he says, monotone, holding up his tablet. One by one, names flash across the screen in order of rank. Gasps, cheers, groans ripple through the class. Bakugou grins like he’s just set the world on fire. Midoriya nearly collapses in relief. Ochako pumps her fist.

And then there’s her.

Murasaki Rina doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t cheer. She simply flicks her violet hair over one shoulder, lashes half-lowered, lips tugging into a diva’s smile. Even now, even here, she refuses to let them see nerves. After all—an idol never breaks character. Not on stage, not in the spotlight.

But inside? Her stomach twists. Some of these “nobodies” scored higher than she expected. Higher than her.

Before anyone can dwell on placements, Aizawa slouches and drops the real bomb:
“Oh, and the expulsion thing? That was a lie.”

The entire class explodes. “WHAT?!”
Kaminari nearly drops to his knees. Mina flails her arms. Even Todoroki raises a brow.

Aizawa continues, utterly unbothered. “It was a logical ruse. Stress makes people perform at their best. Congratulations, you survived the first day.”

Murasaki’s painted nails curl slightly against her palm. A ruse. He toyed with them. With her. And she fell for it just as much as the others.

The students start drifting back toward the main building, buzzing about scores and expulsion scares. Rina joins the flow, offering her signature smile when Ashido squeals, “Your hair didn’t even get messed up, how?!” and when a few of the boys sneak glances, whispering that it’s surreal having Murasaki Rina, the idol, in their class.

But then—

“Murasaki. Stay behind.” Aizawa's voice is dry, commanding. Not a request.

The chatter moves further away until it’s only the two of them on the training ground, silence pressing heavy. Aizawa’s tired eyes fix on her like needles through silk.

She tilts her chin, meeting his gaze with a practiced half-smile. “Yes, sensei? Autograph? Photo? I usually don’t sign sweaty, but for you I could make an exception.”

He doesn’t even blink. “No special treatment.”

The words hit harder than she expects.
“Excuse me?”

“I know who you are. I don’t care. In this classroom, you’re not an idol. You’re not a celebrity. You’re a student, like everyone else. And if you can’t understand that, you won’t last here.”

For the first time since she walked into U.A., her mask falters. Just slightly, but enough for the silence between them to stretch. She tries to laugh it off, airy and dismissive.

“Darling, you make it sound like I’m here to cause trouble. I assure you, I shine best under pressure.”

Aizawa pulls his scarf up around his shoulders, already turning away. “Shine all you want. Just don’t expect the world to revolve around your light.”

And with that, he leaves her standing there—smile frozen, chest tight, the weight of reality heavier than any spotlight.

For the first time, Murasaki Rina realizes: on this stage, applause means nothing.

When she returns to the classroom, the mood shifts instantly. Conversations drop, replaced by sideways glances. Kaminari mutters to Sero, “Man, did Aizawa-Sensei scold her? That looked intense.”

Ashido, always too curious for her own good, bounces up first. “What’d he want, huh? Secret idol stuff? Did he tell you you’re his favorite?”

“Favorite?” Bakugou snorts from the back row. “As if that old zombie has favorites.”

Rina sweeps into the room like she’s walking a red carpet, masking the sting in her chest with a dazzling smile. She lets Ashido cling to her arm and poses dramatically, violet hair shimmering under the classroom lights.

“Oh, darling, nothing so scandalous. He simply wanted reassurance that my star power won’t blind the rest of you.” She laughs lightly, a sound rehearsed for arenas but sharp enough to make Mina squeal and Iida stiffen.

Midoriya watches her with furrowed brows, like he can tell something’s off. Like he knows she’s hiding something behind that practiced smile.

The chatter swells again, the other students buying into her performance—most of them, anyway. Rina slides into her seat, crossing her legs, tapping one manicured finger against the desk.

No special treatment.

The words echo, souring even her own reflection in the polished window glass.
She won’t let them see it, though. Not yet.
Not until she’s ready.

The next day at U.A. feels almost normal. Almost. Math problems, history notes, health lecture—mundane lessons that remind them all they are still students, no matter how flashy their Quirks. Rina doodles song lyrics in the margin of her notebook instead of formulas, her head tilted like she’s humming silently to herself.

A few classmates steal glances; some annoyed, some starstruck.

But when the final bell of the academic block rings, the air changes.

The classroom door bursts open with the force of a hurricane, and there he is—the Symbol of Peace.

“I AM… COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!”

Gasps, cheers, a few squeals—U.A.’s Class 1-A lights up brighter than any stadium crowd.

Even Murasaki Rina sits straighter. And for once, her smile isn’t rehearsed. Seeing All Might in person stirs something even she can’t mask—like the first time she stepped onstage and felt thousands of voices rise to meet hers. This is presence. This is stardom redefined.

All Might beams, hands on hips, cape fluttering in some unseen wind.

“WELCOME… to Foundational Heroics! From here on, you will build yourselves up through trial and experience! And our very first trial will be… THE TRIAL OF BATTLE!”

The class erupts in whispers. A trial? Already?

All Might leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Now—go and change into your hero costumes! Remember this: from today forward… you are heroes!”

The Dressing Room
The costume cases line the walls like treasure chests. Students chatter excitedly as they unlock theirs.

Rina pauses before hers, fingertips brushing the polished metal. This is it—the reveal of her true persona, beyond sequins and concert lights.

The case hisses open. Inside gleams her hero costume: a sleek white sleeveless turtleneck, perfectly fitted, adorned with a large violet treble clef emblem across her chest. It’s bold, symbolic, and unmistakably hers—a signature of her music-based identity. Dark purple tights stretch smoothly down her legs, accented with faint lavender highlights that shimmer when she moves. Her knee-high white boots glint under the dressing room lights, silver trim catching the reflections as she slides them on.

Gloves, white and fingerless with silver tips, hug her hands, designed for both combat and precision when handling her weapon. The collapsible electric guitar–bow hybrid rests against the back of the costume case, polished violet and silver, ready to strike a chord or launch an arrow of energy at a moment’s notice. A thin silver belt with small pouches hugs her waist, adding subtle practicality to the otherwise stage-ready ensemble.

Rina steps into the costume piece by piece, adjusting the coattails and smoothing her violet hair so it spills perfectly around her shoulders. When she catches her reflection in the mirror, a thrill shivers through her. This isn’t the idol the world knows. This is Violet Crescendo reborn as a hero, ready to perform on a new kind of stage.

She tilts her chin, lips curving into a confident, diva-perfect smirk. “Darling… the curtain is rising.”

Grounds B
When the class assembles at Grounds B, jaws drop. Everyone’s costumes reflect their personalities: flashy, practical, or somewhere in between. Kaminari twirls dramatically, Jirou tugs awkwardly at her boots, while Midoriya seems both nervous and proud in his green jumpsuit.

But Rina? She walks out like she’s on a catwalk, hair gleaming, coattails fluttering as though caught in invisible spotlight beams. Her guitar-bow glints at her hip. Every step calculated, every motion commanding attention.

Whispers ripple through the group: “She looks like she’s about to do a concert.” “No, like a villain in a music video.”

All Might beams. “Yes! Now that’s what I call hero fashion!”

Rina offers a dazzling bow, one hand across her chest, the other sweeping wide. “Why, thank you, darling. One must look their best for their debut.”

Yaoyorozu, standing nearby in her own regal costume, eyes her with a mixture of appraisal and wariness.

The Battle Setup
All Might explains the setup: indoor battle, heroes versus villains. The villains must guard a “nuclear weapon.” The heroes must capture it or the villains before time runs out.

“Battles will be two-on-two! And to decide the teams…” He dramatically pulls out a box. “A lottery!”

One by one, students draw. Excited murmurs echo with each pairing.

When it’s Rina’s turn, she dips her manicured fingers into the box, pulling out a slip of paper. She opens it with a flourish, violet eyes gleaming.

“Murasaki Rina… paired with Yaoyorozu Momo as villains.”

Momo inclines her head politely. “It seems we’re partners.”

Rina smirks. “A perfect duet, don’t you think?”

The next draw: “Kaminari Denki and Jirou Kyouka—your opponents.”

Jirou’s eyes narrow immediately, flicking from Rina to her gleaming guitar. “Figures.”

Kaminari grins sheepishly. “Aw, man, guess we’re up against the rich duo.”

Rina laughs lightly, the sound crystalline, rehearsed, and sharp. “Careful what you wish for, darling. This stage has room for only one headliner.”

All Might raises his hands, booming: “PREPARE YOURSELVES! LET THE TRIAL OF BATTLE… BEGIN!”

The First Moves
Rina grips her guitar, feeling the familiar hum of her Quirk resonate in her chest. Her violet aura flickers, subtle but perceptible.

She lets Momo take the lead, whispering, “I’ll follow your plan, darling. But leave the theatrics to me.”

Momo nods, deploying a small gadget that projects a barrier around the nuclear core. Kaminari sparks electricity, testing the villain defenses, while Jirou moves with measured agility, preparing for their first strike.

Rina’s fingers strum lightly across the guitar strings, and the air vibrates. Energy pulses shoot forward in elegant arcs, her Quirk amplifying the vibrations to destabilize the heroes’ footing just enough for Momo to maneuver.

Kaminari yelps, stumbling slightly as her aura-infused chords ripple through the arena. Jirou scowls, straining against the vibrations. Rina grins, striking another chord with flair, sending a precise energy arrow flying toward Kaminari—not enough to harm, just enough to test.

“Darling, keep your balance!” she calls, voice ringing clear, theatrical, commanding.

Momo glances at her, impressed. “You fight beautifully.”

Rina twirls, coattails fluttering, firing another energy arrow toward the nuclear core, careful not to overextend. “The stage is ours, darling, if we play it right.”

The heroes regroup, sparks crackling, music echoing faintly in the training arena as Rina continues her elegant, rhythmic assault. Every movement precise, every strum measured. Even in battle, she performs.

And for the first time, she feels the thrill of combat that isn’t applause-driven—but every bit as intoxicating.

The building vibrates with tension.

Kaminari sparks electricity, trying to predict Rina’s next move. Jirou’s fingers twitch at her earpieces, ready to counter the pulses of energy coming from the villain side. But Rina is fluid, every movement choreographed as though she’s performing in front of a stadium.

Momo whispers, “The heroes are closing in. Be careful.”

“Darling,” Rina replies, voice light and teasing, “I always know exactly what I’m doing.”

She strums a chord. A pulse of energy arcs toward Kaminari, forcing him to leap back. Rina spins, coattails flying, another arrow of energy shooting toward the nuclear core—not to strike, but to distract.

The heroes regroup quickly. “Focus on the core!” Jirou shouts, dodging another pulse.

Rina frowns slightly; the theatrics that usually win applause don’t work here. Her strikes need precision, not flair. She takes a breath, letting her Quirk hum subtly beneath her voice. The vibrations are finer now, sharper, more controlled.

“Let’s see how you handle this,” she mutters to herself, and her fingers dance over the guitar strings, sending a flurry of energy arrows in a perfect pattern.

Kaminari stumbles again, Jirou barely dodges—but Rina notices Momo’s slight hesitation. She smiles. “Follow my rhythm, sweetheart.”

The two coordinate: Momo manipulates her gadgets to shield the nuclear core while Rina’s controlled Quirk attacks keep the heroes off-balance. Kaminari sparks wildly, misjudging the timing of her energy pulses. Jirou frowns, realizing her opponent is no ordinary villain.

Rina’s voice rises, not just as a sound, but as a vibrating, Quirk-infused command.

The building hums, energy arcs twisting in midair, creating a dazzling, rhythmic display. Even she feels the rush—not the applause of thousands, but the thrill of the challenge itself.

A small thought pierces her mind: This isn’t a stage. No one is worshipping me here. And yet… it feels real. Alive.

Her diva mask slips just slightly. Not her confidence, just her certainty. The stakes are genuine. Mistakes have consequences.

Kaminari leaps toward the nuclear core, sparks flaring. Rina reacts instantly, launching a controlled energy arrow that arcs perfectly in front of him, blocking his path. He staggers, eyes wide.

Rina no longer performing for an audience; she’s performing for survival, for victory.

Momo nods, understanding. Together, they create a coordinated push, their teamwork seamless, elegant, and deadly.

Finally, Kaminari and Jirou are forced to retreat, giving Murasaki and Momo a clear line to the nuclear core. Rina strums one final chord, sending a wave of vibration toward the core—enough for Momo to secure it.

The buzzer sounds. Victory.

Rina lowers her guitar, coattails settling around her. She exhales, realizing her heart is pounding—not from performance adrenaline, but from the intensity of real combat.

“Wow…” she mutters under her breath, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That… was exhilarating.”

Momo gives her a rare, impressed nod. “You fought beautifully. Controlled, precise. I can see why your Quirk is admired.”

Rina’s diva mask slides back into place, but just slightly softer, tempered by reality. “Of course, darling. But remember—there’s always room to improve.”

The heroes regroup, and even Kaminari, blinking in shock, mutters, “Wow… she’s amazing.”

Rina walks back with coattails floating, guitar glinting, purple aura humming faintly. She’s still Violet Crescendo—the diva, the idol—but now, something deeper stirs within her. The applause of fans is no longer enough. She craves the real stage, the one where skill, strategy, and heart determine success.

Her eyes flick toward her classmates, toward the path ahead. UA High doesn’t coddle idols. And she doesn’t need it.
Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The news breaks everywhere: All Might joins U.A. High School faculty. Social media explodes. News outlets swarm. The press descends like a storm.

Even before stepping onto campus, Murasaki Rina—Violet Crescendo, idol extraordinaire—feels the world pressing close. Flashbulbs pop, cameras whir, shouts of “Violet Crescendo!” echo off the walls of the entrance plaza.

Rina smiles. Naturally. Charismatically. Every step is a performance, coattails floating behind her, violet hair catching the light perfectly. Fans swarm, phones extended, hands outstretched. She signs autographs with a flourish, poses for pictures, tosses a wink here, a dramatic bow there.

“Darling, don’t be shy,” she calls, leaning forward gracefully as a group of younger fans squeal. “I live for moments like this!”

Meanwhile, the press pushes forward, trying to get a scoop on All Might himself. Their advance halts abruptly at the U.A. Barrier, a high-tech security gate shimmering faintly as it intercepts camera flashes and aggressive reporters alike. The world might demand to see her—but U.A. demands order.

Later during Lunch Rina slips into the mess hall to grab a quiet lunch—or at least, that’s the plan.

She sits, tray balanced carefully, and picks at a simple sandwich. For a moment, it feels almost normal. Almost…

Almost until the swarm hits.

Students from other classes, fans who snuck in, and even a few daring teachers push forward, all clamoring for autographs, selfies, or just a glimpse of her violet hair in real life.

“Oh my! Let’s make this quick!” Rina calls with a laugh, trying to maintain composure. She scribbles names across notebooks, poses for photos, and even signs a tray with a flourish that makes the kid holding it squeal in delight.

A week later at 12:50 in the afternoon when Aizawa’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of Class 1-A. “Today’s lesson in Foundational Skill of Heroics is the Trial of Rescue. We’re going to the USJ Facility.”

Rina perks up immediately. The Unforeseen Simulation Joint—an arena designed to mimic disasters, accidents, and chaos. Finally, something that’s not a stage, but feels almost like a performance in its scale and spectacle. She smooths her violet hair, adjusts the coattails of her hero costume, and slings her guitar-bow over her back.

Space Hero Thirteen steps forward, cape fluttering, voice booming. “Class 1-A! Today, you learn to wield your Quirks for the sake of human life. Your objective: prioritize survival, protect the innocent, and act decisively!”

Rina tilts her head, violet eyes bright. Protect human life… The words sting with a truth she hasn’t faced before. No applause. No cameras. Just real stakes.

Aizawa’s eyes narrow. A black portal rips open in the center of the facility, and dozens of villains pour through. Chaos erupts instantly.

Rina instinctively steps back, scanning the area with the practiced precision of an idol reading a crowd—but this is different. Panic, not excitement, radiates from the students.

“Class 1-A! Huddle together!” Aizawa commands. “Thirteen, protect them. I’ll handle this.”

Rina’s pulse quickens. Her hands tighten on the guitar-bow. She feels the familiar hum of her Quirk, but for the first time, it isn’t for show—it’s for survival, for strategy.

One villain sneers, “All Might was supposed to be here! Where is he?”

Aizawa stiffens. The infiltration is real. The barrier was breached. And the students—his responsibility—are in immediate danger.

Another villain scoffs, disappointment in their tone. “If he doesn’t show… maybe killing the children will draw him out.”

Rina freezes for just a fraction of a second. Then she squares her shoulders. Enough hesitation could mean death. She steps forward slightly, coattails flicking as her Quirk hums.

She whispers under her breath, not for anyone else, “Time to perform for real.”

Aizawa orders Thirteen to evacuate the students and alert the rest of the school. Rina nods, gripping her bow tightly, scanning the villains.

The air is tense as Thirteen rallies the students, urging them toward the exit.

Then a shadow stretches across the dome—Kurogiri. His presence is suffocating, the darkness of his Quirk curling like smoke around him.

“I am Kurogiri,” he announces smoothly, voice echoing in the cavernous hall. “You face the League of Villains. Our goal: to eliminate All Might.”

The words hit Class 1-A like a thunderclap. Fear snaps through them, a visceral shock that even seasoned trainees can feel.

Bakugo steps forward immediately, palms sparking. “Not happening!”

Kirishima hardens his skin. “We’re not letting you touch anyone!”

They rush Kurogiri together, but their attacks pass harmlessly through him. He seems untouchable, moving with fluid precision as if the laws of physics bend to his will.

Rina’s violet eyes widen, pulse accelerating. Her diva mask—the playful, confident façade—slides slightly, replaced by razor-sharp focus. She grips her guitar-bow, fingers strumming lightly. Her Quirk hums, ready to respond, but she realizes her usual flashy attacks won’t work against him.

The air shivers around her as Kurogiri’s smoke begins enveloping the students. Panic surges. But before she can react further, Kurogiri smirks and gestures, teleporting most of the students to different areas of the USJ.

Rina feels herself lift slightly as the air bends around her. Her hands clutch the guitar-bow. Violet aura flares, strumming a small pulse that hits the smoke in front of her, but the sensation of being isolated hits her like a spotlight swinging away mid-performance.

Rina lands hard, wobbling slightly as the smoky air of the USJ clears around her. The ground beneath her is littered with broken machinery, crates, and jagged metal beams. A collapsed factory zone—an industrial nightmare tailor-made for improvisation.

She glances around. No classmates. No audience. Just the eerie echo of distant shouts, the hum of villain Quirks, and her own heartbeat.

“So much for a duet,” she mutters under her breath, sliding her hand along the neck of her guitar-bow. Her violet aura flares faintly. “Time for a solo act.”

Rina clicks her boots. Tiny wheels snap out from the soles. In a flash, she glides forward, weaving effortlessly between fallen beams and crates. The movement is smooth, almost dance-like, as her expert skating skills kick in. Rollerblades allow her to cover ground quickly, dodge debris, and reposition for attacks without breaking rhythm.

A villain emerges from the shadows, swinging a jagged pipe. Rina pivots, gliding backward while strumming the guitar-bow. The pulse of energy arcs perfectly along the ground, knocking the villain off balance without harming him.

She spins, coattails flaring dramatically, violet streaks glinting on her tights as she skates past a stack of crates. Her Quirk hums, each strum sending a harmonic vibration that destabilizes unstable beams, clears pathways, and creates subtle traps for approaching enemies.

Rina narrows her eyes. This is unlike a concert, but she feels the same thrill: the precision, the timing, the rhythm. Survival becomes performance. Every pulse, every glide, every chord counts.

A pile of debris collapses near a corner. Rina ducks, pops a wheeled kick to redirect a falling beam, and skates backward along a narrow catwalk of twisted metal. “Improvisation is key,” she whispers, more to herself than anyone else.

Her violet aura pulses brighter as she lines up a series of energy arrows from her guitar-bow, striking in quick succession.

Each one hits a support beam just enough to block advancing villains, creating a miniature maze of obstacles.

Alone, but agile, controlled, and deadly. Her diva mask remains, but softened—this is no stage. This is hero work. This is her first true solo act at UA High.

She pauses atop a fallen conveyor belt, scanning the collapsed factory, violet hair drifting around her shoulders. The villains regroup below, but Rina smiles, teeth flashing, eyes sharp.

“Welcome to my stage.”

And with that, she pushes off, rollerblades spinning, ready to weave through the chaos, her Quirk pulsing in time with her every move.

After what feels like ages the smoke clears. The battlefield still reeks of scorched concrete and ozone, the echoes of the League of Villains’ retreat hanging in the air like a final note of a grim symphony.

Rina stands with the rest of Class 1-A outside the USJ, her hero costume torn at the coattails, streaks of grime smudged across the violet emblem on her chest. Her rollerblades clack softly as she shifts her weight from foot to foot—still restless, still buzzing with adrenaline.

She watches her classmates gather, voices rising in fragments of disbelief and shock. Laughter from Kaminari, nervous and brittle. Mina’s chatter, fast and shaky. Tsuyu’s steady concern. For once, Rina doesn’t try to outshine them. She just listens, her fingers brushing the strings of her guitar-bow absently, as if grounding herself with the familiar vibration.

Detective Tsukauchi’s arrival stills the group. His voice is steady, calm but heavy with the weight of reality.

“Your teachers and Midoriya are in critical condition,” he explains, “but not in any life-threatening positions.”

A breath she didn’t realize she was holding escapes Rina’s chest. Relief floods her, so sharp it feels like pain. She glances at Midoriya’s absence, then at Aizawa’s battered state still fresh in her memory.

The image of real heroes bleeding, fighting, nearly breaking—it lingers like a bruise on her thoughts.

Around her, the students exchange stories of their skirmishes, bursts of bravado covering trembling hands. Rina doesn’t add her own tale of the factory zone. For once, the diva mask doesn’t feel appropriate. She presses her lips together, violet hair sticking to her face in sweat-matted strands.

Still, when Kaminari cracks a joke to lighten the mood, she lets out a soft, shaky laugh, surprising even herself. The sound is quiet, stripped of glamour. Human.

Her gaze drifts skyward, following the faint trail of smoke curling above the USJ.

“Darling…” she whispers to no one, the word carrying none of its usual glitter, “that wasn’t a stage. That was survival.”

The realization sits heavy on her chest. For the first time since stepping foot into U.A., Rina Murasaki—the idol, the diva, the self-proclaimed Violet Crescendo—feels the weight of being just a student, just a beginner.

And for the first time, she wants to learn.

Chapter Text

“Class, take your seats,” Iida says, his voice clipped and precise, arms chopping through the air like he’s conducting a symphony only he understands.

Chairs scrape as the students shuffle into place, but the air is tense, restless. The events of the USJ still hang over them like smoke—none of them can quite forget the sight of villains, of real danger.

Then the door slides open.

A hush falls.

Aizawa steps inside, wrapped nearly head-to-toe in bandages, his scarf trailing behind him like a shadow. He looks fragile, but his presence commands the room instantly. Rina feels her chest tighten; seeing him like this, battered and scarred, is a reminder that the safety net is thinner than she’d thought. Still, he walks with the same grim resolve, his eyes sharp despite the bruises.

“Don’t worry about me,” Aizawa mutters, stopping at the podium. His tone is as flat as ever, but something in it makes the class lean closer. “Your battle isn’t over. The next one is coming—the U.A. Sports Festival.”

Gasps, cheers, and excited murmurs break out immediately. Kaminari throws his hands in the air with a grin. “Yes! Finally something fun after all that craziness!” Kirishima claps his fists together. “Let’s show ‘em our manliness!” Mina nearly bounces out of her chair. Even Ochaco—sweet, kind Ochaco—has a fire in her eyes, her determination burning brighter than anyone has seen from her before.

The classroom shifts from gloom to excitement in a heartbeat.

Rina sits back in her seat, arms folded, her violet hair cascading in soft waves down her back. She listens to the chatter, the way her classmates’ voices rise in overlapping bursts of ambition and hope. Slowly, her lips curl into a smirk, the kind that has sold out stadiums.

“A national stage,” she murmurs under her breath, savoring the words, “with the entire country watching… with top heroes scouting…”

Her fingers drum lightly against her desk, a steady rhythm—one-two-three-four—the beat of a crowd cheering, the rhythm of lights flashing against her. She doesn’t hear the buzz of the classroom anymore; she hears the roar of a stadium, thousands of voices screaming her name.

She tilts her chin, eyes half-lidded, and lets the smirk bloom into something radiant. “Darling…” she says softly, loud enough for those nearby to hear, “this isn’t just another event. This is my arena.”

Kaminari glances over, eyebrows lifting. “There she goes again,” he mutters with a grin. Mina giggles, elbowing Jirou, who rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the corner of her smile. Even Bakugou snorts from across the room, though whether it’s in amusement or annoyance is anyone’s guess.

Rina doesn’t care. Let them think her dramatic. Let them think her ridiculous. Because for her, the U.A. Sports Festival isn’t just training. It’s destiny.

Her violet eyes gleam with ambition as she pictures herself standing at the center of the arena, microphone replaced by her guitar-bow, lights shining down, the world watching. Not as Violet Crescendo the idol, not even as Murasaki Rina the diva—but as a hero in the making.

The USJ had been chaos, survival, a sobering taste of reality. But this? This is her chance to transform that harsh truth into something greater. To prove she belongs here—not because of fame or fans, but because of strength, skill, and the will to stand among heroes.

The curtain is rising, and Rina is ready to steal the show.

The final bell rings, and the atmosphere in Class 1-A is buzzing—half relief, half anticipation. The U.A. Sports Festival looms in their minds, but before anyone can even take a step outside the homeroom door, a wall of bodies blocks their way.

The hallway is crammed with students from other courses, their eyes sharp and calculating. Cameras and phones flash—some from fans who recognize Rina instantly, others from opportunistic students hoping to catch Class 1-A off guard.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, his usual scowl darkening. “Tch. Move it, extras, before I blow you all to bits.”

A tall purple haired student from the General Department doesn’t flinch. Instead, he smirks and raises his voice so all of 1-A can hear. “You think you’re untouchable because you fought villains? Don’t get cocky. Some of us can transfer into the Hero Course if we prove ourselves at the Sports Festival. And guess what? That means if we rise… some of you fall.” His eyes lock directly on Midoriya, then flick toward Rina, almost daring her.

Gasps and murmurs ripple through the crowd, but before Rina can even open her mouth, a loud, almost theatrical voice cuts through. It’s a boy from Class 1-B, brimming with bravado. “Class 1-A! You strut around like celebrities after one villain attack! Don’t you dare embarrass U.A. at the festival—we won’t forgive arrogance!”

Some of 1-A bristle at the words, others shrink back. Izuku stands frozen, realization dawning on him: he isn’t the only one chasing greatness. The whole school is.

Meanwhile, Rina feels the heat of dozens of gazes on her. Some are admiring, glittering with fandom. Others are sharp, jealous, even hostile. She knows this look—it’s the same glare rival idols have given her on stage, the kind that says I want to take your spotlight for myself.

She flashes her trademark idol smile, a practiced curve of her lips that hides the steel beneath. “Oh my,” she says lightly, brushing a lock of violet hair from her face. “So many challengers already… guess the Sports Festival really will be the biggest stage of them all.” She doesn’t raise her voice, but somehow everyone hears her anyway. A few students scowl, knowing she’s not intimidated in the slightest.

Bakugo snarls. “Quit smirking, Pop Princess. This isn’t your damn concert—it’s survival.”

She doesn’t flinch, only tilts her head and says, “Aren’t they the same thing, Bakugo-kun?”

The tension crackles like static until Aizawa lazily intervenes, pushing past the wall of students with his usual disinterested glare. “You’re all too loud. Get lost before I expel you all for harassment.” His words, flat and simple, carry weight. The crowd disperses reluctantly, though not without lingering stares and whispered promises of rivalry.

The academy dives into feverish training. Everyone in Class 1-A hones their Quirks, their techniques, their stamina—each one pushing themselves to the brink for the chance to shine at the Sports Festival.

But Murasaki Rina’s path looks different.

For her, the next two weeks are a whirlwind of airports, arenas, and neon lights. Her management schedules an international tour—her face plastered on billboards in Tokyo, Seoul, Los Angeles. She takes the stage night after night in glittering costumes, her voice carrying through packed stadiums, energy arrows lighting up the stage as part of her set. Fans scream her name, cameras flash endlessly, and she smiles through it all, the perfect idol.

Yet backstage, when the makeup comes off and the roar of the crowd fades, her thoughts always drift back to U.A. She watches shaky fan-recorded clips of her classmates training, sometimes during long flights. She replays her own fight at the USJ in her head, critiquing her skating moves, her bow techniques. Between concerts, she sneaks in midnight training sessions—alone on empty runways, her wheels sparking across asphalt, arrows splitting the night air.

The Sports Festival is more than a competition. For her, it’s the collision of two worlds: the idol who lives for the crowd’s cheers, and the hero who fights for lives in silence.

And Rina fully intends to turn that arena into her stage.

Chapter Text

The day of the U.A. Sports Festival dawns bright and heavy with anticipation. The stadium is packed—tens of thousands of spectators, the flashing lights of cameras, and the buzzing of drones capturing every angle for the national broadcast. Security is airtight, with Pro Heroes stationed at every corner, and police patrolling the gates. This isn’t just a school event; it’s a nationwide spectacle.

Inside the waiting room, Class 1-A is gathered. The tension is thick, but it manifests in different ways—some bounce on their heels, some sit cross-legged and focused, some fidget nervously.

Murasaki Rina, however, sits with the calm poise of someone who’s used to this kind of attention. To her, this feels like just another concert—another stage to dominate. She smooths out her hero costume, adjusts the strap of her guitar-bow on her back, and smirks at her classmates.

“Darling, they don’t even know what’s about to hit them,” she whispers under her breath, though this time, the word carries more quiet determination than arrogance.

At last, the call comes. Class 1-A files out in formation, their boots and shoes striking against the tunnel floor. The roar of the crowd grows louder with each step until finally, they emerge into the sunlight, stepping onto the Freshmen Stage.

The stadium erupts. Fans scream names, wave banners, and chant. And though many cheer for pro-heroes-to-be like Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki, a loud contingent of voices cry out for Violet Crescendo.

Flashes blind her for a moment as fans press signs with her name and likeness into the air.

The other first-year classes pour out as well, each group sizing up the others with sharp glances and whispered comments. The spotlight, however, quickly shifts to the center of the arena where Midnight, clad in her usual provocative attire, raises her whip-like microphone.

“Welcome, everyone, to the Freshmen Stage of the U.A. Sports Festival!” she calls, her voice amplified across the stadium. “We’re kicking things off with our player representative!”

She scans the groups dramatically, eyes landing on Katsuki Bakugou.

Bakugou strides forward with the confidence of a bomb primed to detonate, shoulders squared, his trademark scowl plastered on his face. The crowd murmurs with curiosity, then falls into silence as Midnight gestures for him to speak.

Bakugou grips the microphone. His crimson eyes sweep over the sea of students and spectators, unflinching. “I’m gonna take first place.”

The statement is blunt, but it hits like a grenade. Gasps, scoffs, and angry shouts ripple through the other classes. Students from General Studies and Support Department mutter curses. Class 1-B’s voices rise the loudest, rebuking his arrogance.

“Who the hell does he think he is?!” someone yells.

“Cocky bastard!” another adds.

The entire arena buzzes with energy—anger, rivalry, and determination ignited all at once.

From her spot, Rina tilts her head, amused. The sheer gall of Bakugou makes her smirk. “Well,” she murmurs to Yaoyorozu beside her, “he certainly knows how to set the stage.” Her tone drips with irony, but inside, she recognizes the tactic: this is exactly how you rile up a crowd. Idol or not, Bakugou understands performance.

Midoriya, however, looks stricken. He knows Bakugou isn’t posturing—he’s dead serious. And with those words, Bakugou hasn’t just declared war on the entire freshman class… he’s painted a massive target on Class 1-A.

Rina flicks her purple hair back, eyes scanning the fiery glares from the other classes now zeroed in on her group. She feels the weight of the crowd, the cameras, the competition—and smiles. For her, this isn’t a threat. It’s an opportunity.

Another stage. Another performance. And this time, the whole world is watching.

The preliminaries are announced. Midnight’s voice rings over the stadium, amplified, teasingly dramatic. “Freshmen, your first event: the Obstacle Race! Nearly four kilometers of challenges, hazards, and obstacles. Only the fastest and most skilled will prevail!”

Rina’s violet eyes glint under the stadium lights. Four kilometers? A long stage, a perfect arena. Her rollerblade shoes snap open with a soft click, wheels spinning smoothly beneath her feet.

“Darling…” she murmurs, flexing her fingers over her guitar-bow strapped to her back, “time to dance.”

As the race begins, chaos erupts. Students jostle for position, muscles straining, Quirks flaring. Todoroki freezes the ground with a sweep of his ice, catching dozens of students in jagged traps. Rina adjusts immediately, skates snapping sideways along the edge of the ice, gliding past the frozen students with precise, fluid movements. Her rollerblade expertise keeps her balanced, nimble, and ahead of potential disasters.

The first obstacle appears: a line of Villain Robots from the Entrance Exam, spinning and clanking. The stadium gasps at the mechanical monstrosities. Todoroki freezes many of them, sending debris crashing into the field. Others struggle around the wreckage, but Rina spins, launching a rapid volley of violet energy arrows from her guitar-bow. Each arrow hits strategically, toppling robots and creating a clear path. Her movements are rhythmic, almost choreographed—one fluid roll, a spin, a sharp pivot, and a perfectly timed arrow.

As they reach The Fall, the canyon with narrow ropes stretching across dizzying heights, Rina doesn’t hesitate. She lands on the first rope with the grace of a professional skater, using her balance and core strength to roll and pivot, gliding forward with incredible speed. Her violet hair streams behind her, coattails flaring like a cape. Around her, other students wobble and sway, some nearly falling. She maneuvers past them effortlessly, her eyes scanning the next section.

Todoroki is already far ahead, Bakugou close behind. Rina’s gaze flicks toward them. She doesn’t panic. She isn’t racing to beat them yet—she’s racing to perform, to move with flawless precision. Every twist, turn, and strafe is calculated to maintain maximum momentum.

The final stretch approaches: The Land Mine Field. Todoroki’s careful steps slow him slightly, and Bakugou blasts through with ease.

Rina inhales, then pushes off her rollerblades, using the momentum to weave in serpentine arcs, her violet energy arrows hovering in ready positions. One tap of the string destabilizes a cluster of mine simulators ahead, clearing a safe path. She glides over the field like dancing on stage, every movement dramatic, precise, and efficient.

Finally, she rockets across the finish line, wheels screeching on the stadium floor. She places… somewhere solidly in the top tier, though not first. Her pulse races, not with disappointment, but exhilaration.

The roar of the crowd, the clamor of cameras, the flashing lights—it’s like performing on the grandest stage imaginable, except this time, every move carries risk beyond mere applause.

Rina skates off to the side, brushing a stray strand of violet hair from her face, and smirks at the chaos around her. Darling… what a stage. I could get used to this.

Even in a race where the top three spots are claimed by Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugou, Rina has made her mark. Her performance is fluid, daring, and undeniably memorable—a dazzling display of skill, agility, and Quirk mastery that leaves a lasting impression on spectators and classmates alike.

Chapter Text

The dust from the Obstacle Race hasn’t even settled when Midnight’s voice cuts across the stadium. “The top 42 students advance! The rest… better luck next time!”

Rina scans the leaderboard, violet eyes flicking across names and positions. She smirks, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Top 42… excellent. She knows her performance in the Obstacle Race wasn’t first, but it’s enough. And she’s ready for her next act.

Midnight announces the second event: The Cavalry Battle. Teams of 2–4, points awarded by headbands taken. The rules are clear, strategic, and high-stakes. Midoriya’s 10-million-point value shocks even him, and Rina can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the sheer drama of it all.

The 15-minute team negotiation begins. Students scatter in groups, discussing alliances, strategies, and mutual benefits. Bakugou barks orders to anyone who will listen. Todoroki stands aloof, calculating potential teammates.

Rina glides through the crowd on her rollerblades, smooth, confident, and undeniably noticeable. Heads turn—some in awe, some in annoyance. She stops beside Yaoyorozu Momo, who is quietly evaluating potential alliances.

“Darling,” Rina purrs, letting the word slip naturally, “we could make a perfectly elegant team. Strategic, deadly, and stylish.” She twirls a strand of violet hair around her finger, her smirk playful but calculating.

Yaoyorozu raises an eyebrow. “I see… and you have a plan?”

“Of course,” Rina says, tapping her guitar-bow strapped to her back. “We’ll glide through this battle like a performance. Precision, timing, coordination… and flair, naturally.”

Other students glance their way, murmuring. Rina doesn’t care; part of her strategy is presence—intimidation, confidence, and a dash of spectacle. Her Quirk, combined with rollerblade mobility and her long-range energy arrows, makes her a formidable asset.

As team negotiations wrap up, Rina finds herself paired with Yaoyorozu and a smaller support-oriented classmate who nods nervously at her. She smiles, violet hair bouncing with the movement. “Darling… don’t worry. Just follow my lead, and we’ll make this look effortless.”

Though the details of the Cavalry Battle blur for the rest of the class, Rina’s strategy is clear in her mind: glide, strike, defend, and shine. Every move calculated for maximum efficiency and impact, like a perfectly choreographed idol performance on the grandest stage imaginable—except this stage carries real stakes, and every cheer, gasp, and flash of camera is a potential lifeline or distraction.

Even as chaos erupts around her and other teams clash, Rina’s violet aura pulses with confidence, energy arrows at the ready, rollerblades spinning, and mind perfectly tuned to the rhythm of battle. She may not be the fastest in raw speed, but her combination of skill, precision, and performance instinct ensures that every move she makes commands attention and respect.

The Cavalry Battle ends, leaving the stadium in a charged silence. Spectators sip water, stretch, and murmur excitedly, but the center of attention shifts once again. A single spotlight snaps on, focusing on the entrance to the stage area.
Rina rolls forward on her rollerblades, guitar-bow strapped to her back, violet hair catching the sunlight. The announcer’s voice echoes:

“And now… a special performance by Murasaki Rina, also known as Violet Crescendo!”

The stadium erupts. Cameras flash. Fans scream her name. The diva steps onto the stage, her presence commanding the field like a seasoned performer ready for the grandest show of her life.

The first beat of “IDOL” by YOASOBI hits. Rina’s voice cuts through the stadium, clear, bold, and mesmerizing:
“Muteki no egao de arasu MEDIA…”

She spins on her rollerblades, striking poses in rhythm with the song. Energy arrows flare from her guitar-bow, tracing arcs of violet light that dazzle the audience like fireworks timed perfectly to the music. Every line she sings—“Shiritai sono himitsu MISUTERIASU”—is delivered with precise enunciation, commanding attention, her voice bouncing between sweet and powerful in perfect harmony.

She glides across the stage, leaning and pivoting on her rollerblades, arrows shooting strategically to mark the rhythm and highlight her movements. “Kanpeki de usotsukina kimi wa, Tensai-tekina IDOL-sama…” Her voice is playful, teasing, yet filled with authority, every note carrying her idol persona into the hearts of the spectators.

Her performance is more than singing—it’s a full spectacle. She launches into the chorus, skating faster, weaving intricate patterns across the stage, energy arrows pulsing in sync with her vocals:

“Daremoga-me o ubawa rete iku, Kimi wa kanpeki de kyuukyoku no IDOL…”

Fans wave banners, cameras flash, and classmates watch in a mixture of awe and envy. Midoriya’s eyes widen. Bakugou grits his teeth, scowling but unable to look away. Todoroki’s gaze follows every precise movement, faintly impressed.

Rina’s body flows with the music, rollerblades propelling her in spins and slides, energy arrows exploding into violet arcs, perfectly timed with the next verses:
“Tokui no egao de wakasu MEDIA, Kakushi kiru kono himitsu DAKE WA…”

Even as she performs, her mind remains alert. Each movement is calculated for balance, each arrow’s trajectory precise—not just for spectacle, but in case a real threat appears. The crowd sees only performance, but Rina’s hero instincts remain sharp, a perfect blend of idol and emerging pro hero.

By the final verse, her energy pulses brighter than ever. She leaps into a spin, releasing a final volley of energy arrows as she belts out:

“A~ yatto ieta kore wa zettai, uso janai Aishiteru!”

The stadium explodes into applause. Cameras capture every angle. Fans scream, cheering, waving signs, and chanting her name. Even her classmates in Class 1-A feel a jolt of pride—and awe.

Rina bows deeply, violet hair swaying, rollerblades squeaking against the stage floor. She glides off with the ease of someone born to perform, leaving the stadium buzzing, everyone knowing they just witnessed something unforgettable.

For Rina, it isn’t just a break between battles—it’s her stage. And on every stage, she’s unstoppable.

Chapter Text

The tension in the air is electric as Midnight cracks her whip against the stadium floor, hips cocked as she announces the changes to the tournament lineup. Ojiro steps forward, back straight despite the embarrassment coloring his face. His words are steady but heavy: manipulated by Shinsou, unworthy to continue, dignity over opportunity.

The crowd gasps. Some jeer, others applaud his honesty. Mina leaps up, trying to convince him to stay, Toru waves her invisible hands like frantic streamers, but Mashirao just shakes his head. “My decision’s final,” he says, and the arena buzzes like a hive.

Then Shoda from Class 1-B bows with solemn grace, explaining that he doesn’t deserve the spot. The audience murmurs in surprise again, but Midnight eats it up, twirling her whip with a wicked grin. “How gallant! How chivalrous! Boys and girls, let’s hear it for his sense of honor!”

The replacements are announced, and when Kendo passes her slot down to Tetsutetsu, the steel-skinned boy lets out a roar that rattles the stadium. Fans stomp their feet and cheer, the whole thing turning into a sideshow before the main spectacle.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, Midnight gestures to the giant screens above the arena. “Now! Let’s see how our brave students will face off in the tournament event!” The screens flicker, names shuffling, pairings slotting into place.

But even as the crowd reacts to the matchups, a new voice blares through the speakers: Present Mic, practically shouting himself hoarse.

“YOOOOO, HERO FANS! Before we dive into the tournament—U.A. has lined up some extra special recreational activities to get you FIRED UP!”

The stadium floor transforms in minutes. Booths spring up along the concourse, stalls offering food and games, and most importantly, autograph tables lined with U.A. branding. But only one of those tables has a line stretching so far it loops around the plaza twice.

That’s because it isn’t just a student sitting there.

It’s Violet Crescendo.

The roar that greets her is deafening, almost shaking the steel beams of the arena itself. Fans scream her name—“Vioooolletttt!!” “Rinaaa-chan!!”—like they’re at a sold-out dome tour. The chants overlap, echoing across the concourse.

She sits beneath a banner emblazoned with her four-leaf clover insignia, stage lights rigged hastily but perfectly framing her in a halo of radiance. Her hero costume gleams under the spotlights: the white sleeveless turtleneck hugging her figure, the bold clover across her chest practically glowing, her electric-blue tights catching every camera flash, her white boots sharp and striking. The guitar-bow rests at her side like a statement piece, part weapon, part prop, part legend.

And then—her smile. That practiced, flawless idol smile that feels like it’s aimed at every single person in the crowd individually. The noise spikes instantly.

Fans sob. Reporters scramble for better angles. Even students from other classes jostle closer, desperate for just a glimpse.

“Thank you, thank you so much for waiting!” she sings out, her voice carrying clear and strong, trained to soar over arenas like this. “I’m so happy to see you all! Let’s make this festival shine together, okay?”

The line moves like molasses, but no one complains. Every fan who steps up to her table receives the same bright treatment—a signed notebook, a quick pose for a picture, a soft laugh at their shaky words.

She doesn’t rush. She knows the rhythm of this game: make each interaction feel personal, like there’s no one else in the world but her and the person across from her.

A little girl clutching a glowstick bursts into tears when she finally stands in front of the table. Rina leans forward, pressing a finger to her lips in playful surprise, before signing the girl’s cap with a flourish and gently patting her head. “You’re shining brighter than me right now,” she teases, and the girl’s sobs dissolve into a beaming smile.

The audience watching from afar melts. The press surges forward, flashes firing like fireworks. Present Mic howls from the speakers: “THE CROWD IS LOSING THEIR MIND FOR VIOLET CRESCENDO! U.A.’s got stars, baby, STARS!”

Students from General Studies and Support hover on the edges, muttering about how unfair it is, how her fame pulls the spotlight, but none can deny the sheer pull of her presence. Even some of the pro heroes supervising pause to watch, chuckling as they shake their heads.

Rina poses effortlessly for pictures—peace sign with a wink, finger-heart over her cheek, clasped hands with fans leaning over the barrier. The screams rise with every movement, a tidal wave of sound that makes the festival feel less like a sports event and more like a live concert.

And then—just as the line seems endless—an announcement cuts through the noise. “All students participating in the tournament event, please return to the arena!”

The crowd groans, desperate for more, but Rina knows how to end on a high note. She rises gracefully, skating forward a few feet on her hidden wheels before bowing low, clover insignia catching the light. “Thank you for coming to see me today!” she calls, her voice ringing clear. “But the real show is only just beginning. Please cheer for me with everything you’ve got—I’ll turn this arena into our stage!”

The screams are thunderous. Fans wave banners, phones, and glowsticks. Some chant her name, others cry, and a few faint from sheer excitement.

As she glides toward the tunnel leading back into the stadium, the roar follows her, echoing down the hall, vibrating in her chest like the last note of a song. The idol is gone for now—but the heroine is about to take the stage.

And the entire stadium is watching.

~A few matches later~

The stadium shakes as the next match is announced.

“Murasaki Rina versus Kaminari Denki!”

The crowd roars. Some fans are already chanting “Violet! Violet!” waving homemade signs with glitter and neon ink. Even though she’s only wearing the plain U.A. P.E. uniform, she struts into the ring as if it were a concert stage.

Kaminari hops in after her, sparks flickering along his fingertips. He grins nervously, but loudly declares, “Sorry, Rina, but I’m not holding back! I’ll short you out before you get the chance to sing.”

Rina twirls a strand of her violet hair and smirks. “Darling, my voice doesn’t need time. The show begins the moment I breathe.”

The buzzer blares.

Kaminari wastes no time. Lightning crackles over his arms, dancing in wild arcs. He lunges forward, firing off a burst of electricity straight at her. The yellow sparks lash toward Rina like snapping whips.

She doesn’t dodge. Instead, she opens her mouth and sings.

Her voice rings out, smooth and powerful, the sound rippling through the air in waves. Her Quirk: Resonance takes hold — every note carries a physical vibration that manipulates soundwaves and pressure.

The arc of electricity strikes the wall of vibrating sound around her and skids off course, sparking harmlessly into the ground. The crowd gasps.

“Whoa, she just… sang his lightning away?!” someone shouts.

Rina grins mid-note and pushes her song louder. Each sustained pitch amplifies into a resonant barrier, rippling like glass struck by a fingertip.

Kaminari snarls, charging again. “Then I’ll just fry the whole ring!”

He sends a wide electrical discharge crackling across the arena floor, sparks jumping like wildfire. The crowd shields their eyes as arcs flare dangerously close to the barrier walls.

Rina slides back a few steps, then suddenly cuts her voice — only to restart with a fierce, high-pitched belt.

“♪ Violet Crescendo! ♪” she cries, unleashing a wave of sound so strong the ground vibrates. Her offensive mode erupts: a concussive blast of compressed soundwaves.

The shockwave collides with the electrical field. For a moment, sound and lightning battle in midair, one bright, one loud. Then, her resonance destabilizes the arcs — each spark flickers, disperses, and vanishes in a shower of harmless static.

Kaminari’s jaw drops. “N-no way—”
Rina doesn’t give him a chance to recover. She shifts seamlessly into a faster, rhythmic melody. Each note she sings pulses outward, tripping his balance, shaking his muscles with micro-vibrations. It’s not just noise — it’s targeted resonance, shaking his body from the inside out.

Kaminari stumbles, sparks firing randomly. His knees wobble. “Wh-what is this—my body won’t—”

Rina winks. “Darling, that’s the beat. And you’re dancing off-time.”

She inhales deeply, spinning in place as her song swells into a dazzling high note. The sound pressure booms outward, slamming into Kaminari’s chest like a physical force. The impact blows him off his feet, skidding across the arena floor in a cloud of dust and sparks.

The buzzer sounds.

Winner: Murasaki Rina!

The crowd explodes into cheers. Fans leap from their seats, waving glowsticks, screaming her idol name louder than ever.
“VIOLET! VIOLET!”

Rina bows gracefully, brushing imaginary dust from her plain uniform as if she’s wearing a glittering stage costume. With a playful tilt of her head, she blows a kiss to the cameras.

“Every battlefield,” she purrs into the roar of the crowd, “is just another stage.”

Kaminari, twitching on the ground, raises a shaky thumbs-up. “You… totally rocked me…” before falling flat in a comic daze.

The announcer laughs. The audience is eating it up. And now, no one doubts it anymore: Rina’s voice is her weapon, her shield, and her spotlight.

~A few matches later~

The stadium shakes with applause as Midnight announces the next match.

“Tenya Iida versus Murasaki Rina!”

The crowd erupts. On one side, the class rep, gleaming in his plain P.E. uniform, his calves already trembling with the whine of his Engines revving up. On the other side, Violet Crescendo herself, flipping her hair back, grinning as fans scream her name from every corner of the stands.

“VIOLET! VIOLET! VIOLET!”

Rina gives them a wave and struts onto the stage like it’s a concert runway. Even in a plain tracksuit, she has the aura of someone drenched in spotlights.

Iida adjusts his glasses and bows formally. “Murasaki! I will not underestimate you. You’ve already proven your voice can rival lightning itself. But I cannot falter — I will give this match my absolute best!”

Rina smirks, lifting her chin. “That’s all I ask, darling. Let’s give them a performance worth remembering.”

The buzzer sounds.

Iida explodes forward in a blur of speed. His engines roar, kicking up dust and nearly shaking the arena floor apart. In an instant, he’s right in front of her, swinging a powerful kick.

But Rina is ready. She opens with a sharp, cutting note. The soundwave ripples outward, intercepting his kick mid-swing. The impact doesn’t stop him completely, but it staggers him just enough to make him skid sideways instead of landing cleanly.

The crowd gasps.

“Did she just redirect him with her voice?!”

Rina keeps singing, her resonance layering into a shimmering sound shield around her body. Every step Iida takes closer, the vibrations buffet his balance.

But Iida doesn’t break stride. He adjusts instantly, zig-zagging in bursts of speed. His glasses flash as he locks onto her. “Your Quirk is incredible, but—” He vanishes in a blur, reappearing behind her.
“—you cannot hit what you cannot catch!”

Rina spins, cutting her song mid-verse and blasting out a rapid-fire staccato of notes. Each pulse hits the floor, creating shockwave bursts that ripple out like landmines. Iida is forced to leap and weave between them, but his engines keep him faster than her rhythm.

The crowd is on their feet. Every time she belts out a note, the sound physically rocks the arena; every time he moves, he’s a streak of blue and white lightning-fast legs.

Rina raises her voice into a high, piercing note, the arena shaking under the force. A full-on crescendo blast rockets outward, slamming into Iida head-on. He braces, sliding back on his heels, sparks flying from his engines as he resists the wave of sound.

For a moment, it looks like she’s got him. The audience screams.

But Iida roars back, cranking his engines to full throttle. “RECIPRO BURST!”

The sound barrier shatters as he rockets forward, faster than the eye can follow. Before Rina can draw another breath, he’s in front of her. His palm slams into her shoulder — not a damaging blow, but a clean, decisive push.

She goes flying backward, tumbling across the arena floor until she skids just outside the ring.

Buzzer! Winner: Tenya Iida!

The crowd explodes again, half in cheers for Iida’s blazing speed, half still screaming Rina’s idol name.

Flat on her back, Rina sits up with a sheepish laugh, brushing dust from her uniform. “Well,” she sighs, tossing her hair back, “that’s one way to cut the music.”

Iida jogs over immediately, offering her a hand. “You fought valiantly, Murasaki. Truly, your voice is as formidable as it is inspiring.”

Rina accepts the hand with a grin, letting him help her up. “And you, darling, were simply too fast for my encore. Consider me impressed.”

The audience roars again as the two bow to each other — Rina soaking in the applause like it’s a sold-out dome concert, even in defeat.

The stadium buzzes with applause, the sun catching on banners and glittering signs. Class 1-A stands together, sweaty and exhausted, yet alive with adrenaline.

Rina’s eyes immediately lock on the podium as the winners step forward—Tokoyami, Todoroki, and… Bakugou.

Her stomach drops.

Bakugou is chained, his arms bound in heavy locks, his body wrapped around a wooden log, a face mask covering him.

Panic flickers across his features. His eyes widen, teeth clenching, trembling as if the restraints themselves are suffocating him. Rina’s heart clenches. She feels a surge of fury she hasn’t experienced since her first encounter with unfair crowds at her concerts.

“No, no, no! This is ridiculous!” she hisses under her breath. Her voice is too quiet to reach anyone over the stadium’s roar, but it trembles with the indignation of someone who knows what it means to be publicly humiliated.

Fans notice immediately. Some scream her name—“VIOLET! VIOLET!”—but her gaze doesn’t waver. They think she’s excited; really, she’s angry. How can the first-place winner be displayed like a criminal? Her hands clench at her sides.

All Might steps forward, larger than life, his smile cutting through the tension. He hands Tokoyami his medal, congratulates him warmly, and pats him on the back.

Rina watches Tokoyami’s reserved nod and shy smile. Good. He deserves it.

Todoroki’s turn comes next. All Might hands him his medal, praising him for his strength and for learning to confront his own limitations. Todoroki’s eyes meet Rina’s briefly, and she gives him a small, encouraging nod. He fought well, and she respects it.

Then… Bakugou.

Her hands tighten again, manicured nails pressing into her palms. The sight of him restrained makes her feel physically sick.

Chains, muzzle, a wooden log—he looks like he’s being punished instead of celebrated. Her instincts scream. She wants to rush forward, rip the chains off herself, and throw them to the side.
“No! That’s not him! He’s not—”

But before she can step, All Might lifts the mask from Bakugou’s face. The blond shouts, half in panic, half in frustration.
“I don’t deserve to be number one! That match—wasn’t even—”

Rina grits her teeth, anger boiling. She knows Bakugou. She’s seen him fight, push, sweat, and bleed to earn every ounce of recognition. To see him displayed like this… it stings in a way only someone who understands the weight of public scrutiny can feel.

All Might’s voice booms, warm and reassuring: “Society will acknowledge him as number one, even if he does not!”

Rina exhales slowly, feeling some of the tension ease—but not all. She knows the lesson here is about perspective, about public image versus personal feelings, yet the image she saw first—Bakugou restrained—will not leave her.

All Might hands him the medal, and for a brief moment, Rina watches Bakugou’s eyes flicker with disbelief, relief, and pride all at once. She imagines the chains breaking in her mind, replaced by cheers and applause instead.

Then All Might raises both arms high, calling out: “Great work! Congratulations to everyone!”

The stadium erupts. Fans scream, banners wave, and the entire arena vibrates with energy. Rina lets herself smile, her own cheer joining the cacophony. But inside, her mind is spinning. This isn’t a concert. It isn’t a stage she can control. She can’t just fix things with a note or a performance.

And yet…

The fire in her chest won’t die. She clenches her fists and whispers to herself, almost like a vow:

“If I ever become a hero, I’ll make sure no one ever feels this humiliated in front of everyone. Not even first-place winners.”

The crowd keeps screaming her name anyway—“VIOLET! VIOLET!”—and she lets herself take it in, a small reminder that she’s still on a stage of her own. For now, she bows gracefully to the cheering audience, a performer and a hero-in-training, watching her classmates stand tall and proud.

The sun glints off the medals. She swallows, straightens, and keeps her focus forward. The festival ends, but her story… her real performance is just beginning.

Chapter Text

The next day the morning sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Rina’s penthouse, painting the room in warm gold. Her apartment is a reflection of her life—luxurious yet practical, diva and hero intertwined. Plush violet carpets cover the floors, velvet cushions scatter around a low glass table, and sleek shelves hold trophies, posters, and mementos from her performances. A wall-mounted sound system hums softly, ready for impromptu rehearsals, while a corner microphone stand gleams under the sunlight. Beside it, her rollerblades rest neatly, wheels still polished and ready for action.

Against one wall leans a worn, small guitar—the one she played at the plaza back when she was an orphan. Its scratched body and faded strings are a silent testament to how far she’s come. On a shelf above it sits a tiny framed photo of the orphanage, tucked among glittering awards and colorful memorabilia. Rina traces her fingers across the guitar absently, letting memories of her early struggles mingle with the present triumphs.

Stretching luxuriously on her velvet sofa, Rina breathes in the morning air scented lightly with lavender. Two days off. No festival. No rival eyes. Just her. Breakfast is a simple, elegant affair: a plate of fresh fruit, croissants, and sparkling water served on a silver tray beside the window. She hums a soft note while eating, testing her quirk even in the quiet of her apartment, feeling the subtle vibrations pulse through her chest.

By late morning, she flips on a camera for a quick livestream. Fans immediately flood the chat with messages, their excitement practically crackling through the screen.
“Darling fans,” she purrs, tilting her head, “thank you for waiting all weekend. Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

Her replies are playful, her laughter light, her tone teasing. She signs digital autographs, answers questions, and belts a few quick riffs. Even casually, her quirk resonates, sending tiny vibrations through the floor and making a decorative figurine tremble. She smiles, knowing the power of her voice is both performance and protection.

By afternoon, Rina straps on her rollerblades and glides across the polished floors, spinning and weaving with effortless grace. She practices long, sustained notes while skating, timing herself, testing her stamina, experimenting with pitch and power, letting her quirk respond naturally. In these moments, her penthouse is both stage and training ground, a private arena where she can push limits without judgment.

Later, she ventures to a quiet campus plaza for more open-air rehearsal. Her rollerblades click against the pavement as she sings powerful, resonant notes. The sound carries, vibrating the air in rhythmic pulses, and even alone, she imagines cheering fans and flashing cameras.

Between spins, she pauses to glance at her old guitar, a reminder of the days she played for coins, dreaming of something bigger.

Evening falls, and Rina retreats to the rooftop terrace. The city stretches below like a glittering stage. Leaning against the railing, she closes her eyes and hums softly—a delicate, lilting melody that flows across the skyline. Her quirk responds subtly, vibrating the air, a whisper of power without combat. Here, she feels both serene and alive, a hero and an idol at once.

Night descends, and she curls into a lavender-scented bath, letting the warmth soothe her muscles and vocal cords. She hums quietly, reflecting on the Sports Festival—the cheering fans, Bakugou’s restrained panic, her own exhilaration on stage—and how far she’s come.

Before bed, she journals: costume sketches, quirk strategies, choreography blending heroics and performance. Her apartment, luxurious as it is, still contains tokens of her past: the worn guitar, a small photo of the orphanage, a faded ribbon from her first performance. These keepsakes remind her that her strength and talent were built, not given.

Finally, she slips into bed, surrounded by plush pillows and the soft hum of her quirk lingering in the air. Two days off, yet she feels sharper, stronger, more alive than ever. In her mind, she’s already back on stage, commanding soundwaves and dazzling fans while dodging sparks in combat.

Her last thought before sleep: “One day, I’ll make every battlefield feel like my stage—and everyone will see that even heroes can be idols.”

Chapter Text

The train sways gently as it cuts through the city, but the quiet hum of the tracks is completely drowned out by the murmur of voices rising all around Murasaki Rina.

Word travels quickly—after all, it’s not every day that Japan’s most talked-about idol, fresh off the U.A. Sports Festival, takes public transport instead of being chauffeured in a limousine. Phones come out in a flurry, camera flashes dot the car like strobe lights, and a few bolder fans crowd closer with notebooks and markers.

“Violet Crescendo! Over here, one picture, please!”

“You were amazing at the Festival! Can I get an autograph?”

Rina adjusts her sunglasses with a fluid, practiced motion, the kind that says she’s used to being the center of a spectacle.

She offers a dazzling smile—bright but measured—signing playbills, arms, even a train ticket or two. It’s equal parts exhausting and intoxicating, but she endures it with the poise of someone who knows her image is half her power.

She leans against the train pole, humming softly under her breath as the crowd around her swells, her voice lilting enough to make even the hectic space feel lighter.

By the time she steps off the train and approaches U.A.’s towering gates, she’s trailed by whispers and lingering camera clicks. The sight of her uniform makes it clear: despite the stardom, she is here as a student first.

Inside Class 1-A, the buzz hasn’t died down. Her classmates are already chatting animatedly about how much attention the Sports Festival brought them. A few of them glance at her knowingly—after all, she was the main event for much of the press frenzy afterward.

Mina bounces in her seat talking about sponsorships, Kaminari jokes about how he should start signing autographs too, and Bakugou scowls in his corner, muttering about “extras getting cocky.”

The door slides open. Aizawa enters, now free of his bandages, his usual dead-eyed expression unchanging. His mere presence sucks the chatter out of the air like a vacuum. “Back to your seats,” he says, voice flat. The students scramble to obey.

He explains today’s lesson: hero names. For once, the class sits upright, eyes sparkling with anticipation. The idea of naming themselves, branding themselves, makes everything suddenly feel more real.
But then, Aizawa produces the nomination tallies, and the room holds its breath.

The results flash on the board.

Murasaki Rina: the highest number of nominations. By far.
Shoto Todoroki: second.
Katsuki Bakugou: third.
The rest trail behind.

Rina can feel all eyes swivel toward her. Some are impressed, others jealous, but most are simply in awe. She crosses one leg over the other, maintaining her calm exterior, but inside, there’s a flicker of pride she can’t hide. From a girl with a run-down guitar in a plaza to this—the top choice of Japan’s Pro Heroes.

“Regardless of nominations,” Aizawa drones on, “all of you will be doing workplace training. What you experienced at the USJ was unfortunate, but this will be controlled. Consider this your first step into the professional world.”

The door opens again. Midnight strides in, radiant and flamboyant as always, hips swaying as she takes center stage. She explains her role as evaluator, emphasizing the importance of an image. A hero’s name, she says, is a promise, a legend waiting to be fulfilled.

The students are given fifteen minutes, and the room buzzes with nervous scribbling and bursts of laughter as names are chosen and shared. One by one, they step up to the front: Ingenium. Tsukuyomi. Red Riot. Creati. Each name sparks chatter, applause, or teasing.

Finally, it’s Rina’s turn. She rises with elegance, every movement intentional, the way a performer steps onto a stage. Setting her placard on the board, she flashes that idol-perfect smile.

“My hero name…” she says, letting the pause linger, “is Violet Crescendo.”

The moment “Violet Crescendo” leaves Rina’s lips, the classroom ripples with energy. Some students clap politely, others whisper, but every single pair of eyes is on her. She places the placard firmly on the board and steps back with the confidence of someone stepping off a stage to receive applause.

“Violet Crescendo, huh?” Kaminari whistles, leaning back in his chair. “That’s… honestly badass. Sounds like you’re about to drop a whole concert and save the day.”

Jirou crosses her arms, eyebrow twitching. “Of course the idol picks something flashy. Figures.” Still, she can’t quite keep the faintest smile off her face—begrudging respect, maybe.

Ochaco beams, clapping a little louder than the rest. “It’s so cool, Rina! It totally matches you!”

Midoriya scribbles furiously in his notebook, muttering under his breath. “Violet… Crescendo… crescendo like a musical rise… connects perfectly to her vocal-based Quirk… it’s symbolic of power building, momentum…” He doesn’t even notice that he’s speaking out loud until Iida nudges him with a disapproving glare for disrupting.

Bakugou, naturally, scoffs loud enough for the whole class to hear. “Tch. What a joke. Sounds like a damn pop album, not a hero name.” His glare is sharp, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his tone that has less to do with the name itself and more with the fact that Rina had the most nominations.

Rina turns her head just slightly toward him, giving the tiniest tilt of her smile. “Funny, darling, that’s exactly what it’s meant to sound like.” The word drips with charm but lands like a challenge.

A few students snicker—Mina practically gasps at the sass, while Kirishima mutters a quiet “woah” under his breath.

Todoroki, ever unreadable, simply studies her from across the room. “It suits her,” he says flatly, though something in his gaze lingers as if he’s assessing more than just the surface.

Midnight claps her hands together dramatically, breaking the tension. “Perfect! A name that sparkles, dazzles, and commands attention—just like its owner. Violet Crescendo… I’d say Pro Heroes will remember that.”

Rina bows her head slightly, basking in the reactions—whether admiration, annoyance, or begrudging respect. After all, attention is her stage, and in this classroom full of future heroes, she refuses to let her light dim.

As the naming session continues, Rina can’t help but compare the choices her classmates make to her own.

Tsuyu goes with Froppy, simple and approachable. The class coos over how “cute” it is. Rina tilts her head slightly, lips curved in amusement. Adorable. Marketable. But limited. A name like that puts you in a box—you’re either the mascot or the sidekick. Not me.

Iida proudly declares Ingenium, inheriting his brother’s mantle. The class applauds his seriousness. Rina leans her chin on her hand, watching him beam with pride. Noble. Heavy. A family brand, not a personal one. Admirable, but borrowed—like singing someone else’s song instead of writing your own.

Kaminari tries out Chargebolt, grinning like it’s the coolest thing ever. A couple students laugh, but it sticks. Rina arches a brow. Edgy enough for posters, I suppose. But would anyone really scream that name at a concert? Would it shine under a spotlight? Doubtful.

When Bakugou reveals King Explosion Murder, the class erupts in chaos. Rina, however, just smirks behind her hand. Explosive, yes. Murder? A PR disaster waiting to happen. He doesn’t see it, but his brand is raw power—scorching and reckless. He doesn’t understand polish. He doesn’t understand control.

She glances at her own placard again: Violet Crescendo. Sharp, elegant, commanding. It’s more than just a name—it’s an empire in the making. Her classmates might be choosing identities, but she? She’s solidifying a legacy.

When the last names are shared, Midnight sweeps her gaze across the room. “Every one of you has taken your first step in building your image as heroes. Some names inspire awe, others warmth, others fear. But remember—your name is your promise to society.”

Rina sits straighter in her chair, the corners of her mouth curling. A promise? No. For her, it’s a guarantee. Violet Crescendo will be remembered—not just as a hero, not just as an idol, but as a phenomenon.

The energy in Class 1-A is still buzzing even after Aizawa leaves them with their internship assignments. Students chatter about which pro heroes nominated them, flipping through their lists with sparkling eyes, some bragging, some quietly panicking. Rina notices how some of her classmates only got one or two nominations while others, like Todoroki and Bakugou, are surrounded by stacks of interest.

And then there’s her.

Rina’s list is so thick it looks like a small novel. The paper is warm in her hands, freshly printed, but the names on it nearly make her dizzy. Dozens of pro hero agencies—more than anyone else in her class—have asked for her. Her performance in the Sports Festival, her charisma, her quirk, and yes, her idol fame, have turned her into the hottest prospect at U.A.

Later that night, her penthouse glows in the city skyline. It’s modern and sleek, a high-rise paradise of glass and light, but not soulless. The floors shine like polished marble, her sofa is wide and low with soft purple throws, and a crystal chandelier hangs above the living room like stage lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one wall, giving her a perfect view of Tokyo’s neon heartbeat.

Yet tucked into corners are pieces of her past: A stuffed rabbit with one ear flopped and a worn-out bow sits on her dresser. A cracked snow globe from the orphanage’s winter fair is perched on a shelf. A framed photo of her and the other kids, arms around each other, taped inside a too-expensive frame that doesn’t quite fit.

Her penthouse screams “idol,” but those little details whisper “home.”

She spreads the nomination papers across her glass coffee table like a dealer setting out cards.

“Okay, let’s see who’s trying to snag Violet Crescendo,” she mutters, wheeling herself back and forth in her Heelys as she scans the list.

Her eyes fall on familiar names:
• Mt. Lady. Of course. Rina smirks. Mt. Lady’s flashy, loud, and obsessed with the spotlight. If anyone sees Rina as a way to double her media coverage, it’s her.
• Best Jeanist. The man of denim perfection. His agency is legendary, but his obsession with “image” makes Rina wrinkle her nose. She imagines herself fighting villains while wrapped in high-fashion jeans. “Mm… I don’t know about being denim Crescendo…”
• Edgeshot. A pro known for stealth, speed, and precision. He doesn’t scream “idol” material, but he clearly sees her quirk’s potential for precision-based combat. That catches her attention.
• Sir Nighteye. A former sidekick to All Might. Strategic, disciplined, and serious. The thought of interning under him makes Rina’s chest tighten—it would mean no glamour, no shortcuts, just brutal work. But also… respect.

There are others too—agencies big and small, some clearly chasing fame, others drawn to her quirk’s unique versatility.

Rina picks up one nomination slip and flips it between her fingers, her reflection shimmering in the window behind the papers. Fans would expect her to go for someone like Mt. Lady. The perfect collab—idol meets fame-hungry hero, paparazzi paradise. But… that feels hollow.

Her phone buzzes. Notifications flood in: fans screaming about how proud they are, how amazing she was at the Festival, how she’s the “future No. 1 idol hero.”

Rina smiles softly, warmth filling her chest. She loves them, truly. But as she sets her phone aside, her expression hardens.

“This choice isn’t for Violet Crescendo,” she whispers, tapping her pen against her lips. “This one’s for Murasaki Rina.”

Her gaze sweeps over the nominations again, slower this time. The temptation of spotlight agencies lingers, but she forces herself to think bigger.

Which one will challenge her? Which one will respect her? Which one will see past the idol and into the hero she wants to become?

Rina leans back into her sofa, the pile of nominations still spread like glittering confetti across the table. Her eyes skim the papers again, but one name keeps tugging her attention back: Yu Takeyama—Mt. Lady.

She exhales a sharp laugh. “Of course it’s her.”

Mt. Lady is a headline magnet, always throwing herself in front of cameras, posing in ridiculous ways mid-fight, sometimes even stealing other pros’ thunder just for a good shot. Normally, Rina would roll her eyes. But now, she feels a strange pull.

“Her… and me? Violet Crescendo × Mt. Lady?” She says it out loud, testing the sound. It’s wild, it’s over the top, it’s marketable. She imagines the two of them striding into a fight with paparazzi lights flashing like they’re on a runway. Rina can almost hear the news anchors already: ‘Japan’s new power duo—beauty, strength, and stardom.’

She stands up and paces to the window, her reflection glittering in the city glow. Her fans would love it. Her managers would definitely love it. And, deep down, part of her does too. Mt. Lady might be shameless, but she’s also bold. She knows how to use her image like a weapon. And Rina, no matter how much she wants to be a hero, can’t deny that her image is part of her arsenal.

“Fine,” Rina says, smirking at her reflection. “If I’m gonna learn, I might as well learn from the queen of fame herself.”

She grabs the nomination paper for Mt. Lady and sets it apart from the rest, tapping her nail against it like a gavel striking down. Decision made.

Her phone buzzes again—another flood of fans tweeting at her, asking where she’ll intern. Rina smiles mischievously, pulls up her camera, and takes a perfectly angled photo of her purple-lacquered nails holding the paper with Mt. Lady’s name stamped in bold. She doesn’t post it, though. Not yet.
“Patience, Crescendos,” she whispers with a wink. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Rina collapses back onto her sofa, Heely wheels clicking against the polished floor, and lets herself bask in the thought: the idol and the giantess, the headlines, the chaos, the glory.

This internship isn’t just going to be training. It’s going to be a show.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filters through the glass-paneled train station, making the polished floors gleam. Class 1-A stands clustered together with their hero costume cases, each one carrying their carefully packed hero costumes. The air buzzes with anticipation—nervous chatter, last-minute pep talks, and jokes flying around as they wait for their trains.

Aizawa, as usual, looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His scarf hangs loosely around his neck, his hair messy, but his sharp gaze keeps them all in check. He clears his throat, his tone flat but firm.

“Remember—your costumes are tools, not toys. Don’t wear them in public. Don’t lose them. And don’t forget you’re representing U.A. now. Mind your manners. Good luck.”

The students nod in unison, though their voices overlap in a chorus of “Yes, Sensei!”

Rina stands near the back of the group, her rolling suitcase resting by her side. Today, instead of her idol glitz, she’s dressed simply: a crisp white blouse tucked into a blue pleated skirt, her long violet hair tied neatly into a ponytail.

Even toned down, she’s impossible to miss—passersby in the station whisper as they catch sight of her, a couple snapping sneaky pictures with their phones. She’s grown used to the attention, but here, surrounded by her classmates, it feels oddly grounding.

As her train number flashes on the digital board, she adjusts the strap of her guitar case, the weight of her bow-weapon inside a reminder that this week isn’t about concerts—it’s about hero work. She takes a breath, excitement fluttering in her chest.

Mt. Lady. Of all the agencies, she had chosen the one that felt closest to her own brand: glamorous, bold, always in the public eye. If anyone understood the balance of spectacle and heroism, it would be her.

“See you guys in a week!” Mina calls, waving dramatically as she skips toward her platform. Other students scatter to their trains, laughter and voices fading as they head off one by one.

Rina gives her classmates a graceful wave, her smile practiced but warm. “Break a leg, everyone.”

When her turn comes, she steps onto her train. The automatic doors hiss shut behind her, sealing her off from the noise of the station. Inside, commuters immediately recognize her—several heads turn, a child tugs on their mother’s sleeve whispering “It’s Violet Crescendo!” and before long, people are asking for selfies and autographs.

Rina slips into performance mode without missing a beat. Her pen glides across notebooks, train tickets, even the back of someone’s phone case. “Thank you for supporting me,” she says softly, her signature flourish practiced yet genuine.

But as she finally settles into her seat by the window, she lets her smile relax into something smaller, more personal.

The city rushes by outside in a blur of concrete and billboards. She presses her cheek lightly to her hand and thinks of the week ahead. Training under Mt. Lady means big crowds, cameras, and a spotlight as blinding as the one she’s known for years—but it also means learning how to fight, save, and inspire with more than just a song.

Her reflection in the glass meets her gaze: Murasaki Rina, idol and hero-in-training. She tilts her head, a little grin tugging at her lips.

“Stage or battlefield,” she murmurs to herself, “either way—I’ll shine.”

The train rattles forward, carrying her closer to the next step of her journey.

The moment Rina steps out of her limousine in front of Mt. Lady’s agency, cameras flash like a thunderstorm. She sighs dramatically, flipping her violet hair over her shoulder with just the right amount of flair. Reporters lean over barricades, microphones thrust forward, and fans scream in a collective wave of excitement.

“Darlings! Over here!” she calls, winking at a group of fans and signing autographs mid-step. Her shoes—rollerblades cleverly disguised as high-fashion boots—click against the marble floor as she glides effortlessly past the crowd, spinning once to pose perfectly for a paparazzi shot.

Every move is choreographed, yet somehow feels effortless. She is Violet Crescendo, superstar idol turned hero-in-training, and she knows it.

The agency lobby is a palace of spectacle. Gold trim glints off walls plastered with Mt. Lady posters, some in action poses, some staged for maximum glamour. A red carpet leads directly to the elevators. Staff greet her with bows and smiles, but Rina only nods, allowing herself a subtle, queenly smile. Every step she takes is measured to project the perfect blend of power, charm, and approachability.

Mt. Lady herself appears like a golden comet, towering and radiant. “Finally, we meet in person. Welcome to the madness,” she declares, voice booming, drawing gasps from the interns and staff alike. She reaches out for a dramatic handshake, which Rina matches with a curtsy so precise it could have been rehearsed for a stage debut.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Rina replies, her tone dripping charm, every word perfectly enunciated. “Let’s make headlines, shall we?”

Day one is orientation, but even mundane introductions become part of a performance. Rina tours the costume workshop, weapon storage, and media rooms, posing naturally with every piece of equipment she touches. She tests her rollerblades on the polished lobby floor, twirling for a split-second, drawing laughter and applause from nearby staff.

“One must always make an entrance, darling,” she says with a sly grin, spinning her bow-guitar in hand like it’s part of a dance routine.

Training under Mt. Lady is far from simple. They start with small simulations—rescuing civilians from collapsed rooftops, dodging moving debris, coordinating her sonic quirk while skating at high speed. At first, Rina instinctively wants to pose mid-rescue, ensuring that the cameras catch her every dramatic turn. Mt. Lady shakes her head, laughing.

“Darling, heroism first, fame second. But your flair… we’ll work that in,” she says.

By day two, Rina begins to blend performance with precision. She moves like a whirlwind of violet and silver, singing powerful notes that amplify her quirk, disrupting “villains” and calming panicked civilians. She twirls and slides on her rollerblades, sending controlled sonic blasts at precise angles. Each maneuver is a perfect combination of spectacle and efficiency, drawing cheers from the training staff.

Midweek, Mt. Lady sets up a mock press event. A “hostage” is trapped, cameras roll, and reporters line the streets. Rina positions herself dramatically atop a platform, hands raised like a conductor.

She hits a high note, her voice radiating outward, guiding the crowd’s emotions—fear fades to awe, panic to admiration. Her quirk enhances the calm, while the reporters capture every moment, clicking shutters furiously.

“Darling, look at them!” Mt. Lady exclaims, eyes glittering. “Your quirk, your style—it’s pure headline gold!”

By day four, the training intensifies. Rina is paired with Mt. Lady for complex operations: navigating multiple villain simulations across a city block, rescuing hostages, and neutralizing threats.

Rollerblading across rooftops, dodging obstacles, and firing directed sonic waves, she moves with a grace that is part athlete, part diva, part superstar. Every swing of her bow-guitar, every melodic note is precise, yet somehow larger-than-life. She begins to truly understand the balance between her idol instincts and hero responsibilities—every note, every move is a tool.

On the final day, Mt. Lady sets the ultimate challenge: a full-scale villain invasion simulation with multiple targets and civilians.

Rina leads the charge with confidence, her quirk blasting in perfect harmony with Mt. Lady’s massive transformations. She sings, glides, and strikes in a seamless rhythm, blending hero skill and celebrity panache. She calls directions with flair, sometimes spinning mid-command, voice projecting authority and charm simultaneously.

By the end, Mt. Lady claps, towering above her intern. “Darling, you are more than I expected. You can command a battlefield and a stage at the same time. That’s talent, style, and brains all rolled into one!”

Rina flips her hair dramatically, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. “Why settle for one spotlight when you can own them all, darling?”

Before leaving, she poses for photos with Mt. Lady, striking angles that scream hero and diva. She rolls out on her Heely-equipped shoes, guitar-bow on her back, leaving the agency buzzing. Staff chatter and fans already tagging her in social media posts. Rina hums softly, her voice reverberating with a hint of her quirk’s residual energy.

“This is only the beginning,” she whispers. “U.A. High won’t know what hit it.”

The moment Rina steps back onto U.A.’s campus, the familiar buzz of cameras, flashbulbs, and whispered awe follows her like a second shadow. Even after a week away, news of her Mt. Lady internship has spread like wildfire—social media posts, articles, and trending hashtags fill the halls. Students in other classes stop mid-step to stare, mouths agape.

Rina glides down the pathway on her rollerblades, bow-guitar strapped to her back, the heels of her boots clicking sharply against the concrete. “Darling, do try to keep up,” she calls over her shoulder to a group of first-years trying to snap pictures. Her voice carries effortlessly, and every word seems like a headline in itself.

She twirls once, perfectly poised, as another shutter clicks, catching the sunlight on her violet hair.

By the time she reaches Class 1-A, the room is a flurry of whispers, gasps, and low murmurs. Even Bakugou, who usually scowls at everything, pauses mid-sentence, his hands frozen in mid-gesture.

Midoriya, notebook open, stares wide-eyed, clearly trying to process the star power radiating from his classmate.

Rina saunters to her seat with the precision of a performer hitting her mark, bow-guitar swinging slightly with the motion. “Darling, it’s good to be back. I do hope you’ve all missed me just a little,” she says, voice dripping with practiced charm.

She leans back in her chair, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, and pulls a small notebook from her bag—her own notes from Mt. Lady’s teachings.

Aizawa steps in, and the room’s whispers die down instantly. “Sit properly,” he mutters. Rina complies, but she can’t resist a small, knowing smile—there’s always a spotlight on her, even when the teacher tries to ignore it.

Throughout the morning, Rina demonstrates subtle changes from her week-long internship.

During quirk practice, she sings short, precise notes that manipulate the environment—nudging objects gently, creating distractions, or boosting the morale of her classmates in mock exercises.

Each note is controlled, measured, yet still possesses the grand flair of a performer. She weaves her rollerblade maneuvers into the training, skating in arcs and loops, all while keeping her focus on the exercise’s objectives.

Momo glances at her, impressed. “Rina… your quirk—it’s so much more… refined. You’re actually controlling it instead of just relying on power.”

Rina tilts her head with a faint smirk. “Darling, when you learn from the best, you take the stage seriously… even if it’s just a classroom.”

Even Bakugou can’t hide his begrudging respect when she coordinates a practice drill flawlessly. “Hmph… not bad,” he mutters, though his tone is rough around the edges.

Lunch is another spectacle. Rina eats elegantly, fork and knife in hand, glancing at her classmates as if judging their table manners—though she secretly finds their adoration endearing. When a few students timidly ask for autographs, she obliges, signing each one with a dramatic flourish.

Her rollerblades allow her to move efficiently between tables, leaving a trail of awe-struck classmates and snapping cameras in her wake.

By the afternoon, Rina has already made herself indispensable during a team coordination drill. She directs classmates with vocal cues that her quirk amplifies, subtly boosting morale and focus. Her diva instincts make her movements expressive, ensuring that even mundane drills have a rhythm and visual flair.

By the end of the day, it’s clear to everyone: Rina has returned from Mt. Lady’s agency not just as a celebrity, but as a more disciplined, cunning, and capable hero-in-training.

Yet, the diva charm remains intact—her hair perfectly in place, her bow-guitar slung elegantly, every gesture a performance, every word measured.

As the bell rings, she glides out of the classroom, whispering over her shoulder, “Darling, tomorrow will be even better… and don’t you forget it.”

The entire class watches, a mix of admiration and awe in their eyes. She’s still the same Rina—the idol, the celebrity, the diva—but now, she’s someone who commands respect not just for her fame, but for her skill.

Chapter Text

Time moves quickly after internships, and before anyone realizes it, the final week of June has arrived. The looming end-of-term test has Class 1-A buzzing with nervous chatter.

In the classroom, Mina leans back in her chair with a groan, complaining about how she hasn’t studied at all since so much has happened this semester.

Kaminari laughs sheepishly and admits the same, earning a deadpan nod of agreement from

Tokoyami, who mutters something about “dark destinies clouding his ability to focus.”

Rina, perched gracefully at her desk with her legs crossed, listens with a faint smirk. She’s dressed just a little more fashionably than the rest, her uniform crisp and her violet-streaked hair pulled up with a ribbon.

Even in homeroom she radiates idol energy. “You two seriously haven’t studied? Do you realize you’re setting yourselves up for failure? You should at least aim for passing,” she teases, her voice smooth but edged with that diva bite.

Sato warns everyone that the finals will be harder than midterms, but before dread can sink in too far, Midoriya jumps in with encouragement. “Let’s all do our best! I really want us to all make it to the forest lodge together!”

Iida slams his hands on the desk, agreeing passionately, while Todoroki, cool and collected, points out that maybe if he had attended class more normally his grades wouldn’t have been so low. That, of course, earns him a glare from Denki.

Yaoyorozu offers to tutor everyone, her cheeks faintly pink when people start asking her for help. Kirishima praises her, which makes Bakugo snap, “I’ll tutor you until you bleed, shitty hair!”

Rina chuckles lightly at all of them, resting her chin on her hand. “I swear, this class is either all brains, all brawn, or just all chaos. Maybe I’ll host a study session too… but mine comes with tea, music, and actual snacks. Much more civilized.”

Later at lunch, Rina sits with Midoriya, Iida, Todoroki, Uraraka, and Tsuyu. Her tray is meticulously arranged, like she’s eating in front of cameras even when she isn’t. She listens as they discuss the written test, nodding along with confidence.

“The written test is no problem,” she says. “I’ll ace it—words and performance are my forte. But the exercise part? That’s the wild card. If it’s physical…” she twirls her fork with a smirk, “well, let’s just say I’ll make it a show.”

That’s when Monoma bumps into Midoriya, starting his usual routine of antagonizing Class 1-A. His smug voice goes on about how Midoriya, Todoroki, and Iida’s encounter with Stain boosted their popularity. “Dangerous, wasn’t it? Must have been so scary,” he says with mock sympathy.

Before Midoriya can stammer out an apology, Rina stands up, her chair scraping back. The whole cafeteria goes quiet because of course Violet Crescendo is about to make a scene. She stares Monoma down with sharp, violet eyes that could pierce through glass.

“Listen carefully, little copycat,” she says coolly, her tone dripping with disdain. “Mocking my classmates for something they nearly died in? That’s not clever, it’s pathetic. Maybe you should spend less time running your mouth and more time practicing so your class doesn’t keep playing second fiddle to us.”

The cafeteria erupts in whispers. Monoma sputters, clearly not expecting to be called out so publicly. Kendo rushes over, bowing apologetically to Class 1-A while dragging Monoma away. On the floor, Monoma groans about wasted opportunities, only for Kendo to smack him again and scold him for his behavior.

Back in class, Midoriya explains what Kendo revealed—that the practical test involves fighting robots like the Entrance Exam. Denki and Mina practically cheer in relief. Shoji notes how much easier it’ll be compared to real opponents. Bakugo, of course, declares he doesn’t care who or what he fights—he’ll just blow it all away.

Rina crosses her arms, leaning back in her seat with a small, amused smirk. “Robots, huh? Guess it’s time for Violet Crescendo to hit the stage again. Let’s see how loud my spotlight can shine this time.”

The class is buzzing with nerves and whispers as Nezu reveals the shocking twist. Real-life battles against their own teachers? Even for Class 1-A, that’s on another level.

Rina can feel the air tighten, the tension hanging over everyone like a stage before the curtain rises. And when her name is called—paired with Hanta Sero, facing Midnight herself—she actually smirks. Of all the matches, this one feels almost theatrical.

On the bus ride to the training city, Rina leans back with her arms crossed, heel tapping in rhythm against the floor.

“Midnight, huh? The R-Rated Hero versus the Idol Hero. If that doesn’t sound like a pay-per-view event, I don’t know what does.” Her voice is light, teasing, but there’s a sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

Sero laughs nervously, tugging at his collar. “Yeah, great… you sound like you’re hyped for a concert, not a life-or-death test.”

When they arrive at the mock city, Midnight is already waiting at their designated area. She stands in her signature outfit, whip curled loosely in her hand, eyes glinting with mischief as she surveys her students.

“Murasaki Rina. Sero Hanta. This will be fun.” Her voice carries both sultriness and authority, and the way she twirls the whip makes Sero gulp audibly.

Rina, however, steps forward without a hint of hesitation. She flourishes her hand as though she’s on stage, flashing Midnight her signature idol smile. “Darling, if you think you’re the star of this show, you’ve got another thing coming. The audience is watching me.”

Sero groans under his breath, muttering something about regretting his life choices, but the tension cracks for just a moment.

Midnight only chuckles darkly, snapping her whip against the ground with a crack that echoes off the empty city streets. “Confidence won’t save you from capture, my little idol.”

The test begins.

The air shifts immediately as Midnight flicks her whip, her presence commanding, the faintest trace of her Sleep Gas already drifting into the air like perfume. The battlefield feels like a stage: cracked concrete, looming shadows, and a diva against a dominatrix.

Rina inhales, centers herself, and then—she sings.

It’s not a casual hum. Her voice bursts forth in a bright, powerful melody that resonates through the mock city streets, carrying on the wind. Each note vibrates in the air, her Quirk activating as the sound waves sharpen, pulse, and move.

The gas around her trembles, shivering apart before it can take hold. The melody builds, clear and commanding, her voice echoing like a spotlight cutting through fog.

Sero stumbles, stunned by how immediate it is. “You’re… pushing it back—like it’s nothing!”

Midnight tilts her head, intrigued, and her lips curl into a smile. “So your power only works if you sing? How flashy. But let’s see how long that voice can last.”

She surges forward, whip snapping against the ground like a gunshot. Rina kicks off the cracked pavement—the wheels in her boots clicking into place, blades sliding out with a smooth shnk. She skates low, weaving between rubble, her movements quick and elegant like choreography. Each push of her foot syncs with the rhythm of her song, her speed flowing with the tempo.

Midnight lashes out again, the whip cutting the air dangerously close. Rina ducks, spinning into a sharp skid, her voice jumping an octave higher—her Quirk responding instantly.

The melody focuses into a pointed note, and suddenly, a shimmering arrow of violet-blue energy materializes in the air, born from the vibration of her song. She catches it mid-spin, draws her guitar-bow in one smooth motion, and fires.

Thwip!

The energy arrow rockets forward, colliding with Midnight’s whip mid-swing. The crackling light splits the weapon’s arc in half, sending sparks scattering in the dim air.

Midnight’s eyes widen just slightly. “Oh, so it’s not just for show.”

“Darling,” Rina sings back between notes, “everything I do is for show.”

She kicks forward, skating in a wide arc, her voice rising in a chorus-like refrain. Arrows bloom around her like starlight, each one pulsing in time with the beat of her song. She fires in bursts, forcing Midnight to weave through the onslaught, her whip striking and cracking them apart—but every arrow keeps her off-balance, breaking her rhythm.

Sero sees his chance. He fires tape toward Midnight’s legs, trying to bind her. For a moment, it looks like it’ll work—until Midnight twirls, her movement almost dance-like, and slices through the strands with her whip before they can tighten.
“Too slow,” she teases. Then, with a flick, she lashes the whip toward him.

But Rina cuts in, her voice shifting tone. She belts out a fierce, resonant note—so sharp it makes the glass of nearby windows shatter. The whip’s path falters mid-snap, disrupted by the violent vibration, giving Sero just enough time to stumble out of range.

“Focus!” Rina calls, skating back to his side, her voice never dropping. “I can’t carry this duet alone.”

Sero wipes sweat from his brow. “Right, right—I’m on it!”

They push forward again, this time coordinated. Rina keeps up her steady melody, arrows forming and flying, her skating path unpredictable as she circles Midnight in wide arcs, forcing her to divide her attention. Sero uses the openings she creates, firing tape in layered patterns—trapping her whip, blocking her path, and steadily hemming her in.

Midnight, however, refuses to be cornered. She takes a deep breath, her gas spilling heavier now, flooding the battlefield with a sickly-sweet haze.

Rina’s throat tightens as she sings louder, pushing her Quirk to its limits. Her melody deepens into a reverberating hum, waves of sound rippling outward like invisible shields. The gas parts before it, dissipating with each note.

Her voice wavers—just for a second. The strain shows.

Midnight catches it. She darts forward with a burst of speed, whip raised high. Sero shouts her name, tape firing desperately—

—and Rina shifts, voice breaking into a fierce crescendo. She skates straight at her opponent, ducking low and sliding across the ground in a flare of sparks. Her bow transforms mid-motion, strings glowing as she draws it like a blade.

With one last soaring note, she slashes upward, not to harm, but to disrupt. The air itself ripples, a shockwave of vibrating energy forcing Midnight back a step.

“Now, Sero!”

He doesn’t hesitate. With the whip tangled, Midnight staggered, and the air still resonating from Rina’s strike, he fires tape in rapid-fire bursts. It snakes around her arms, her legs, her torso—binding her in layers. Midnight struggles, trying to break free, but the restraint holds just long enough.

Click. The capture cuffs snap shut around her wrist.

The buzzer blares.

Silence. Then Recovery Girl’s voice crackles through the speakers: “Test over. Victory—Murasaki Rina and Hanta Sero.”

Rina staggers, her voice finally faltering as the last note fades into quiet. She bends over, hands on her knees, sweat streaking down her face. Her throat aches, raw from the strain of singing nonstop, but her grin is wide, triumphant, glowing under the city lights.

Midnight chuckles softly, tilting her head. “You’ve got guts, and I’ll admit—style. A little over-the-top, but you made it work. Nicely done, Idol Hero.”

Rina straightens, tossing her hair back, her smile flashing even through exhaustion. “Darling, the show always goes on. And this one…?” She gestures to the battlefield, littered with cracked pavement and glowing fragments of energy arrows. “…was a sold-out performance.”

Sero flops onto the ground, panting. “Sold-out? I barely survived… You’re insane.”
But he’s smiling, too.

And just like that, the curtain falls on their test—Rina’s song still echoing faintly in the memory of everyone watching.

The next day, Class 1-A heads out to the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall. The place is massive—several floors, neon signs, a sea of people buzzing about. Perfect for U.A. students to blend in… except, of course, for Murasaki Rina.

Even though she’s ditched her usual stage wardrobe for a casual but stylish outfit—oversized sunglasses, a cropped lavender hoodie with sequins on the drawstrings, high-waisted jeans, and platform sneakers—people still recognize her instantly. The “Violet Crescendo” aura is impossible to hide.

The sliding glass doors of the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall hiss open, and Class 1-A steps inside. At first, it feels like any ordinary outing: chatter, footsteps, the smell of food courts.

Then—

One voice.

“Wait… isn’t that Violet Crescendo?!”

Heads whip around. A teenager in the crowd points, wide-eyed. “It’s her! The idol!”

In seconds, the entire atmosphere shifts. Phones come out, flashes start sparking, and a wall of screams erupts. Within moments, a wave of fans surges forward, cutting across the lobby and flooding toward Rina.

“Rina-chan! Please, one photo!”

“Autograph, please! My sister’s your biggest fan!”

“Sing something! Just a little—pleaseee!”

It’s like a tidal wave of adoration. And because Class 1-A is moving together, the swarm crashes against all of them. Mina squeals as she gets shoved sideways, Sero has to stretch out tape to keep balance, and Jirou is nearly yanked into a photo group by mistake.

“Woah—what the hell?!” Kirishima yells, putting his arms up to shield himself and Rina both.

Iida instantly shifts into full “class rep” mode, windmilling his arms: “Everyone, PLEASE form an orderly line! She cannot possibly sign for you all at once—!” But his voice drowns in the chaos.

Midoriya, flustered, tries to tug Uraraka away from the crush. “Th-this is intense—!”

Meanwhile, Bakugo explodes, literally: small pops and blasts spark in his palms as he snarls, “BACK THE HELL OFF!” The crowd just screams louder—thinking it’s part of some performance.

And Rina?

Cool as ever. She pulls her oversized sunglasses down, lets her violet hair catch the mall lighting, and flashes her most dazzling idol smile. With a wink and a soft laugh, she raises her hand in greeting.

“Everyone, please—one at a time. You’ll all get your turn.”

The crowd loses their minds.

Shoppers from the second-floor balconies start leaning over for a glimpse. Security guards are already rushing in, radios buzzing, trying to keep the crowd from completely consuming Class 1-A. A mother hoists her little kid up, begging for Rina to notice them. A group of teens chant her name like it’s a live concert.

The rest of 1-A is stuck in the storm—half trying to protect her, half trying not to get trampled by her popularity.

By the time security pushes in to help disperse the fans, Rina’s already slipped into “idol on tour” mode—signing autographs lightning-fast, smiling for selfies, even humming a few bars of a melody when someone shoves a camera forward.

The moment the wave finally calms and Class 1-A can breathe again, Kaminari’s hair is sticking up in all directions, Mina is gasping for air, and Jirou mutters, “We came here to buy bug spray… not survive a riot.”

Bakugo growls, still sparking: “Tch. What a pain.”

But then they hear it—the echoes of chanting fans still lingering in the atrium.
“VIO-LET! CRES-CEN-DO! VIO-LET! CRES-CEN-DO!”

Rina flips her hair and smirks.
“Sorry, classmates. Fame waits for no one.”

Mina leans over to Uraraka and whispers, “Honestly… it’s like we’re shopping with a celebrity princess.”

Uraraka giggles nervously, clutching her shopping list. “Because we are.”

Meanwhile, Iida panics: “Classmates! We are here for supplies! Not to cause a disturbance!” He tries to organize the group, but it’s no use—the fan attention keeps zeroing in on Rina.

Rina herself doesn’t seem bothered. If anything, she thrives on it. When a group of teenagers asks her what she’s shopping for, she lifts her bag with a grin.

“Forest lodge essentials, darlings! Even idols need bug spray.”

The crowd erupts. Someone yells, “Even bug spray sounds glamorous when she says it!”

Still, after a while, she makes sure not to lose track of her classmates. She floats between shops—sometimes with Yaoyorozu to get first-aid items, sometimes with Jirou who begrudgingly tags along while Rina picks flashy hair accessories she claims might be “practical for camp performances.”

There’s even a moment where a little girl tugs at her sleeve, holding a cracked, old CD of Violet Crescendo’s first songs. Rina kneels down, signs it carefully, and hands the girl one of her bracelets as a keepsake. The girl nearly bursts into tears.

By the time the class regroups, Rina’s bags are overflowing—not just with camp gear, but also little souvenirs fans had pressed into her hands: hand-drawn sketches, candy, origami folded with her name on it.

As they leave the mall, Bakugo grumbles: “Tch… you’re such a damn distraction.”

Rina just smiles sweetly, flipping her hair.
“What can I say? Stardom follows me everywhere.”

And even though it was chaotic, Class 1-A can’t deny… her presence lit up the whole outing.

Chapter Text

The morning sun glints off U.A.’s campus as Class 1-A and 1-B gather near the buses, luggage in hand, anticipation buzzing in the air.

Aizawa steps forward, clipboard in hand, and informs everyone that the destination for the forest lodge trip has been changed, the new location to be revealed only when they arrive. Murmurs ripple through the students, a mix of curiosity and excitement.

Class 1-A files toward their assigned bus, teasing and jostling one another. Rina's presence immediately silences Monoma's attempt at mocking them—he sputters, caught off guard, and gives up with a huff.

Afterwards Rina glides past her classmates, hair shimmering in the sunlight and her violet streak catching every eye. Even without a stage or spotlight, she exudes charisma, and several students instinctively follow her gaze, caught between awe and exasperation at her star quality.

Once on the bus, the usual hustle and bustle begins. Rina claims a window seat near the front, already arranging her small personal space with meticulous care—her backpack slightly elevated, her phone at hand, and a notebook filled with lyrics resting beside her.

The other students pile in, some squeezed into tight corners, others laughing and shouting over one another.

Aizawa begins to address the class, explaining that the bus will be stopping every hour to stretch legs and refresh, but the students barely hear him.

Bakugou yells something about claiming the window seat, Kaminari and Mina are bickering about snacks, and Todoroki silently picks a seat at the back, resigned to the chaos.

Rina, unfazed, leans back and begins humming a tune, a soft, lilting melody that gradually grows louder as she effortlessly transitions into singing. Her voice carries effortlessly through the bus, polished, clear, and undeniably captivating.

"I was a ghost, I was alone
어두워진 앞길 속에 (hah)
Given the throne, I didn't know how to believe
I was the queen that I'm meant to be
I lived two lives, tried to play both sides
But I couldn't find my own place
Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild
But now that's how I'm getting paid 끝없이 on stage"

Heads turn. Conversations halt. Even the usually oblivious Kirishima and Ashido pause mid-laugh, captivated by the cadence of her singing. Rina’s classmates can’t help but join in when she starts leading the chorus, mimicking her precise enunciation and perfect timing.

She isn’t just singing—she’s performing, commanding the small space of the bus like it’s her stage. Her voice is power, her presence magnetic, and the other students—heroes-in-training—feel the shift. The atmosphere is electric, vibrant with energy.

Aizawa clears his throat, trying to regain authority. "Class 1-A, I expect—" But his words are swallowed by a swell of applause and cheers as Rina hits a high note.

"You know we're gonna be, gonna be golden
We're gonna be, gonna be
Born to be, born to be glowin'
밝게 빛나는 우린
You know that it's our time, no fears, no lies
That's who we're born to be"

Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose, deciding to let it slide. For once, the chaos is harmless, and he knows well that a few hours of unrestrained energy will do the class more good than scolding them ever could.

By the time the bus starts moving, Rina has the class wrapped around her melodic fingers, voices harmonizing in parts, laughter and singing blending seamlessly.

Even Bakugou, slumped against the window with crossed arms, allows himself a begrudging nod in time with the rhythm.

Midoriya’s eyes sparkle as he quietly hums along, too shy to join fully, and Todoroki merely observes, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"We're goin' up, up, up, it's our moment
You know together we're glowing
Gonna be, gonna be golden
Oh, up, up, up, with our voices
영원히 깨질 수 없는
Gonna be, gonna be golden"

Rina concludes the first song with a dramatic flourish, letting the last note linger just long enough for the applause to swell. She smiles, satisfied, her violet hair catching the sun, and reclines in her seat like a queen surveying her court.

Class 1-A is buzzing, energized, and alive, the early morning tension replaced by the unmistakable thrill of summer break and the adventures that await.

Aizawa watches silently from the front, shaking his head slightly. "Their days of fooling around are numbered," he mutters, though he can’t deny the rare, unifying energy that Rina’s voice has brought to the bus.

The forest lodge trip has only just begun, but for Rina, even the journey feels like a performance. And like any true diva, she’s determined to make every moment memorable.

The bus screeches to a halt, and Class 1-A pours out, stretching and fumbling for water bottles. Everyone notices that Class 1-B isn’t at the rest stop, prompting murmurs of confusion. Before anyone can voice concerns, two women in sleek cat-like costumes and a small boy appear, striking dynamic poses.

Midoriya’s eyes light up, and he practically shouts introductions, naming them as the professional Hero Team, the Pussycats.

The brown-haired Pussycats steps forward, her voice calm but commanding, and explains that their base is at the foot of a nearby mountain. They have three hours to reach it using their Quirks as they see fit, with the warning that anyone arriving late—after 12:30 pm—won’t get lunch.

Realization hits the class: the training camp has already begun. A few students make a break for it, but Pixie-Bob’s Quirk quickly interrupts, creating a landslide of dirt that sweeps Class 1-A into the dense tangle of the Beast’s Forest.

Chaos ensues. Trees sway violently, branches scratch at their uniforms, and the ground shifts beneath their feet. Suddenly, a massive dirt beast lumbers toward them, cracking trunks in its path.

Koji springs forward, attempting to control it with his Quirk, but the creature refuses to obey—its composition is solid earth, unyielding.

Midoriya, Iida, Todoroki, and Bakugou instantly mobilize, combining their Quirks to strike and shatter the clay-like monster.

The ground shakes with each hit, and dust settles over the forest as the beast crumbles.

Through the commotion, Rina stays at the back, perched gracefully on her pop-out rollerblades. Her voice rises over the chaos, crystal-clear and commanding.
“Focus, darlings! Keep moving, don’t falter!”

Her Quirk activates as she sings, waves of energy radiating outward. The vibrations of her voice enhance her classmates’ reflexes and endurance, sharpening their senses and amplifying their Quirks.

"Ugh, you came at a bad time
But you just crossed the line
You wanna get wild?
Okay, I'll show you wild
Better come right, better luck tryin', gettin' to our level
'Cause you might die, never the time, tryna start a battle
Bleeding isn't in my blood 뼛속부터 달라서
Beating you is what I do, do, do, yeah
Body on body, I'm naughty, not even sorry
And when you pull up, I'll pull up
A little late to the party (la-la-la-la)
Locked and loaded, I was born for this
There ain't no point in avoiding it
Annoyed? A bit
불을 비춰, 다 비켜, 니 앞길을 뺏겨
Knocking you out like a lullaby
Hear that sound ringing in your mind
Better sit down for the show
'Cause I'm gonna show you how it's done, done, done"

Todoroki’s flames burn hotter, Midoriya’s One For All pulses stronger, Iida’s engines respond with precision, and Bakugou’s explosions feel more controlled. Her melodies wrap around the team like a protective shield, boosting morale with each note.

"HUNTR/X don't miss
How it's done, done, done
(Hey) HUNTR/X don't quit
How it's done, done, done
Run, run, we run the town
Whole world playin' our sound
Turnin' up, it's goin' down
HUNTR/X show this, how it's done, done, done
Yeah, something about when you come for the crown
That's so humbling, huh?
갑자기 왜 그래? 먼저 건드려, 왜?
이제야 포기해 what?
Nothing to us, run up, you're done up, we come up
From sunup to sundown, so come out to play
Won either way, we're one in a million
We killin', we bring it, you want it? Okay"

As the hours drag on, Class 1-A navigates twisted roots, tangled vines, and treacherous ravines. They encounter smaller dirt beasts, and with Rina supporting from behind, every student moves with newfound speed and coordination.

Her voice weaves through the forest, lilting notes that steady nerves and sharpen focus. Even Bakugou throws a glance back, silently acknowledging the effectiveness of her Quirk.

"Knocking you out like a lullaby
Hear that sound ringing in your mind
Better sit down for the show
'Cause I'm gonna show you (I'm gonna show you)
(I'm gonna show you) how it's done, done, done
I don't talk, but I bite, full of venom (uh)
Spittin' facts, you know that's
How it's done, done, done
Okay, like, I know I ramble
But when shootin' my words, I go Rambo
Took blood, sweat, and tears to look natural (uh)
That's how it's done, done, done
Hear our voice unwavering
'Til our song defeats the night
Makin' fear afraid to breathe
'Til the dark meets the light (how it's done, done, done)
Run, run, we run the town (done, done, done)
Whole world playin' our sound (done, done, done)
Turnin' up, it's going down (done, done, done)
HUNTR/X, show this, how it's done, done, done
We hunt you down, down, down, down (down)
We got you now, now, now, now (got you now)
We show you how, how, how (show you how)
HUNTR/X don't miss, how it's done, done, done"

Despite scratches, bruises, and sweat-soaked uniforms, Rina glides effortlessly ahead and behind, maintaining her flawless composure.

"Heels, nails, blade, mascara
Fit check for my napalm era
Need to beat my face, make it cute and savage
Mirror, mirror on my phone, who's the baddest? (Us, hello?)"

Every movement is calculated elegance; her skates hum against fallen branches, allowing her to weave between obstacles and keep a constant line of support for her classmates. Her voice continues, unwavering, harmonizing with the rustling forest, the cracking branches, and the strain of exertion.

Eight hours pass in this grueling trek. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows through the dense canopy.

Finally, Class 1-A emerges at the facility, battered and exhausted, collapsing against the forest floor in relief. Panting, their uniforms torn and dirt-streaked, they glance around in awe at the cabin that will serve as their base.

Rina, in stark contrast, steps off her rollerblades and dusts herself lightly, hair still perfectly in place, outfit immaculate, not a single smudge on her gloves. She raises her chin, surveying her classmates with a playful, victorious smirk.

Pixie-Bob watches the scene unfold, jaw slightly ajar. “I… I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly,” she admits, genuinely impressed. “And to figure out the Earth Beasts so fast… excellent work, Class 1-A.”

Rina flashes a radiant smile at the praise, almost as if the grueling eight-hour trek were a casual warm-up. Her voice hums softly, even now, a quiet echo of encouragement: “Darlings, don’t forget who’s keeping you at your best.”

After Aizawa’s instructions, Class 1-A scrambles to retrieve their luggage from the bus. Crates, bags, and cases clatter as students lug them to their assigned rooms. Unsurprisingly Rina has the most luggage.

Rina glides into the classes shared room, her every movement precise, her posture flawless. Even after the punishing trek through the Beast’s Forest, her presence seems untouched by exhaustion.

She surveys the room with a discerning eye. Futons line the floor, the whole class will be sharing one room. Rina tries not to sneer in disgust.

Once all luggage is stored, Aizawa summons the class to the dining hall. The smell of freshly cooked food wafts through the air, mingling with the crisp forest scent drifting in from outside.

The students file in, some chatting, some still flushed from the arduous journey. Rina glides past them, the embodiment of effortless poise. She chooses a seat at the center of the table, naturally drawing attention.

She lifts her utensils with careful grace, tasting each bite deliberately, savoring the flavors as though performing a silent ballet. Every movement exudes elegance, and yet, she eats efficiently, as if she knows she must balance perfection with practicality.

The other students can’t help but notice her. Some glance with admiration, some with mild envy, and a few, like Tsuyu and Ochaco, share subtle nods of respect.

Even in the midst of fatigue and chaos, Rina’s aura never falters. She radiates confidence and composure, a quiet statement that she is both untouchable and completely in control.

After dinner, Aizawa instructs everyone to head to the hot springs for a bath. The female students move toward their side, the wooden partition separating them from the males.

Rina walks gracefully, her movements almost musical, her hair slightly damp from the earlier journey. She steps into the steaming waters, the warm mist curling around her as she lowers herself slowly, easing tension from every muscle.

The other girls, already in various states of relaxation, can’t help but notice her flawless figure and calm, unbothered demeanor. There is no arrogance in her presence, only a natural confidence that commands admiration.

Rina allows the warm water to soothe her, reflecting silently on the day’s events. The trek through the forest, the sudden encounter with the dirt beasts, the long, grueling march—it all feels like practice for a life she was born to excel in. She tilts her head back, letting her hair float on the water’s surface, her eyes closing briefly.

In the quiet moments, she acknowledges her privilege, the skill and opportunities that have brought her to this point, and yet she also remembers the orphanage, the struggles that shaped her resilience.

The contrast grounds her even as she maintains her public persona—a diva, a hero, an idol, flawless in every visible way.

When she emerges from the bath, Rina wraps herself in a soft towel, her hair still damp, a gentle steam rising around her.

She moves to the room to change into comfortable clothes for the night, placing her hero costume carefully in its case, the four-leaf clover emblem catching the dim light.

As the evening winds down, the rest of Class 1-A chatter dies down, the girls whispering quietly about her elegance, the boys glancing with curiosity, admiration, or mild awe.

Rina sits by the window, gazing out at the forested expanse beyond the lodge, already planning how she will navigate the coming days of training. Her mind runs through strategies, vocal exercises for her Quirk, and how she can support her classmates while maintaining her flawless public image.

Even in rest, she is fully aware, fully composed, and fully Rina—a true idol and hero in her own right, untouched by fatigue or chaos.

Chapter Text

Class 1-A gathers outside at 5:30 a.m., their breath visible in the crisp morning air, some still yawning and rubbing sleep from their eyes. Aizawa, already awake and sharp-eyed, stands before them with his scarf draped lazily around his shoulders.

He wastes no time with pleasantries—he explains the purpose of the camp is reinforcement training, the kind that will push them past their emotional and tactical growth and force their bodies and Quirks to evolve.

Bakugou is called first to demonstrate. He winds up and launches a blast-powered pitch, the ball screaming through the air before finally landing: 709.6 meters.

The class is shocked by the result—only a slight improvement since their Quirk Apprehension Test back at the start of the year. Whispers ripple through them.

Weren’t they supposed to be much stronger now?

Aizawa answers for them: yes, they’ve grown, but mostly in control, teamwork, and experience. Their Quirks, however, haven’t advanced nearly as much as they think. That ends now. From this morning forward, it’s all about raw evolution. “We’ll break you down until you hit your limit,” he says flatly, “and then we’ll push you past it.”

Training begins in full force.

Bakugou stands waist-deep in a cauldron-like pool of boiling water, sweat and steam rising around him as he repeatedly detonates blasts, forcing his body to adapt to higher heat and pressure.

Iida runs ceaselessly in laps across rugged terrain, his calves screaming as his engines rev harder than ever.

Ochaco levitates rocks while fighting back her nausea, refusing to give in to the weight on her stomach.

Todoroki kneels before walls of fire and ice he conjures himself, practicing faster transitions between hot and cold. Midoriya smashes his fists into reinforced slabs over and over, working on control and durability.

The Beast’s Forest hums with the relentless grind of training. Sweat, smoke, and steam rise into the air, and the sharp echoes of Quirks colliding ring across the mountain. Everyone is being pushed to their breaking point—and then further.

And at the center of it, Rina Murasaki, Violet Crescendo herself, trains like she’s on stage.

Aizawa sticks her in a soundproofed box, a mic stand dug into the earth, heavy-duty speakers lined up in front of her to simulate energy resistance. The Pussycats watch curiously from afar; they’ve never seen a Quirk that demands performance the way hers does.

She flips her hair back, adjusts her mic as if it’s a stadium concert, and starts to sing.

Her voice spills out in powerful waves, laced with violet light that ripples through the clearing. The sound hits the speakers, bouncing back as resistance, forcing her to push harder.

At first, she makes it look effortless. Every note is flawless, crisp and clear, her Quirk amplifying the sound until the whole space vibrates with her aura. She twirls on her heel skates between verses, sliding and spinning like she’s choreographing a music video instead of breaking her body down.

Her classmates, during their breaks, glance toward her training zone. “She makes it look easy,” Jirou mutters, half annoyed, half impressed. “Like she’s not even working.”

But hours pass, and the cracks begin to show. Rina’s throat burns. Her voice, normally bright and sparkling, grows raw and raspy. Violet soundwaves still burst out, but they wobble at the edges, threatening to fizzle. She grabs the mic with both hands, sweat dripping down her temples, and belts out the chorus anyway, pouring every ounce of herself into the performance.

“Push past it,” Aizawa calls from the side, unyielding. “Heroes don’t get to stop when it hurts.”

Her knees buckle. She drops for a second, catching herself on the mic stand, her breath ragged. Any normal idol would call it quits. Any other girl would save her voice. But Violet Crescendo lifts her chin, flashes a tired but defiant grin, and keeps going. Even hoarse, even cracked, her voice carries power.

The forest shimmers with her sound. Energy thrums in her classmates’ bones when they wander too close. It’s not a stage, but she treats it like one—because for Rina, there’s no difference. Every moment, whether in front of cameras or in front of monsters, is her stage.

By evening, Class 1-A staggers back toward the lodge. They’re filthy, battered, half-dead from exhaustion. Bakugo looks like he’s been cooked alive in his boiling water cauldron, Ochaco nearly throws up on the path, and even Midoriya limps from overworked fists.

But Rina? She walks in last, dragging her bag, her throat destroyed, her body aching—yet somehow she still looks camera-ready. Not a smudge on her eyeliner, not a hair out of place. The other girls side-eye her like she’s some kind of sorceress.

“Seriously… how,” Mina mutters, clutching her stomach.

Rina just tosses her hair back and flashes her million-dollar smile. “Darlings, a true idol never sweats. We sparkle.”

Even Aizawa has to sigh, rubbing his temples. But he can’t deny it—behind all the diva flair, she gave everything today.

The sun hangs low over the forest as Pixie-Bob and Ragdoll arrive, carrying crates of fresh vegetables, rice, and spices. "From now on, you’ll be preparing your own meals," Pixie-Bob announces, her tail flicking with authority. "This is part of your survival training."

The students of Class 1-A groan collectively. Iida straightens immediately, eyes sparkling with determination. "This is a practical exercise in self-sufficiency! Let’s start making curry, everyone!"

Mina bounces up and down. "Ooh! Fire, fire!" she squeals, turning to Todoroki. "Can you—uh—make a fire for us?"

Yaoyorozu immediately interjects, her voice calm but firm. "No! Everyone must participate. If we rely solely on one person, we won’t learn how to cook independently."

Todoroki sighs but flicks his wrists, summoning a small, controlled flame just enough to ignite the cooking pit. Mina claps in delight while Rina steps forward, her long purple hair gleaming in the fading light. Her perfectly tailored apron barely conceals the expensive silk blouse beneath.

"Darling, do they expect us to cook like commoners? How utterly pedestrian," she mutters, tilting her head as she surveys the ingredients like a jeweler inspecting gems.

Rina picks up a carrot delicately, her manicure gleaming as she turns it in her fingers. She taps it lightly against the cutting board. "Ugh… it refuses to yield to my touch," she sighs dramatically, stabbing at it with the knife. The carrot rolls away.
"Darling, this vegetable is clearly mocking me!"

Bakugou grunts behind her. "Quit whining and chop it before you get in everyone’s way."

Rina flicks her eyes at him, lips pursed. "Darling, excuse me, but one cannot simply rush art!" She presses the knife again, but the carrot slips, skidding off the board. She yelps and jumps back, almost knocking over her pot. "Oh! The audacity!"

Meanwhile, Kaminari is accidentally zapping onions with his electricity, and Mina is giggling as Todoroki keeps his flame under control.

Rina approaches the fire pit with her pot and tilts it in a way that looks more like she’s adjusting a vase than stirring curry. The water splashes, and she screams in melodramatic horror. "Darling! The broth! It’s going to ruin my reputation!"

Yaoyorozu shakes her head. "Rina, just stir carefully—focus on the task."

Rina lifts her chin, her voice trembling slightly as she starts humming a low note to activate her Quirk. A subtle shimmer spreads through the air; the vegetables begin aligning themselves in the pot as if guided by an invisible hand. "Finally…a touch of grace," she whispers. Her voice cracks, but she continues, eyes narrowing with concentration.

The curry begins to thicken, but her Quirk only helps so much. She fumbles with the spices, spilling a pinch of paprika onto the ground. "Darling! A catastrophe! Why is life so cruel?"

Kirishima peers over her shoulder. "Uh…Rina? Maybe don’t pour the paprika on the ground next time…"

Ignoring him, she sweeps a hand through the air, muttering, "One must maintain elegance, even in the face of chaos." With another strained note, her Quirk stabilizes the curry slightly, giving it a faint shimmer.

Nearby, Iida inspects the others, glaring at any sign of laziness. "Focus, everyone! This is as much about teamwork as it is survival skills!"

Rina, taking a dramatic step back, surveys her pot, her curls bouncing with the motion. "Darling… I suppose this is the closest I’ve come to… actual labor." Her voice lifts in a controlled, trembling hum, and the curry seems to respond, moving gently in the pot, simmering without burning. "Yes… a minor triumph in adversity."

The other students finish their curry around her. Mina tastes hers and claps. "Yay! We did it!" Shoto nods, content with the flame’s contribution.

Finally, they gather around the large picnic table with their mismatched bowls of curry. Rina takes a delicate spoonful, her expression solemn and critical as if tasting a Michelin star meal. "Hmph… well, it’s… adequate," she announces, trying not to sound completely defeated. A small smile tugs at her lips. "Darling… one must admit, even in the wilderness, one can impose a touch of elegance."

Ochaco glances at her and whispers to Tsuyu, "She’s… actually proud she made it without crying."

Rina notices and tilts her head gracefully, her hair falling over one shoulder. "Darling, I did not cry… merely allowed my artistic spirit to dramatize the experience." She lifts her spoon again, savoring another bite. The curry is simple, rustic, but somehow, with her Quirk and diva flair, it feels like a masterpiece.

Chapter Text

Later that night, Class 1-A and Class 1-B gather, shuffling nervously in preparation for the test of courage. The remedials are dragged off by Aizawa for last-minute review lessons.

The rest of Class 1-A listens intently as Pixie-Bob and Ragdoll explain the rules: the game unfolds in the forest, with one class as scarers and the other as scarees.

Class 1-B will scare as many students as possible while Class 1-A searches for cards with their names on them. Fifteen minutes later, the roles reverse. The class that successfully scares the most wins.

Simple enough… if the forest doesn’t eat them first.

Rina adjusts her hair, letting the moonlight catch the violet shimmer in her waves. “Darling,” she murmurs to no one in particular, “let’s hope tonight’s fright is… theatrically satisfying.” She steps lightly on the dew-soaked grass, heels clicking softly, already performing for an invisible audience.

Her classmates eye her with a mixture of awe and exasperation—somewhere between, why does she always have to do this and she does make it look effortless.

Twelve minutes in, the fifth pair—Ochaco and Tsuyu—step cautiously into the forest, their flashlights trembling over the gnarled roots. Rina trails just behind, scanning with those sharp amethyst eyes. Then, tendrils of smoke curl from the underbrush. Her instincts snap into hero mode.

“Darlings! Cover your mouths—do not inhale!” she shouts, her voice slicing through the haze like a practiced stage command. She clamps a hand over her own nose and mouth, eyes wide.

The smoke thickens, choking and toxic, twisting between the trees. Rina pivots, flaring her arms dramatically as if conducting an invisible orchestra, her voice rising in a sharp, commanding note.

Subtle violet soundwaves ripple outward, pushing the smoke back just enough to carve a thin path through the deadly haze.

“Follow me, darlings!” she calls, her tone somewhere between urgent and theatrical. “We are not mere mortals tonight! We are… shining stars in a forest of terror!”

Her classmates blink at her, caught somewhere between panic and disbelief, as Rina twirls elegantly through the underbrush, carving safe pockets through the smoke with her Quirk.

Every step is exaggerated, almost dance-like, but every note she sings carries weight, cutting through danger while her purple aura glimmers against the dark trees.

Even in the face of poisonous smoke, Violet Crescendo refuses to retreat. She is the spotlight—and her classmates, whether they like it or not, are sharing the stage.

Todoroki sprints through the forest, the unconscious Kosei on his back, eyes scanning the dim landscape. Beside him, Bakugou’s fists twitch with barely contained frustration, explosions held back for fear of igniting the lingering poisonous gas. The forest is a labyrinth of shadows and danger, and both know regrouping at the facility is the only sane option.

“Who’s supposed to be ahead of us?” Bakugou huffs, eyes darting.

“Fumikage and Shoji,” Todoroki replies, voice tense, his steps measured as he navigates roots and uneven ground.

Ahead, a figure crouches, studying something on the forest floor—a severed arm glinting in the pale moonlight. The villain seems captivated for a moment, fingers tracing the grotesque scene, but reality tugs at his attention. There’s work to do. Targets. Children.

The villain snaps out of his brief distraction, teeth bared, eyes narrowing at the duo now before him.

Todoroki’s ice shatters with a loud crack as Moonfish lunges, teeth gnashing and enlarging in grotesque precision. Bakugou stumbles back, fists brimming with unstable explosions, but Todoroki’s sharp glare cuts him off.

“Do not use your Quirk,” Todoroki warns, eyes narrowing. “The gas—if you ignite it, we’re all done for.”

Bakugou grits his teeth, jaw clenching, but doesn’t argue aloud. His eyes flick toward the villain, calculating. The poisoned forest air hisses around them, a lethal fog pressing in. Every bite Moonfish makes against Todoroki’s ice feels like the walls of their world cracking.

A high, clear note slices through the tension like a spotlight hitting a dark stage.

“Darling, do try to keep up!” Rina’s voice rings out, carried on sharp, violet-tinged soundwaves. She spins into view, hair glowing faintly in the dim, gaslit forest. “You two are positively stiff! Let’s loosen those muscles and hearts, shall we?” Her Quirk flares, the resonance vibrating outward in controlled pulses.

Todoroki feels the sharp chill of his ice defenses steadied, Bakugou senses the jittering chaos in his nerves smoothed into precise focus. Even the poisonous gas seems to bend slightly around the energy of her notes, thinning in pockets where she projects her aura.

“Singing, Rina?” Todoroki asks, a flicker of surprise in his tone. Her presence isn’t just distracting—it's tactical.

“I always sing, darling,” she replies, one perfectly arched brow raising dramatically. “And tonight, the stage is deadly—so we simply must perform flawlessly.”

Rina sweeps her arm wide, tilting her head back as her voice crescendos, violet light spilling from her form in shimmering arcs.

Each note pulses outward, creating harmonic barriers that deflect Moonfish’s snapping teeth and disorient his movements. Bakugou’s fingers twitch, ready to detonate, but Rina’s resonant rhythm subtly guides his timing, preventing an accidental explosion in the toxic fog.

“You’re welcome, darlings,” she purrs mid-verse, twirling elegantly between bursts of sound. Even with the danger pressing in, she moves like a performer on a stage, precise, dramatic, and unrelentingly confident.

Moonfish snarls, snapping at the invisible walls her voice seems to conjure, but the teeth that were moments ago barreling toward Todoroki and Bakugou now falter, slowed and confused by the resonant pulses.

Todoroki exhales, eyes softening slightly. “We… might actually get out of this,” he mutters. Bakugou grumbles but doesn’t interrupt, letting Rina’s voice guide the rhythm of the battle.

Rina grins, voice rising higher, her Quirk harmonizing offense and defense into a dazzling, purple-lit ballet. In her element, she isn’t just a hero-in-training—she’s the spotlight of survival itself, making the chaos around her feel choreographed, dramatic, and somehow… elegant.

The battle is brutal, and the odds are not in their favor. Todoroki strains, carrying Kosei in one arm, ice forming hastily to block Moonfish’s snapping teeth, but every movement is slowed, measured.

Bakugou’s fists clench, frustration radiating off him like heat. He wants to blast the villain into oblivion, but Todoroki’s sharp glare stops him.

“A huge explosion will limit our visibility!” Todoroki snaps, teeth clenched. “It gives him more chances to strike!”

Bakugou growls, jaw tight, but doesn’t fire—barely. Rina spins into the fray like a whirlwind of violet, her mic clutched like a conductor’s baton. “Darling, patience! Chaos may reign, but we will choreograph our victory!” She belts a sharp note, violet soundwaves rippling outward.

The vibrations buffer Bakugou’s reflexes and strengthen Todoroki’s ice walls, lending precision to their otherwise faltering defenses.

Moonfish snarls, snapping at Rina’s waves, but she dances between attacks, each twirl and flourish feeding her quirk, each note keeping them one step ahead.

“Darling, your fangs are dreadful, but my song is symphony!” she declares mid-verse, voice rising above the roar of teeth and snapping ice.

Suddenly, Shoji and Midoriya arrive at the edge of the chaos. Shoji calls, gesturing toward one of them. “Light, someone! We need visibility—”

Before he can finish, Moonfish senses them and lashes out with a jagged tooth, aiming for the new arrivals. Rina pivots mid-spin, firing a quick harmonic pulse that deflects the incoming attack just enough, sending it harmlessly into a tree trunk. “Darling! Timing, precision—yes, that’s how we do it!”

Then, from the shadows, Dark Shadow emerges in a towering fury. Its massive claw swings with terrifying speed, crushing Moonfish and shattering his teeth into splinters. Rina, Todoroki, and Bakugou stumble back, eyes wide in shock.

“Darling… oh my stars!” Rina gasps, voice trembling in excitement rather than fear. “What a dramatic entrance! Truly, the stage favors those with flair!” Her hair flutters in the wake of Dark Shadow’s impact, purple light rippling off the edges of her quirk. Even in surprise, she can’t help but add commentary, as if narrating the climax of her own performance.

Todoroki exhales, lowering Kosei slightly, ice shivering in relief. Bakugou swears under his breath, fists relaxing but eyes still sharp, now with an unspoken acknowledgment of Rina’s timely assistance.

Rina twirls on her heel, voice rising in a short, victorious flourish. “Darling… a standing ovation is in order!”

Even in the middle of chaos, Violet Crescendo doesn’t just survive—she performs.

Bakugou and Todoroki stare, wide-eyed, at the aftermath of Dark Shadow’s assault.

Shoji steps forward, his massive arms sweeping, and calls out, “Bakugou, Todoroki —light, now! We need to calm Dark Shadow!”

Todoroki nods, ice forming carefully in his hands, ready to stabilize the rampaging shadow. Bakugou’s scowl deepens, hand raised. “Wait,” he snaps, voice tight with irritation. “Not yet.”

Moonfish, teeth gnashing, rises with a roar of fury. “Only I am allowed to harm the children!” he shouts, snapping at the darkness with ferocious speed. Dark Shadow barely flinches, its clawed form looming, unbothered by the attack.

Rina belts out a sharp, commanding note, violet soundwaves radiating outward. “Darling, Moonfish… you are positively audacious, but you are in no one’s spotlight tonight!”

The waves of her quirk ripple around Dark Shadow and the nearby chaos, subtly stabilizing the quivering shadows as they surge and lunge.

Moonfish lunges again, snapping teeth toward Dark Shadow, but the sound of Rina’s powerful voice hits him mid-strike. His momentum falters, teeth fumbling as the resonance disorients him just enough.

Dark Shadow seizes the moment, slamming Moonfish through several trees in a brutal display of strength. Rina spins elegantly, landing lightly on the forest floor, voice rising in a brief, triumphant hum.

“Encore! Encore!” she calls, as if narrating the climax of a concert.

Moonfish lies incapacitated, broken and beaten. Rina tilts her head, dramatic curls falling over one shoulder, and sighs theatrically. “Darling… how utterly satisfying!” she murmurs, sweeping her hand through the air as her violet aura ripples gently, keeping the space around the students safe.

Bakugou and Todoroki finally approach Fumikage. Rina leans slightly forward, still humming a quiet note, her resonance gently amplifying the calming effect of their Quirks. Dark Shadow slowly retracts, shrinking down until it returns to Fumikage, who blinks in relief, finally back to normal.

Rina straightens, voice lifting in a victorious trill. “And there we have it, darlings! Order restored, chaos subdued, and the performance—flawless,” she declares, flashing a grin at her classmates. Even Bakugou grunts, half-annoyed, half-impressed, while Todoroki allows the faintest nod of acknowledgment.

Back in control, Tokoyami straightens, dark feathers bristling, and nods toward Bakugou. “Thanks for saving me,” he says, voice low but sincere.

Midoriya steps forward, scanning the forest with sharp focus. “Our top priority is protecting Kacchan,” he says, determination burning in his green eyes. “He’s the target right now. We’ll escort him back to the facility and take a shortcut through the forest. With Shoji scouting ahead, Todoroki’s Quirk, Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow, and… Rina’s support, we should have this under control.”

Rina steps lightly onto the forest floor, hair catching faint moonlight, ribbons trailing behind her. “Darling, did someone say escort? How perfectly theatrical! I do love a procession,” she declares, voice ringing out in a clear, commanding trill. She adjusts her hair, violet light pulsing subtly around her as her Quirk primes, ready to reinforce and protect her allies.

Bakugou glares at the group, fists clenching. “I don’t need babysitters,” he snaps, voice sharp as ever. “I can handle myself!”

Rina tilts her head, one eyebrow arched dramatically. “Darling, your charmingly explosive temper is noted, but we simply cannot risk your—” she flicks her hand elegantly toward him, “—grandiose self-destruction. Now, march gracefully, if you please.”

Bakugou growls, muttering under his breath, but he begrudgingly falls into formation. Shoji moves silently ahead, sensing danger with precise awareness, while Todoroki flanks Bakugou, ice forming in protective layers. Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow looms, massive and silent, a living wall of power.

Rina floats alongside the group, every step exaggerated, ribbons whipping through the air as she hums a low, steady note. Her Quirk resonates through the forest, harmonizing with Todoroki’s ice and Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow, subtly stabilizing the team’s movements, enhancing focus, and dampening the threat of the poisoned gas.

“Darling, try to keep up!” she calls to Bakugou, voice sharp but teasing, as if chiding a wayward co-star. The violet light from her Quirk arcs around him in a protective shimmer, and for once, Bakugou can’t argue—he’s too busy staying upright.

Together, the Bakugo Escort Squad moves through the forest. Every step is tense, every sound amplified by the dark, twisting trees. But with Rina’s vocal resonance weaving through the chaos, the team’s movements feel almost choreographed—dangerous, yes, but precise.

The Bakugo Escort Team rounds a bend and spots Ochaco, her face pale but determined. Toga, mid-drain, jerks back and shoves Ochaco aside, her retreat swift and calculated. She clearly doesn’t want to fight a larger group—and certainly doesn’t want to die. Ochaco hesitates, instinctively wanting to follow, but Tsuyu blocks her path with a firm shake of her head, caution etched across her features.

Rina sweeps up beside the group, hair flowing with each step. “Darling, what a choreographed disaster,” she mutters, voice carrying over the tense forest air. Her violet soundwaves pulse subtly around the group, easing jitters and enhancing focus just enough to keep everyone steady.

Midoriya exhales, stepping forward. “Ochaco, Tsuyu—join us. We need everyone we can get.”

Ochaco glances around, confusion flickering. “Wait… where’s Bakugou?” Tsuyu echoes, her wide eyes scanning the trees.

Rina spins dramatically, hair whipping over her shoulder, and peers through the underbrush. Her amethyst eyes widen slightly, not in fear, but in sharp recognition.

“Darling… we seem to be missing our star performer,” she murmurs, voice trembling with mock horror. “And Tokoyami too… this is simply intolerable!”

Suddenly, a masked villain appears on a tree branch, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. His voice oozes theatrics as he announces his handiwork: Bakugou has been transformed into a marble by his “magic.” “Heroes,” he sneers, “you do not deserve someone of Bakugou’s caliber. He will shine brighter on my side.”

Rina’s eyes blaze violet. “Darling! Hands off my co-star!” she shouts, voice vibrating through the forest, sending ripples of harmonic energy toward the villain. Her quirk subtly amplifies the group’s reflexes and coordination, a backing track to the tense standoff.

Midoriya steps forward, fists clenched. “Give him back, now!”

Todoroki freezes the tree with a precise sheet of ice, but Mr. Compress evades effortlessly, landing lightly on another branch. His words drip with disdain as he explains the “lesson” he intends to teach: the heroes are constrained by a single perspective, their free will stifled by imposed values.

Rina flares dramatically, twirling on her heels, hair and purple aura spreading around her. “Darling, is this a performance or a lecture? Because I simply do not do well with lectures without music!” she quips, her voice cracking slightly but holding firm. The harmonic pulses from her quirk subtly disturb Compress’s balance, forcing micro-adjustments to his footing.

Todoroki passes Kosei to Ochaco, freeing his hands for combat. He launches his Giant Ice Wall, aiming to pin Compress, but the villain evades smoothly, voice laced with mock apology.

Rina’s eyes narrow, and she launches into a brief, commanding aria. The resonance radiates outward, reinforcing Todoroki’s ice, sharpening Midoriya’s movements, and subtly pressuring the villain. “Darling, deception and theatrics may be your craft, but tonight, you are merely a supporting actor in our show!”

Todoroki pauses, eyes narrowing. Mr. Compress is already far ahead, his speed making a direct chase nearly impossible.

Midoriya, teeth gritted despite injuries, refuses to give up. He hatches a daring plan. “Ochaco, make me, Todoroki, and Shoji weightless,” he instructs. “Tsuyu, throw us toward the villain as hard as you can. Shoji, guide our trajectory with your arms. Once we’re close, Ochaco deactivates her Quirk.”

Ochaco and Todoroki exchange a worried glance. Midoriya is injured badly, far worse than they realized.

“You should stay put,” Todoroki says, concern threading his voice.

“I have to go,” Midoriya insists, voice firm. His determination convinces them both.

Ochaco nods and activates her Quirk; Tsuyu wraps her tongue around the three, hurling their weightless bodies toward Compress. Shoji’s massive arms steer them mid-flight with precision.

They smash into Mr. Compress at high speed, slamming him into the ground. Midoriya, Shoji, and Todoroki quickly restrain him, but Dabi hovers nearby, flames already forming, glaring with displeasure. Twice appears behind Todoroki, striking, only to be blocked and sent reeling by Todoroki’s ice.

Rina steps forward, her violet aura shimmering, hair and ribbons fluttering dramatically. She belts a sharp, commanding note directly at Mr. Compress.

Her Quirk resonates violently, soundwaves shattering the magician’s mask and forcing him to spit out the marbles containing Tokoyami and Bakugou.

“Darling! Do not underestimate the power of performance!” she calls, voice soaring above the chaos.

Shoji and Todoroki spring into action, midair, snatching the marbles. Midoriya’s injuries finally catch up to him; he collapses to the ground, chest heaving.

Shoji grabs Tokoyami’s marble just in time, saving him from Dabi’s looming threat. Todoroki stretches for Bakugou’s marble—but before he can reach it, Dabi snatches it away, flames licking dangerously close.

Rina twirls mid-step, still singing, her voice crackling with intensity as she boosts her allies’ reflexes and focus. Her violet soundwaves ripple through the air, subtly guiding Todoroki’s hands and Shoji’s arms, giving them the fraction of a second they need to stay coordinated amid the chaos.

“Darling, keep your hands on the prize! Precision, flair, and timing—never forget the performance!”

But it is not enough. Dabi grabs Bakugou and they're gone. Midoriya falls to his knees and screams.

Fifteen minutes after the League of Villains’ attack ends, the forest is a haze of smoke, scattered debris, and tense exhaustion. Medical teams swarm in, treating injuries with practiced efficiency, while firefighters stomp out lingering flames that lick the treetops. Class 1-A and 1-B students groan, stretch, and clutch bandages, many still trembling from the chaos.

Rina steps lightly through the aftermath, purple aura dim but still shimmering faintly around her, hair slightly singed but impeccably in place. She surveys the scene with her usual dramatic flair.

“Darling… what a catastrophic masterpiece,” she murmurs, voice tinged with theatrical horror. “Twenty-seven injured, fires dancing… and yet, somehow, the stage is still mine!”

Her amethyst eyes scan the forest, landing on the police officers apprehending Muscular, Moonfish, and Mustard. Rina raises a delicate hand as if applauding, though there’s no one left to perform for.

“Bravo, darlings. Your arrests are… adequate,” she muses, tone dripping with diva sarcasm. Her Quirk pulses faintly, sending gentle harmonic vibrations through the recovering students, easing panic and shaking nerves, letting their pulse slow and minds steady.

Her gaze falls to the darker truth: despite the victories, Bakugou remains captured, and Ragdoll is missing. Rina exhales dramatically, tilting her head back.

“Darling… the curtain falls, and yet the story is far from finished,” she murmurs, voice low but full of resolve. Even in the quiet aftermath, her presence is magnetic—part performance, part reassurance, part rallying cry for the heroes-in-training around her.

As students are escorted to safety and injuries are tended to, Rina hums a low, steady note. The violet resonance spreads subtly through the camp, calming frazzled classmates and bolstering their resolve.

Even without an audience, Violet Crescendo’s performance continues—her flair, her power, and her presence quietly reminding everyone that heroism isn’t about applause, but persistence, heart, and the courage to step back into the chaos.

Chapter Text

Rina’s room in the hospital isn’t a room at all—it’s a stage disguised as one. The curtains are silk, not polyester. The sheets gleam with embroidery. A crystal vase holds roses flown in from overseas, and on the side table sits a gold-framed photo of Violet Crescendo in concert, as though her own image were her good-luck charm.

Rina lounges in silk pajamas, the kind most people would save for magazine photoshoots. She tilts her chin dramatically as a nurse fluffs her pillows for the third time in ten minutes.

“Higher. No, lower. Ugh—darling, imagine the camera angles when the press inevitably leaks photos. We can’t have me looking… flat.”

Outside the hospital, the muffled roar of fans drifts through the walls. Dozens have gathered with pastel signs reading “Get Well Soon Rina!” and “Our Diva Heroine!”

Security guards struggle to keep order, though more than a few nurses sneak peeks out the window, starstruck. Every time the crowd cheers her name, Rina raises a delicate hand like she’s conducting an orchestra.

Class 1-A shuffles nervously down the hall, bandaged and limping from their own injuries. Midoriya, carrying flowers, expects a somber visit. Instead, they’re greeted at the door by a woman in a sharp black suit, tablet clutched in manicured hands. Rina’s manager doesn’t so much look at them as assess them—like she’s calculating which of them would look decent in a press shot.

“You’ll have ten minutes,” she says briskly, tapping at her screen. “She must rest. And please don’t upset her makeup. We’ve scheduled a livestream later today.”

The students blink, confused. Ochaco whispers, “A livestream? She was just attacked…” but the manager’s already swiping through skincare products with a nurse.

Inside, Rina reclines on her hospital bed like an actress midway through a tragic opera. A silk robe cascades around her like stage curtains, her long hair arranged in glossy waves across the pillow. An IV drips into her arm, but she angles it so it looks elegant, like a prop instead of medical equipment.

“Darlings,” she breathes, pressing a hand to her chest, “you came. I feared the world had forgotten me already.”

Mina bursts out laughing. “Forgot you? There’s literally a mob of fans outside the hospital!”

Rina sighs dramatically, eyes fluttering shut. “Adoration is a sweet wine, darling Mina—but it evaporates so quickly, leaving one parched and trembling.” She opens her eyes again, flashing a million-watt smile that’s somehow both dazzling and weary.

Midoriya blinks, mouth opening, then closing. “Rina… you weren’t… injured.”

“That’s the point, darling!” she says, tossing her hair. “A true diva knows how to dodge catastrophe with grace. You should take notes—though admittedly, bandages do suit you in a tragic hero kind of way. Very… aesthetic.”

Her management hovers constantly, adjusting the curtains, arguing with doctors about air filtration systems, and snapping photos of her sipping herbal tea with a serene smile.

To them, this is not a hospital stay—it’s free publicity. Rina plays her part flawlessly, her laughter bubbling like champagne when reporters outside shout questions through the glass.

Yet, when the TV replays footage of the night before—Bakugou dragged into the warp gate, Tokoyami nearly stolen—her glittering mask falters. For a split second, her eyes dim, lips pressed tight.

She pulls the blanket closer around her shoulders, nails tapping a nervous rhythm. But then she notices a nurse watching her, and instantly flips back into performance mode, blowing a theatrical kiss toward the window.

“Heroes,” she says aloud, her voice dripping with theatrical gravitas, “must not only protect the people, but inspire them. And who inspires better than me?” She spreads her arms wide, as though the applause of the fans outside can already be heard.

Even in a hospital bed, Rina is on stage.

Ochaco hands her a small potted cactus—humble compared to the mountain of roses already surrounding Rina’s bed. “Hey, Rina… glad you’re okay.”

Rina gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “Ochaco, darling, your thoughtfulness is humbling. A cactus! Symbol of resilience and inner strength—so fitting for me. I’ll place it near the window so the press can photograph me with it.” She tilts her head, testing angles. “This side better? Or do I look too tragic heroine?”

Ochaco just blinks, unsure if she’s being mocked or admired, before mumbling something about checking on Tsuyu.

Next comes Kaminari, his arm bandaged, grinning wide despite his own injuries. “Yo, Murasaki! Your fans outside are louder than a concert. You’re basically, like… the Beyoncé of U.A.”

Rina beams, flipping her glossy hair. “At last, someone understands my brand. Kaminari, remind me to hire you as my hype-man once we graduate.” She offers him a signed idol card with a flourish, as if she’s doing him a favor. He clutches it like it’s treasure.

Jirou lingers at the doorway, unimpressed. “Seriously? You didn’t even get hurt and you’ve got the whole hospital worshiping you.”

Rina lifts her chin. “Jealousy is unbecoming, Kyoka. Besides, my Quirk is my voice. If I were to strain my golden cords, the entire nation’s spirit would suffer. Surely U.A. can’t risk that.”

Jirou mutters something under her breath but slips in anyway, setting down a pair of earbuds beside Rina’s flowers. “For when you’re tired of hearing yourself.”

Then comes Todoroki, silent as always. He pauses in the doorway, taking in the balloons and the bouquets. Rina lights up instantly, extending a manicured hand. “Shoto! You’ve come to serenade me with your icy devotion, haven’t you?”

He simply sets a plastic bag of store-bought melon bread on the table. “You didn’t eat.”

Rina blinks. For once, she’s momentarily speechless. Then she recovers, draping the bread across her lap like a priceless gift. “How thoughtful. Truly, such gestures only deepen our tragic, star-crossed bond.”

Todoroki has already left.

By the time Midoriya finally had his turn, scribbling notes even with his arm in a sling, Rina is leaning back against a pile of pillows like a queen among courtiers.

“Midoriya, darling,” she purrs, “be honest—wasn’t my performance in the forest spectacular? The singing, the bravery, the flawless hair?”

Midoriya blushes, fumbling with his notebook. “Y-yes, you helped a lot, but… I think maybe the priority should be Kacchan, not your hair—”

Rina claps her hands. “Precisely! Bakugou’s kidnapping is tragic, but my hair looked immaculate despite the poison gas. That’s resilience, darling.”

Kirishima whistles. “Man, you’ve got it good here. Fancy curtains, fruit baskets, flowers… I didn’t even get a proper blanket!”

The manager appears in the doorway instantly. “Because she is an asset. Public image is everything. If she doesn’t look radiant, we all lose money.”

The air in the room tightens. Even Todoroki, leaning in the corner with arms crossed, scowls at that. “She’s a person, not a product.”

The manager ignores him, already barking at a nurse about moisturizer. Rina forces a laugh, waving her hand like a queen dismissing peasants. “Darling Todoroki, pay her no mind. Stardom is simply… a harsher kind of battlefield.”

But her classmates notice the tiny cracks:
– The way she straightens instantly when her manager glances at her, like a puppet tugged by strings.
– How she winces when Jirou jokes about her having it easy in luxury compared to the rest of them.
– The faint tremor in her voice when she whispers, “I mustn’t let them down. Ever.”

Midoriya finally sets the flowers at her bedside. “We just wanted to see if you’re okay, Murasaki. As you. Not Violet Crescendo. Just… you.”

For the first time, the diva mask slips. Her lips part, her eyes widen, and there’s a flicker of the orphan girl beneath the idol, small and uncertain. But then, outside the window, her fans scream her name again, and she pastes the smile back on.

“Darling Izuku,” she says softly, “that girl no longer exists. There is only the Crescendo.”

Her manager sweeps in to announce the visit is over. The students file out reluctantly, glancing back at Rina, who blows them a theatrical kiss, her smile bright enough to blind.

But when the door closes and she’s left alone, her hand falls limp against the sheets, her painted nails curling into the silk. For just a moment, the sparkle dims.

Then the fans outside cheer her name, and she straightens, fixing her hair. If the world is watching, Murasaki Rina will always give them a show.

Chapter Text

While Class 1-A gathers in Midoriya’s hospital room, Rina is nowhere to be seen. She’s not allowed. Instead, she’s in her own private suite down the hall, surrounded by flowers, fan gifts, and a hovering management team that guards her like watchdogs.

When she hears through the grapevine—one of the nurses gossiping—that her classmates are hatching a plan to save Bakugou, her chest tightens. She wants to go. Needs to go. Bakugou is loud, abrasive, infuriating…but he’s still one of theirs.

But her manager, a sharp-dressed woman with a smile that never reaches her eyes, is standing right in her doorway.

“Absolutely not, Rina-chan. You’re a brand, not a soldier. The fans are watching. The media is watching. If you sneak off and get even a scratch, your career could be over. Do you want to ruin everything we’ve built?”

Rina sits upright on her pristine white hospital bed, gripping the silky blanket in her fists. “He’s my classmate,” she fires back, her voice trembling with anger. “I’m supposed to be training to be a hero, not some—some doll you parade around for money!”

The manager sighs as if speaking to a spoiled child, not a girl with fire in her veins. “You’re more valuable as an image than a fighter. Heroes are replaceable. Murasaki Rina the Idol is not.”

That night, when the others slip away from the hospital, Rina is pacing her room like a caged bird, her reflection in the window glittering with the city lights outside. She can almost hear the others moving, whispering, planning. She presses a hand against the glass, wishing she could shatter it and fly out to them.

Instead, her manager enters again, holding a fresh bouquet from fans outside and chirping about photo ops once she’s “fully recovered.”

Rina plasters on a diva smile because that’s what they want, but inside she’s boiling. Her classmates are out there risking everything for Bakugou, and she’s trapped in a golden cage.

A few days later Aizawa and All Might arrive not at some cozy family apartment, but at a sleek, high-rise building in Musutafu, complete with tinted windows, paparazzi parked out front, and a glowing sign with Rina’s idol group’s name.

Inside, the walls are lined with framed magazine covers, trophies, and carefully staged photos of Rina. It feels less like a home and more like a showroom.

They’re greeted not by doting parents but by Rina’s manager—sharp suit, tablet always in hand, and a calculating smile that never touches the eyes. For legal purposes, the agency adopted Rina after “discovering” her in the orphanage. The paperwork made it all tidy: she’s their ward, their investment, their golden goose.

Aizawa lays out U.A.’s plan bluntly: the students will be moving into dorms on campus, Height Alliance, where they’ll be safer and under closer supervision. It’s non-negotiable for Class 1-A.

The manager immediately bristles. “Dorms? With… normal children? Rina is a star. Her image depends on being above the ordinary. Living in some school barracks? Sharing space with messy teenagers? That will not do. Her fans won’t accept it. Her sponsors won’t accept it.”

All Might tries to counter, booming about unity, safety, and the strength of Class 1-A as a family. Aizawa cuts through with his usual dry bite: “She’s not a product here. She’s a student, and she’s in danger. If you want her alive, she stays with us.”

Rina herself bursts in halfway through the conversation, lounging dramatically in a designer robe, hair in rollers, sipping from a crystal glass of soda like it’s champagne.

She acts unfazed, even jokes—“Oh, you’re deciding my fate again without me? How very on-brand.” But under the diva exterior, she’s watching the back-and-forth like a cornered animal. Part of her is desperate to be with her classmates, to not be just “the idol” in every room.

Her manager hisses that this discussion is bad PR, that Rina’s health is fragile after “trauma,” that they’ll sue if U.A. forces her into dorms. Aizawa doesn’t blink. “Then sue. But she’s moving in.”

The tension leaves Rina standing between two worlds: the carefully polished cage of her management, and the chaotic, messy, but real warmth of her classmates’ world.

When Aizawa and All Might leave, the atmosphere in the penthouse shifts from tense negotiation to cold calculation. The manager doesn’t even look at Rina at first—just scrolls through their tablet, muttering about damage control and optics.

“You will not live in those dorms. Do you know what happens if paparazzi get photos of you sleeping in a bunk bed? Eating cafeteria slop? Sharing bathrooms with… sweaty teenagers? The sponsors would riot. Your brand is exclusivity, Rina. You are luxury. You are untouchable.”

Rina rolls her eyes, tossing herself onto a velvet couch. “Maybe I want cafeteria slop. Could be fun. And my classmates don’t smell that bad.” Her tone is airy, teasing, but there’s a bite underneath it.

The manager’s expression hardens. “Don’t get ideas. You’re not some ordinary girl. We rescued you from obscurity, remember? You were nothing. We made you everything. Your face, your voice, your every move—we’ve curated it. Do you know how much money is riding on you? How many contracts? You can’t just play ‘schoolgirl’ when millions expect a goddess.”

For a second, Rina’s mask slips. Her smile falters, her shoulders sag, and she looks her age—just a teenager who wants to be with her friends, not a product on a pedestal. But she catches herself and flips her hair dramatically, feigning indifference.

“Well, goddess or not, Aizawa-Sensei didn’t look like he was asking. So unless you plan on wrestling him yourself, I think my new address is… Height Alliance Dorms.” She smirks, but her eyes flicker with something sharper, almost desperate.

The manager leans close, voice low, ice-cold: “If this ruins your career, if your numbers drop, don’t expect sympathy. We own your songs. We own your face. Without us, you’re nothing again.”

Rina laughs—a hollow, too-loud sound—and waves them off. But when the manager leaves, her hands are trembling, and she whispers into the empty room: “Nothing’s still more human than what you want me to be.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

It is the middle of August, and Class 1-A eyes are wide at the sight of the freshly built Heights Alliance dormitories. The buildings gleam in the sunlight, modern and efficient, just a five-minute walk from the school proper.

Rina, suitcase in hand, let's her long violet hair catch the light. She spins once dramatically, surveying the dorms like she’s auditioning for a role on a stage.

Aizawa begins the briefing, his expression flat. “At the training camp, you were supposed to receive your Provisional Hero Licenses. That didn’t happen due to the League of Villains’ attack.” His gaze sweeps across the group. “Some of you acted as if you already had your licenses. Todoroki, Kirishima, Midoriya, Yaoyorozu, Ida—you know who you are.”

Rina arches an eyebrow, tilting her head as she listens, lips pursed. She doesn’t interrupt; even a diva knows when to wait for the applause. But internally, she smirks. So some of these kids actually risked themselves to rescue Bakugo. Brave, reckless, and… mildly impressive.

Aizawa continues, explaining that the rest of Class 1-A, minus Bakugo, Hagakure, and Jiro, also knew about the plan. Their actions have been covered up, but he warns them that had All Might not retired, the students would have faced expulsion.

The class shifts nervously. Rina, however, is already thinking about her own space. “Expulsion?” she mutters to herself, twirling a curl around her finger. “Darling, a true diva never faces permanent exile. One merely adjusts the stage.”

Aizawa leads the group to the dormitory. Heights Alliance has one dorm per class. The building is impressive but noticeably compact, and the first floor houses common spaces: dining, baths, and laundry facilities. The wings are separated by gender—the girls’ wing on the right, the boys’ on the left.

Rina steps into her room, eyes flicking over the bed, the closet, the small desk. Smaller than the suites she’s used to, certainly.

Yet, a strange warmth stirs within her as she takes it in. The tight space, the plain walls—it reminds her, faintly, of the orphanage where she grew up. The memories of making do with little, of carving out her own stage in cramped corners, make her pause just for a second.

“Well, darling,” she says, voice rising with flair, “this may be cozy, but every diva can turn a humble stage into a spectacle.”

Rina sets her suitcase on the bed and clicks it open with a sharp snap, the sound echoing in the small room like a drumroll.

She carefully lifts each item out, inspecting them as if the mundane act of unpacking were a performance in itself. Dresses are smoothed over the bed, sparkling accessories arranged by color and size, and her shoes are lined up in precise little rows against the wall.

She pauses at her guitar, lifting it reverently. “Darling, you may be portable, but that only makes your entrance more dramatic.” She leans it against the wall, giving it a small, appreciative strum, just enough for the strings to hum softly. The sound echoes faintly off the dorm walls, and she grins, imagining the reaction if her classmates could hear it.

As she works, she notices the narrowness of the room—the small desk, the single chair, the compact closet. Her lips purse. “How utterly tiny,” she mutters.

She lets out a soft sigh, spinning on the balls of her feet. “Darling, one must always make the most of the space afforded.” She smooths the folds of a gown over the bed, setting a neat stack of notebooks beside it, even placing a few framed pictures of past performances against the desk. Small touches, but enough to make it feel hers.

Her curls bounce as she moves around the room, placing a few personal trinkets on the shelves and lining up her perfume bottles like tiny trophies. Each movement is exaggerated, theatrical—a diva in rehearsal, even in solitude. She pauses in front of the bed, brushing the hair from her face, and smiles faintly.

Rina steps out of her dorm room, her violet hair bouncing with every step. Sje takes the elevator down to the first floor wich opens up into a buzzing common space: students claim couches, chatter at the tables, and experiment with the kitchen appliances like a dozen small storms converging.

Ignoring the whispers of passing classmates, she walks toward a corner table, setting her guitar case gently beside her like a sacred artifact. With careful precision, she unpacks a notebook and her sheet music, spreading them out like a stage blueprint. A few curious eyes glance her way, but she ignores them, performing a small, subtle twirl before settling into a chair, as if saying, look, even I can make chaos elegant.

She hums softly, just a single note, and watches as the faint violet shimmer of her Quirk ripples across the tabletop. Not enough to affect anyone, just enough to feel like a whisper of her own world has seeped into theirs. Even in this mundane space, she’s still Violet Crescendo, still a star.

Rina’s gaze drifts toward the kitchen, where Mina is bouncing around, flour streaked on her cheeks, and Kaminari is zapping utensils with his electricity. She lets out a faint, melodic sigh and glides toward them, her steps measured and deliberate, as if she’s walking onto a stage.

“Darling,” she says, voice smooth and teasing, “you cannot possibly expect elegance while throwing ingredients into the air like confetti.” Her hands rest lightly on her hips, and her curls sway with a practiced flourish.

Mina looks up, startled but delighted. “Oh! Rina! You’re so graceful! Can you help us?”

Rina cocks her head, considering. “Hmmm… I might,” she says, her voice dipping into a low hum. As she sings a soft note, her Quirk flickers to life. The scattered flour gently settles, utensils hover obediently, and the pancakes begin flipping perfectly in the air. She pauses, tilts her chin, and lets her eyes sparkle. “There. Even chaos obeys when a diva commands it.”

Kaminari blinks, clearly impressed. “Whoa… that’s so cool!”

Rina gives him a small, regal smile. “Darling, everything I do is… naturally spectacular.”

Moving through the room, she notices a few classmates struggling to carry trays of food to the tables. She hums another soft note, and the trays slide gently toward the waiting students, levitating just enough to ease the burden without anyone realizing exactly how. She doesn’t linger on the mundane tasks—after all, drama is essential—but she allows herself a faint thrill at subtly helping.

Jirou passes by, giving her a side glance. “Uh… you’re really taking over the common space, huh?”

Rina spins once, hair cascading around her shoulders, and gives a mock curtsey. “Darling, one must always elevate the ambiance wherever one goes. Consider it… an unasked-for performance.”

Even in the chaos, Rina’s aura radiates a mix of authority and charm. Her classmates, whether amused, impressed, or mildly exasperated, start to fall in step with the flow she creates. She hums another note, faint violet light trailing from her voice, and the common space seems… calmer, yet somehow brighter.

For the first time in a long while, Rina feels fully herself. No cameras, no managers, no adoring crowds—just a little dorm, her classmates, and the freedom to shine in her own way.

The sun dips lower outside the dorm windows, painting the common space in warm golds and purples. Rina retreats to her room.

She sits on the edge of her bed, guitar resting across her lap, and lets her fingers trace the strings absentmindedly. In the silence, memories creep in—the orphanage, the cold walls, the nights she spent singing to keep herself from feeling invisible.

She swallows hard, her throat tight for reasons she isn’t ready to name, and closes her eyes for a brief moment.
“Darling,” she whispers softly to herself, “how far we’ve come…”

She leans back, letting her curls spill across the pillow. In this small dorm, she doesn’t need to be perfect. She doesn’t need to sparkle for an audience or obey managers’ orders. She can just… be. Her diva persona remains—still theatrical, still confident—but for the first time, it’s tempered by choice rather than obligation.

Her gaze drifts to her guitar and her neatly arranged belongings. Each item, each note she hums, feels like a thread weaving her past and present together. The orphanage made her resilient. Her idol career made her shine. And now… UA gives her freedom. Freedom to grow, to learn, to be part of a team, and maybe even to care for others without it being part of a performance.

Rina tilts her head, a small, private smile tugging at her lips. “Darling, even in a humble room, one can create magic.” She hums another soft note, just enough to let the violet shimmer of her Quirk ripple faintly across the bedspread.

She leans against the headboard, eyes half-closed, and whispers, “Tomorrow… the world will see a different kind of diva.”

And in the quiet of the small dorm room, Rina Crescendo allows herself to rest—not as a star controlled by fame, not as an idol shaped by management, but simply as herself.

Morning sunlight streams through the dorm windows, bouncing off the polished floors and filling the common space with a golden glow. Class 1-A shuffles in, some still half-asleep, others already buzzing with energy. The smell of toast, eggs, and coffee fills the air.

Rina sweeps in last, hair perfectly styled despite the early hour, suitcase neatly stowed, and her guitar leaning against her chair like a royal scepter. She pauses at the doorway, surveying the scene as if critiquing a poorly rehearsed play.

“Darling,” she murmurs under her breath, eyes narrowing slightly at a pile of cereal boxes toppled onto the floor. “Absolute anarchy masquerading as breakfast.” She glides forward, heels clicking lightly on the floor.

Mina bounces over, eyes sparkling. “Rina! You’re up early! Want some pancakes?”

Rina tilts her head, considering. “Mmmm… pancakes, darling… only if they are perfectly symmetrical and not… slouching in their plating.” She flicks her hair dramatically. “Otherwise, one might as well call it chaos on a plate.”

Kirishima chuckles, sliding a plate toward her. “Don’t worry, we can help!”

Rina hums a note, the faint violet shimmer of her Quirk brushing over the food and trays. Eggs slide neatly onto plates, toast lands perfectly, and the pancakes align in tidy stacks. She claps softly, satisfied. “Darling, that is… adequate. One might even call it civilized.”

As they eat, Rina observes the breakfast chaos with a sharp eye. Kaminari accidentally sparks the toaster, Mina spills syrup, and Jirou fumbles with the coffee pot. Rina raises a delicate finger in mock admonition. “Darling, grace is not a suggestion,” she hums, her note soft but carrying a commanding edge that makes the cluttered scene almost pause.

Ochaco nudges her gently. “Rina, maybe you’re… a little too strict?”

Rina leans back, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Darling, one cannot let the untrained masses dictate the standards of elegance. I am simply… providing guidance.” She sips her tea, pinky raised, and surveys her classmates with quiet amusement.

Even in her diva persona, there’s a subtle warmth as she notices small efforts—Bakugou quietly helping Todoroki pass a tray, Tsuyu arranging napkins with precision, and Midoriya carefully handing Rina a plate of scrambled eggs. She hums another note, just enough to let a faint shimmer ripple over their table, aligning the dishes neatly.

Rina leans back, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Ah… finally, a breakfast worthy of one’s attention,” she murmurs.

Later, Class 1-A gathers together, buzzing with Mina’s spontaneous idea: a room showcase competition. The girls clap in excitement, and soon the entire dorm is swept up in the contest, each student nervously—or proudly—opening their door to show off their private world.

Rina lounges against the banister of the girls’ wing, a playful smirk curling her lips as she twirls a strand of violet hair.

“Oh, darlings, I do hope you’re ready. Because when you see my room,” she purrs dramatically, “you’ll all be begging me for interior design tips.”

The tour goes on as canon: Deku’s shrine of All Might, Tokoyami’s dark crypt of a room, Aoyama’s blinding sparkles. Giggles and squeals follow them up through the floors, and everyone’s anticipation builds toward Rina’s door on the girls’ side.

When it’s finally her turn, she pauses just before opening it, posing like she’s on a stage. “Prepare yourselves for the pinnacle of taste, glamour, and ambiance!” she declares, swinging the door wide.

Inside, Rina’s room is exactly what they’d expect from Violet Crescendo: a luxurious explosion of purple and silver. Shimmering curtains frame the window, and a soft lavender glow hums from sleek light fixtures. Her vanity table is overflowing with makeup palettes, shimmering powders, and rows of perfumes lined like soldiers. Posters of her idol days—her most glamorous photoshoots—line the walls in ornate silver frames. A polished guitar rests on a stand beside her bed, its strings gleaming under the light.

“Ta-daaah~!” Rina sings, spreading her arms wide. “Welcome to paradise, sweethearts.”

The girls gasp in awe, though Mina teases, “Wow, this looks less like a dorm room and more like a celebrity suite!”

“That’s because a celebrity lives here,” Rina answers, placing a hand on her chest with mock seriousness.

Yet, if anyone looks closely past the glamour, they might notice something tucked on her bedside shelf: a small, frayed plush rabbit. It’s worn down, clearly from her orphanage days, but still carefully placed in a position of honor. Rina notices the direction of Yaoyorozu’s curious gaze and quickly sweeps over, fluffing one of her pillows to block it from view, covering her small vulnerability with diva confidence.

Back in the hall, the tour continues—Kirishima’s manly den, Shoji’s minimalism, Shoto’s tatami elegance, Sato’s sweet cake surprise. But the whole time, classmates keep chattering about Rina’s dazzling décor. Kaminari dramatically fans himself and jokes, “I felt like I wasn’t worthy to even step on that carpet…” while Jirou rolls her eyes and mutters, “Figures her room looks like a concert stage.”

Rina just smirks, leaning against her doorway. “Jealousy is a dangerous look, darling. But it suits you.”

Chapter Text

The next day in Class 1-A’s room, the atmosphere buzzes with energy. Aizawa leans against the podium, scarf loose as always, but his gaze is sharp.

“Your next objective is clear,” he says. “Provisional Hero Licenses.”

The room goes silent for a beat before murmurs ripple through. Midoriya's eyes widen, Iida sits straighter than usual, and Mina practically squeals in her seat.

But Rina? She simply pulls a compact mirror from her desk and adjusts the shimmer of violet eyeshadow at her lids, sighing theatrically. “Darling, I already have a license,” she says, loud enough for nearby classmates to hear. “A license to dazzle.”

“Pretty sure that won’t help you in a fight,” Jirou mutters, side-eyeing her.

Rina snaps the compact shut with a flourish and smirks. “Au contraire, darling. No villain survives being outshined.”

Aizawa ignores her antics and continues. When he mentions they’ll be working on special moves, Cementoss, Ectoplasm, and Midnight enter the room. Excited chatter rises, and Aizawa gives the command: “Change into your costumes. Meet me at Gym Gamma.”

At Gym Gamma
The massive facility echoes with anticipation as the students gather. Cementoss explains the gym’s adaptability, walls already shifting in demonstration.

Rina crosses her arms and tilts her chin high. “At last. A venue worthy of my talents.”

Kaminari chuckles. “You think they built this for you?”

“Obviously,” she replies without missing a beat. “What else could they mean by Gamma? It’s short for glamour.”

The students disperse to train. Midoriya practices smashing with controlled bursts, Todoroki conjures fire and ice in rapid succession, and Iida revs his engines. Rina drags her mic stand dramatically to the center of her zone, planting it in the ground as though announcing a concert.

She takes a deep breath and begins with a hum—low, resonant, deliberate. Violet light flickers at her throat and spreads in rippling circles. She launches into a full note, sharp and powerful. The soundwave slams outward, shaking the ground and forcing an Ectoplasm clone to stumble back.

“Violet Crescendo: Resonant Spotlight!” she declares, spinning on her heel skates and throwing both arms to the ceiling.

A few of her classmates glance over. Kaminari whistles, Mina claps excitedly, but Jirou facepalms. “She’s literally just renaming her Quirk mid-performance.”

Unbothered, Rina flourishes a bow. “Every move deserves a title, darling. That’s called branding.”

Midnight chuckles softly. “Well, at least she understands presentation.”

Another Ectoplasm clone charges. Rina pivots, her hair catching the gym’s light as she belts out a higher note. The wave is sharper, more focused, blasting the clone back against Cementoss’ reshaped wall.

Rina staggers a bit, throat raw, but she masks it with a bright smile. “Encore?” she says breathlessly, voice cracking just slightly.

Jirou steps closer, arms crossed. “If you keep yelling like that, you’re going to shred your vocal cords before the exam even starts.”

“And what, darling, would be more heroic than sacrificing my voice for the world?” Rina answers, tossing her curls back.

Jirou groans. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly fabulous,” Rina corrects with a wink.

Nearby, Yaoyorozu watches with a more thoughtful expression. “Actually… if you’re straining yourself that quickly, perhaps you should consider tools to aid you. Like a support item—something that can project or amplify your sound without forcing you to sing at full strength all the time.”

Rina pauses, lowering her mic slightly. For a moment, the diva mask slips, just a crack. The idea lingers—her voice is her everything. If it’s gone, who is she? But instead of voicing that fear, she smirks again.

“Darling, you mean an accessory?” she asks. “Because I never say no to new jewelry.”

Yaoyorozu smiles faintly. “If you want to frame it that way, then yes. An accessory.”

The other students continue their experiments, but Rina stays at her mic, testing the edges of her Quirk. Lower notes create shuddering barriers of violet resonance. Higher pitches sharpen into blasts. Sustained tones form shimmering ripples like shields, though her voice breaks the longer she holds them.

By the end, her throat aches, but she refuses to show it. When she catches her reflection faintly in the sheen of Cementoss’ altered wall, she whispers just to herself: “An idol’s voice can’t break. An idol must always sing.”

Then she flips her hair, throws a dazzling smile at her classmates, and belts out another note, violet light crashing through Gym Gamma like a spotlight cutting across the stage.

Day One – “The Diva Takes the Stage”
Rina glides into Gym Gamma on her violet rollerblades, ribbons trailing dramatically behind her. While the others already spar against Ectoplasm’s clones or smash Cementoss’s constructs into rubble, she strikes a pose with her collapsible guitar.

“Darlings,” she declares to no one in particular, voice echoing across the gym, “the concert begins now.”

Her first attempt at a special move is, frankly, a disaster. She belts out a high note while firing three energy arrows. The arrows fly gloriously… then ricochet off Cementoss’s wall, one nearly clipping her own ribbon. She stumbles on her skates, arms pinwheeling.

“Encore!” she gasps, forcing a grin even as she faceplants into the mat.

Around her, classmates politely pretend not to laugh. Bakugou definitely doesn’t pretend.

But Rina flips her hair, rises, and blows a kiss at the imaginary crowd. “Every star needs a rehearsal flop, sweethearts. Tomorrow, the real show begins.”

Days Two to Four – “When the Spotlight Burns”
Training becomes grueling. She experiments with blending skating speed and vocal projection, but the faster she moves, the harder it is to maintain pitch.

By Day Two her throat aches. By Day Three her voice cracks mid-note, turning her Sonic Disruption into something resembling a strangled goose.

Still, she refuses to stop.

Rina spends hours weaving between Cementoss’s sudden walls, singing scales as she skates. She tests shooting arrows in rhythm with her beats, shouting out names as if announcing tracks onstage:

“Crescendo Barrage!” she calls, only for half her arrows to misfire.

“Stage Spotlight!” she shrieks, blinding herself in her own lightwave reflection.

Even humiliation becomes theater. She collapses dramatically onto the floor, one hand over her forehead. “Tragically, the muse deserts me. But she shall return!”

And on Day Four, when she can barely croak a note, she forces herself back on the stage anyway. She knows something big is waiting just beyond this wall of failure.

Day Five – “The Breakthrough Ballad”
The spark comes unexpectedly. She’s strumming her guitar idly between drills, throat raw, when she hits a resonant chord — and sings soft, not loud.

Instead of blasting the gym with sound, the note hums warmly, steady and controlled. The air vibrates, her arrow aligns, and for the first time, three bolts strike their mark in perfect rhythm, glowing purple against Cementoss’s wall.

Her heart leaps.

“Yes! YES!” she screams, spinning on her skates. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you— Crescendo Barrage!”

The name feels right now. Not just noise, not just a stunt, but a move. The crowd in her head roars. For the first time, she bows with genuine pride, not just drama.

Days Six and Seven – “Costume, Darling, Costume!”
Power is nothing without presentation. If she was to debut new moves, she needed a new look.

She pesters the costume department with sketches — violet microphones, holographic projectors, glowing ribbons that pulse to her music. Some ideas are too impractical (“Rina, you cannot have a fifty-foot hologram of yourself following you into battle”), but others stick.

By Day Six she’s testing a discreet earpiece-microphone that keeps her voice free even while skating. By Day Seven her ribbons have been upgraded with reflective fibers, amplifying the shimmer of her quirk.

She twirls before the mirror, purple light catching on her new bow form. “Darlings, I’ve transcended fashion. I’ve become the cataclysm of couture!”

No one else is there, but she bows anyway.

Days Eight and Nine – “Mastering the Setlist”
Her confidence blooms. She strings together her new moves like songs in a concert.

She opens with Stage Spotlight — a radiant aura that boosts speed for anyone near her. The light reflects off her ribbons, blinding Ectoplasm’s clones just enough to buy time.

She follows with Harmonic Guard, her voice steady and resonant, weaving a translucent shield of soundwaves. The first time it deflects a clone’s attack, her grin is so wide it hurts.

And then, the finale: Crescendo Barrage, fired in a sweeping arc as she sings, her arrows synchronized with every note. For once, it feels easy. Natural. Like she isn’t forcing the music out, but letting it lead her.

Her skates cut across the gym floor, ribbons trailing like stage lights. The diva is not pretending anymore — she is performing.

Day Ten – “The Final Encore”
On the last day, Rina stands at the center of Gym Gamma, chest rising and falling, heart hammering like drums before a curtain call.

She closes her eyes, hums low, and lets the vibration fill her chest. She sings — not just loudly, but passionately, pulling from every orphanage lullaby, every street song, every arena spotlight. Her arrows fire in radiant succession, her aura swells to encompass her, and for a fleeting moment the gym feels like a stage.

The move drains her completely. When the light fades, she collapses onto the mat, throat raw, tears in her eyes. But she’s laughing.

“That, darlings…” she whispers to her imaginary audience, “was my Final Encore.”

Suddenly Class 1-B enters with Vlad King. Aizawa asks Vlad for 10 more minutes.

Monoma is already smirking, hands clasped, chest puffed like a peacock who thinks it owns the sky. The audacity. The ignorance.

Rina’s amethyst eyes narrow ever so slightly, lips curling in a perfectly calculated smirk. “Ahhh, there he is,” she murmurs, voice dripping with faux sweetness. “My darling little gentleman rival. Ready to see what true artistry looks like?”

Monoma flares. “Class 1-A will fail.” He says it with all the smugness of a cat expecting applause for sitting on a chair.

Rina raises a hand and lets her voice glide like silk through the air. “Oh, sweetie, bless your heart.” She steps forward, hips swaying with the grace of a stage queen. “Tell me, does your little heart truly believe that style, charisma, and absolute presence are things to be scoffed at? Adorable. Truly.” She twirls once, letting the ribbons of her costume flutter around her like a living halo. Her quirk hums faintly—tiny vibrations in the air that only a perceptive ear might notice. A subtle, purple-tinged shimmer dances across her boots.

Monoma frowns, face twitching like he’s holding in a gasp of irritation. Rina can see it, and her grin blooms wider. “Darling, do not strain yourself. Such effort over this little contest,” she gestures with a dramatic sweep of her arm, “is hardly worth it when the stage is mine.”

Class 1-A snickers in the background, a few hiding their faces, while Bakugou huffs, muttering something about her annoying sparkle. Todoroki merely stares, unimpressed as usual, and Rina winks at him over her shoulder, just enough to provoke a slight twitch of his eyebrow. Oh yes, darling, she knows exactly the effect she has.

“Stage Diva,” murmurs Kaminari, almost reverently, and Rina hears it. Ahh, yes. That is exactly what I am. She puffs up her chest, letting the title settle in the room like a warm spotlight.

Monoma crosses his arms. “Your theatrics don’t change the fact that you’re going to fail,” he says with a practiced sneer, as if he alone holds the truths of the universe.

Rina gasps, hand flying to her chest. “Darling! Fail? Such a word is not in my vocabulary!” Her voice rises in pitch, playful yet operatic, each note sending a faint quiver through the air as her quirk resonates subtly. Purple streaks of sound energy trail around her fingers, making tiny arcs that glitter like stage lights. “I shall show you, sweet one, that heroism and artistry can be the same thing. Watch closely. Study my form. Attempt to grasp even a fraction of my brilliance.”

She glides across the gym on her rollerblades, spinning gracefully, letting the translucent ribbons of her costume flutter in exaggerated arcs. Her bow-guitar clicks open mid-motion, transforming with a snap into its sleek, purple energy bow form. Rina raises it dramatically, letting a single arrow of radiant purple energy hover between her hands. She sings softly, notes curling like smoke around the arrow, imbuing it with quirk resonance. The arrow pulses in sync with her voice, tiny shimmering waves dancing along the floor toward Monoma.

Monoma flinches ever so slightly. Rina tilts her head, voice teasing. “Oh? Did I startle you, darling? My quirk resonates, you see. It is… not subtle. Not meant to be.” She arcs the arrow skyward, letting it spin in a perfect circle above her head before nocking it and letting it shoot harmlessly into the wall with a melodramatic thunk. “Fear not! The aim, darling, is purely for style. One must look good while being heroic.”

Bakugou mutters, “She’s trying way too hard,” but even he can’t deny the faint shimmer of energy that tinges the air. Rina hears him. Smiles. Ahh, attention, whether it is begrudging or admiring… it is all mine to command.

The moment is ripe. She spins back, bows theatrically, then lifts her voice into a cascading riff that fills the gym. Her quirk blossoms faintly, a purple corona swirling around her. “Let’s compare, darling Monoma!” she calls, theatrics dripping from every syllable. “Your ‘gentlemanly sophistication’—charming, yes—but can it dance? Can it sing in combat while dazzling the masses?!”

Monoma splutters, about to respond, and Rina cuts him off, rolling on her blades with a flourish, ribbons streaming behind her. “I propose a contest!” she announces, voice bright and dramatic. “A battle of flair! A test of diva dominance! We shall see whose presence commands the room! The victor shall claim the title of… True Stage Hero!”

Class 1-A bursts into laughter. Bakugou growls in frustration, Todoroki rolls his eyes, and Midoriya nearly chokes on his own words, but Rina is oblivious, glowing with confidence. She spins in place, shooting multiple arrows into the air, each infused with gentle quirk resonance, tiny shockwaves pulsing as she sings, forcing Monoma to dodge theatrically. “Observe, darling, the Crescendo Barrage! Each arrow a note, each note a step toward victory!”

She leaps, ribbons fluttering like a cloud of violet mist, transforming her bow back into a guitar mid-air. With a dramatic strum, she unleashes a short arc of sonic resonance, Stage Spotlight, washing the entire gym in faint purple light. Her teammates feel a sudden boost in alertness and focus; even Monoma’s smugness flickers as he adjusts, squinting at the sudden dazzle.

“And now…” Rina saunters forward, pointing a gloved finger directly at him, voice ringing like a bell, “Harmonic Guard! Feel the force of diva protection!” She hums, chords vibrating invisibly in the air, small soundwave shields rippling around her allies. Todoroki shifts slightly, impressed despite himself; Bakugou snorts but secretly notices.

Monoma gapes. “This… this is ridiculous!” he shouts.

“Ridiculous, yes, darling—but effective!” Rina twirls, hair and ribbons flying like a halo of violet fire. “One does not merely enter a gym, one performs! One does not merely fire arrows, one conducts a symphony of heroics!”

The purple aura swirls brighter, pulses hitting all around her, lifting spirits, unnerving the gentlemanly Monoma with theatrical precision. Rina finishes her performance with a dramatic pose, bow-guitar across her chest, voice lingering in the air, “And now, the Final Encore!”—she belts a high note, and a pulse of resonance ripples across the gym, brief but powerful, amplifying everyone’s quirk potential for a moment. She collapses lightly onto one knee, hand over her heart, chest heaving in perfect dramatic rhythm.

Monoma blinks. Class 1-A is wide-eyed, Bakugou’s scowl is a touch unsure, Todoroki crosses his arms but can’t hide a small nod. Rina straightens with a flourish, rollerblades spinning in place. “Victory, darling, is mine! But fret not. You may yet practice, learn… and try to match the glory of Violet Crescendo!” She winks, sending a small pulse of quirk energy toward him as a teasing reminder.

Her classmates cheer, some groaning, some laughing, some clapping. Rina sweeps a theatrical bow, ribbons trailing, energy sparkling faintly in the air. She saunters over to adjust her costume slightly—longer ribbons, subtle silver accents along her boots, and a tiny modification to her guitar bow to allow more spectacular arcs. She hums softly to herself, considering the lighting effects of her quirk on the costume. Yes… darling, perfection in motion. This is what heroism looks like.

She floats a few steps above the ground with the grace only a diva could manage on rollerblades, surveying the gym with a faint smile. Let them try to compete. Let them all try. The stage is mine.

Chapter Text

The sun blazes down over Takoba National Stadium, reflecting off Rina’s glittering school uniform. She adjusts her long violet hair a little toss, letting the lavender streaks shimmer in the morning light.

Class 1-A huddles nearby, murmuring nervously among themselves. The tension practically radiates off them—but Rina?

Rina is all poise, all performance. She crosses her arms, one booted foot tapping like a metronome, as if the anxiety around her were just background music to her own solo.

“You all look… adorable,” she murmurs under her breath, eyes sweeping across her classmates. “So desperate to impress, yet so frazzled. Darlings, allow me to show you how one handles pressure.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrow from the sidelines, clearly unimpressed, but Rina’s amethyst gaze flickers to him with a coy tilt of her head. She doesn’t need his approval—today, she’s here to shine.

The huddle tightens, Midoriya muttering strategies and Iida nodding rigidly. Rina leans against a railing, crossing her legs.

And then, suddenly—BAM. The huddle is interrupted. A storm of energy comes barreling forward, and there he is: Inasa Yoarashi, bowing with such vigor that his head smacks the ground with an audible thwack. Blood stains his forehead. The class gasps.

“Oh, sweethearts, do we applaud for effort or call for a medic?” Rina quips, flicking her long hair over her shoulder.

Some of her classmates look horrified—Midoriya’s wide-eyed, Tsuyu’s tongue flicks nervously—but Rina simply steps forward, one hand on her hip, a smirk teasing her lips. “Darling, that’s… audacious,” she says. “If theatrics were marks, he’d already be passing with flying colors.”

Bakugou grunts behind her. “It’s not theatrics, you moron! He’s dangerous!”

Rina gives him a sidelong glance, eyebrow raised. “Darling, danger has style, and he’s serving it up on a silver platter.” She twirls. “I say we watch. Observe. And perhaps… learn.”

The other participants begin to line up. Rina’s eyes sweep across the crowd, noting the familiar berets, the sharp postures, the students from Shiketsu High.

A few of them glance at her, whispering about the famous Idol. Her chest puffs with pride.

“Ah, I see,” Rina murmurs, eyes narrowing in amusement. “The competition is stiff. How… pedestrian.” She flicks her fingers in a practiced gesture, as though to organize the world into her rhythm. “Let them be impressive in their own little ways, but let us remember… the stage is mine, darling. Always mine.”

She hears Bakugou grumbling about a school in Kansai, Shiketsu High’s reputation, and Inasa’s scores. Midoriya’s whispering beside her draws her attention.
“Do you think he’s as strong as Todoroki?” he asks, his voice small and nervous.

Rina tilts her head, letting the sunlight catch her violet strands. “Darling, comparisons are tiresome. Strength is… magnificent when paired with style. And style, as you will see, I have in abundance.”

Aizawa calls out instructions, reminding them to stay alert. Rina’s gaze sweeps over her classmates, noting their tension, their excitement.

“Darling classmates,” she announces theatrically, “let us pass this exam not just with skill… but with flair. For if one must be a hero, one might as well be unforgettable.”

Rina drifts near the edge of Class 1-A’s huddle, her violet hair bouncing with each step, eyes scanning the expansive Takoba National Stadium like she’s stepping onto a grand stage. The energy here is palpable, and to Rina, it all feels like an opening act.

She tilts her head, taking in the crowd, the nervous whispers of her classmates, and the tense faces lined up across from them. Her amethyst eyes glint with excitement—finally, a real test where she can show off, not just in practice but for an audience, however small.

Her moment of dramatic surveying is interrupted by a ripple of attention. A woman approaches Aizawa, her aura practically sparkling even at a distance.

She strides with the ease of someone used to turning heads, flashing a grin that seems built to disrupt composure. Rina’s ears perk up. Oh, this is going to be fun, she thinks. She leans slightly forward, resting a hand on her hip like a judge at a talent competition, her boots clicking faintly on the stadium floor.

“Has it really been that long, Shota?” the woman chirps, voice playful, bouncing like the beat of a pop song. Her energy practically forces Rina’s quirk to hum faintly in her chest, ready to amplify any emotion.

Aizawa’s expression remains flat. Unamused. Predictably dull. Rina suppresses a smirk. Classic Erasing Hero—so stoic, so unshakable. But this woman… this is exactly the type of stage presence I live for.

The woman leans closer, teasing, laughing, gesturing with dramatic flair, but Aizawa remains unmoved.

Ms. Joke, the teacher with an aura of mischief, introduces herself formally, revealing her Quirk: Outburst. She can force laughter from anyone nearby, disrupting focus. Rina tilts her head, intrigued. A Quirk that literally turns an audience into stage props… I approve, she whispers to herself. A sly smile curls her lips. Maybe we’ll have to collaborate on a duet someday… imagine the harmony.

Tsuyu’s voice cuts through the moment, observing Aizawa and Ms. Joke’s closeness. Rina watches the exchange with a delighted little hum, appreciating the human drama. The tension, the unspoken flirtation, the banter—it’s delicious. Rina twirls a lock of hair, pretending to yawn dramatically. Somehow, this is even better than a fan meet-and-greet, she thinks.

Ms. Joke denies romantic speculation and explains that she teaches Class 2-2 at Ketsubutsu Academy High.

Rina nods with exaggerated decorum, as if bowing to royalty rather than a teacher.
“Darling, how utterly delightful,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. She’s a performer, clearly. I like her already.

Students from Class 2-2 appear, polite but brimming with energy. One of them, Yo Shindo, bounds toward Class 1-A, offering greetings full of enthusiasm.

Yo tries to greet Bakugou, who promptly ignores him. Rina almost laughs, covering her mouth with a hand in mock scandal. Oh, Bakugou, you absolute drama hazard. Denying your fan greetings is a crime against stagecraft. She winks at Kirishima, who is clearly scolding Bakugou, and mutters under her breath, “Darling, if he ever wants my autograph, he’ll behave.”

Chapter Text

The air inside Takoba National Stadium buzzes with restless energy. Class 1-A stands together, clad in their Hero Costumes, the material tight and sleek against their bodies.

Rina’s boots gleam under the stadium lights, her rollerblades clicking softly as she shifts her weight, adjusting the flow of her skirt ribbons. Her deep violet hair glimmers, streaks of lavender catching the light, and her amethyst eyes shine faintly in anticipation.

She flips her collapsible guitar over her shoulder, the instrument humming faintly in resonance with her heartbeat.

“Darling,” Rina mutters theatrically to herself, twirling once on her rollerblades. “Let’s show them that heroes can perform and prevail.” She strikes a pose, one hand resting on her hip, the other lifting the guitar high. Her classmates give her amused glances, some rolling their eyes, others smiling at her over-the-top energy.

Bakugou scowls but doesn’t comment; Todoroki’s stoic gaze is fixed on the stadium terrain, though he notices the shimmering aura of her quirk already radiating off her as she hums a soft, tuning note.

Yokumiru Mera appears, bleary-eyed and yawning, clearly a man pushed past sleep. His introduction drifts through the stadium, describing the Provisional Hero License Exam and the cutthroat competition ahead.

Rina tilts her head, lips pursed in mock sympathy. “Sweetheart, poor thing,” she whispers to herself, her voice rich and melodious. “Sleep-deprived and already outshone by sheer glamour in this arena. Tragic.”

The rules of the preliminary round are explained: targets on the body, six balls, lighting them up, taking down opponents—all of it calculated and methodical. The students groan collectively at the complexity, and some mutter anxiously about the sheer number of competitors.

Rina rolls her eyes dramatically, gesturing toward the stadium’s open field. “Darling darlings, fret not,” she announces in a singsong tone, her voice already triggering subtle pulses of her Quirk. “We shall turn this chaos into a stage.”

The gates open, revealing the stadium proper. Rina skates forward, twirling gracefully as the wind lifts her ribbons, her purple soundwave aura flaring subtly.

Varied terrain stretches out before them: hills, barriers, platforms, and sand pits—a perfect playground for chaos and spectacle. Her eyes glint with mischief.

“Darling… this is the canvas,” she whispers, touching the strings of her guitar. The instrument emits a harmonic buzz that resonates through the stadium floor, and she slides into a short sprint, using the vibrations to enhance her balance on the rollerblades.

She eyes her classmates, her diva instincts already strategizing. “Ah, precious heroes, allow your Violet Crescendo to amplify your courage,” she calls, voice lilting, a pulse of purple energy radiating outward.

The soundwaves make subtle adjustments in the spacing between the obstacles, nudging a loose barrier to the side, giving her allies a split-second advantage.

Midoriya blinks in surprise, noticing the way the sound gently shifts the environment—her quirk is far more tactical than it looks.

A hush spreads through Class 1-A as Yokumiru Mera hands out the targets and balls. Rina plucks a single note, her voice rising to a short trill that reverberates across the field. A faint ripple passes through the balls in her hands, making them almost float for a moment, guided subtly by her harmonic resonance.

“Precision, darling… always with precision!” she declares, spinning to position her first target.

She places the small markers meticulously—one on her shoulder, one near her waist, and one on her thigh—then performs a quick roll and flip on her rollerblades, positioning herself behind a low barrier.

Her quirk hums in sync with her heartbeat as she sings a short, sharp scale: the faint purple glow dances along the arena, amplifying her focus and agility. Her classmates notice, some whispering,

“She’s actually helping us without even trying.” Bakugou snorts, rolling his eyes, but Rina catches his gaze mid-spin and gives a mock curtsey.

“Darling, your scowl is so… iconic. Do try not to miss the performance, hmm?” Her voice drips with playful taunt, though her every movement is sharp, precise—every flourish calculated for both effect and functionality.

She tests a toss, six balls in hand, singing a single high note that vibrates through her arms. The first ball shoots forward in a soft arc, hitting a target on a distant opponent. The light flashes; Rina flips her wrist, sending another ball in a graceful curve, landing another hit.

Her performance is seamless, blending style and combat, the very embodiment of her “battle idol” persona. Every spin, every step, every note she sings isn’t just flair—it’s tactical execution.

As the preliminary round begins in earnest, she weaves through opponents, dodging, sliding, and firing her balls with precise timing, each shot accompanied by a lilting vocal note. She hums softly between bursts, her Quirk bolstering the agility and focus of the classmates closest to her. “Sweethearts, move with rhythm! The stage demands it!”

For ten days in the training gym, she had developed this fluid, dazzling synergy between song, movement, and quirk—now she performs it flawlessly under pressure.

Every note she sings strengthens her allies’ coordination and distracts opponents just enough to slip past, her stage presence as much a weapon as her rollerblades or collapsing guitar-bow.

Rina rolls to a stop on her glittering violet rollerblades, the sunlight catching the translucent lavender ribbons streaming from her costume. She lifts her collapsible electric guitar, transforming it smoothly into her bow, the strings humming faintly in anticipation.

“Darling, it looks like it’s showtime,” she murmurs to herself, striking a dramatic pose as though the stadium were a stage and the crowd were screaming fans. Her classmates glance at her, part bewildered, part exasperated, but Rina doesn’t care—this is her arena.

Midoriya calls out strategies for the group, but Rina already knows what she’s doing. “Sweetheart, fear not—I will be the spotlight that saves you all,” she says loudly, her voice echoing off the stadium walls. She sings a quick note, her quirk resonating in the air.

A shimmer of purple soundwaves envelops Midoriya, Mina, Ochaco, and Tokoyami. Their movements become sharper, their reactions faster, and even the faintest fear of the incoming barrage is muted. Rina’s eyes glow amethyst, a flicker of her diva confidence merging seamlessly with calculated hero instinct.

“Incoming!” Midoriya shouts, but Rina is already moving, gliding on her rollerblades like a comet across the uneven terrain. She fires a volley of radiant purple arrows from her bow, her singing rising in a melodic crescendo.

Each arrow vibrates with her Resonance, intercepting the first wave of flying balls with pinpoint precision. “Try and dull my shine, darlings!” she cries, laughing as her quirk sends a ripple through the projectiles, scattering them harmlessly into the air.

Mina, Ochaco, and Tokoyami marvel at the power boost, barely dodging the balls that slip through Rina’s interference. Midoriya claps his hands, eyes wide. “Rina, your quirk—it’s incredible! Keep it up!”

Rina winks at him, spinning on her rollerblades. Her bow flares, firing another volley. “Of course, darling. You are welcome for the performance.” Purple arcs of energy curve through the air like ribbons of light, colliding with the first of the hardened boomerang balls coming from Itejiro Toteki.

Her quirk amplifies her shots, shattering the trajectory before it can even rise above the ground. She moves with calculated drama, vaulting onto a nearby rock, then flipping backwards in a perfect pirouette, sending a high note into the air that reverberates like a sonic shield.

The balls shot underground by Itejiro’s super move begin tunneling toward them, but Rina tilts her head, her violet hair cascading around her shoulders.

“Sweethearts, underneath won’t save you from my light,” she announces, strumming a quick chord mid-song. The purple soundwave penetrates the soil, detecting the incoming projectiles and deflecting them upward with a resonant pulse.

Rina lands on her rollerblades gracefully, bow swinging in a fluid arc to hit a particularly stubborn ball, shattering it into glittering fragments that sparkle in the sunlight like stage confetti.

Her performance isn’t just functional—it’s theatrical. She flips her hair, throws a hand over her heart, and sings another high note that boosts the morale of her allies.

Midoriya notices Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow moving faster, Mina landing perfect kicks with uncanny precision, and Ochaco floating higher and farther than ever before.

“You see, dears,” Rina says, spinning once more on her rollerblades, “a true diva never misses her cue!” She grins, spotting a gap in the enemy’s formation and leaping forward, bow drawn. Her violet arrows streak across the battlefield, slicing through the air with soundwave-infused precision.

Each strike sends enemies stumbling back, their aim disrupted. She lands lightly, raising a hand dramatically as if bowing to an imaginary audience, then continues her song. The resonance ripples outward, forming a harmonic barrier that deflects another wave of projectiles.

“Rina, careful!” Midoriya calls, watching her push her voice to the edge. But Rina just laughs, her voice soaring. “Darling, danger is merely the spotlight’s stage! And I shine brightest under it!” Her eyes glow brighter, and the purple aura intensifies. The other students feel it like a warm rush, energy coursing through them, their nerves steadied.

Even as the balls underground curve toward them, Rina spins again, her bow humming in perfect sync with her song.

The tunnels collapse under the vibrations, scattering the projectiles harmlessly. She skates past Midoriya, Mina, Ochaco, and Tokoyami, singing a note that resonates in perfect harmony with the terrain itself. Her performance is a storm of grace, power, and sheer diva presence—beautiful, devastating, and utterly unignorable.

Finally, she lands with a dramatic flourish, bow pointed toward the sky. “And scene!” she announces, her chest heaving slightly from the exertion. “Next time, darling examiners, try keeping up with the star!”

Her classmates cheer and clap, partly in relief, partly in admiration, while Rina rolls back to join them, purple ribbons trailing like comets behind her.

She tilts her head, still glowing slightly from the quirk, and murmurs, “Oh, I love being indispensable.”

The ground quivers again under Yo Shindo’s Tremoring Earth, forcing her to press her palms against the fractured turf, resisting the urge to topple completely.

Rina knows the other students are working their Quirks—Midoriya and Tokoyami protecting the incoming balls, Jirou shattering the ground with Heartbeat Distortion, Mina shielding her with Acid Veil—but Rina feels it in her bones: this is her stage. Every cracked stone, every airborne ball, every trembling quirk is a cue for her performance.

“Sweethearts, listen and focus!” she calls, projecting her voice so it carries over the rumble. She lets a note linger, long and clear, her resonance quirk activating. A shimmering purple aura radiates outward, brushing over Midoriya and Mina, bolstering their speed and focus.

Tokoyami stiffens with purpose, Dark Shadow flaring ominously as her harmonic boost threads through the battlefield.

Purple soundwaves ripple around her as she rolls forward, bow-form guitar in hand, singing a rapid, commanding arpeggio.

Each note is calculated, resonating with the precise frequency that enhances the agility of her classmates. Balls whizz toward them like guided missiles, and she instinctively fires a quick volley of energy arrows. They arc perfectly toward the incoming projectiles, intercepting them midair in a dazzling spectacle.

Her mind races, eyes scanning the opposing students. Tatami Nakagame crouches, telescoping torso like a living trap. Tokoyami seizes a ball and launches a strike with Dark Shadow, but Tatami narrowly collapses out of reach.

“Too slow, my darling,” Rina purrs theatrically under her breath, twirling the bow-guitar in one hand. She can’t resist the flair, even here.

Every dodge, every block, every calculated movement feels like choreography.

The stadium trembles again—Yo Shindo’s Tremoring Earth rattling everything, nearly sending Rina tumbling. She stumbles, then plants her rollerblades firmly, letting her singing guide her balance.

The purple waves of Resonance circle her like a tempest, tangling with the vibrations from the enemy’s Quirk. Rina can feel the thrill of the fight prickling her skin, the pulse of music and heroics mixing in her veins.

“Teamwork, darlings! Now!” she belts out, voice soaring. Midoriya nods, charging forward with renewed vigor, Mina’s Acid Veil rippling to shield Tokoyami as he counters with precision.

Rina moves like a storm on wheels, ducking low, singing faster, firing arrows that arc in wide, dramatic sweeps. Her bow-guitar glows with every note, her quirk flaring with each melodic surge.

She can see the advantage shifting, the Ketsubutsu students faltering slightly under the perfect blend of coordination and Rina’s harmonic influence. “That’s it! Channel your heart, channel your will! Violet Crescendo doesn’t just perform, we dominate!”

Her voice climbs to a high, piercing note—her signature performance moment—and the aura around her blooms. Stage Spotlight in full effect, her allies surge with energy, their reflexes sharpening, muscles taut with the added resonance. Purple light trails follow her arrows, creating an almost ethereal display that distracts opponents and guides her friends’ attacks.

Rina rolls forward, performing a sharp pirouette on her rollerblades, firing an arrow that strikes a target out of the air, and sings again, Harmonic Guard forming a temporary shield over her friends. “Keep moving, keep dazzling, keep hitting!” Her voice is a weapon, a melody that threads through chaos and command, bending the battlefield around her.

Even as the ground trembles beneath her, Rina thrives in it. Every quiver of the earth, every dodge, every strike is her stage. She feels alive, not as an idol shielded by cameras and fans, but as a hero shaping the moment, inspiring those around her, dazzling those who would stand in her way.

“Come now, Ketsubutsu! Keep up! Violet Crescendo is in full effect, and we simply cannot be ignored!” Purple energy arcs around her, and she rolls forward with flair, every move a calculated blend of performance and battle instinct. Her classmates rally, every strike and block synchronized with her singing.

Chapter Text

In the waiting room, the hum of relief and chatter fills the air. Yaoyorozu smiles faintly, clearly pleased that both Midoriya’s group and Bakugou’s group passed the preliminary round. Tsuyu, ever composed, explains to both groups about the examinees who will be removing their targets, her voice calm but precise.

Rina lounges against the edge of a couch, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, her long violet hair cascading like a waterfall over her shoulder. She claps her hands softly, her voice carrying a melodious lilt that draws a few curious glances.

“Darling, can we just take a moment to appreciate how fabulous my recovery from that earth-shattering Quirk attack looked? The perfect balance of grace and agility,” she purrs, tilting her head dramatically, eyes sparkling.

Todoroki, standing stiffly nearby, gives her a sidelong glance. “It was fine. You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

Rina pouts ever so slightly. “Hmph, alive, yes, but imagine if someone had recorded my perfect landing. Pure cinematic gold, sweetheart. I’d demand an award for that performance alone.” She flicks her hair with a flourish.

Meanwhile, Todoroki leans closer to Midoriya, lowering his voice. “Eleven of our classmates have passed so far. That leaves nine still waiting.”

Yaoyorozu bites her lip nervously, glancing at the empty seats where some of the remaining classmates would be. “Eighteen spots remaining,” she mutters, hoping Iida is alright.

Rina, overhearing but clearly unfazed by their quiet calculation, hums a dramatic note, letting the sound resonate in the waiting room. The gentle vibrations ripple off the walls, sending a few papers fluttering.

“Darling, fret not. I shall sing our victory into existence. Eleven down, nine to go. By the power of my diva resonance, all shall flourish under my glorious presence!” She twirls, almost toppling gracefully, and catches herself on the couch arm.

A bell chimes, signaling the end of the preliminary round. Yokumiru Mera’s voice crackles over the loudspeakers, crisp and precise: “The First Exam is over. Examinees who did not pass, please exit the premises.”

Class 1-A collectively exhales in relief. Rina leaps to her feet, striking a dramatic pose as if on stage, her rollerblades glinting under the fluorescent lights. “Oh, my sweet darlings,” she declares, sweeping her arms wide, “we are all victorious! A standing ovation is in order, preferably from someone worthy of my majesty.”

Yaoyorozu rolls her eyes with a small smile. “Rina, maybe save some of the energy for the next round.”

Rina glances over her shoulder, voice soft but melodious, eyes gleaming. “Darling, the next round won’t just be energy—it will be art. Watch and be inspired. The disaster site awaits, and I intend to turn heroics into a full-blown performance!”

Yokumiru’s voice cuts back in, authoritative and slightly weary. “Examinees, please direct your attention to the screen.”

The massive screen flickers to life. The battlefield, once a controlled terrain, is now a chaotic disaster site. Buildings are reduced to rubble, walls crumpled, and the ground uneven and jagged. A collective gasp spreads through the waiting room; the devastation is complete.

Rina’s eyes widen in delight, almost sparkling. “Oh, my stars, it’s dramatic! Rubble, chaos, peril—it’s like a stage set for the grandest performance of my career! Darling, this is where true heroism becomes a spectacle!”

She spins on her rollerblades, sending a swirl of purple ribbons from her costume floating in the air. “And I, Violet Crescendo, shall be the crescendo to end all crescendos! My quirk, my voice, my presence—it will shine brighter than the sun upon this ruin!”

Even Midoriya can’t help but chuckle at her theatrics, shaking his head. “She’s… she’s going to be unstoppable in this round, isn’t she?”

“Of course,” Rina responds, voice ringing like a bell. “Victory and flair are inseparable, darling. Watch closely, everyone, and try not to be blinded by my brilliance.”

The stadium feels different now — quieter, heavier. The air hums with tension instead of applause. Rina Murasaki adjusts the shimmer of her violet bodice and flips her ponytail, pretending she’s not nervous. She tells herself it’s just another stage, another performance — except this one doesn’t end with roses and a spotlight, but with people’s lives in her hands.

Yokumiru Mera’s tired voice drones over the speakers, explaining the next phase of the exam. “You will conduct rescue maneuvers in a simulated disaster zone. Your ability to save lives will be scored...”

Rina only half-listens. Her eyes are on the screen displaying the ruins — crumbling buildings, smoke, twisted roads. “A disaster,” she murmurs, tilting her head, “how... tragically cinematic.”

The other examinees glance her way, confused by her tone. But she doesn’t care. Beneath the playful lilt in her voice, her heart races. She’s never faced something like this — no audience, no fans, no manager barking orders in her ear. Just rubble and strangers pretending to be hurt.

When Yokumiru mentions that the “victims” are trained professionals, Rina arches an eyebrow. “So, even the damsels in distress are professionals now,” she mutters, resting her hands dramatically on her hips. “Guess I’ll have to outshine them too.”

The ten-minute break feels endless. Rina checks her reflection in a shard of glass from her guitar-turned-bow, smoothing her skirt and fixing her ribbons. “If I’m saving lives, I’m doing it beautifully,” she says under her breath. “After all, heroes and idols share one rule — you never let the audience see you crumble.”

When the alarm sounds and the doors open, chaos erupts. Examinees surge forward, shouting plans, sprinting into the simulated disaster zone. Rina doesn’t run.

She walks, calm and poised, like she’s stepping onto a concert stage. The smoke billows around her, and she hums softly — a lilting, haunting tune that threads through the air.

Her Quirk, Resonance, flares to life. Soundwaves shimmer violet, dancing through the dust like aurora lights. Her voice echoes off broken concrete, a melody equal parts command and comfort.

“Don’t panic, sweethearts,” she calls, spotting an older man pinned under fake rubble — one of the Help Us Company actors. “Violet Crescendo is here to bring the spotlight back to you.”

He blinks in disbelief at her confidence — until her soundwaves pulse outward, light and vibration lifting debris just enough for her to slide in. Her rollerblades activate with a soft click, letting her glide through unstable ground. She kneels beside him, singing softer now, resonance tuned to a low, steady frequency. The vibrations push smaller debris away and ease the pressure on his legs.

“You’re safe now, darling,” she says gently, helping him up. He laughs despite himself — half at her dramatics, half at her unexpected gentleness.

“Good control,” the “victim” says, jotting something on his clipboard. “You’re—”

“Fabulous? I know,” she says with a wink before skating off, melody rising in tempo.

Rina spots a cluster of “injured” children next — they’re crying, huddled in the corner of a crumbling structure. She stops, biting her lip. For a moment, she remembers being small herself — scared, alone, singing to block out the world in the orphanage dorm.

Her voice trembles as she starts to sing again — this time, not for flash or flair, but to soothe.

Her Quirk glows softer, a warm lilac hue spreading like dawn. The sound smooths the panic in their hearts, replacing fear with calm focus.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, crouching to their level. “Close your eyes. Listen to the song. Follow the light, not the noise.”

The kids obey, and she guides them one by one toward safety — using her sound to locate clear paths, her arrows to mark danger zones with bursts of violet energy.
She looks back once they’re safe, hair glowing faintly in the smoke.

“Not bad, Rina,” she says to herself. “That was... actually heroic.”

As she continues through the zone, she uses her new move — Harmonic Guard — to shield a collapsing area with a barrier of pulsing sound, shimmering like glass. Another examinee gasps behind her. “You just—saved them all!”

Rina twirls her bow once, grinning. “Well, I am the main act, sweetheart. Try to keep up!”

By the end of the exercise, Rina is flushed, hair a mess, but her eyes sparkle. The stage lights may be gone, but for once, she doesn’t need them. The faint hum of her voice fades into silence, replaced by the echo of genuine gratitude — from the “victims,” from other students, and from something deep inside her chest that feels suspiciously like pride.

The adrenaline still hums beneath Rina’s skin long after the last scream fades. The disaster site lies in ruins behind her — buildings half-collapsed, streets cracked, dust still hanging in the air like glitter in the aftermath of chaos. Her lungs burn from singing, her throat raw, her rollerblades scuffed with soot and dirt, but damn if she doesn’t still look fabulous.

She tilts her head, letting her hair fall back as she exhales, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Guess the stage survived me,” she murmurs under her breath, voice rasping but triumphant.

The loudspeaker hums. Yokumiru Mera’s tired, monotone voice crackles across the area.

“All H.U.C. members have been rescued. The Provisional Hero License Exam is officially over.”

A wave of relief and exhaustion ripples through the remaining examinees — cheers, groans, a few people collapsing dramatically into the rubble. Rina just plants one hand on her hip, adjusts her headset mic, and straightens up. The diva in her refuses to not end strong, even when her knees are wobbling.

“Show’s over, people,” she quips, tossing her hair back with flair. “Try not to faint before the encore.”

Behind her, the sky is streaked with sunset gold and smoke — a perfect, cinematic backdrop. The kind of lighting she’d call “divine” if she wasn’t so busy pretending not to care.

Aizawa’s orders come soon after — medical checks, then uniform changes, then the announcement of results. The moment Rina steps into the changing room, surrounded by her classmates, the energy shifts. Gone is the chaos and the adrenaline. What replaces it is the kind of silence that buzzes — nervous, electric, waiting for the verdict.

Rina unclips her rollerblades and sits on the bench, staring at the scuff marks on them. They tell the story of the exam better than any report ever could — near-misses, leaps, dashes through rubble, spinning kicks and songs that split the air like sonic blades. Her hands are trembling slightly, but she ignores that. Instead, she hums a few quiet notes under her breath — the melody of her last Resonance burst. A reminder of how far she’s come.

When she catches her reflection in the mirror — hair messy, streaks of dust across her cheek, faint bruises on her wrists — she still grins. Because even tired and battered, she looks like she belongs here.

By the time Class 1-A gathers in front of the massive screen, the room feels suffocating with anticipation. Everyone’s changed back into their uniforms, but the air still reeks of battle — sweat, nerves, the faint scent of ozone from Quirk discharges.

Rina stands slightly apart, arms crossed, trying to act casual. Her heart’s pounding loud enough she could probably Resonate with it.

Yokumiru appears onscreen, as sleepy-looking as ever. “Thank you for your hard work,” he drones, voice dry as sandpaper. “We will now present the results of the Provisional Hero License Exam.”

The entire hall goes silent.

He keeps talking — something about how the HUC and the Commission judged both the quality and nature of their rescue efforts — but Rina barely hears it. Her nails dig into her sleeves, jaw tight. All she can think about is that moment on the field — singing through the chaos, balancing the tempo of her heart with the rhythm of her teammates’ movements, the cries of victims blending into the music of destruction and salvation.

She had given it everything.

Her voice. Her instincts. Her soul.
So now, waiting for her name to appear feels like holding her breath between verses.

The giant screen flickers to life. A list of names starts rolling up in alphabetical order. One by one. The room collectively leans forward.

Rina bites her lip. Her stomach twists. She sees her classmates’ names flash — “Ashido Mina,” “Bakugou Katsuki,” “Iida Tenya,” “Midoriya Izuku,” “Todoroki Shouto.”
Her pulse spikes. The alphabet creeps closer.

And then —

“Murasaki Rina.”

It’s there. Right there. Clean white letters on blue light.

For a second, she doesn’t even breathe. Then a sound escapes her — half gasp, half laugh. She claps a hand over her mouth, eyes glimmering with disbelief before it shifts into pure, radiant pride.

“Of course it is,” she finally whispers, grin spreading slow and wide. “Like I’d let them end the show without me.”

Kaminari cheers somewhere nearby. Mina squeals and throws herself into a hug. Even stoic Tokoyami gives her a curt nod of respect. But Rina just lifts her chin, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulder, and flashes her signature wink.

“Did you ever doubt me?” she teases, voice dripping with mock offense. “Please. I was born for the spotlight.”

Still, as the celebrations swell around her, she catches her reflection again — this time in the dark glass of the screen. Her smile softens. Beneath all the glitter and bravado, there’s something real glowing there — relief, pride, and a quiet, burning joy.

Because this isn’t just another stage.
It’s proof she belongs among heroes.
And the world?

The world just witnessed the rise of Rina Murasaki — the Resonance Hero, the diva who sings through disaster and still finds her melody.

The moment the results finish scrolling, the room explodes into noise — cheers, laughter, relieved sobs. Class 1-A erupts like a victory concert, hugging, high-fiving, hollering. Mina spins in circles. Kaminari practically short-circuits from excitement.

Even Todoroki cracks a faint, proud smile.
And in the middle of it all, Rina stands like she’s at the end of a sold-out arena tour — chin up, hair shimmering under the fluorescent lights, one hand planted on her hip. The satisfied little smirk on her face says it all.

“Of course I passed,” she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear, flicking her hair back dramatically. “I mean, come on — did you really think I’d let this story end without my name on the winners’ list? Please.”

Kaminari laughs. “Bro, you sound like you just dropped your world tour dates.”

Rina shoots him a wink. “Correction, hero tour. Coming soon to a city near you.”

Mina squeals and grabs her by the arm. “Rinaaa, I swear you looked so cool out there! That one move — what was it? The song that made the ground ripple?”

“‘Resonance Crescendo,’” Rina replies smoothly, pretending to check her nails. “It’s art, Mina. I don’t just fight, I perform. The battlefield is my stage.”

Tokoyami folds his arms and nods gravely. “Indeed. Your melody pierced through the shadows with purpose.”

Rina grins. “Thanks, Bird Bard. You get it.”

Aizawa’s voice cuts through the noise, dry and unimpressed. “Murasaki. Keep the dramatics to a minimum before I revoke your license for excessive flair.”

Rina gasps, pressing a hand over her heart in mock offense. “Sensei! Flair is my Quirk’s secondary effect! It’s a package deal.”

Even he can’t quite hide the ghost of an eye roll that’s almost a smirk.
Later, when the excitement settles, Class 1-A gathers in the hallway outside the briefing room, buzzing like an afterparty crowd. Everyone’s glowing with pride — some humble, some loud, some (like Bakugou) muttering under their breath about “idiots celebrating early.”

Rina leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, basking in the background chatter. The faint hum of her Resonance energy still lingers in her throat — the ghost of her final note.

Iida steps up, posture perfect as ever. “Murasaki! That was splendid work out there. Your vocal projection was instrumental in maintaining coordination under duress.”

She beams. “Oh, you mean when I saved the tempo of the entire rescue effort and looked flawless doing it? Yeah, I noticed.”

“Er— yes, that,” Iida says, blinking, before giving up on correcting her phrasing.

Nearby, Jirou smirks. “You’re seriously never gonna stop talking about this, huh?”

Rina lifts a brow. “Sweetheart, when you’re this fabulous, you don’t stop talking about it. You just change key and go higher.”

Jirou snorts. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly perfect,” Rina corrects.

When they finally get dismissed, the sun is already low — a soft orange glow spilling through the windows of the stadium’s corridors. The light catches in Rina’s hair as she walks with her classmates, laughter echoing through the hall. For all her theatrics, she feels something warm bloom in her chest — pride, not just for herself, but for everyone who fought beside her.

They’d all come out stronger. Louder. Shinier.

And for Rina, that’s everything.

Still, as they exit the building, Mina bumps her shoulder and teases, “You seriously think you’re perfect, huh?”

Rina flashes a grin, tilting her head just enough for her earring to glint. “Think? Oh no, babe. I know.”

Kaminari groans dramatically, “Bro, how are we supposed to compete with that confidence?”

Rina gives him a pitying look. “You don’t. You just enjoy the show.”

The class bursts into laughter, their voices echoing into the evening air. And as the sun dips below the stadium and paints the sky in gold and violet, Rina twirls once on her rollerblades, hands in the air like she’s taking her final bow.

Chapter Text

By the time Class 1-A gets back to the dorms, the sky is velvet-dark, and the campus lights glow like stage spotlights.

The whole walk home feels electric — everyone’s chattering, laughing, retelling their best moments from the exam. But the moment they reach Heights Alliance, Rina decides one thing immediately:

This victory needs an encore.

She’s barely through the door before she whirls around, hands on her hips, voice rising with all the commanding energy of a pop star calling for her cue.

“Alright, my dazzling darlings, gather ‘round! We have officially slayed the Provisional Hero License Exam — and I, your ever-gracious idol heroine, declare this night a celebration of us!”

Bakugou groans instantly. “Hell no.”

Rina doesn’t even blink. “Yes, hell yes.”
She’s already rolling toward the common area on her violet rollerblades, ribbons from her outfit catching the light. Her hair, freshly brushed and shimmering lavender at the tips, swishes dramatically as she gestures like a show host.

“Tonight, my loves, you are not just students — you are the supporting cast of Violet Crescendo’s Triumph Tour!”

Kaminari’s eyes practically sparkle. “Yo, I’m so in. I can DJ!”

Mina gasps. “Wait, yes! Let’s turn the common room into a club!”

Iida sputters. “Absolutely not! This is a dormitory, not—”

“—a venue of artistic glory and emotional healing?” Rina interrupts sweetly, flashing him a smile that could power a billboard. “Relax, Tenya darling, even heroes need to celebrate their own awesomeness!”

Before Iida can respond, Kaminari’s already plugged his phone into the speaker system. The bass thumps, lights flash (courtesy of Yaoyorozu’s instant party lights), and in mere minutes, the common area transforms into a glittery impromptu concert hall.

And Rina? She takes the center stage — obviously.

She pulls her guitar from its case, the sleek violet metal gleaming, then flips it into its instrument mode. The moment her fingers brush the strings, a hum of Resonance energy ripples through the air — soft, melodic, and shimmering purple.

She closes her eyes for a moment, letting the sound build. Then, with a grin that’s pure mischief, she starts to sing.

It’s not a battle song this time. It’s lighter — airy, poppy, with a playful beat that matches the carefree laughter of her classmates. Her voice dances around the notes, rich and vibrant, and the Resonance energy flutters through the air like sparkling dust.

Mina grabs Ochaco and drags her to the “dance floor,” giggling. Kaminari jumps in, spinning like he’s in a music video (and nearly trips on a pillow). Even Todoroki ends up nodding along, pretending he’s not into it — but his foot’s definitely tapping.

Rina notices, of course. “Aha! I knew I could melt the ice prince’s heart eventually!” she teases between verses.

Todoroki sighs. “You didn’t. The music’s just… fine.”

She gasps dramatically mid-song. “He complimented me! That’s basically a standing ovation in Todoroki language!”

That gets a round of laughter from everyone, and Rina beams, soaking in the sound like applause.

When the song ends, she spins her guitar once before striking a pose, hand high in the air, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, thank you, my adoring classmates! You’ve been an incredible audience!”

The room breaks into applause and cheers — genuine, not just humoring her this time. Even Aizawa, passing by the dorm lobby with a coffee mug, pauses at the doorway. He watches for a second, half-tired, half-amused.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he mutters. “And if I hear glitter explosions again, Murasaki, you’re cleaning it up yourself.”

Rina puts a hand over her heart, feigning innocence. “Sensei, me? Glitter explosions? I’d never.”

A faint shimmer sparkles behind her — probably from Kaminari’s light setup — and Aizawa just stares flatly before walking off. “...You’re cleaning that up.”

The moment he’s gone, everyone bursts into laughter again, and Rina collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.
“Victory,” she declares, stretching lazily, “has never looked this good.”

Momo sits beside her, smiling softly. “You really do make everything into a performance, don’t you?”

Rina tilts her head. “Of course. Life’s a stage, darling. But…” she pauses, her expression softening slightly, “having people to share the spotlight with? That’s the best part.”

Momo smiles, genuinely touched. “That’s actually… very sweet of you.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Rina replies with a wink. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

The night carries on with laughter, snacks, impromptu karaoke (mostly Rina), and sleepy smiles. One by one, her classmates drift off to bed — but Rina stays up a little longer, sitting by the window. The faint hum of her Quirk glows in her hands, soft and steady, like a lullaby to herself.

She whispers into the quiet, “Stage one complete. Real hero arc… coming soon.”

Then, with a satisfied smile, she hums herself a final tune and lets the sound fade into the night.

Morning comes far too soon.

The sunlight spills through Rina’s dorm window like a personal attack. It glitters off the posters on her wall, glances across her desk full of half-finished lyric sheets, and lands right on her face.

She groans. Loudly. Dramatically.
“Ughhh… betrayal by the sun itself.”

Her voice comes out raspy — scratchy, even — and the sound makes her wince.

She sits up slowly, hair a chaotic violet halo, makeup smudged faintly from the night before. The glitter still clings to her eyelashes like tiny, mocking stars.

Her guitar leans against her desk, silent now. Empty snack wrappers and confetti from last night’s impromptu celebration litter the floor like the aftermath of a music festival.

She presses a hand to her throat and mutters, “You sound like you swallowed sandpaper, darling. So glamorous.”

There’s a knock at her door.

“Rina? Breakfast time!” Mina’s voice sings from the hall. “You alive in there, superstar?”

Rina lets out a small, tired laugh. “Barely, sweetie. My Quirk’s screaming for a spa day.”

She drags herself out of bed, throws on her soft purple robe, and heads for the mirror. The reflection that greets her is… rough. But she smiles anyway, flipping her hair dramatically. “Still fabulous. Just… in a post-tour sort of way.”

By the time she makes it to the kitchen, half the class is already eating. Bakugou’s scowling into his breakfast, Kaminari’s head’s on the table, and Iida’s mid-lecture about responsible rest habits.

“Good morning, my radiant companions!” Rina announces, sliding in like she’s making a grand entrance on a talk show.

Kaminari looks up with dark circles under his eyes. “Bro, how do you still sound like that after losing your voice?”

Rina waves her hand dismissively. “Talent, darling. Pure, stubborn talent.”

Aizawa walks in just then, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the tired faces of his class. His gaze lands on Rina — specifically the glitter still clinging to her cheek.

“...You didn’t clean up the common room.”
Rina freezes mid-sip of her tea. “I… absolutely did. In spirit.”

“Spirit doesn’t count.” Aizawa’s voice is flat. “Neither does throwing a ‘celebration concert’ on a school night.”

“It was a morale-boosting event,” she corrects with a bright smile. “You should’ve seen everyone’s faces, sensei — we were glowing with positive emotional resonance!”

Aizawa stares. “You were glowing because Kaminari blew out the power grid again.”
From the corner, Kaminari raises a weak hand. “Worth it.”

Rina chuckles softly, rubbing her neck. “Okay, maybe… I got a little carried away.”

“Just make sure you don’t burn out before the real work starts,” Aizawa says, setting his coffee down. “You all earned your licenses, but that doesn’t mean you’re heroes yet.”

His tone isn’t harsh — more like a quiet reminder. The kind that sticks.

Rina nods, her smile softening a little. “Got it, sensei. No more midnight encores.”

“Good.” Aizawa turns to leave, then pauses at the door. “...And use throat lozenges. You sound like you swallowed gravel.”

Rina nearly chokes on her tea laughing. “Savage, but fair!”

After he leaves, Momo looks over from the counter. “He’s right, you know. You’ll have to take care of your voice if you want to keep performing and training.”

Rina sighs dramatically, flopping into her seat. “Ugh, the curse of being multi-talented.” Then, quieter, almost sincere: “Still… it was worth it. I’ve never felt that free before.”

Mina grins and leans across the table. “You were awesome last night, though. Like, actual idol concert levels.”

Rina beams at her, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Naturally. I am Violet Crescendo, after all.”

But inside, something hums — a quieter note beneath her usual melody.

She thinks about Aizawa’s words. About what “real hero work” might mean.
She touches her throat again. Her voice will come back. It always does. But maybe… next time, she’ll make sure it’s for the right reasons — not just applause, but purpose.

Still, for now, she lets herself smirk. “Well, my dears, even heroes need an audience. Breakfast concert, anyone?”

Mina cheers, Kaminari whoops, and Iida immediately starts protesting.

And just like that — chaos, laughter, and light fill the room again.

Because even if the stage has changed, Rina’s still shining. Just… in her own, slightly hoarse way.

Chapter Text

Rina stretches as she steps out of the Heights Alliance dormitory, her violet hair catching the sunlight in a cascade of shimmering streaks. “Ugh, morning already?” she mutters dramatically, letting her rollerblades hum softly across the corridor.

Breakfast smells from the dorm kitchen tease her, but she barely notices—today is about appearances, spectacle, and timing. She must make an entrance.

As the students gather outside the dorms, murmurs ripple through Class 1-A. Rina tilts her head, amethyst eyes narrowing in interest. She hears bits and pieces:

Midoriya and Bakugou—house arrest. Their infamous fight. Ochaco murmuring about reconciliation. Rina smirks faintly. Oh, sweethearts, your drama is my morning entertainment, she thinks, running a hand through her hair like it’s part of a perfectly rehearsed routine.

She glances at the rest of Class 1-A as they fall into formation. Monoma is whining as usual, lecturing everyone about the supposed superiority of Class 1-B. Rina rolls her eyes in exaggerated boredom, letting her voice drift softly, almost to herself.

“Please, darling… even a junior idol knows how to carry herself with style and grace. Class 1-B can have their little victory lap. The real star? Always me.”

As they walk toward Ground Beta, Rina glides on her rollerblades with the elegance of a performer, every turn and sway choreographed perfectly, as if the concrete were her stage. She takes careful note of her classmates, their posture, their speed, their energy—it’s all material for her internal diva commentary.

Nezu begins his speech once the students reach Ground Beta. Rina straightens her posture, folding her hands theatrically, her guitar strapped across her back catching glints of sunlight. She listens with one hand on her hip, her signature smirk in place.

As Nezu talks about All Might’s retirement, the dangers of society, and the responsibilities of future heroes, she hums softly under her breath, improvising a melody to match the rhythm of his words.

Oh, what a stage, she thinks. Crisis, responsibility, societal upheaval… simply divine inspiration for my next performance.

When Nezu emphasizes awareness, discipline, and the weight of their responsibilities, Rina allows herself a faint laugh, barely audible, but full of amusement. To her, it isn’t mockery—merely observation.

Everyone else is scurrying to absorb the gravity, but she sees the theatrics in it all.
She imagines herself in slow motion, raising a hand as if accepting an award for Best Dramatic Hero Entrance while the world trembles in crisis behind her.

Her eyes wander over her classmates—some tense, some eager, some still worried about house arrest. Rina can’t resist a small internal sigh of superiority.

“Darling, worry is adorable… but clearly, some of us are born to shine.” She flicks her hair, glances at the crowd, and already mentally rehearses how she’ll move, sing, and act in the upcoming semester. Every disaster, every speech, every challenge—an opportunity for spectacle, flair, and flawless heroism.

Finally, Nezu concludes, stressing the importance of their future as successors of the hero society. Rina claps lightly, a soft but deliberate sound that echoes her diva presence.

“Oh, absolutely, darling,” she whispers, eyes sparkling. “I’ll take over hero society… and make it fabulous while I’m at it.” She spins gracefully on her rollerblades, ready to lead the way, not in force, but in style, presence, and undeniable charm. The second semester is here, and Violet Crescendo is, naturally, center stage.

Class 1-A sits rigidly in their seats, some fidgeting, others still nursing a few lingering aches from the previous events, as Shota Aizawa’s gaze sweeps the room.

“Starting today, normal class activities resume,” he announces, voice flat as ever. “Training will be tougher than last semester. Expect no leniency.”

A soft murmur ripples through the students. Tsuyu Asui raises her hand, tilting her head in curiosity. “Sensei, will this include the Hero Work-Studies?”

Aizawa finally turns his gaze toward her, unblinking. “Yes,” he replies. “The Hero Work-Studies are hero activities conducted off campus. Think of them as a more formalized version of the Hero Agency Internships you participated in before.
Unlike before, students now manage the Work-Studies at their discretion. The agencies have learned that fighting over students causes inefficiency, so it’s up to you to maintain professionalism and balance.”

Fumikage Tokoyami leans slightly forward, shadow coiling around him as his quiet curiosity sharpens. Momo Yaoyorozu’s brow furrows thoughtfully, already calculating potential strategies and connections, while Hanta Sero scratches his head, half-impressed, half-anxious.

Ochaco Uraraka shifts in her seat, hands clasped together. “Sensei… if we’re going to get actual experience now, did the U.A. Sports Festival matter at all? Was it just for show?”

Aizawa exhales slowly, letting a rare, measured pause linger. “The Sports Festival helped you build connections and gain exposure,” he says. “Now, with Provisional Hero Licenses, you have the opportunity to leverage those connections for long-term, formal hero activities. You’ll write reports on your experiences, and these evaluations will count toward your growth as heroes.”

The room hums with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Some students glance at each other with subtle grins; the idea of real, tangible hero work is tantalizing.

Others—particularly those who tend toward cautious planning—already have lists forming in their heads of what they need to prepare for and which agencies they want to target.

Without waiting for more questions, Aizawa gives his standard nonchalant dismissal. “That’s all. Take it seriously.”

As he slips out of the room, the energy shifts immediately. The stoic silence dissolves into chatter as Hizashi Yamada, Present Mic, bounds into the room with his usual hyperactive energy. “Alright, Class 1-A! Now that you’re officially licensed heroes in training, it’s time to take that energy you’ve got and blast through your studies—and maybe have a little fun while you’re at it!”

The students exchange a mix of groans and amused glances. Some roll their eyes, others grin. But Rina, Murasaki Rina, leans back in her chair, the corners of her lips curling into a confident smirk. Her long violet hair cascades down her shoulders as she flips her fingers dramatically in the air.

“Darling classmates, if anyone needs an example of a truly perfect hero for guidance,” she purrs, voice lilting with diva flair, “I, of course, am available. Always prepared, always dazzling, and always… spectacular.”

A ripple of laughter and eye-rolls spreads through the class. Even Bakugou can’t suppress a scoff, muttering, “Yeah, sure, Ms. Perfect Idol Hero…”

But Rina ignores him entirely, twirling slightly to let her costume shimmer under the fluorescent classroom lights. “Darling, observe closely. One day, you’ll all aspire to reach my… unmatched level of excellence,” she continues, voice dripping with theatrical flourish. “And perhaps, with enough practice, a mere fraction of my brilliance might rub off on you.”

Even Present Mic whistles appreciatively. “Now that’s the kind of confidence I like to see! Channel that into your Work-Studies, kids, and you’ll shine!”

Meanwhile, Rina’s classmates shake their heads and chuckle, secretly relieved that her diva energy can also lighten the mood.

As the class transitions into discussion about the Work-Studies, Rina leans back in her chair again, radiant and self-assured.

Three days later Murasaki Rina adjusts her violet ribbons and smooths down her uniform while waiting for the class to settle.

Her amethyst eyes flick around the room, noting her classmates’ various expressions. Some are nervous, some indifferent. She smirks subtly. Of course she’s prepared; of course she’ll stand out.

“Darling, this is going to be fun,” she murmurs under her breath, twirling an imaginary microphone between her fingers.

Aizawa steps forward, his eyes scanning the class with that familiar unreadable glare. He announces that they will be learning about Hero Work-Studies today.

Rina leans back in her chair, rolling her shoulders dramatically. Work-Studies? Finally, a chance to show off her skills without the usual crowd of camera flashes—but she doesn’t need them to shine. She already knows she’s the star.

The door opens, and the Big 3 enter. Rina’s eyes flare with interest and instant assessment. The first is a thin young man with messy black hair and pointy ears—Tamaki Amajiki. He glances at the class, scowls, and somehow, Rina can tell, he is trying to seem intimidating. She tilts her head, unimpressed.

“Sweetheart, must we always take ourselves so seriously?” she whispers to herself, a faint grin curling her lips.

Tamaki slumps gloomily against the blackboard, glaring at the class as if daring them to move. Rina raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. The drama! The theatrics!

She feels a spark of kinship with someone clearly unafraid to let a little diva energy show, even if unintentional. “Bless his heart,” she murmurs, spinning an invisible note in her mind, imagining a theme song for his mood.

Next, Nejire Hado floats in, practically glowing with curiosity and energy. Rina can’t help but lean forward. This one has flair. Nejire immediately begins asking questions about her classmates: Mezo’s mask, Shoto’s burn, Mina’s horns, Tsuyu’s frog physiology, Mashirao’s tail. Rina hums audibly, her diva instinct alert. She knows this is her moment—she can make an impression just by observing.

When Nejire’s gaze finally lands on her, Rina perks up and tilts her head. “Ah, my dear,” she purrs softly, “I’m sure you’ve noticed already that I am simply… perfect.”

She lets the words linger, letting the sparkle in her eyes do half the work. She can almost hear the subtle oohs of admiration that aren’t there yet but will exist in her mind. “Voice, performance, aura—all in sync, darling. One cannot help but be enchanted.”

Finally, Mirio Togata steps forward. His presence is immediate, radiant, commanding. Rina almost applauds silently. A star indeed. Even so, she smirks, confident in her own stage-ready poise.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she murmurs to herself with a twirl of her fingers, “I’ll give you a run for your money.”

Class 1-A changes into their hero costumes and heads for Gym Gamma.

Rina adjusts her gloves, her violet hair shimmering under the gym lights, as she takes a step back to observe. Mirio Togata. The name already carries weight in the Hero world, but Rina, ever the diva, raises a perfectly arched brow. A challenge? From a third-year who looks like he could be the poster child for hero perfection? Darling, this will be fun.

“The journey ahead…” Mirio bellows, and Rina tilts her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She whispers under her breath, “Will be full of difficulties? Pfft. Amateur dramatics, I can do better.” She flips her hair with a flourish, eyes scanning Class 1-A’s reactions. Some of them look nervous, others impressed—but all missing one crucial thing: style.

As Mirio invites them to attack him, Rina spins on her rollerblades, her boots clicking theatrically against the floor.

“Darling, of course I’ll go! The audience expects a show!” She raises her collapsible electric guitar, letting the purple lights along its frame pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat. “If we’re making this a team-up, I will make it unforgettable!”

While Midoriya and Kirishima charge first, Rina takes her time, circling the battlefield with calculated grace. She positions herself just outside the initial fray, voice lifting in a soft, lilting tune. Her aura flares violet and lavender, shimmering like stage lights, as her Quirk, Resonance, amplifies the confidence and focus of her teammates.

“Feel the stage, darlings,” she murmurs, letting her voice roll over them in melodic waves, boosting strength and morale.

Mirio phases through attacks—Midoriya's kick, Sero's tape, Mina’s acid—and Rina pouts dramatically, twirling on her rollerblades.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs theatrically, voice dripping with diva disappointment, “I was so ready to make you sparkle, and you just… poof!” She claps her hands, producing bursts of sound that ripple across the floor, shaking loose small debris.

Her purple energy arrows fire from her guitar-bow hybrid, weaving around Mirio’s intangibility in dazzling arcs. Each arrow hums in perfect synchronization with her singing, making her maneuvers more chaotic and distracting, though she knows most won’t land.

“Encore, encore!” Rina calls out, skating in wide loops, forcing Mirio to adjust. Even in failure, she radiates flair, each movement a performance. She adjusts her costume mid-circulation: lavender ribbons swirl around her short skirt, the silver accents catching gym lights as if on a stage. The high-heeled boots clack in rhythmic precision, and she flicks her wrist to transition her guitar into a bow, ready to fire another volley.

Watching Mirio phase around, Rina’s amusement bubbles. “Oh, sweetie,” she purrs, “you think your technique is flawless, but you have to admit, I’m fabulous, yes?” She lands elegantly on the edge of a fallen beam, purple aura radiating, eyes gleaming with mischief.

She sings again, each note resonating through the arena, giving her allies that extra edge, extra sparkle. “If we’re going down, we’ll go down gloriously,” she whispers, smirking.

Even as half their class is taken out within minutes, Rina spins and vaults into the air, using her rollerblades and musical Quirk combination to hover momentarily, surveying the scene like a star on stage.

Her voice carries over the din of chaos, weaving through her allies’ attacks. “You may be Number One, darling,” she shouts theatrically to Mirio, “but I’m Number Fabulous!”

And with that, she swoops down, unleashing a dazzling display of Crescendo Barrage, energy arrows tracing arcs around Mirio in a purple storm of light, sound, and diva-approved chaos.

Even if none hit, the show is undeniable, the aura of Violet Crescendo commanding attention from friend and foe alike.

Rina lands, hair cascading, bow-guitar retracting, rollerblades spinning softly to a stop. She fans herself dramatically. “Well, darlings, I think we’ve all learned a lesson today: style is power. Always remember—style is power.” She grins at her remaining classmates, fully aware that even in a losing fight, she has stolen the spotlight.

Rina lounges on the edge of the mat as Mirio finishes his little demo, her hair slightly mussed from earlier when he’d sent half the class flying like they were ragdolls.

It still irks her — not because she lost, but because she didn’t expect someone with a smile that goofy to be that good. She crosses her legs and props her chin on her hand, watching him talk like a motivational speaker who just flattened a room full of first-years.

He’s explaining his Quirk now, all cheerful and humble, like he didn’t just turn everyone into pancakes. “Permeation,” he says — phasing through anything, the floor, walls, even attacks. It sounds insane. Rina flicks a bit of dust off her sleeve, pretending not to be impressed… but her mind’s already breaking down the logic.

So he turns intangible, can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t feel — basically blind and sensory-dead. Yet somehow he predicts everything perfectly? That’s not just power; that’s raw instinct trained to perfection.

Rina hates to admit it, but damn… that’s hot in a “I’m-a-prodigy-too” kind of way.

“Teleportation, huh?” Mina mutters nearby. “It’s like a glitch.”

Rina smirks. “A glitch who kicked our asses in ten minutes,” she says under her breath.

As Mirio keeps explaining, talking about how his Quirk wasn’t strong at first — that he made it strong through experience — something in Rina stirs. She’s been proud of her progress, sure, but this? This is another level. Mirio isn’t showing off; he’s proof. Proof that raw potential means nothing if you can’t refine it, polish it till it shines like gold under pressure.

Her fingers tap rhythmically on her thigh as she studies him — the way he carries himself, the lack of ego even though he’s easily outclassed everyone here. Most heroes flex their quirks. Mirio flexes his discipline.

When he says the reason he fought them was to show what experience can do — that the Work-Studies aren’t just training, they’re transformation — Rina exhales slowly through her nose.

“Okay,” she thinks, a glint of determination lighting up her eyes. “So that’s the standard now? Perfect. I don’t aim lower than that.”

To everyone else, she looks like she’s zoning out, maybe still sulking. But inside, Rina’s mind is a storm of ambition and fire.

She’s already imagining how her own quirk could evolve, how precision, control, and intuition could elevate it the same way Mirio elevated his.

If Mirio Togata is the closest man to becoming the Number One Hero — then fine. She’ll be the woman to match him.

In the common room of Heights Alliance, the girls of Class 1-A have claimed their usual corner — warm light spilling over the couches, cups of tea steaming, and gossip buzzing like static. Momo sits primly with a notebook open on her lap, already listing possible hero agencies and contact names.

“So, we’ve officially got Aizawa’s permission to start Hero Work-Studies,” she announces with that calm, classy confidence of hers.

Across from her, Mina immediately leans forward, eyes sparkling. “So basically— it’s like internships but, like, for real now? Actual hero work?”

“Exactly,” Momo replies. “They’re longer-term, more structured, and now that most of us have our Provisional Licenses, we can perform real hero duties.”

Rina, lounging dramatically on the couch like a queen who’s just been handed her throne, lets out a soft, satisfied sigh. “Well, it’s about time. I was starting to think the world wasn’t ready for me yet — but alas, destiny can’t wait forever.” She gives her hair an elegant flip, nearly whacking Jirou in the face with it.

“Careful, diva,” Jirou mutters, smirking. “You’re gonna take someone’s eye out with that confidence.”

“Oh please,” Rina purrs. “If my confidence were lethal, villains would’ve gone extinct already.”

Tsuyu blinks, tone calm but amused. “Rina-chan, you sound really excited about this.”

Rina grins. “Excited? My dear Tsuyu, I’m thrilled. This is the first real step toward showing Japan’s hero world what true flair and finesse look like. Saving lives — but make it fabulous.”

Mina claps her hands. “Okay, but imagine us all on the news! ‘Class 1-A’s shining heroines save the day!’”

“Shining?” Rina hums, chin tilted high. “No, no — radiant. I don’t shine. I dazzle. There’s a difference.”

Ochaco giggles behind her hand. “You’re really planning to turn hero work into a fashion show, huh?”

“Sweetheart,” Rina says, crossing one leg over the other, “life is a fashion show. The only difference is — heroes wear capes.”

The girls burst into laughter, the air warm with energy and ambition. Beneath the teasing, though, there’s an unspoken sense of pride — they’ve earned this. They’ve survived training, chaos, and villains. Now they’re ready for the next chapter.

And Rina? She’s already mentally designing her debut moment — one perfect step, one perfect smile, one perfect rescue. Because if the world’s watching, she’s damn sure going to give them a show.

Aizawa stands at the front of the classroom, his tired voice cutting through the low morning chatter like a blade.
“The faculty held a meeting yesterday,” he says, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as always. “It was decided that first years will not be taking part in Hero Work-Studies.”

A collective groan rolls through the room like thunder. The air sinks with disappointment — slouched shoulders, muttered complaints, sighs from every corner.

But not Rina.

Rina Murasaki sits perfectly upright at her desk, one leg crossed over the other, a perfectly manicured nail tapping on her chin. Her violet eyes narrow, lips curling just slightly.

“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” she murmurs, tone dripping with dry glamour. “I was hoping to show the world that even a first-year can steal the spotlight.”

Mina turns in her seat beside her, looking half amused, half tired. “Girl, we just got our licenses. Maybe it’s a good thing? I could use a nap before the next crisis.”

Rina tosses her glossy hair back and hums, “Rest is for people who’ve already peaked. I haven’t even started my world tour yet.”

Aizawa clears his throat, making the entire class fall quiet again. “However,” he adds, and twenty faces immediately snap back to him, “some offices with good track records will be permitted to host first-years under supervision.”

Now that gets the reaction he expects — excitement floods back in an instant. Chairs scrape the floor, voices rise, and even the usually reserved ones light up.

Rina’s smirk returns. “Ah, there it is. The plot twist,” she says softly, eyes glinting. “I knew my debut wasn’t being canceled, just postponed.”

Kaminari leans forward from the desk behind her, grinning. “You really think any agency can handle you, superstar?”

Without even turning around, Rina flips her hair and replies sweetly, “They won’t handle me, Kaminari. They’ll feature me.”

The class laughs, the tension broken. Even Aizawa almost — almost — seems relieved that morale is back up.

Still, as the chatter continues, Rina’s mind drifts. She’s already imagining the possibilities — what kind of agency would take her? Someone flashy, someone who understands her music, her rhythm, her brand. Maybe a hero with style, someone she could duet with on the battlefield.

She glances at her reflection in the window: neat uniform, faint shimmer of lip gloss, eyes fierce and confident. The kind of girl who doesn’t wait for permission to shine.

“Good track record or not,” she mutters under her breath, a soft grin curving her lips, “whoever picks me better be ready. Because once I start singing—” she pauses, tapping the edge of her desk like a metronome, “—the whole hero world’s gonna feel the resonance.”

Aizawa sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Class dismissed.”

And as the students gather their things, chatting about which pro heroes they hope to work under, Rina walks out last — head high, steps perfectly in sync with the beat only she can hear.

Because to her, this isn’t just another step in her training.

It’s the opening act of her next big show.

Chapter Text

Tamaki Amajiki looks like he’s aged ten years in the last five minutes. He’s cornered near the lockers outside Class 1-A’s homeroom, slumped against the wall as if life itself has betrayed him.

Kirishima and Rina stand in front of him like two overexcited puppies — if puppies had wildly different vibes, one radiating unbreakable positivity, the other pure chaotic confidence.

“I–I said you don’t have to go where I go,” Tamaki mutters weakly, eyes darting anywhere but their faces. “It’s… crowded. And loud. And Fat Gum eats too much takoyaki. It’s terrible. You’ll regret it.”

Kirishima grins like he’s been told the best news ever. “Bro, that sounds awesome! Fat Gum’s a legend! I heard his agency gets right into the action — no boring patrols or desk stuff!”

Rina flips her hair dramatically, the sunlight catching the sheen like it knows who the main character is. “Exactly. I can’t not debut in style. And a big-name agency? Yes please. Besides,” she leans closer, giving Tamaki a mock-innocent smile, “we wouldn’t have even known where to apply if someone hadn’t let it slip where he was working~.”

Tamaki freezes, remembering the slip-up during the Big 3 visit when she’d casually asked “So where do you do your hero work?” and he’d blurted “F–Fat Gum…” before immediately regretting it.
Now he’s living that regret.

“You two…” he mutters into his hands, voice muffled, “you’re relentless. Like… seagulls fighting over fries.”

“Thank you,” Rina says sweetly, as if it’s a compliment.

Kirishima nods seriously. “Persistence is manly, bro.”

Tamaki sighs so hard it could power a wind turbine. “Fine. I’ll… tell Fat Gum you’re interested. But don’t blame me when he makes you run rescue drills while he’s snacking.”

Rina beams, hands on hips. “Oh please, I look good doing anything.”

Tamaki just stares blankly for a moment, realizing resistance is futile. “…Fat Gum doesn’t know what’s coming,” he whispers.

Fat Gum’s agency sits right in the heart of Osaka, all neon signs, sizzling street food smells, and noise that hits you like a wave.

Kirishima’s practically vibrating with excitement the second they step out of the train — meanwhile, Rina adjusts her sunglasses like she’s arriving for a red-carpet premiere.

Tamaki trails behind them, clutching his bag like it’s his emotional support item. “Why… why are you walking so fast? We’re early,” he mutters, but Kirishima and Rina are already halfway down the block.

“C’mon, Suneater!” Kirishima laughs. “You gotta walk with purpose! Heroes don’t shuffle — they stride!”

Rina smirks. “He’s just nervous because he knows Fat Gum’s gonna love us. I mean, look at us—” she gestures between herself and Kirishima, “—we’re a power duo. Sparkle and steel.”

Tamaki quietly dies inside.

They reach the agency doors — massive glass panels with the Fat Agency logo printed across them — and Rina immediately fluffs her hair, striking a pose. “Okay, okay, remember: first impressions matter. We’re not just interns, we’re the moment.”

Kirishima grins. “You’re definitely the moment.”

The doors slide open with a cheerful ding! and—

“HEY HEY HEY! You must be the new recruits!”

The voice booms through the lobby like thunder wrapped in laughter. Fat Gum, larger than life both literally and figuratively, stands there holding a box of donuts and grinning wide enough to light up the whole city.

“Tamaki, my boy! You brought friends! That’s so plus ultra of you!”

Tamaki visibly shrinks. “They… uh… kinda brought me.”

Fat Gum’s eyes sparkle. “Hah! Even better! That’s the hero spirit! Drag your senpai into greatness!” He tosses them each a donut before they can even respond.

Kirishima catches his with perfect reflexes. “Man, this is awesome already!”

Rina barely catches hers — she blinks down at it, icing smudged on her wrist, and says flatly, “Did I just get bribed with sugar?”

Fat Gum laughs so loud the walls probably shake. “Only the best kind of bribe! Welcome to Team Fat Gum!”

Tamaki sighs, muttering something about how this is exactly what he warned them about as Rina bites into her donut like it’s part of her origin story.

“So,” she says, licking icing from her finger with a smirk, “when do we start saving the world?”

Fat Gum grins. “Right after lunch!”

Rina exchanges a look with Kirishima — his eyes are shining, hers are daring — and somehow, it’s already clear: this internship’s about to be pure chaos… and a perfect stage for her to shine.

The Fat Agency training floor is a massive open space — reinforced walls, polished floors, and enough tech to make even U.A. jealous. Kirishima’s basically glowing.

Rina’s got her hair tied up high, her hero costume gleaming under the lights like she’s about to headline a concert, not a combat drill.

Fat Gum claps his hands, his laugh echoing through the room. “Alright, heroes-in-training! We’re gonna test what you’ve got! Out there, it’s all about teamwork, guts, and quick thinking!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Kirishima replies, all bright eyes and unbreakable spirit.

Rina smirks. “And a little style, obviously.”

Tamaki, standing off to the side, visibly sighs. “Why do I feel like this is going to end with someone crying?”

Fat Gum beams. “Because growth hurts, my boy! Now— show me what you’ve got! You three versus me!”

Rina and Kirishima exchange identical grins that should honestly terrify anyone who values peace and quiet.

Kirishima yells his trademark charge and surges forward, hardening. Rina doesn’t lunge with her hands — she plants a boot, flips her guitar into bow mode, and inhales like she’s about to hit the chorus that sells out arenas.

Her voice rolls out low and steady first — a warm hum to lock the pitch. The air ripples violet as Resonance wakes: her soundwaves lace with the bow’s energy and sync with Kirishima’s rhythm. She sings short, surgical phrases — notes cut exactly when they need to, not sustained brays that burn her out.

When Kirishima slams into Fat Gum’s padded flank, Rina drops into a bright, rhythmic cadence. The floor vibrates precisely under Kirishima’s feet; Stage Spotlight blooms — a halo of resonance that steadies his footing and sharpens his reflexes. He rebounds faster, his hardened form feeling like ten extra percent of unbreakable.

“Come on, Kiri!” Rina belts during the combo, voice ringing like a bell. The bow at her shoulder emits slender purple arrows only because she sings them into being; each is a note shaped into light.

They don’t punch Fat Gum down — Fat Gum is unshakable — but they slice the air around him, drawing his focus and opening micro-windows for Kirishima’s strikes. The arrows are gestures of timing and misdirection, not brute force.

Fat Gum laughs, absorbing a rolling hit that would’ve staggered anyone else. “Nice tempo! Keep testing it!” he says, delighted.

Rina pushes. She flips through her setlist like a pro: a high, piercing trill that cuts incoming echoes and destabilizes an opponent’s aim (Sonic Disruption); a warm, low swell that hardens the edges of Kirishima’s hardened skin (Harmonic Boost tied to durability); and, for the finish, a short, explosive chorus that fires a Crescendo Barrage — several purple light-arrows fired in sync with a melody. They arc around Fat Gum and explode on contact with the padded targets, sending up a harmless blower of dust and applause from the staff.

Tamaki watches, flinching at every decibel. “M-Murasaki’s voice is going to go flat if she keeps that up,” he mutters, equal parts horror and admiration.

Rina laughs, breath ragged on the last note. “Please. I’m just warming up. Do you even see the lighting on this move?” She grins and pats her throat in a showy but not unpleasant way — the singer’s version of stretching.

Her voice is hoarse afterward, small rasp at the edges; she already knows to hydrate, but the thrill is worth the scratch.

Kirishima collapses to one knee, winded and grinning ear to ear. “That felt… epic!” he wheezes.

Fat Gum wipes a tear from his eye and roars with approval. “You two bring the heart and the spark. You’ll be useful on real calls — bubbles of calm for civilians, rhythm for rescues, timing for hits. Love it.”

Tamaki, who’s been trying to blend into the background, finally folds his arms and gives the barest of nods. “She’s loud,” he says, “but the timing—the way she supports others—it matters.”

Rina flips the guitar back into its gig-ready form and plucks a small flourish, the strings chiming. “See? This is teamwork. I sing, you smash, we’re practically a theme song.” She winks at Tamaki. “Next drill, I’ll keep the vocal runs shorter for your peace of mind.”

Fat Gum chuckles, handing them both a protein-heavy pastry. “Alright! After-lunch patrol — real people, real streets. Let’s see how our vocalist handles unscripted audiences.”

Rina munches with theatrical elegance, throat already loosening with warm tea and the trickle of rehearsals in her head.

She’s not just a singer here. Her voice is a tool. It heals, steadies, and shapes the flow of a team in motion — and she’s delighted to learn how to use it well.

A few days later they go on Patrol. The bustling streets of Esuha Market glimmer under the late afternoon sun, the aroma of sizzling food stalls mingling with the chatter of shoppers and the occasional honk of a passing vehicle.

Fat Gum, round and reassuring, patrols the streets alongside Kirishima and Tamaki Amajiki, his booming voice carrying over the crowd.

Trailing behind, Rina Murasaki skates on her sleek violet inliners, hair cascading in dramatic waves with lavender streaks catching the sunlight. Her hero costume gleams, reflective panels accentuating the glow of her Resonance Quirk as she hums lightly, ready to amplify any moment.

“Honestly, this sun is criminal. My hair’s gonna need, like, a recovery treatment,” she sighs dramatically, gliding a lazy circle around her teammates. “But look at me, darling—still shining through the chaos.”

Kirishima chuckles. “You’re basically a walking energy boost, huh?”

“Exactly. A hero’s gotta perform, Red Riot,” Rina tosses back with a smirk, spinning briefly to showcase a swirl of radiant soundwaves.

Fat Gum rumbles approvingly. “Keep that spirit up, Murasaki. Just remember—it’s about keeping the civilians safe too, not just dazzling the streets.”

Tamaki shudders, muttering under his breath, “They’re… too bright. Why did they have to drag me along?”

“Excuse me? You weren’t exactly opposed when we cornered you for help,” Rina fires back, skating backward to hover beside him. “So suck it up, squid boy.”

Tamaki groans, hiding behind his cape. “I had no choice…”

Before their banter can continue, a scream echoes from an alleyway a few blocks down. Instantly, Rina’s Resonance flares, a faint violet shimmer rippling around her. Her boots leave sparks of soundwave trails on the pavement as she rockets forward.

Two gangs of thugs clash violently, one shouting about turf rights. Fat Gum lumbers forward, swallowing up several of them effortlessly.

“Gross… and yet kind of satisfying,” Rina murmurs, skating past him. She flicks her wrist, sending a ripple of harmonic energy toward a thug who’s trying to slip away.

The man stumbles, his aim faltering.
Tamaki’s tentacles shoot out, catching another thug mid-run. His clam-hand slash dispatches the man cleanly.

Rina glides up beside him, flicking her fingers dramatically to send a brief Resonant Guard around a civilian trapped near the chaos. “See, darling? I don’t just perform for applause—I protect with style.”

“Impressive,” Fat Gum rumbles. “Keep it up, Murasaki. That energy protects people better than brute strength alone.”

Suddenly, a man in the crowd pulls a gun. He fires a bullet, which hits Tamaki squarely. The next shot is aimed at him again—but Kirishima leaps in, activating Hardening, and the bullet bounces harmlessly off his crimson armor.

Rina spins into action, voice rising in a fierce hum. Her Sonic Disruption surges forward, a resonant pulse distorting the man’s aim. His next shot flies wide, harmlessly clipping the edge of a stall.

Kirishima leaps forward, crystalline armor gleaming, blocking the man’s escape route. “Red Riot’s got this!” he yells.

Rina skates to the side, her purple aura extending in arcs around the surrounding civilians. Harmonic Boost activates subtly, steadying panicked shoppers and amplifying Fat Gum’s protective instincts.

“Keep calm, darlings! Violet Crescendo is here!” Her voice reverberates, unnaturally commanding in the chaos, each note both inspiring allies and disrupting the thug’s focus.

The gunman stumbles, flinching at the combined effect of Kirishima’s unbreakable defense, Fat Gum’s looming presence, and Rina’s melodic interference. His hands shake on the weapon.

“Not so fast!” Rina yells, launching a controlled Crescendo Barrage, radiant arrows forming in the air around him. The violet energy pulses in harmony with her voice, pinning him between light and sound.

Tamaki glances at her, still struggling with his dormant Manifest Quirk, and mutters, “How… is she doing that?”

Rina skates to his side, aura dimming slightly but still shimmering. “Diva’s prerogative, darling. And a little hero flair never hurts.” She gives him a reassuring nod. “Focus on the civilians. I’ve got the flashy one.”

Fat Gum nods, roaring a command as he and Kirishima give chase to the fleeing criminal. Rina’s gaze sweeps the street, calculating, melodic vibrations radiating subtly through her Resonance to stabilize the panicked crowd.

“First day on patrol, and someone already wants to upstage me with bullets,” she mutters, flicking her hair back. “Fine. Let’s make sure our show stops him from doing anything stupid again.”

The alleyway reeks of tension and metal. Kirishima faces down the enhanced thug, his hardened fists gleaming under the dim streetlights. The man’s blades slice through the air, cutting into the alley’s walls with a screeching rhythm — but Red Riot holds his ground, teeth gritted, mind razor-sharp.

From the side, Rina skates into view, violet hair catching stray beams of light. Her guitar glimmers faintly in its folded state across her back, strings vibrating subtly with her Quirk’s hum.

“Oh, darling, this looks messy,” she quips, voice light and teasing — yet sharp enough to make even the civilians give her space.

She flicks her wrist and sings — just a faint note at first — and the alley responds.

Purple soundwaves ripple outward, bending slightly as they wrap around the civilians behind her. Resonance kicks in: her harmonics steady their nerves, slow panicked movements, and even warp the air pressure just enough to unbalance the thug’s footing.

“Careful, sweetie, you don’t wanna get sliced before I arrive,” she sings, voice rising with melodramatic flair. Energy trails shimmer behind her as she zips around the alley on her inliners, creating a dazzling blur of motion that throws the villain off-balance, giving Red Riot the perfect opening.

Kirishima lunges forward, blades clanging uselessly against his hardened skin. “Red Counter!” His fist connects with the man’s face, sending him flying, but the thug howls, and suddenly blades erupt from his body like a storm. Kirishima's Hardening strains — sharp edges nick his skin, streaks of red cutting across his arms.

Rina glides closer, tilting her guitar-bow and belting out a higher note. The sound coalesces into a shimmering purple Resonant Guard, catching the shards of the man’s blade blast and dampening their momentum.

“Darling, you’ll need to work so much harder than that to touch my friends,” she declares, her tone honeyed but lethal. The vibration of her voice pulses through the air, staggering the thug mid-step.

The villain roars, gathering his blades into a concentrated barrage. Kirishima's eyes narrow. Time to go all in. He channels every ounce of willpower, pushing his Quirk to the limit. His body bulks, skin turning jagged like stone — Unbreakable ignites, and the incoming blades shatter against him with a thunderous clang.

Rina sings behind him, her voice sustained and powerful, the resonance amplifying his focus. Her sound waves coil around him, harmonizing with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You’ve got this, Red Riot! Own it! Shine like the unbreakable hero you are!” she shouts, every word vibrating with confidence and pride.

The thug stumbles, overwhelmed by both the raw might and the sonic energy swirling through the alley. Rina flicks her wrist, firing a pulse of violet energy from her guitar-bow that cuts through the final barrage of blades. Kirishima charges forward, his Red Gauntlet connecting in a blazing impact that slams the villain into the ground.

As the thug collapses, trembling and gasping, Rina rolls to a stop beside Kirishima, placing her hands on her hips, chest heaving.

“Well, that was fun,” she says, voice dripping with diva satisfaction. “And look at you, darling — officially Unbreakable, indeed.”

Fat Gum lumbers up behind them, chuckling as he claps his massive hands. “Excellent work, both of you! Kirishima, your Hardening’s solid as a wall — and Murasaki,” he nods at her, “that Resonance of yours? Perfect control. You two make one hell of a team.”

Rina bows slightly, one hand over her heart. “Naturally. Saving the day, looking fabulous, and keeping everyone safe — all in a day’s work for Violet Crescendo.”

Tamaki, still pale and subdued, murmurs from the corner, “I… I can’t believe how coordinated you two are… even with me being useless right now.”

Rina skates over, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Darling, don’t sell yourself short. You’ll get your moment — just with a little less gloom and a lot more oomph.”

The alley settles into silence, the metallic scent of battle fading. Civilians are safe, the thug restrained inside Fat Gum’s Quirk, and the trio — hardened resolve, resonant power, and unshakable will — stand victorious.

Rina’s violet eyes glint softly, her Quirk humming in the air, a reminder that heroism can be dramatic, dazzling, and devastatingly effective all at once.

Tamaki’s shoulders slump, and he buries his face deeper into his hood, ashamed he can’t activate his Quirk. He mutters a quiet thanks to Kirishima, who had shielded him from the gunfire without hesitation.

Rina skates beside them, her violet hair flicking in the breeze, inliners whispering along the pavement. “Honestly, darling, don’t look so glum,” she says, voice dripping with playful authority. “You’re alive, you’re standing, and we didn’t even lose any civilians. That’s more than enough for today.”

Tamaki doesn’t respond, only fidgets with his sleeves. He’s heard rumors about drugs that can boost Quirks, designed for the underpowered, but something that outright disables a Quirk? Fat Gum has never encountered it either, his brow furrowed as he guides the trio toward the hospital.

Rina glances at Tamaki, her glowing amethyst eyes reflecting genuine concern beneath the diva mask. “You’ve got talent, squid-boy. Just… weird day, okay? We’ll sort it out.”

Kirishima walks ahead, hardening still subtly in his posture, the memory of the blades flashing across his mind.

Rina falls into step beside him, humming faintly — her Quirk activating in a soft harmonic pulse, bolstering his confidence.

“And you, Red Riot? The world knows your name now,” she teases, voice ringing clear like a bell. “You can’t hide your shine behind those biceps.”

The hospital trip is quiet but tense, Fat Gum checking both Tamaki’s Quirk issue and ensuring Kirishima isn’t carrying hidden injuries.

Rina skates in lazy loops around the room, quirk humming faintly as she keeps morale high, occasionally shooting a glance at her teammates with an encouraging smirk.

“Keep your heads up, boys. You’re already heroes in my book. I don’t care if the internet hasn’t caught up yet.”

The next day at U.A. Class 1-A buzzes as the first-year students check their phones.

Kaminari is practically bouncing in his seat. “Red Riot’s hero debut is everywhere! The guy took down a thug and saved civilians! It’s all online!”

Ochaco giggles as she scrolls through footage. “And we’re in there too! Did you see Tsuyu’s grab and our teamwork?”

Rina leans back in her chair, smirking and crossing her arms. “Naturally, we looked fabulous saving the day. Style points and hero points, my loves.” Her voice carries a teasing lilt, but her eyes are proud.

Iida adjusts his glasses, trying to bring the conversation back to academics. “Remember, everyone, heroic deeds are commendable, but schoolwork remains important. Don’t let your grades slip just because your names are on the news.”

Kaminari groans, pointing at Kirishima. “Man, Red Riot’s grades are terrible! I can’t believe he’s famous already!”

Kirishima just shrugs, cheeks warming. “Aizawa-Sensei prepared supplementary lessons for me, but…” he glances at Sero, who nods in agreement. “…yeah, I didn’t go. They were tough.”

Rina tilts her head, hair cascading over her shoulder, and gives a dramatic sigh. “Well, darlings, fame waits for no one. But someone has to keep an eye on the academics while I bask in the spotlight.”

Chapter Text

The morning hum of the city fades as Rina Murasaki and Eijiro Kirishima make their way to the station, their usual energy dimmed by curiosity and unease.

Rina walks beside him, violet hair catching the faint sunlight filtering through the urban haze. “Strange, isn’t it?” she muses, her tone lilting but thoughtful. “Same schedule, different destination. Someone’s stirring up something big.”

They spot Midoriya, Ochaco, and Tsuyu ahead. Kirishima waves, grinning. “Yo! You guys heading out too?”

“Yeah!” Midoriya replies, a bit surprised. “Wait—you’re going to the station too?”

Rina slows beside them, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Guess it’s fate, darling. Heroes in training, all on the same track—literally.”

A Pro Hero from the U.A. security detail escorts them, keeping a watchful eye as they board the train. The ride is filled with low chatter and tension, each of them sensing this day isn’t like their usual internships.

When they finally arrive at Sir Nighteye’s Office, the air feels different—denser, charged. The space is filled with familiar faces and heavy presences: Fat Gum, Ryukyu, Aizawa, Gran Torino, Nejire, Mirio, Tamaki, and a collection of professional heroes Rina doesn’t recognize but immediately respects. Her gaze flickers between them, posture poised and graceful despite her curiosity.

Nejire waves energetically to Ryukyu. “Ryukyu! So what’s the big meeting about?”

Ryukyu folds her arms, tone calm but serious. “You’ll know soon enough. Sir Nighteye’s about to begin.”

The second-floor conference room buzzes as everyone takes their seats. Rina leans back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Quite the lineup,” she murmurs, her usual playful tone laced with awe. “Feels like we’ve stepped into the big leagues.”

Kirishima nods, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Guess it’s time to prove we belong here.”

The room quiets as Sir Nighteye steps forward, his expression razor-sharp.

“Thank you all for coming. This meeting’s purpose is to consolidate our findings and discuss our next move regarding a certain small organization—” His voice hardens. “—the Shie Hassaikai.”

At the name, a wave of alertness passes through the students. Rina’s fingers unconsciously tap her knee, her Quirk resonating faintly in the air like a soft hum—an instinctive response to tension.

Bubble Girl begins the briefing. “Our office started investigating after an incident involving the Shie Hassaikai and a group called Team Reservoir Dogs. The police labeled it an accident—but something about it didn’t add up.”

Rina leans forward, brows furrowed. “So the cops brushed it off while the villains kept scheming? Typical.”

Centipeder continues, detailing how the Shie Hassaikai have been reaching out to black market groups across Japan. “They’re expanding their resources and finances,” he says grimly. “They even contacted Twice from the League of Villains.”

Gran Torino hums lowly, tapping his cane. “So that’s why we were called in. League involvement always complicates things.”

Bubble Girl mentions the Hero Network, and Rina tilts her head. “Ah, like a professional hotline for heroes,” she says softly. “Useful—and kind of exclusive. Figures.”

When a pro hero questions the students’ presence, Fat Gum immediately steps in. “My interns are here because they’ve earned their place,” he says firmly, gesturing toward Kirishima and Rina. “Both of ’em were on the field when that drug incident happened. Their input matters.”

Rina gives a small smile, raising a hand in mock salute. “Appreciate the vote of confidence, boss.”

Sir Nighteye nods, eyes flicking toward Fat Gum. “Indeed. The Shie Hassaikai are suspected of manufacturing and selling illegal Quirk-related drugs. Fat Gum’s team encountered one firsthand.”

The words send a ripple through the room. Rina straightens, the echo of the fight still clear in her memory—the panic, the strange bullet, Tamaki’s sudden collapse.

Fat Gum’s tone grows somber. “Tamaki was shot with something… different. Not a Quirk-enhancer. A Quirk-eraser.”

The room falls silent. Even Rina’s usual composure wavers; she bites her lip, eyes darting to Tamaki. “A Quirk-eraser?” she whispers, disbelief tinging her voice.

Mirio leans forward. “Tamaki, are you okay now?”

Tamaki nods weakly, lifting a hand that morphs into a cow hoof. “I’m fine now… I recovered.”

Aizawa steps in next, his calm voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere. He explains the concept of Quirk Factors—the biological essence behind powers—and how his Erasure differs from the bullet’s damage. “My ability halts Quirk activation temporarily,” he clarifies. “This drug damages the Quirk Factor itself.”

The implications hit everyone like a shockwave. Rina’s Quirk hums faintly, resonating with the room’s unease. “So… it’s not just silencing a song,” she murmurs softly. “It’s like destroying the instrument.”

Fat Gum adds, “The bullet Tamaki was hit with—his Quirk Factor was damaged, but it healed naturally. The weapon we recovered from Kirishima’s shielded impact was intact, and when examined… it contained human blood and cells.”

The air goes cold. Ochaco gasps quietly. Tsuyu’s eyes widen. Even seasoned pros exchange uneasy glances.

Rina sits still, her expression hardening, the purple gleam in her eyes darkening. “Human cells,” she says quietly. “So they’re not just making weapons—they’re using people.” Her voice trembles with disgust and fury.

Kirishima clenches his fists beside her, his voice low but resolute. “We’ll stop them. No matter what.”

Rina nods, her usual sass replaced with genuine steel. “Damn right, partner.”

The room hums with tense energy as Ryukyu folds her arms, voice calm but firm. “The bullet likely contained the DNA of a Quirk that destroys other Quirks,” she says. The weight of her words sinks into the room like a stone.

One of the older heroes frowns. “That’s… insane. But what’s the connection to the Shie Hassaikai?”

Fat Gum leans forward, his usually easygoing tone sharpened. “The distributors we tracked down did have exchanges with the Hassaikai. But we got no solid proof they’re selling the bullets directly.”

Sir Nighteye adjusts his glasses, the reflection hiding his eyes. “Ryukyu and her interns—Uravity, Froppy, and Nejire—recently ended a skirmish between two villain factions. Afterward, we learned one of those faction leaders had direct exchanges with the same intermediaries.”

Rina crosses her legs, her usual smirk absent for once. Her violet eyes glimmer faintly under the light. “So we’re connecting dots between black markets, bullets, and Yakuza. Not exactly the kind of melody I like hearing,” she mutters, low enough for Kirishima beside her to catch.
He glances at her, jaw tight, and nods.

Sir Nighteye continues, voice level. “Kai Chisaki — known as Overhaul. His Quirk allows him to disassemble and restore anything he touches. We believe this power directly ties to the creation of these bullets.”

The realization slams through the room like thunder.

Midoriya and Mirio go pale, sweat forming at their temples. Rina notices instantly — the way Midoriya’s eyes widen, the tremor in Mirio’s hands. Her usual teasing tone softens. “You two… know something, don’t you?”

They nod, trembling. “We met her,”

Midoriya whispers. “A little girl. Eri. She… she had bandages all over her arms.”

Nighteye’s voice remains composed, but there’s steel beneath it. “Eri has no records — no birth certificate, no documented guardianship. Based on what we know, she is Overhaul’s daughter.”

Gasps echo through the room.

Rina’s knuckles whiten where they rest on her knee. “He’s using his own child?” she says, her voice tight, almost vibrating with disgust. The faint hum of her Quirk flickers in the air — like a string pulled too taut.

Gran Torino breaks the silence. “In this world, with the right drive and a twisted enough mind, anyone can make the impossible real.”

Kirishima looks at him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, exactly?”

Nighteye’s gaze hardens. “Overhaul is most likely using Eri to create those Quirk-destroying bullets.”

The words hit everyone like a gut punch. Rina’s breath catches — and for once, she doesn’t have a single quip.

Ochaco and Tsuyu flinch visibly, and Kirishima’s fists clench, the skin of his knuckles rough and red. “That’s sick,” he mutters.

Nighteye continues, “The bullet fired at Tamaki was likely a prototype — incomplete, but still functional. We lack evidence proving Kai is distributing them… but the link is clear.”

Fat Gum slams a fist into his palm, anger simmering beneath his usual warmth. “That bastard’s experimenting on a kid? Then what’re we waiting for? Let’s take him down!”

Another hero snaps back, “We wouldn’t even be in this mess if those two—” he gestures at Midoriya and Mirio “—had taken her into custody!”

The tension spikes, but Nighteye’s voice cuts through it like a blade. “Enough. I take full responsibility. I was the one who ordered them not to act. The fault is mine.”

Midoriya and Mirio lower their heads, shame painted across their faces. “We froze,” Mirio says. “We thought we were doing the right thing. But this time…” Izuku’s voice shakes, eyes fierce through the tears forming. “This time, we’ll save her.”

The air shifts — the hesitation replaced by conviction. Rina leans forward, eyes burning brighter now. “Then count me in. I’m not letting some monster turn a little girl into… this.” Her voice cracks slightly, the melody rough but resolute.

Sir Nighteye nods once. “Then our objective is clear. We save Eri.”

A hero at the table frowns. “If she’s so vital to his plans, he won’t be keeping her at his main base. Do we have any leads on her location?”

Ryukyu shakes her head. “That’s exactly what I was about to ask.”

Nighteye exhales, grim. “No. That’s the problem. We don’t know where she’s being held. The Shie Hassaikai’s movements are meticulous — every trace covered.”

Fat Gum folds his arms, visibly frustrated. “And all this investigating just gives them more time to hurt her. We can’t sit around forever.”

Nighteye’s eyes narrow. “If we rush this and fail, she’ll disappear for good. We’re not All Might. We can’t act on instinct alone — not anymore. We act carefully, or not at all.”

Gran Torino nods slowly. “He’s right. One wrong step, and they’ll vanish into the cracks of this city. Remember what happened with Stain — how that chaos gave the League a platform. We can’t repeat that mistake.”

A murmur of dissent stirs among the heroes.

Rina glances around — at the frustration, the guilt, the fear — and then hums softly, letting a barely audible note escape her lips. The tension in the air shifts just enough. It’s not her full Resonance — just a quiet reminder of unity.

She looks toward Kirishima, eyes steady. “We’re going to save her,” she says quietly. “No more waiting. No more letting villains write the song.”

And beside her, Kirishima nods — unbreakable resolve meeting unyielding sound.

The tension in the meeting room thickens as voices overlap — heroes debating, disagreeing, losing focus. The sound bounces off the walls like static. Rina Murasaki sits a few seats behind Fat Gum and Kirishima, legs crossed neatly, her usual sparkle dimmed by the gravity in the air.

Aizawa finally breaks the noise. “Sir Nighteye,” he says, tone cutting clean through the chatter. “You can see the future, right? So what’s the outcome if we go through with this rescue?”

All eyes turn to the man at the head of the table. Sir Nighteye adjusts his glasses, expression unreadable. “I can’t,” he says simply. “My Foresight has a twenty-four-hour cooldown. I can only see one person’s future for one hour each day.”

A ripple of murmurs spreads. Rina leans forward slightly, curious but cautious. “So… you can only see what they see?” she asks quietly, her voice lilting yet edged with curiosity. “Like, first-person perspective?”

Nighteye glances her way, nodding. “Exactly. I can only witness their actions and surroundings. And if I see death awaiting them…” His voice lowers. “There’s nothing I can do to change it.”

The room stills. Even Rina’s usual expressive face goes solemn. Beside her, Kirishima frowns, fists clenched tight on his knees.

Nighteye continues, “I only use my Foresight when the probability of success is highest. It’s not fortune-telling — it’s insurance.”

A hero across the table presses, “Even death is information. You could use that to avoid it.”

Nighteye shakes his head. “You can’t fight inevitability with theory.”

The silence that follows is heavy — so heavy that even Rina’s Quirk starts to vibrate with the stillness, like sound wanting to fill the void.

It’s Ryukyu who finally cuts through, her voice firm yet calm. “Enough talk of inevitability. A girl’s life is on the line. We move forward.”

Nighteye nods. “Agreed. Our mission is to locate Eri and secure her rescue immediately. Thank you all for your cooperation.”

The meeting disperses.

Downstairs, the mood softens, but only slightly. The U.A. students gather at a long table — Midoriya, Ochaco, Tsuyu, Kirishima, Mirio, Tamaki, Nejire, and Rina.

Papers and half-empty water cups litter the surface, but all focus on the two boys across from them.

Midoriya and Mirio recount their encounter with Overhaul and Eri — their words heavy with guilt. The sound of it makes Rina’s chest tighten. Her usual energy dims as she listens, elbows resting on the table, chin balanced on her hands.

“You guys didn’t fail her,” she says softly. “You met her. That means you’ll find her again. You can’t lose hope before the encore even starts.”

Midoriya doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the tabletop. Mirio, too, seems lost — the bright grin that usually defines him nowhere in sight.

Then Aizawa appears, his scarf draped loosely, expression serious as ever. “I was going to suspend your work-studies,” he says bluntly. “The League of Villains is involved. That’s not something students should be part of.”

Midoriya stiffens. Ochaco and Tsuyu glance at each other in worry. Rina leans back, eyes narrowing. She doesn’t say anything — not yet.

Before any of them can argue, Aizawa continues, “But… if I stop you, you’ll just find a way to jump back in.” His gaze softens ever so slightly. He steps closer to Midoriya, resting his fist against the boy’s chest. “I still don’t fully trust you, Midoriya. But… go. Save her.”

Midoriya’s breath catches — then he nods, determination igniting again.

Nearby, Nejire and Tamaki try to shake Mirio out of his haze. “Come on,” Nejire says, patting his arm. “No use moping. You’re still Lemillion. Still the guy who smiles through everything.”

“Yeah,” Tamaki adds shyly, glancing up. “You’d… tell me the same thing.”

Mirio blinks — then chuckles faintly, that familiar warmth flickering back into his expression. “You’re right.”

Aizawa gives one last piece of advice, his voice steady and low. “That hand that barely missed rescuing Eri — she’s probably feeling something other than despair right now. Keep moving forward.”

Midoriya’s response comes out fierce and sure. “I will!”

Rina watches him, a small, approving smile tugging at her lips. “Now that’s more like it,” she says, flicking a strand of hair back. “We’ve got a kidnapped girl, creepy villains, and a mystery drug. That’s a show worth crashing — and we’re not leaving the stage till she’s safe.” Her tone lightens the air just enough for the group to breathe again. Even Tamaki manages a faint, nervous smile.

The team’s resolve settles in the room like a melody finding its final chord — strong, steady, and unshakably in tune.

While Eri’s location is being pinpointed, Midoriya, Ochaco, Tsuyu, Rina, and Kirishima remain on standby at UA, training diligently while keeping a careful distance from prying eyes. Any discussion about the operation is strictly forbidden.

The tension in the air is palpable, but Rina manages to make it feel a little less suffocating with her usual flair, twirling on her inliners between exercises and humming a faint note that subtly reinforces everyone’s focus.

After classes the next day Aizawa approaches the group — Rina, Kirishima, Ochaco, and Tsuyu — to confirm their intentions. “I need to make sure your participation is your choice,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “This operation is about taking Eri into custody. You’re free to opt out if you want.”

Rina speaks first. “Darling, I’m in,” she says, voice rich and dramatic. “Rescuing a girl in need while keeping everyone safe? Naturally, Violet Crescendo volunteers.” Her eyes glint with determination, though the diva façade is softened by a genuine sense of purpose.

Kirishima pumps a fist. “I’m in too. Red Riot doesn’t back down when someone needs help.” His grin is wide, fiery with conviction.

Ochaco and Tsuyu nod in agreement, their expressions resolute. Tamaki, standing quietly nearby, gives a small, affirmative nod. He has already accepted their decision, knowing their presence will be valuable if things go sideways.

Aizawa observes each of them carefully. “Good. I need you all aware that, while the risk is low, if the League of Villains gets involved, the operation will be stopped. Your safety is paramount.”

Rina flicks her wrist dramatically and spins, a faint trail of violet light tracing her movement. “Don’t worry, sweethearts,” she declares. “We’ll bring her home safe — and maybe make it look fabulous while we do it.”

Aizawa nods once, satisfied. “Alright. I’ll trust your skills. Stay sharp, and keep this strictly between us.”

The students disperse to continue their training, each aware of the weight of the mission ahead.

A few day later in the middle of the night they all gather, still in their pajamas, holding their phones. They're unable to sleep, too anxiously waiting to hear from Nighteye.

Rina lounges elegantly on the edge of the couch, violet hair cascading over her shoulder. She’s in loose silk pajamas, a deep purple top that matches her eyes and soft, silver-trimmed bottoms. Even in comfort wear, she radiates diva energy.

“Darling, if we’re about to save someone, we might as well do it with style and flair,” she murmurs, stretching one long leg over the couch arm and letting the sound drift into the room.

Midoriya sits cross-legged on the floor, green pajama pants patterned with tiny All Might symbols and a loose white T-shirt, tapping his fingers nervously against his knees.

Mirio leans against the wall, hands in the pockets of his blue pajama pants and a gray hoodie, jaw tight with unspent energy, eyes flicking toward the windows.

Ochaco bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, clad in pink polka-dotted PJs and a matching hoodie, face flushed with anticipation.

Tsuyu kneels on the couch, her frog-patterned green pajamas perfectly matching her alert, watchful posture, tongue occasionally flicking in thought.

Kirishima sprawls on the floor near the coffee table, red plaid flannel pajamas and a grin plastered on his face, fists clenched, ready to spring into action.

All their phones buzz simultaneously. A message from Sir Nighteye flashes across each screen: Eri’s location has been pinpointed. Relief, shock, and a surge of determination ripple through the room.

“Did you get it?” Midoriya asks, voice tight, leaning forward and gripping his phone like a lifeline.

“Yes,” Ochaco answers, bouncing slightly on her heels. Tsuyu flicks her tongue against her lips anxiously, staring at her phone with wide eyes. Kirishima grins and cracks his knuckles, a mixture of excitement and readiness in his stance.

Rina shifts gracefully, sitting up straighter, violet eyes glinting. “Well, well… looks like the spotlight’s about to shine on us again, darlings,” she purrs. “Time to turn up the stage lights and make sure our heroine gets her moment.”

Mirio straightens from his lean, fists clenching at his sides. “This time, we save her. No mistakes, no hesitation.”

Midoriya nods, eyes fierce. “Absolutely. We’re not letting her slip away again.”

Rina tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then it’s settled, loves. Time to shine—even in pajamas, heroes rise.”

The dorm settles into a tense, purposeful quiet. Every student shares the same unspoken resolve: this time, they are saving Eri.

Chapter Text

The morning air is sharp and cold at 8:00 AM, the kind that cuts through nerves and heightens every sense.

A line of heroes gathers in front of the Musutafu Police Station, their breath fogging faintly as the rising sun glints off badges, armor, and capes.

Rina Murasaki adjusts her hero costume — the metallic accents of her gauntlets gleam like stage lights waiting to rise. She flicks a strand of violet hair behind her ear, her expression calm but her eyes carrying that charged spark of excitement.

In her hand is a paper packet detailing the mission — a map of the Shie Hassaikai’s underground complex, routes marked with red ink, notes on enemy Quirks scribbled in the margins. Her fingers drum rhythmically against the paper as she hums softly under her breath, letting the vibrations of her Quirk subtly calm her nerves and steady her focus.

Sir Nighteye stands at the front, posture immaculate, voice crisp as he addresses both heroes and police officers. “Positions must be accounted for immediately. We can’t afford to give the Shie Hassaikai even a moment to hide.”

The tension in the air feels electric. Beside Rina, Kirishima cracks his knuckles, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Man, I can’t wait to get in there,” he says, his usual grin full of fire. “We’re gonna save that girl, no matter what.”

Rina glances at him, lips curving into a teasing smile. “Save the pep talk for after we break through, hero boy. Let’s make sure we actually look good doing it, yeah?”

A few feet away, Ochaco fidgets with the hem of her gloves, her wide eyes betraying her nerves. “This… this feels big,” she murmurs, voice barely audible. “It’s like everything we’ve been training for is suddenly real.”

Tsuyu, standing next to her, tilts her head in agreement, the frog-like heroine’s expression serious. “Ribbit. It’s been a while since I felt this anxious. Everything about this mission feels different.”

Ryukyu steps forward, towering with composed authority. “That feeling never really goes away,” she admits, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s part of being a hero — knowing fear, but moving through it anyway.”

Rina hums softly, the faint resonance of her voice weaving between them like a low melody meant to soothe. “Then let’s make sure our nerves hit the right notes,” she says, her trademark confidence returning. “No shaky harmonies today.”

Fat Gum, cheerful as ever but with a hard edge to his tone, tosses something toward Tamaki. “Here, kid — swordfish. Power up,” he says.

Tamaki catches it with a sigh, reluctantly taking a bite as Fat Gum continues, “We’re facing yakuzas today, not your run-of-the-mill street thugs. Keep your heads clear, your instincts sharper. No one lets their guard down — not for a second.”

The words settle heavy in the crisp morning air. Midoriya listens intently, eyes sharp with determination, while Kirishima nods firmly beside him, clenching his fists.

Rina exhales slowly, feeling the pulse of her Quirk hum through her chest — faint vibrations echoing like a drumbeat. The mission briefing ends, Sir Nighteye’s voice final and steady.

“All units — move out.”

Engines roar to life. Boots hit the pavement. Capes flutter in the cold breeze.
And as the heroes surge forward toward the Shie Hassaikai’s hidden lair, Rina casts one last glance skyward. Her violet eyes glint under the dawn light.

“Showtime,” she whispers — her voice a mix of steel, melody, and promise. She adjusts the strap of her guitar-bow, its strings catching the light like liquid violet fire.

Her hero costume gleams clean and confident — a sleeveless white turtleneck stamped with a bold four-leaf clover, high-waisted blue tights, and sharp white boots.

She looks every bit the rising star she is, the violet hue of her eyes humming faintly with her Quirk.

“Okay,” she mutters under her breath, flicking her ponytail back, “let’s make this performance one for the record books.”

Kirishima cracks his knuckles beside her, grinning. “You always this hyped before a fight?”

“Please,” she says, half-smirk, half-glitter. “This is the fight. I don’t do low-energy gigs.”

The officer up front reaches for the intercom —

“We have a search warr—”

BOOM.

The gates detonate outward, steel shrieking as they twist. A shockwave rips across the street, sending cops scrambling. Dust swallows the world.

Through it stomps Rikiya Katsukame, his frame monstrous, eyes wild. “All this noise… first thing in the morning?”

Rina doesn’t flinch — instead she strums her bow once. Vwoom. The string thrums, purple sound rippling through the smoke, cushioning the falling debris around the officers. “Morning call’s over,” she says coolly. “Let’s get loud.”

Midoriya zips forward, Full Cowl crackling green lightning as he snatches a cop out of the air. Aizawa’s scarf snaps out and grabs the rest.

Fat Gum shouts, “Nice one, Crescendo!”

“Thanks, sugar,” she fires back, already skating forward on a gleam of violet energy. “Try to keep up!”

Then — a roar splits the street. Ryukyu unfurls into her dragon form, wings casting a massive shadow over the crowd. She catches Rikiya’s punch mid-swing, claw against fist, shaking the pavement.
“Everyone else, move in!” the dragon bellows.

“Copy that!” Rina calls, spinning her bow over one shoulder. “Alright boys — curtain’s up!”

She kicks off, gliding beside Deku and Kirishima as they storm the shattered gates. Ochaco and Tsuyu are right behind, eyes sharp despite their nerves.

Inside, chaos explodes instantly — Yakuza thugs draw weapons, one launching razor-sharp leaves down the corridor.

Rina slides to a stop, pivots, and strikes a fast riff across her bow. A shockwave of violet sound shreds through the projectiles, turning them into harmless flutters of dust.

“Seriously?” she groans. “Didn’t anyone tell you we’re heroes, not hedges?”

A Ryukyu sidekick takes the attacker down while Fat Gum waves the rest forward. “Beeline for Eri — don’t stop for anything!”

Rina grins, spinning her bow once before slinging it over her shoulder. “Got it! Time to raise the tempo!”

She takes the lead, violet light pulsing in rhythm beneath her boots as her Resonance Quirk flares — synchronizing the team’s breathing, heartbeats, and motion into a single steady tempo. The perfect battle rhythm.

And just like that — Violet Crescendo, Red Riot, and Deku surge forward, hearts pounding in unison as the Shie Hassaikai raid begins in full force.

Sir Nighteye’s group and Fat Gum’s team charge into the Shie Hassaikai headquarters, boots pounding against tile as echoes bounce through the eerily pristine halls. The tension is thick — the air almost too still for a place that hides monsters.

Lock Down’s expression tightens; he mutters that something feels off. Beside him, Aizawa adjusts his goggles, his voice low and steady, saying that if Overhaul hasn’t shown himself yet, he’s probably in the basement — evacuating everything, Eri included.

They reach a small shrine adorned with an ornate vase. Sir Nighteye, all precision and calm intellect, removes the vase and presses on a wooden panel behind it. The floor rumbles, gears clicking — a secret door slides open with a dull thud.

Before anyone can move, shouts echo down the corridor. Yakuza members rush out from the shadows, weapons drawn.

Rina’s bow materializes in her hand, sleek and violet, glowing faintly with Quirk energy — that star-like shimmer that always seems to follow her. “Guess subtlety’s out,” she says, spinning her bow in a graceful arc, eyes glinting behind her visor.

But before she even has to fire, Aizawa's scarf snaps forward, his gaze locking on the attackers. Their Quirks flicker and die, their confidence vanishing with it. Bubble Girl and Centipeder move in fluid tandem, subduing the yakuza with efficient, practiced motions.

“Go ahead!” Bubble Girl shouts, waving the others onward. Rina nods once, her boots striking the floor as she dashes forward with the main team — Fat Gum, Nighteye, Mirio, Midoriya, Kirishima, and the others.

They descend deeper into the base, the lighting dim and the air heavy with damp dust. When they hit a dead end — a smooth concrete wall — Mirio steps forward without hesitation. Tamaki explains how his costume phases with him, and Rina whistles softly.

“Made from his hair? That’s commitment,” she says under her breath, earning a faint grin from Kirishima despite the tension.

Mirio phases through, returns, and reports the path continues beyond — a barricade thrown up to stall them. Rock Lock curses under his breath, guessing it’s Overhaul’s doing. Midoriya crackles with green lightning, Full Cowl sparking to life, while Kirishima's body hardens to red stone.

Rina plants her boots and draws back her string, her quirk energy glowing around the bow like a comet tail. “Let’s make it flashy!” she calls, loosing a luminous arrow that detonates on impact, fracturing the surface seconds before Midoriya and Kirishima smash through together. The wall explodes into dust and shards.

But instead of a clear path, the ground and walls twist violently. The corridor warps like a nightmare, metal and concrete bending at impossible angles.

“Ugh— it’s like a funhouse from hell!” Rina grits out, steadying herself as Fat Gum shouts that it’s Mimic’s Quirk — controlling the very structure around them. Aizawa tries to cancel it, but he can’t see Mimic’s body.

Tamaki’s nerves start fraying, his voice trembling about Overhaul buying time.

Rina steps beside him, nudging his arm with her bow. “Hey, deep breaths, sunshine. You’re one of the Big Three — act like it.” There’s a teasing tone to her voice, but the warmth behind it is real.

Mirio flashes a confident grin at both of them before phasing ahead alone, determined to push through.

The ground suddenly convulses. “Move!” Fat Gum shouts — but it’s too late. The floor opens up beneath them, swallowing the heroes into the darkness below. They crash down hard into a wide hall, dust billowing.

As the haze clears, three silhouettes emerge — the Eight Bullets. Tamaki’s expression hardens, all his earlier doubt shifting into focus. Before anyone can react, he manifests into a giant clam, his tentacles lashing out and ensnaring all three villains in one fluid motion.

“Stay back,” he says, voice low and firm. “They’re mine.”

Kirishima protests, stepping forward, but Tamaki doesn’t waver. Rina, still kneeling from the fall, meets his gaze. “Then make it count, hero,” she says with a half-smile, twirling her bow once before standing.

As Aizawa disables the villains’ Quirks, Tamaki tightens his grip, determination radiating off him. “Go,” he tells them. “Help Mirio. He’ll need it.”

Fat Gum doesn’t argue. “You’ve got guts, Tamaki. Don’t make us regret it.”

Rina lingers for one last moment, her voice echoing softly behind her as they turn to leave. “Show ‘em what an undersea buffet of doom looks like.”

And then she’s sprinting ahead with the others, the hall bending and trembling around them as Tamaki stands his ground alone against the Eight Bullets.

The team sprints through the twisting corridors of the Shie Hassaikai’s underground maze, the sharp echo of their boots bouncing off the warped walls. Dust and flickering light paint everything in a frantic rhythm.

Rina’s violet aura glows faintly in the dimness, her guitar-bow secured across her back, pulsing in sync with her heartbeat. Every few steps, she hums low under her breath — not enough to fully activate her Quirk, but enough to keep everyone’s focus grounded and their nerves steady.

Kirishima’s fists are clenched, jaw tight. “Man, I can’t help but worry about Suneater…,” he mutters, glancing back the way they came.

Midoriya nods, concern flashing in his green eyes. “Yeah. He’s fighting three of the Eight Bullets alone…”

Before the tension can spiral, Fat Gum’s booming voice cuts through, warm and unshakable. “Oi! Don’t go doubting him now! The mark of a real man—” he slaps a meaty hand to his chest with a grin “—is trusting your teammate to have your back completely.”

Rina smirks, skating a little ahead on light thrusters that flicker beneath her boots. “And a real diva knows how to trust her bandmates to hold the stage when she’s not in the spotlight,” she adds with a wink.

Kirishima laughs, the weight on his chest lifting instantly. “Yeah, you’re right! Tamaki’s got this!”

Midoriya blinks, half in disbelief. “That… was fast,” he mumbles, watching Kirishima’s energy bounce back like a rubber ball.

“Optimism’s part of the hero package, darling,” Rina teases, voice echoing through the tunnel. “You can’t save the day if you don’t believe it’ll end in applause.”

Ahead, Sir Nighteye raises a hand, his sharp gaze scanning the path. “There’s a staircase,” he says, tone low but decisive. His eyes narrow behind his glasses. “But something’s off. Mimic hasn’t interfered since Tamaki stayed behind.”

Aizawa frowns, scarf swaying with each step. “He’s manipulating the labyrinth, but he hasn’t attacked. That means he’s occupied — maybe aboveground with the police or trying to move Overhaul and Eri deeper.”

Rock Lock grunts, checking their surroundings. “So his control has limits. Range probably depends on where his body’s located.”

“Exactly.” Aizawa’s voice is clipped but calm. “He’s using himself as the control point. Move the body, move the influence.”

Before they can press further, a loud crack rips through the hall — the wall to Aizawa’s left bends unnaturally, then lashes out like a tidal wave of concrete.

“He’s angry,” Aizawa mutters, eyes flashing red as he activates Erasure. “Guess I struck a nerve.”

Chunks of the floor twist upward, forming a jagged hand that reaches for him.

“Sensei!” Rina shouts, her voice carrying a resonant edge. She fires a sonic pulse, but the moving walls absorb it before it hits.

The attack comes fast — too fast. Fat Gum barrels forward, throwing his massive frame between Aizawa and the oncoming strike. “You’re too important to lose, Eraser!” he yells, shoving Aizawa clear just as the wall slams into him with a thunderous boom.

The hallway shakes violently, debris raining down like shards of glass. Rina skates to stabilize herself, her hair whipping around her as she spreads her soundfield to soften the tremors for the others.

Fat gum and Kirishima get shoved into another room. Aizawa turns to the rest. "Everyone okay?"

Rina exhales, steadying her guitar-bow. “Define okay, Sensei.”

Midoriya activates Full Cowl again, green lightning crackling along his arms. “We have to move — Mimic’s trying to split us up!”

Rina’s eyes gleam in the dim light, her tone sharp but spirited. “Then let’s give this haunted house a concert it won’t forget.”

Chapter Text

The group pushes onward, the sound of their united footsteps echoing through the labyrinth — a rhythm of resolve, trust, and defiance against the crushing weight of Overhaul’s underground empire.

The underground halls groan like a living beast as walls shift and twist, bending into impossible shapes. Dust drifts down like gray snow, the air heavy with tension. Sir Nighteye’s flashlight cuts through the chaos, his voice sharp and steady.
“Stay alert. Mimic’s trying to crush us in.”

Rina runs close beside Midoriya and Kirishima, her violet-tinted hero costume flashing under the flickering lights — white sleeveless turtleneck with the big four-leaf clover symbol across her chest, blue tights, white boots, and her bow-guitar gripped tight in one hand.

“Ugh, this guy’s throwing a tantrum with the whole building,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

The floor lurches. A slab of concrete shoots toward them like a battering ram.

Rina leaps, flipping midair and firing a violet energy arrow from her bow. It slams into the wall with a sharp crack, shattering it into harmless chunks. She lands lightly beside Midoriya, her braid bouncing.

“Guess I’m the band’s percussion section now,” she quips, flashing him a quick grin.

Rock Lock slams his hand against another collapsing wall, his Quirk freezing it in place. “Move while I’ve got this held!”

Midoriya sparks with emerald lightning, Full Cowl humming through his body. He bursts forward and smashes through another wall that surges toward them, debris exploding in every direction.

The group keeps pushing, navigating the distorted maze as Mimic’s grating voice echoes through the stone — angry, strained, desperate. Aizawa narrows his eyes, reading the movement of the walls like equations in real time. “He’s exhausting himself. He can’t control this much space forever.”

Rina glances at him, her tone sharp with determination. “Then let’s keep him running out of steam.”

Midoriya nods. We can’t stop now. Not when Eri’s so close.

Without warning, the walls twist violently again — the labyrinth folding like origami around them. The floor drops. Rina tumbles with Midoriya and Aizawa into a new chamber, hitting the ground and rolling back to her feet in one smooth motion.

“Nighteye? Fat Gum?” she calls out, scanning the shadows. No response. Just her, Deku, and Aizawa.

Then—a sharp scream cuts through the dust. Rock Lock’s voice. Midoriya smashes through a wall to find two versions of him: one real, one fake.

“Which one’s—” Rina starts, but the imposter lunges first, knife flashing.

Aizawa’s scarf shoots out instantly, his Quirk activating. The illusion melts away, revealing Himiko Toga.

She grins, eyes wild. “Ooh~! A new face! You must be one of the pretty extras~”

Rina scoffs and raises her bow. “You’re not even my type, freakshow.”

Before she can fire, Toga darts in close — fast, unpredictable. Aizawa’s capture weapon snakes out and catches her, but she yanks herself forward along it, slamming the knife into his shoulder. Blood splatters across the floor.

“Midoriya—check Rock Lock! Rina, cover me!” Aizawa grits out.

“Got it!” Rina answers. She swings her bow like a staff, clashing against Toga’s blade. Sparks fly. The rhythm of their fight sounds almost musical — her movements sharp, precise, like choreography.

Toga laughs, spinning away. “You fight cute~ maybe I’ll wear your face next!”

“Try it,” Rina snaps. Her violet eyes flare, and she charges an arrow that hums with energy. She fires point-blank — the blast slams Toga into the far wall.

Before the villain can recover, the ground heaves again. Mimic’s rage shakes the entire basement, his voice echoing through the halls in a distorted scream. Midoriya freezes, his head tilting as he listens closely.

“There,” he mutters. He leaps, Full Cowl crackling, and smashes through the ceiling with a blinding kick. Rubble rains down — and there, embedded in the stone, is a small, trembling man.

Aizawa’s eyes snap open — his Erasure hits instantly. Mimic’s Quirk dies.

The shifting stops. The labyrinth falls still.
Moments later, Sir Nighteye and the remaining officers burst through the cracked wall. His Hypermass Seal flies through the air, hitting Mimic square in the face and knocking him out cold. Midoriya catches the villain before he falls, laying him gently on the ground.

Rina exhales, lowering her bow. “Finally. Guess that’s one less maniac in the mix.”

Nighteye scans the now-stable corridor, his voice calm but urgent. “We’ve been manipulated, but the path forward is open. We move now. Every second counts if we’re to reach Eri.”

Midoriya nods, fists tightening. Rina slings her bow across her back, violet light flickering around her like stage lighting before a finale. “Then let’s end this show and steal the spotlight back.”

Together, they take off down the hall — hearts pounding, dust swirling behind them like smoke on a stage.

Rina glides behind the main group on her rollerblades, guitar-bow strapped to her back, violet aura shimmering. She hums a low note, feeling Resonance flow through the floor, subtly boosting Midoriya and Aizawa.

“Darling, don’t look so grim!” she calls, her voice melodic, carrying across the hallway. “We’ve just tamed Mimic, and that labyrinth isn’t going to scare us now!”

Sir Nighteye’s eyes are fixed ahead, scanning the area. He orders Mimic to adjust the labyrinth, but the villain doesn’t respond, dulled by the drug he took to boost his Quirk. Rina clicks her tongue in annoyance, a dramatic sweep of her hand releasing a pulse of harmonic energy.

“Unresponsive, huh? Typical villain behavior, but it’s fine,” she says, striding forward with flair. “Sweetheart, the sooner we rescue Eri, the sooner the show really begins.”

Aizawa mutters that Mimic no longer has the power to manipulate the labyrinth.

Rina’s amethyst eyes narrow. “And Toga and Twice are still lurking somewhere. Lovely,” she murmurs, a slight smirk tugging her lips. “I’ve got a note for them too.”

She plucks her guitar-bow lightly, sending a subtle dissonant pulse toward the shadows, a warning that their stage presence isn’t to be trifled with.

Sir Nighteye hesitates, and Rina glances at him, voice rising with dramatic flair: “Darling, stop pondering. Time waits for no diva—or hero. Let’s move!”

Rock Lock advises leaving the League to the Police Force and focusing on rescuing Eri. Rina spins gracefully on her rollerblades, striking a pose mid-motion. “Oh, honey, consider the League on notice. We’ve got more important acts to perform—like saving a damsel in distress!”

Rock Lock volunteers to stay with Mimic, and Rina nods, voice a melodic chime: “Good. Someone’s gotta keep the villainous backdrop in place while the stars—aka us—shine forward!”

Sir Nighteye, Midoriya, and Aizawa surge ahead. Rina follows, her rollerblades gliding seamlessly, aura flaring to subtly boost their morale. “Steady now, darlings,” she calls, strumming her guitar-bow to send out a harmonic pulse. “Let’s show them what a proper crescendo looks like!”

They reach the wall hiding their objective. Midoriya smashes it open. Rina flips dramatically, landing lightly on her rollerblades, hair flowing behind her. “And now, the main stage!” she declares. Her aura flares, harmonizing with the group, boosting focus and reaction times.

Her eyes lock on Overhaul. “Oh, sweetheart, you look positively monstrous,” she says, voice dripping with theatrical disdain. She strums a note sharply, sending a wave of Resonance that bolsters Midoriya and Aizawa. “Try your best, darlings, because mama’s here to make you shine.”

Midoriya charges, Full Cowl engaged, and sends a punch to Overhaul’s arm, making him reel. Aizawa shouts to Sir Nighteye to secure Eri. Rina rolls forward, adjusting her stance on the rollerblades. “Focus, loves! Don’t let the villain steal the spotlight!” she sings, her voice resonating through the corridor to subtly sharpen their senses.

Then Chronostasis awakens. A minute hand strikes Aizawa’s shoulder as he shields Midoriya. Rina gasps, flicking her wrist and sending a harmonizing pulse that steadies them both. “Darling, keep your balance! I’ve got your tempo covered!” she calls, voice lilting and commanding.

Overhaul smirks, pleased, and reignites his Quirk, massive spikes erupting from the floor. Rina flips backward with a graceful spin, rollerblades squeaking across the tiles, and strums a rapid Crescendo Barrage.

“Ha! Let’s see you dance to this rhythm, monsters!” she sings, purple energy arrows flaring from her guitar-bow, shattering some spikes and giving Midoriya precious inches.

Her aura radiates like stage lights across a theater, inspiring her allies. “Don’t just stand there, darlings! Move to my beat!” she calls, voice commanding yet melodic, controlling the flow of battle like a true diva.

The air in the underground chamber vibrates — and not just from Overhaul’s rage. It’s Rina’s song threading through the chaos, trembling against the crumbling concrete walls like a heartbeat refusing to stop.

Her voice, raw from battle, pushes through the dust: “Keep your light burning, darling—”

Soundwaves shimmer violet around her as she skates across the debris, rollerblades slicing through the fractured ground. Every note fuels her allies — strengthening Midoriya’s footing, sharpening Sir Nighteye’s reflexes, keeping their spirits tethered in the storm of Overhaul’s fury.

Overhaul staggers, blood dripping from his mask. “You heroes…” he rasps, eyes wild with hatred. “You think you can tear apart what I’ve built?”

Rina’s song falters for a second as she watches him approach Shin Nemoto. Something about the way Overhaul smiles — too calm, too grateful — makes her stomach twist.

“Wait—what’s he—”

He touches Nemoto’s shoulder. And then both of them explode.

The sound hits before the sight — a wet, rupturing noise that sends dust and viscera spiraling like ash. Rina skids to a stop, horror locking her throat mid-note. Purple energy flickers out.

Midoriya shouts, “Rina, get back!” but she can’t move.

Chapter Text

The pieces reform — flesh knitting into monstrous shapes, limbs twisting together like something sculpted from a nightmare. The man that emerges isn’t Overhaul anymore. He’s bigger, sharper — with grotesque bird-like arms and claws that gleam like surgical knives.

Rina whispers, “Oh, that’s disgusting,” then swallows hard. “Okay, diva, deep breaths… center your pitch.”

Overhaul’s new voice rumbles, doubled, echoing. “Eri will be returning to me.”
He lunges — the entire floor heaving with him. Rina launches backward, firing a Resonance arrow midair. The blast hits his shoulder, cracking part of the stone growth — but he doesn’t even flinch.

Sir Nighteye shouts, “Protect Eri and Togata! I’ll handle him!”

Rina lands in a crouch beside Midoriya, sliding across broken tile. “You heard the boss man, hero boy — time for our encore!”

Midoriya nods, face set, and leaps upward with Full Cowl, punching through a column of rubble. The debris collapses toward Overhaul, but the villain crushes it effortlessly — reconstructing the pieces into a storm of razor-edged stones.

Rina’s rollerblades screech as she dodges. “Could this guy not weaponize architecture for five seconds?!”

She sings again, voice strained but clear — a sharp, vibrating tone that splits the soundwaves like glass. “Resonate—!”

The shards lose momentum midair, just long enough for Midoriya to smash through with an iron-sole kick. Dust explodes around them, purple and gray intertwining in the light.

Overhaul scoffs, voice dripping venom. “Your noise means nothing, girl.”

Rina straightens, sweat tracing down her cheek, and grins. “Sweetheart, it’s not noise — it’s art.”

Another wave of violet light bursts from her as she strikes a chord on her bow. The air hums — not just with sound, but emotion. Anger, hope, defiance — all bleeding into her melody.

Then Sir Nighteye moves — faster than her eyes can track — and his Hyper-Density Seal slams into Overhaul’s chest. The impact booms, pushing the villain back.

“Midoriya! Murasaki! Get to Eri!” Nighteye calls, eyes glowing with steely precision.
Rina shoots forward, skating beside Midoriya as he speeds ahead with One For All. Her Quirk pulses at her throat, building in waves.

“You’re not taking her again!” she sings, voice cracking from effort, but her energy amplifies Midoriya’s momentum — his aura sparking brighter, faster, stronger. Behind them, Overhaul roars — reconstructing the floor itself into jagged tendrils.

Sir Nighteye blocks their path, shouting, “Eraser Head—where is Eraser?”

Overhaul smirks. “My men are escorting him to the meeting room. I’m quite interested in that Erasure Quirk of his.”

Rina’s grip tightens on her bow. “Coward. You’re afraid of him — afraid of anyone who can take away your power.”

Overhaul sneers. “And yet… the one who lost his power is already broken.” His gaze slides to Mirio. “All that strength — wasted.”

Something in Rina snaps. Her eyes flash bright amethyst. “Don’t you dare talk about him that way!”

Her voice rises, trembling but furious — each note slicing through the air. The vibrations hit Overhaul like invisible fists, cracking more of his armor-like skin. He growls, blocking with a dozen new arms sprouting from his sides.

Sir Nighteye steps in again, using the distraction to hurl another seal, and the shockwave forces Overhaul back into the wall.

Rina’s chest heaves, her voice fading to a rasp. “Midoriya,” she manages between breaths, “Get Eri out. That’s our encore’s finale, darling.”

Midoriya nods, eyes blazing green lightning. “Right!”

As he rushes to Mirio and Eri, Rina stays back — rollerblades scraping against the broken ground, bow drawn, voice low but defiant.

“You wanted to play god?” she whispers, raising her chin, violet aura pulsing brighter. “Let me show you what faith sounds like.”

And then she sings — one last pure, soaring note that fills the shattered hall like light through stained glass. The Resonance ripples outward, stabilizing debris, calming fear, even steadying Nighteye’s movements as he readies for the next attack.

Overhaul roars, but Rina doesn’t stop.
Because heroes fall, idols fade, and songs end — but in that moment, Violet Crescendo refuses to be silent.

Rina skates hard on her violet rollerblades, weaving between chunks of shattered rock and the jagged spikes that Overhaul keeps reconstructing. Her guitar-bow hums in her hands, faint purple streaks of Resonance dancing around the edges, ready to amplify the team.

She glances at Midoriya carrying Mirio and Eri, their backs tense, and her heart flares with diva-level determination.

“Darling villains, you’ve met your encore!” she belts out, voice echoing through the war-torn hall. Her singing sends shimmering waves of energy toward Midoriya, bolstering his strength and precision, letting him maneuver through the collapsing ground with more confidence.

Each note she hits radiates courage and focus, wrapping Mirio and Eri in a protective, almost theatrical aura.

Her eyes flash as she flicks her wrist, firing a volley of radiant purple arrows from the guitar-bow at Overhaul’s extended claws. The arrows don’t just strike; they pulse with her voice, disorienting him and giving Midoriya a sliver of breathing room.

Overhaul sneers, lunging past the impaled Sir Nighteye, targeting Midoriya with another jagged spike eruption. Rina twists mid-roll, dodging effortlessly, letting the music guide her movements as much as her eyes.

“Sweetheart, darling, this is your standing ovation!” she shouts, her voice a perfect mix of command and encouragement. A Crescendo Barrage of energy arrows shoots from her bow, synchronized with her singing, striking the reconstructed rock spikes before they reach Midoriya.

She notices his eyes widening, the strain of using One For All at twenty percent. Her smile doesn’t falter — it can’t. “Oh, my fearless hero, show them the drama of determination!” The soundwaves ripple outward, not just disorienting Overhaul, but easing some of the pain Midoriya feels with each step, letting him keep charging forward.

Rina spins, hair flaring like a purple comet, and sends a long, melodic note soaring through the battlefield. Resonance flares, a radiant shield expanding just in time to protect Mirio and Eri from debris flying from Overhaul’s assaults.

Even amidst destruction, she makes it look like a stage performance, fierce and glamorous, turning the chaos into a ballet of purple light and music.

Her heart pounds. Every swing of her bow, every note, every arc of her rollerblades is calculated for maximum effect — supporting her allies, disorienting the villain, keeping the path open. She skates past a massive shard of rock, singing, and her voice vibrates through Midoriya’s fists, letting him feel every ounce of her energy.

“Darling Overhaul,” she shouts, voice dripping with dramatic flair, “you may try to bend fate, but you’re dancing to my tune now!” Her arrows streak like starlight, hitting the spikes before they even fully form, cracking them apart, giving Midoriya the crucial split-second advantage he needs.

Purple light shimmers across her figure as she rolls back, singing another powerful note. The soundwave ripples over the battlefield, harmonizing with Midoriya’s enhanced might. She sees the fire in his eyes, the resolve to bend the future, and for a brief, shining moment, Rina feels the sheer thrill of being both performer and protector.

This is her stage. And she will not let anyone down.

Rina skates like a sliver of purple lightning through the ruin, rollerblades hissing against fractured tile. Her guitar-bow is a living thing on her back, strings thrumming under her fingers as the Resonance in her throat coils, ready. Midoriya is a comet of green fury, One For All burning bright at twenty percent — and Rina can feel every inch of strain in him as if it were a note in a wrong key.

“Midoriya!” she sings, bright and sharp, throwing her voice like a line of safety. The sound wraps around him, loosening the tremor in his legs, steadying his breath. “Don’t wobble, darling — land this like it’s opening night!”

He answers with a grim nod and launches himself. The first two columns of Overhaul reconstructed rock slam past him; the third finds its mark, smashing into Midoriya’s flank. Rina’s stomach drops — he staggers, but he’s still up. He smashes the ground where he stands, trying to make the stage unworkable for Overhaul’s reassembly. It buys him half a breath.

Rina huffs and flips a strand of hair out of her face. “Ugh. Architecture as a weapon. How gauche.” She fires a volley of violet arrows timed to her voice — not to kill, never to kill, but to dent, distract, redirect. Her Crescendo Barrage thuds into the nearest pillar and it splinters into a spray of smaller stones.

Midoriya decides to finish it in one go. He somersaults, gathers himself for the Manchester Smash — a collapsing leg like a curtain call meant to silence the show. Rina pushes a note into him, pushing cadence into his bones. “Go on — make them believe.”

He drops. Midoriya’s leg comes down; the impact shudders through the hall — and Overhaul is already gone from the strike’s arc. The villain slips aside, mocking laughter grinding like gears.

“Predictable,” Overhaul spits, his grotesque fused form glinting in the torchlight. “So blunt. So human.”

Midoriya tries to bail, but another stone column snaps out, impaling him in the arm. Rina’s breath catches — she skids to a stop, voice hitching. For a heartbeat the music in her throat trembles like a singer who’s lost her pitch.

“Move, you idiot!” she blurts, because it’s faster than thinking. She hurls another sharp phrase of sound at Overhaul’s reconstruction, trying to fracture the column before it finishes forming. The pulse grazes the rock; grit rains down, but the monster is relentless.

Then the thing that freezes her blood: Overhaul’s hand splits open and a mouth — small, wet, absurd — forms on the palm. It whispers, and the whole room gets colder.
A soft voice — not his, not entirely his — asks Eri a question that slides like a blade. “Do you want all this?”

Eri, small and bandaged and somehow incandescent even in the grime, runs forward. Rina’s heart lurches so hard she nearly falls off her skates. “Eri, stop!” she shouts, voice cracking with something that’s less stage than panic. She launches herself between the girl and Overhaul, bracing her guitar-bow like a shield.

Rina’s song follows — a velvet, pleading phrase meant to soothe. Her Emotional Resonance tries to curl around Eri, to calm, to steady. “Sweetheart — don’t go. Please. Stay with Mirio. Stay with the heroes.”

Eri looks up with those wide, honest eyes and says what she feels. “No,” she tells Overhaul, softly. “I never wanted any of this.”

Midoriya, bleeding and fierce, cries out to her to stay. Rina’s chords twist into a higher, keening harmony meant to string hope through the boy’s ribs. She pours everything into the sound — the glamour, the courage, the reckless little spark of belief that keeps stage lights alive.

But Nemoto’s voice — folded into Overhaul now — coaxes like a practiced lullaby. “If you return to me,” it promises, “I will make it right. I will restore you.”

Eri tilts her head, Jane-quiet. “If I go… will you fix everything?”

Rina’s throat seizes. She feels the pull of Eri’s desperation like gravity. The Resonance coils tighter; her hands begin to shake on the bow. This is the dangerous part — emotion amplifies her quirk, but emotion also makes it messy. If she sings too wildly now, her effects scatter.

“Eri,” Rina sings, softer this time, every word a tremulous command, “darling, listen to me. They cannot fix this by hurting you. You’re not a bargain. You’re a person.” Her voice trembles — she’s not putting on a show, not now. It’s raw and urgent. “Please.”

Eri’s little face crumples. For a panicked second Rina thinks she’s reached her — that the girl will run back to Mirio and be safe. Then Eri speaks the line that rips the room apart: she says Midoriya isn’t capable of saving them.

Rina tastes bile. Overhaul smirks as if the world has a winner and a loser and the girl has chosen the losing side. “Only you can fix this,” he coaxes. “Return to me, and I will make it so no one else is hurt.”

Rina’s hands ball into fists. “Do not—” she starts, but the words are small against the dirge of the collapsing hall.

Sir Nighteye, pinned and bleeding, still breathes prophecy in his clipped, ragged way — visions of nothing she wants to see. Rina’s chest tightens with a stinging, furious grief she hasn’t earned the right to voice.

She’s not a prophet. She’s an idol. But in this instant she will be both.

“Midoriya!” she screams, the sound a silver lance. Her Resonance blossoms into a hard, bright chord designed to cleave through manipulation. She aims it at Eri — not to command, but to light her up from the inside, to remind the girl of Mirio’s arm, of warm meals, of the crooked, brave smile that risked everything for her.

It reaches Eri as a pulse; for a fragile beat the girl’s hand falters. Rina sees the small hesitation and clings to it like a director catching a moment of truth. “Remember him. Remember the real world,” Rina sings, voice raw and small and enormous all at once. “Not his promises. Not his bargains.”

But Overhaul’s fusion — his voice, his brutality — is slick and practiced. He confuses and cajoles like a salesman. Eri’s tears shine and she whispers, “I have to go back.”

The space between Rina and the girl shudders with hopelessness. Rina wants to drop to her knees and beg; instead she sings one more bright, shattering note — a Harmonic Guard that snaps outward and steadies Midoriya, Mirio, and the others for a breath. It clamps around them like stage rigging, a momentary sanctuary of sound.

“Fight on, Midoriya,” she commands, softer now. “You’re not alone. My voice is with you. Use it.”

Midoriya lifts himself despite the pain, face white but burning. He roars that he will not let anyone die, that he will bend the future. Rina’s voice folds into his resolve like sugar into tea; it makes him sweeter, sharper, possible.

She hates that Eri chose this. She hates that her song couldn’t be louder, truer, kinder. Her throat is raw; the note leaves her like blood.

But there is no time to mourn. Overhaul blinks — angry, surprised — at Midoriya’s stubbornness. He throws another spray of blades, and Rina moves — always moving — rollerblades a blur as she fires another volley: arrows that don’t kill, that shatter rock, that buy a sliver of breathing room.

“Go!” she cries, and in that cry is everything: stage-tested courage, orphaned fury, the pleading of someone who learned to survive with a song. “Get Eri to safety — now!”

Midoriya lunges. Rina sings under him, pushing a raw, ragged hymn of endurance into his bones. He runs like a man on one last fuse, and for one flaring moment Rina believes, with a diva’s stubborn, impossible faith, that the next note will be the right one.

Rina skates through the collapsing basement, hair streaming like violet lightning, Resonance humming from her bow as she surveys the chaos. The moment she spots Midoriya mid-air, clutching both Mirio’s cape and Eri, her voice cuts like a spotlight across the battlefield.

“Darling! Don’t you dare let go!” she belts, each word resonating in a pulse that sharpens his reflexes.

Overhaul is a furious blur, his reconstructed stone pillars barreling toward them. Rina fires off a volley of energy arrows in tandem with a soaring note, Crescendo Barrage spreading her sonic power to bolster Midoriya’s grip on Eri. “Hold tight, my precious ingénue! Violet Crescendo has your back!” The soundwaves knock a few stone pillars slightly off course, buying precious milliseconds.

Midoriya’s determination glows as he recalls Mirio’s question—what kind of Hero he wants to be. Rina senses it, feels it in the vibration of the air around him. Her own Quirk hums louder, harmonizing with his resolve. “Yes, darling! That’s it! Wipe away their despair, make your stage magnificent!” she cries, twirling on her rollerblades and keeping her eyes on every falling fragment of stone.

Then—explosion. The ceiling collapses with a thunderous roar, a shockwave rippling outward. Rina rolls back, her bow ready, as dust and debris fly past. Midoriya vanishes, launched by the wind pressure generated by his activated One For All 100%, a force so immense it punches a hole straight through the basement ceiling.

Purple streaks from her Resonance cut through the chaos, stabilizing her teammates and amplifying their focus.

Her eyes widen as she sees the aftermath: Overhaul rising from the rubble, injured but alive, his desperation palpable. In a sickening display, he fuses with Rikiya Katsukame, his form growing grotesque.

Rina swirls around on her rollerblades, scanning her surroundings, voice sharp and commanding. “Sweethearts! Eyes forward! He’s desperate and dangerous! Don’t let him think he’s the star here!”

Ryukyu’s group hesitates, confusion written across their faces. Ochaco falters, stamina drained by the effects of Rikiya’s Quirk. Rina spins closer, sending a shiver of Resonance toward them, stabilizing their nerves, reinforcing their courage.

“Focus, my loves! You can do this! Even in a supporting role, your presence matters!”

Sir Nighteye tends to Mirio, guiding Tsuyu and Ryukyu with calm authority. Rina’s sharp gaze flicks between them and the chaos, noting each hazard, each collapsing stone. She skates in circles around the battlefield, keeping her quirk humming, her arrows and soundwaves ready to protect and inspire.

“Do not falter, darlings! Even if the stage shifts beneath your feet, the show must go on!”

Suddenly, a shift—Midoriya lands safely, though battered, and Rina’s eyes sparkle. Her Resonance flares instinctively, sensing the miraculous restoration: his broken legs are healed, the power of Eri’s quirk pulsing through him.

“Bravo, darling! Encore of the century!” she shouts, twirling midair, releasing a harmonic burst to stabilize the area and help guide him to safety.

But the air vibrates with danger, and she knows it—the immense recoil of One For All 100% begins to hit Midoriya.

Rina skates faster, weaving a protective lattice of sound, her voice rising in a soaring note of warning and encouragement.

“Hold on, my shining hero! Let Violet Crescendo be your wings!” The purple glow of her arrows streaks past, shielding him from falling debris and focusing his momentum toward escape.

Even in the chaos, Rina’s theatrical grin is unshaken. Her quirk, her voice, her flair—it all dances through the battlefield, keeping her friends alive and pushing them forward. “Darling, the finale’s still coming. And you, my sweet, determined heroes, are going to steal it!”

Chapter Text

Rina skates along the shattered floor of the Shie Hassaikai basement, her violet rollerblades sending sparks of purple light across the rubble. Her guitar-turned-bow rests against her back, strings vibrating faintly with her Resonance as she scans the battlefield, voice rising in an involuntary hum.

The chaos is breathtaking: stone pillars crash, dust and debris swirl, and Overhaul looms like a monstrous stone dragon, every reconstructed limb bristling with deadly intent.

Her eyes flick to Midoriya, airborne and gripping Eri’s small frame, determination radiating from him like a spotlight on stage. Rina swallows a breath, then sings a high, clear note, letting the Resonance energy flow outward.

The vibrations wash over Midoriya, enhancing his strength and focus. She twirls gracefully on her rollerblades, dodging debris as she fires a volley of purple energy arrows from her bow, forcing Overhaul’s attention in multiple directions.

“Darling, don’t even think about touching him!” she calls, her voice carrying a dramatic edge, the soundwaves hitting Overhaul like a wall of invisible force. She arcs around the battlefield, her movements almost dance-like, the ribbons from her outfit swirling as she weaves in and out of danger.

Every note she sings sharpens the heroes’ reflexes, bolsters their speed, and unsettles the monstrous villain.

Overhaul slams a stone pillar toward Midoriya, and Rina reacts instantly, using her bow to shatter it midair, the shards tumbling harmlessly aside. She fires another series of Resonant Arrows, guiding them with her voice to hit weak points in Overhaul’s massive stone body.

Her theatrics aren’t just for flair—each twirl, each vocal inflection strategically channels her Quirk to keep him off balance while Midoriya closes in.

She notices Eri’s glow intensifying, the small girl trembling but resolute, the raw power of her Quirk beginning to manifest uncontrollably.

“Ohhh, sweetie,” Rina whispers under her breath, skating closer but keeping a safe distance. “You’ve got this, darling. Let it flow. You’re not alone!” Her voice ripples like a rallying anthem, bolstering the courage of everyone near her.

Midoriya’s legs flare with purple energy, propelled by Eri’s Quirk. Rina’s eyes widen as she watches him vanish upward, wind pressure from his One For All 100% breaking the ceiling above.

She lets out a triumphant laugh, gliding backward to avoid falling debris, then launches another high-pitched note. The harmonic energy radiates outward, creating a protective cushion for anyone caught near collapsing rubble.

Overhaul roars in frustration, shards of stone flying from his reconstructed form, and Rina pivots gracefully, firing her Crescendo Barrage. Each arrow is amplified by her voice, hitting weak points in his stone scales and staggering him just enough for Midoriya to maintain his relentless assault.

“Darling, don’t underestimate your little fans!” she shouts dramatically, her purple aura shimmering brighter as she spins and leaps over a falling stone slab. “I said stay out of my way!”

The arrows and soundwaves combine, forcing Overhaul to divert his focus, giving Midoriya the precious seconds he needs to pummel the villain’s monstrous stone body.

From the surface, Ochaco and Sir Nighteye watch the battle unfold. Rina’s voice carries even here, a guiding note slicing through the chaos, giving them hope.

Sir Nighteye glances at Ochaco, raising an eyebrow. “The future… I thought it was unchangeable,” he mutters, astonished at how the heroes’ teamwork—and Rina’s strategic brilliance—has shifted the tides.

Rina darts in one final loop, singing a powerful, soaring note that amplifies every nearby hero’s strength and reaction time.
She lands lightly, pointing her bow at Overhaul, energy crackling visibly from the strings.

“Take that, you oversized stone menace!” Her diva-like grin beams across the battlefield, blending perfectly with the chaos, a shining hero guiding others through the storm.

Her eyes catch Midoriya gripping Eri, soaring toward the exit, and she pumps a fist in the air. “That’s it, my darlings! Don’t let go, and don’t stop shining!” The purple resonance hums in the air, carrying the unmistakable signature of Violet Crescendo, the battle idol angel who refuses to let anyone falter.

Rina skates along the fractured floor, her violet rollerblades squeaking against the concrete as shards of stone fly past her. The chaos of the Shie Hassaikai basement pulses around her, but she glides through it like a stage, her guitar-bow ready, fingers hovering above the strings.

“Darling, this is what I live for!” she declares, her voice sharp and commanding.

Resonance energy ripples from her throat, shimmering purple waves curling around Midoriya and Mirio as they fight overhead. Every beat of her vocals amplifies their speed, their focus, even their courage.

The ground shakes as Midoriya lands a massive Full Cowl - 100% punch to Overhaul, sending the villain sprawling, stone fragments raining like pyrotechnics.

Rina pushes off a jagged slab, vaulting into the air, letting her voice cut through the cacophony. “Let’s turn up the volume, heroes! Show them what it means to fight with heart!” The energy from her singing lashes out, boosting Midoriya’s reflexes just in time to dodge Overhaul’s desperate stone-handed swipe.

Overhaul’s eyes flicker open, a grimace twisting his face as he wills himself back into consciousness. Rina’s gaze narrows, but her grin is theatrical, unshakable.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re trying to steal the spotlight now? Not on my stage!” She strums a sharp note on her guitar, and the soundwaves ripple outward, interfering with Overhaul’s reconstructed stone, giving Uravity the opening she needs to restrain him.

From her vantage point on a fallen beam, Rina watches as Ryukyu rises, her tail lashing and carrying Tamaki, Mirio, Aizawa, and Tsuyu to safety. Rina’s voice flares, a harmonic crescendo that boosts everyone’s morale, a glittering shield against panic.

Aizawa moves beside Midoriya, Erasure Quirk cutting through the chaos, and Rina feels the resonance shift, stabilizing the field around Eri. The girl’s quirk, wild and untamed moments ago, begins to calm under Rina’s subtle modulation, though the final deactivation comes from Aizawa.

Rina skates closer to Eri, hovering just above the ground as the girl and Midoriya collapse into unconsciousness. She reaches out a hand, shimmering purple energy wrapping like a soft spotlight around the pair, ensuring their fall is safe.

Paramedics swarm the scene, and Rina steps back, spinning gracefully on her rollerblades. “Encore, darling?” she mutters with a smirk, watching Midoriya hand Eri over, her Quirk now safely contained.

Her eyes flick to Sir Nighteye, who looks shocked at the outcome. “Twisted future? Honey, I think this one hit all the right notes,” she whispers to herself, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Rina glides toward the exit with a dramatic flair, ribbons streaming behind her, voice softening into a hum. Even in the aftermath, even amidst the chaos and injuries, she can’t help but feel the thrill of a perfectly executed performance—the stage was set, the heroes shone, and she had played her part.

By 9:15 AM, the operation is officially over. Rina leans against a railing outside, hair fluttering in the morning breeze, eyes sparkling. “Another sold-out performance, my dears,” she murmurs. “And what a standing ovation it was.”

The battlefield has finally quieted. Smoke curls from shattered walls, and dust hangs like fog in the morning light. Rina steps carefully over the rubble, feet firmly on the ground now, ribbons from her costume fluttering dramatically. Her violet eyes glint faintly, Resonance humming softly around her to calm the medics and Heroes bustling through the wreckage.

She watches Uravity guide a battered Overhaul into an ambulance. The man had tried everything, but look at him now—helpless, humiliated, entirely defeated.

Rina shakes her head in mock dismay, sweeping her arm gracefully through the air. “Darling, that’s what happens when you forget the main act belongs to the good guys,” she murmurs, letting a subtle wave of Resonance ease tension and soothe the injured around her.

Ryukyu drifts past, carrying Tamaki and Mirio toward waiting medics, pausing to glance at her. “Violet Crescendo, you okay? That was… intense.”

Rina flashes a dazzling smirk, letting her fingers trace the air like a conductor finishing a grand symphony. “Of course, darling! A diva never misses her cue, even when the stage is rubble and chaos reigns.” She glances at Midoriya handing Eri over to the paramedics, noting how careful he is, how gentle. Her hum of Resonance subtly bolsters him, a reminder that courage and heart are worth celebrating.

Eri, still trembling from the fight, lets Rina’s harmonics wash over her. The young girl’s shoulders relax slightly, and her wide eyes blink up at Rina. “It’s okay,” Rina murmurs, voice soft but melodious. “Darling, you’re safe now. No one can hurt you anymore.”

Her Quirk continues to hum gently, a melodic safety net around Eri and the medics moving her into the ambulance.

Outside, the remaining League of Villains members are being rounded up by the Police Force. Rina watches the orderly chaos with a dramatic tilt of her head, as if orchestrating the scene from above.

“Encore, darlings,” she whispers, a tiny shimmer of purple energy trailing off her hands. “The performance ends—but the applause is ours.”

Sir Nighteye rests nearby, bandaged and exhausted, yet even in pain his eyes hold quiet pride. Rina allows another soft wave of Resonance to drift over him, whispering encouragement only he can feel. The subtle energy bolsters his spirit, a tribute to his steadfast courage throughout the ordeal.

Medics check Midoriya, Mirio, Tamaki, and Eri into ambulances, and Rina moves along with them, ensuring her subtle harmonics ease every step. Dust and debris cling to her costume and hair, but she doesn’t care—every flutter of her ribbons, every shimmer from her Quirk, is part of the victory.

She pauses atop a small rise, surveying the aftermath. Broken walls, scattered equipment, tired but alive Heroes, and a safe, albeit shaken, Eri. The adrenaline has faded, leaving behind a triumphant calm.
Rina inhales deeply, letting her voice rise in a gentle, melodic hum that lifts spirits around her. “Stage clears, lights dim, but what a performance, my loves… truly, a standing ovation.”

She lets herself smile softly, brushing a loose strand of violet hair from her face, aura still shimmering faintly with the lingering energy of her Quirk. Even on foot, without rollerblades, she knows she has left a mark—not just in battle, but in the hearts of those she’s helped save today.

Chapter Text

The sunlight spilling through the blinds feels too soft for what the world’s talking about. On the TV, reporters drone on about the League ambushing Chisaki’s escort, the mission branded a total failure. Something about “missing evidence” and “police negligence.”

Rina’s grip tightens around her cup of tea — expensive, imported, perfectly steeped, of course. “Shigaraki attacked him?” she breathes, disbelief flickering into unease.

Across the room, Aizawa stands with his arms crossed, half-shadowed, the usual exhausted calm about him. “Don’t start,” he says, his voice firm but not cold. “You’re not responsible for what the League does. What matters is that you’re alive — and that you’re going back to U.A. with the others. Mirio's taking some time off.”

Rina hums softly, gaze sweeping across her hospital suite — her hospital suite — because her management clearly decided she needed to recover in a five-star penthouse disguised as a medical room.

Bouquets everywhere. Silk sheets. A chocolate fountain, for some reason. She can almost hear Aizawa’s soul leaving his body when he spots it.

“You know,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “for someone who’s legally under my care, this feels more like I’m babysitting a celebrity than a student.”

She flashes him a tired but wicked little smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Aizawa just sighs — long, heavy, resigned. But there’s something softer there too, something protective that lingers in his voice when he says, “Just… rest. No dramatics today, alright?”

Rina leans back against the pillows, hiding the small smile tugging at her lips. He’s scowling, sure, but he hasn’t left her side since yesterday. The man’s practically hovering.

And really — she’d never admit it out loud — but the way he’s so damn serious about keeping her safe?

Yeah… it’s kind of hot.

Then the door swings open without a knock — because of course they don’t knock — and the peace instantly shatters under a flood of voices.

“Rinaaa! You’re okay!” Uraraka nearly trips over herself rushing in with Tsuyu right behind her, carrying a fruit basket way too big for either of them. Kirishima follows, loud and grinning, dragging a half-asleep Kaminari who’s clutching a “GET WELL, QUEEN!” balloon.

Rina can’t help but laugh — soft, but real. “You guys really know how to make an entrance.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, just scoffs and drops a small box of mochi on her bedside table. “Don’t die next time.”

“Love you too, Bakugou.”

Midoriya hovers awkwardly near the end of the bed, hand still bandaged, eyes bright with guilt. “Rina, I— if I hadn’t—”

She cuts him off with a wave, voice gentle but firm. “Don’t. You did everything right. We all did. Eri’s safe, and that’s what matters.” Her words hang in the air for a moment — soft, final. She means it.

Then Mina’s at her side, gushing about the TV coverage. “You trended for three hours straight, girl! The clips of you rollerblading through debris? Insane!”

Rina groans, burying her face in her hands. “Oh no. They got that angle?”

“They got every angle,” Jirou says, smirking. “You looked like a rockstar.”

“Because she is one,” Kaminari adds, perking up. “Literally! Her bow’s a guitar! That’s branding!”

Everyone laughs. It’s chaotic, loud, alive — and after everything that happened underground, Rina lets herself sink into it. The sound of her friends. The warmth of being safe.

When the others finally leave, the room quiets again. The TV hums softly in the background. Aizawa’s still there, leaning against the wall with his scarf draped loosely around his shoulders. “You handled yourself well,” he says, low. “You’ve grown a lot, Rina.”

She meets his gaze, chin tilted up just slightly, the faintest smirk on her lips. “I had a good teacher.”

He rolls his eyes. “Flattery won’t get you out of training when you’re cleared.”

“Didn’t think it would,” she says, stretching lazily against the silk sheets. “But worth a shot.”

For the first time in a long while, her chest feels light. The world outside is still a mess — villains, headlines, criticism — but right now, in this hospital room filled with flowers and laughter echoes, she feels something close to peace.

Two days later, Rina’s finally cleared to leave.

Well — “cleared” might be generous. Her doctor actually said, “You can leave, but take it easy,” which Rina immediately interpreted as, “You may return to your glamorous life of hero training and chaos, Miss Violet Crescendo.”

The second she steps into the U.A. dorm lobby, the place practically explodes.
“RINA’S BACK!” Kaminari cheers, nearly dropping his phone in excitement. Mina’s already halfway across the room with open arms, and before Rina can even set her hospital bag down, she’s swallowed by a full-on class group hug.

“Guys— air— oxygen— I just got out of the hospital, not into it!” she wheezes dramatically, though she’s smiling the whole time.

Even Iida, who’s clearly torn between scolding them and joining in, gives in and pats her shoulder. “We’re relieved to have you back, Murasaki. You gave us quite the scare.”

“Please,” Rina says with a grin, brushing her lavender hair over one shoulder. “You think a little rubble and trauma could dull my shine?”

Mina gasps. “She’s back and dramatic as ever. We missed you, queen.”

As the laughter fills the room, Rina feels that same warmth she felt in the hospital — but brighter this time. Fuller. Like the stage lights have finally come back on.

Later that night, after the welcome chaos settles, she finds herself on the dorm rooftop. The city hums quietly below — a sea of twinkling lights and distant traffic.

Rina leans against the railing, hair swaying in the wind, her Resonance Quirk pulsing faintly beneath her skin like a steady heartbeat.

Aizawa joins her a moment later, silent as always. He sets a can of warm tea beside her. “You shouldn’t be up here alone.”

She smirks. “You’d miss me if I fell dramatically off a rooftop.”

He gives her that look — the one halfway between exasperation and faint amusement. “You’ve got a flair for the theatrical.”

“It’s part of my charm.” She sips her tea, glancing at him sideways. “You’ve been… more protective lately. It’s kinda cute.”

He sighs. “I'm gonna ignore that last part. You’re still a student, Rina. My responsibility. Especially after what you pulled underground.”

She hums thoughtfully, the corners of her mouth curving into a teasing grin. “Yeah, yeah, all legal guardianship and duty of care… but admit it, Sensei. You were worried.”

Aizawa doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze stays fixed on the skyline, the orange glow of streetlights reflecting faintly in his eyes. “…You remind me that some students don’t need saving from villains. They need saving from themselves.”

Rina laughs softly, but it’s gentler this time. “Guess I’m a full-time job, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

They stand there for a while — teacher and student, hero and idol — both quiet, both changed. The wind carries faint echoes from the city below, and somewhere in the distance, the world keeps moving.

But for now, Rina lets herself breathe. The nightmares, the fights, the fear — all fade behind her. What’s left is the future. Hers.

And she’s ready to make it shine.

The next day Class 1-A is buzzing with energy. Mina Ashido takes center stage, spinning across the classroom floor with her signature flair. Her dance is a mix of rhythm, confidence, and chaos — even her Acid Quirk adds a glittery touch as she twirls.

Rina leans back against her desk, clapping along with an amused grin. “Okay, she’s actually kinda slaying,” she says under her breath, watching Mina hit another move that probably shouldn’t look that cool in a school uniform.

Midoriya watches with his classic intensity — eyes wide, notebook already half out. “Mina! You’re using your whole body for balance, right? That could totally help with One For All’s movement control! Could you maybe, um, teach me?”

Mina lights up immediately. “Heck yeah, Midoriya! Let’s get you moving!”

Aoyama flips his hair dramatically and glides over. “Dance is an art, mon ami. A hero must dazzle as they save!”

Rina snorts as Midoriya gets dragged into the chaos, tripping over his own feet while Aoyama spins like a disco ball in human form.

Kaminari leans on his desk, grinning. “Man, it’s so cool when your hobbies actually make you better at hero work. Like, imagine training by vibing!” He points toward Jirou. “Like you, Jirou! You’re all about music. Your room literally screamed ‘rock star.’”

Jirou’s earphone jacks twitch dangerously. “Kaminari. Stop talking.”

He blinks, confused. “Wait—what’d I say??”

Rina facepalms. “You never know when to shut up, huh?”

Before the teasing can go any further, Aizawa slides the door open, looking as done as ever, coffee in one hand, capture scarf hanging loose around his shoulders. “Settle down. U.A. is hosting a School Festival.”

The class instantly explodes with excitement — voices overlapping, ideas already bouncing around the room.

Kirishima raises his hand. “Wait, is that really okay? With all the villain stuff lately?”

Aizawa nods. “Valid concern. But the festival isn’t just about you. It’s for the entire school — the business course, support course, general studies. It’s part of U.A.’s culture. You’ll participate like everyone else. Now,” Aizawa continues, “you have until tomorrow to decide what your class will do. If you don’t, you’ll be giving a public lecture on hero ethics.”

Groans fill the room instantly.

Later that night, the common area at Heights Alliance is full of chatter and half-eaten pizza boxes. Everyone’s huddled together, brainstorming ideas.

Mina spreads her arms wide like she’s pitching the next big concert. “A dance performance! It’s fun, it’s flashy, and everyone can join in!”

To everyone’s surprise, Todoroki nods. “That’s... not a bad idea. Something that lets people relax and smile. That’s what I learned from the Provisional License training.”

Heads turn toward him — even Bakugo pauses mid-bite.

Rina, sitting cross-legged beside Momo, tilts her head. “A dance could work... but we’ll need music. Real music, not just a playlist. Obviously, I'll play my guitar.” she grins.

Hagakure bounces on her heels. “Oh! Jirou! You should totally play live!”

Jirou’s eyes widen. “Wha—wait, no, me? Absolutely not!”

Mina gasps dramatically. “Yes, you! You’re literally built for this!”

Rina grins. “You’ve got the vibe for it, Jirou. We’ll make it a full-on performance — lights, dancing, live music. I'll teach you all how to be an Idol! U.A.’s not gonna know what hit it.”

Jirou, arms crossed and frowning, shakes her head. “Music has nothing to do with heroism. It’s just… a hobby.”

Rina arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, gliding slightly on her rollerblades even in the classroom, ribbons catching the light.

"Oh, Kyoka, sweetie… you’re seriously underestimating the power of a show-stopping performance", she thinks, smirking.

Kaminari frowns, scratching his head. “Wait… that’s why you were hesitant back in class, right? You were keeping music and hero stuff separate.” His eyes widen as he finally puts the pieces together. “But—your skills! You’re amazing with all your instruments, Jirou!”

Jirou looks slightly flustered but silent. Koda, sitting quietly nearby, speaks up with his soft, reassuring voice. “Playing music… it can put smiles on people’s faces. And helping people is what heroes do, right?”

Encouraged by her classmates, Jirou finally nods, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “Alright… I’ll help. I guess music can be… heroic.”

Rina claps her hands together, a grin spreading across her face. “Darlings, do you hear that? Jirou’s on board! Our class is officially a dazzling ensemble of heroic talent!”

With that settled, Class 1-A finally decides: their school festival contribution will be a live song-and-dance performance, and Rina is already imagining the glittering lights, perfectly timed moves, and her voice soaring above it all. This is going to be spectacular, she thinks, twirling slightly, hair swishing dramatically.

The next day Rina walks into the hospital room, the polished floors gleaming beneath her.

The room smells faintly of disinfectant and fresh flowers, but it can’t dull the glamorous aura her management has insisted on for their precious asset.

Rina can’t help but let her eyes sparkle at the luxury around her—velvet cushions, soft lighting, and a subtle shimmer that makes her feel like she’s walking onto a stage rather than visiting a hospital patient.

She spots Eri in bed, looking smaller than expected, her energy quieted, the telltale horn on her head subdued. No Rewind danger here. Rina’s gaze softens. The little girl hasn’t asked for any theatrics, but Rina can feel the weight in the air—this is a quiet, fragile moment, the kind that calls for a gentle performance instead of a full-blown stage show.

Rina notices Mirio and Midoriya standing nearby, tense but careful, like they’re tiptoeing around something priceless. And then—oh, this is too sweet—Eri’s eyes light up slightly at the sight of them.

“Hi… I’m Eri,” she murmurs softly when Midoriya finally steps forward, introducing himself properly. Her voice is small, tentative, but honest.

Rina rolls slightly on her knees, coming closer to the bedside so she can see everything clearly. Her fingers tap lightly, absentmindedly tracing a rhythm, almost like she’s warming up to sing—but she restrains herself. This is their moment, not her stage.

Eri’s gaze flickers to Mirio, guilt shadowing her delicate features. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispers, her words carrying the weight of all she’s been through. “For everything… for causing so much trouble.”

Mirio kneels beside her, smiling softly, warmth radiating from him like stage lights on a hero in the spotlight. “Eri, none of this is your fault. You’re safe now. That’s all we care about. We just want to see you smile.”

Rina notices Eri’s lips twitch, trying to curl upward, but it falters. Her heart aches a little—this isn’t a true smile yet. The psychological scars run too deep. She leans in slightly, murmuring to herself under her breath, just enough that Midoriya catches it: “Darling… she’s still rehearsing her smile.”

Midoriya stiffens for a fraction, then nods subtly. He gets it. Eri hasn’t been fully rescued—not in the mind, not yet. Rina’s violet eyes narrow slightly, determination sparking like stage lights being turned up: if anyone can help this little star shine again, it’s going to be all of them—together.

She straightens, takes a deep breath, and lets a tiny shimmer of purple Resonance ripple subtly through the air—not loud, not showy, just enough to comfort, like a whisper of music in a quiet hall.

Rina glances at her classmate: Midoriya, Mirio, even her teacher Aizawa lingering in the background. They’re all heroes in their own way, but she knows she can contribute too.

“Alright, my loves,” she murmurs, not to Eri, not exactly, but to herself and the quiet room, “the next act… starts now.”

Midoriya’s eyes light up as an idea strikes him. He leans toward Aizawa, voice earnest. “Sensei, could we… maybe let Eri out for a day? She could join the School Festival with everyone.”

Aizawa blinks, unreadable as ever, but doesn’t immediately deny it.

Mirio leans closer to Eri, a gentle smile on his face. “You know, the U.A. School Festival is full of fun events. There’s food, games… even candied apples. People just enjoy themselves,” he says, and Eri’s wide eyes flicker toward him, curiosity replacing some of her usual hesitation.

Rina, standing just behind, bounces slightly on her heels, hands on her hips, glittery ribbons swishing with every tiny movement. Her voice is practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh, darling, you have to come! I’ll show everyone how to perform like a real stage idol! You’ll be part of the spectacle itself!”

Aizawa finally nods, pulling out his phone. “Alright. I’ll call Principal Nezu and get his approval,” he says, tapping rapidly.

Midoriya turns to Eri, hopeful. “So… what do you think? Would you like to go?”

Eri hesitates for only a moment before nodding. “I… I want to see the people who saved me,” she whispers, a faint spark of a smile tugging at her lips.

Rina claps her hands together with a flourish, nearly bouncing in place. “Yes! That’s settled, then! You’ll shine on stage, darling, and I’ll make sure everyone knows the name Violet Crescendo and her new star pupil!”

Eri glances at her, eyes wide, and Rina winks dramatically. “Trust me, sweetie. You’re going to have the time of your life.”

Chapter Text

The next day at U.A., Rina glides down the hallway on her rollerblades—well, not literally today, but she moves like she’s on stage anyway—when she overhears students from other departments whispering.

“Hero Course is so cocky,” one says.
“Yeah, and look at all the damage they caused during the villain attacks. Class 1-A is impossible.”

Rina stops mid-step, fists clenched, glaring. “Excuse me?” she mutters under her breath, voice dripping with theatrical indignation. “Impossible? We risked our lives!”

Back at Heights Alliance, Class 1-A gathers in their usual chaos. Rina practically vibrates with excitement. “Okay, people! Time to make U.A. feel the energy of a true live performance!” She spins dramatically on the balls of her feet. “I’ll be teaching everyone to move like idols. Every gesture, every note—flawless!”

Bakugou grumbles as Jirou points at him. “You should play drums,” she says.

“I don’t see why I should,” he snaps. “Other departments are mad at us already. Performing will just look like we’re showing off.”

Rina’s eyes sparkle. “Kacchan, don’t you see? This isn’t about them—it’s about us! Our energy, our stage! Go big or go home, darling.”

He glares but nods, finally. “Fine. I’ll blow everyone away. Just don’t get in my way. And don't call me that!”

Positions start being sorted. Momo pipes up, “I can take keyboards since I’ve trained in piano.”

Mina huffs. “But I wanted all the girls in the dance!”

Rina claps her hands. “Girls, boys, everyone! Trust me, this is going to be spectacular. We’ll shine together!”

Jirou reluctantly takes the bass. Rina leans forward, whispering dramatically, “And Jirou… you will shine on that mic.” Jirou blinks at her but can’t help a tiny smile.

The door swings open. “We’re back!” Midoriya says, rushing in with Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Kirishima.

Ochaco points at Jirou. “Who’s singing vocals?”

"Me obviously!" Rina grins while Jirou stammers at the same time. “I—I can’t,”

Hagakure steps forward, handing Jirou the mic. “Just… try it.”

Rina looks aghast. "Toru-chan, I'm right here!"

Jirou hesitates, then lets out a smooth, clear note. Everyone stops. Silence. Then:
“WOW!” Rina twirls. “Yes! That’s it! Perfection!”

Everyone nods. “She’s the vocalist. Definitely.”

Jirou swallows nervously. “Really?”

Rina grins. “Yes, darling! And bass, too. You’ll own that stage!”

Guitarists are chosen next. Denki and Fumikage strum their parts, and Rina claps her hands. “Yes, fabulous! Now for the dancing—let’s see those moves!”

Mina leads the choreography. “We need effects. Kirishima, shave off ice from Todoroki’s powers, Aoyoma, a laser light show!”

Rina spins, pointing at everyone. “And I’ll teach all of you how to move like stars. Every step, every pose—idol level!”

By 1:00 AM, Iida sighs, exhausted. “All roles are set.”

Rina throws her arms up. “Perfect! Kyoka, lead the band! Momo, keyboards! Katsu, drums! Denki and Fumikage, guitars! Dance team, let’s dazzle!” She pauses, grinning. “And I’ll make sure every one of you shines like true idols!”

Everyone exchanges glances, some exhausted, some exhilarated. Rina plops dramatically onto a chair. “This is going to be legendary. And I, Violet Crescendo, will lead the charge!”

The next day, Rina zips into the Heights Alliance studio on her rollerblades—her idol outfit swapped for something more practical, though her energy is still larger than life.

“Alright, my dazzling dears! Today, we transform mere mortals into stage gods and goddesses! Class 1-A, prepare to be schooled in the fine art of idol performance!”

Mina giggles, bouncing in place, while Jirou adjusts her bass nervously.

Rina sweeps her arms dramatically. “First: music isn’t just notes—it’s feeling! Kyoka, darling, you’ll lead the band. Connect with the rhythm. Let each beat tell a story!”

Jirou bites her lip but nods. Rina claps, spinning to the dancers. “And dancers! Every spin, leap, and pose tells the audience you belong here. Follow me—feel it!”

Bakugou folds his arms skeptically. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”

Rina grins wider. “Ah, darling, that’s stage presence! Channel that scowl! Use it!”

Mina cheers. “Yes! Let’s do it!”

Rina turns to Midoriya. “You, superhero extraordinaire—don’t just observe! Feel the rhythm in your bones. Imagine you’re saving the world and stealing the spotlight!” Midoriya gives a small smile, taking mental notes.

She sweeps over to the staging team. “Mina, Sero, Kirishima—ice, lasers, lights—make it sparkle! Subtle is boring. The audience must gasp by the second chorus!”

Mina salutes dramatically. “You got it, Queen Rina!”

For a brief moment, Rina softens. “But… this isn’t just about me. I love performing, obviously. But today, everyone shines. Don’t let me steal the spotlight entirely.”

The class murmurs. Jirou even cracks a small smile.

“Now, warm-ups! Energy, passion, confidence! Make even All Might jump out of his chair!”

By the first run-through, the students are sweaty, laughing, and occasionally tripping over each other—but Rina is everywhere: encouraging, correcting, and sometimes demonstrating moves herself. Every perfect spin, every hit note earns a dramatic bow.

When the mock run ends, Rina collapses theatrically, hands over her heart. “Bravo! My sparkling stars! Chaotic, glorious, and utterly perfect! But we’re not done—round two awaits!”

Bakugou smirks. “She’s insane.”

“Insanity is the first ingredient to greatness, darling! Hydrate, stretch, and prepare for the grand finale. At the festival, Class 1-A will shine like a constellation!”

A few days later, the studio is alive with music, chatter, and excitement. Rina claps her hands like a general. “Alright, my sparkling stars! Music, dance, charisma—all at maximum voltage!”

She points at Jirou. “Bass queen, darling, own it! Let the music pulse through your bones!” Jirou swallows and nods, plucking a few test notes. "I'll try."

“Try? We conquer!” Rina twirls dramatically, landing in a perfect pose. “Let the world see your brilliance!”

Bakugou mutters, arms crossed. “You’ve got a nerve.”

“Ah! That’s stage attitude, love! Channel it! Look intimidating, look powerful!”

The dance team springs into motion, Mina leading warm-ups while Rina hops between students, correcting spins, flares, and jumps. “Kirishima! Higher! Tell the story!”

Midoriya scribbles notes, whispering, “This… actually helps my balance and timing for hero work.”

Rina beams. “See? Dazzling and educational! Heroes and idols, united at last!”

The first full run-through begins: Jirou’s bass, Momo’s keyboard, Kaminari and Tokoyami on guitars, Bakugou on drums—all synced. Rina rolls and twirls in the center, calling out moves, adding her flair without overshadowing anyone.

Chaos erupts. Mina collides with Kirishima, sending him into Todoroki’s ice setup. “Ahh! Stardust disaster!” Rina leaps to save it, hands flaring, twirling.

Jirou falters mid-verse. Rina swoops in. “Stop! Breathe! Be the note!” Jirou nods and continues flawlessly.

Bakugou mutters, impressed. “Not bad… she actually knows what she’s doing.”

Rina winks. “Even the toughest critics fall for my charm!” She spins to the staging crew. “Mina! Kirishima! Sero! Tsuyu! Your stardust must sparkle—this isn’t a rehearsal, it’s a cosmic event!”

The students cheer, adjusting effects, the room glowing like a galaxy. Rina spins center stage. “Full speed, full heart, full glam! Let’s show the world what heroes—and idols—can do!”

Music kicks in. Jirou leads the band flawlessly; Momo, Kaminari, Tokoyami, and Bakugou sync perfectly. The dance team spins and leaps, Mina’s choreography lighting up the room.

A misstep: Todoroki’s ice spikes block Kirishima. Rina spins, catches him mid-fall, improvises a twirl. “Drama! Improvisation! That’s showbiz!”

By the final chorus, everyone moves as one. Jirou belts vocals beautifully; the band roars behind her. Lights, ice, and lasers swirl, creating dazzling stardust. Rina twirls through it, grinning.

As the last note hits, she strikes a final pose. “Bravo, my luminous stars! That’s what a hero-idol performance looks like!”
The room erupts in laughter, applause, and cheers.

Rina collapses, catching her breath. “Being the center isn’t bad, but sharing the spotlight? That is magical.”

Mina grins. “You were amazing, Rina!”

Rina winks. “Naturally. But so were all of you. Together, we shine brighter than the sun!”

Even Bakugou smirks. “Not terrible. Couldn’t kill the performance, I guess.”

Rina laughs, arms wide. “Exactly, darling! And tomorrow? We make the festival remember our names!”

The night before the school festival, Class 1-A is in the gym, putting the final touches on their musical performance. Mina moves like a whirlwind, perfecting spins and leaps, while the rest of the class hustles to keep up.

The music blares, echoing off the walls, until Hound Dog stomps in. “Alright, everyone! Nine p.m.—lights out and back to your rooms!”

Rina, sprawled on a mat with her rollerblades tossed aside, groans dramatically. “Ugh! Already? I was just about to dazzle everyone with my final spin!” She flops back with a theatrical sigh, hands flung over her head. “Fine, fine… the world will just have to wait one more night for my full brilliance!”

Back at Heights Alliance, some of the students can’t sleep, too charged from the day’s practice.

Midoriya and Aoyoma double-check the setup for their disco ball routine, and Midoriya frowns. “The rope’s frayed… it won’t hold through the whole show.”

Kaminari leans over. “Ask Yaoyorozu to make a new one!” Mina, already dozing on a nearby couch, groans. “She’s sleeping! Leave her alone!”

Midoriya sighs. “Fine… I’ll just buy a new one myself.” His mind is already running through the hardware store options.

Meanwhile, Rina paces the room, hands on her hips, eyes sparkling. “No one sleep too much, darlings! Tomorrow, we light up U.A.! I want every spin, every beat, every leap to scream—‘Look at us! Class 1-A shines!’” She spins, sneakers squeaking on the floor, then collapses dramatically onto the couch. “Yes… tomorrow, we show them how heroes and idols perform together! My dazzling stars, I hope you’re ready!”

By the time everyone finally settles in, the excitement is palpable, a buzzing energy that even sleep can’t completely dampen.

The morning sun streams through the windows of Heights Alliance, bouncing off polished floors and glittering mirrors. In her room, Rina sits cross-legged on the bed, bouncing slightly in her seat, eyes wide and sparkling like a stage spotlight.

“Today… today, we show the world our brilliance!” she whispers, practically vibrating with energy. She fluffs her hair, practices a dramatic twirl in place, and then freezes, hands on her cheeks. “Oh no… the fans, the lights, the music… it has to be perfect!”

Across the hall, Mina stretches, yawning, but her grin is unstoppable. “I can’t believe it’s finally here! The day! The stage! The… sparkle!” She bounces on the balls of her feet, nearly knocking over her water bottle.

Jirou sits quietly at her vanity, applying subtle makeup. She frowns at the compact mirror. “Why does my heart feel like it’s about to explode?” she mutters. Despite her calm, her hands are a little shaky as she adjusts the strap on her bass case.

Bakugou is already dressed in his outfit, arms crossed, staring at the wall. He growls under his breath. “Tch… don’t tell me I’m actually nervous for this.” Still, there’s a faint twitch in his jaw, betraying that he feels the stakes.

Midoriya sits at the breakfast table, spoon in hand, staring at his plate. Rice and eggs sit untouched. His nerves make chewing feel like a monumental task. “Focus… remember the choreography… the timing… the music…” he mutters, stabbing a piece of omelet and chewing slowly.

Ochako sits across from him, fidgeting, her hands clasped tightly. “I… I hope I don’t mess up…” she whispers, her eyes flitting between the bustling classmates and the sunlight outside.

Rina glides in on her sneakers—rollerblades are abandoned for safety this time—carrying her own breakfast tray.

“Rise and shine, my dazzling dears!” she calls, twirling in place. “Eat up, hydrate, fuel the brilliance within!” She sits at the table with exaggerated flair, almost bouncing in place, but picks at her toast. “Ah… nerves… they do make eating tricky, don’t they?”

Yaoyorozu fusses with her outfit, smoothing every crease, adjusting the belt on her keyboard harness. “I just… I want everything to be perfect,” she murmurs, glancing at the clock and then at the other students, all buzzing with a mix of excitement and jitters.

Hagakure floats into the room, practically glowing with enthusiasm. “Makeup! Hair! Glitter! We must sparkle like the stars we are!” She twirls in a perfect circle, sending a small puff of sparkle dust into the air.

Sero and Kirishima huddle over their stage props, testing everything one last time. Hanta bites his lip. “Do you think the lasers and ice will sync with the music? What if it goes wrong?”

Rina, finally finishing her own breakfast with exaggerated slurps, leaps to her feet. “Wrong? Darling, nothing can go wrong with Class 1-A! We’re heroes! We’re performers! And we’re unstoppable!” She spins, then pauses, hand on her chest. “But… we also have to remember—we’re in this together. Every single one of you shines, and I want the audience to feel that. Not just me… all of us!”

By mid-morning, everyone is dressed, hair styled, makeup applied with varying levels of finesse, and instruments ready. Rina twirls dramatically in the center of the room, sneakers squeaking. “Ready, my sparkling stars? Today… we make U.A. tremble at the sheer power of our brilliance!”

Jirou, still a bit nervous, grips her bass tighter, but a small smile tugs at her lips. Mina stretches one final time, taking a deep breath. Even Bakugou, arms folded, smirks faintly. Midoriya straightens his posture, determination in his eyes.
Rina claps her hands loudly, a grin splitting her face. “Then let’s roll, darlings! Showtime awaits!”

Chapter Text

The clock strikes 10:00 AM, and the atmosphere backstage is electric. Rina paces on her sneakers, hands clutched together, eyes sparkling.

Her classmates are buzzing around, some bouncing with nervous energy, others fidgeting with last-minute adjustments. The scent of hairspray, makeup, and just a hint of sweat fills the air—everyone’s adrenaline is doing its own warm-up.

“Alright, my sparkling stars,” Rina says, her voice cutting through the chatter with theatrical flair. “Remember: energy, confidence, charisma! Today, the world sees Class 1-A shine, and we do it together!”

Mina twirls in place, barely able to contain herself, while Jirou takes a deep breath, adjusting her bass strap. Midoriya fumbles with his notes, face pink with nerves, but his eyes are fierce, determined. Ochaco smooths her hair, cheeks glowing, and even Bakugou mutters something under his breath, clearly trying not to admit he’s excited.

The curtains are just behind them, and through the small cracks, they can hear the hum of the crowd growing louder. Some audience members are skeptical but that only sharpens Rina’s grin.

“Makeup set? Check! Hair perfect? Check! Hearts ready? Triple check!” Rina spins dramatically, pointing at each of them. “This is your moment. Not just me, not just the spotlight—it’s all of us. Let’s make history, darlings!”

The lights dim, and Jirou grips her bass, closing her eyes for a steadying breath. The energy backstage is almost too much to contain, but it pulses through everyone like a shared heartbeat.

Bakugou counts down with a sudden, explosive drumroll, and the stage explodes with light and sound. Curtains fly open.

The audience erupts in cheers as the band kicks off the flashy introduction. Rina glides onto the stage, spinning, twirling, energy overflowing, her classmates following her every cue.

The music hits hard, a perfect blend of instruments, vocals, and dance. Mina’s choreography shines, synchronized with Kirishima raw power effects and Todoroki’s icy stardust trails. Aoyoma lights pulse like a cosmic disco, and even Bakugou’s drumming is brutal and precise, drawing gasps from the crowd.

Jirou's voice cuts through it all, strong and passionate, and Rina beams at her. “Yes! Feel the stage! Own the spotlight! You’re unstoppable!” she shouts, rolling and twirling, highlighting everyone without ever overshadowing them.

The performance radiates joy, energy, and pure heart. Slowly, someone in the audience smiles… then claps… and the effect spreads like wildfire.

Eri, sitting quietly with Mirio at her side, finally cracks a small smile. Her hands curl into tiny fists of delight as the music, the dance, and the lights reach her. Overhaul’s lingering shadow on her mind begins to lift.

Mirio’s eyes glisten with tears, heart swelling with relief and happiness. “She’s… smiling…” he whispers, unable to look away.

The final chorus explodes, every beat, note, and jump perfectly synced. The audience rises to their feet, cheering, clapping, and whooping. Class 1-A stands together, breaths ragged, sweat glistening, hearts pounding—every single one of them a star.

Backstage, Rina kicks off her sneakers, breathing heavily, hair tousled from a dozen dramatic spins. She watches her classmates, eyes scanning each flushed, glowing face. Mina’s cheeks are pink from the effort, Jirou’s fingers are sore but steady, and even Bakugou is rubbing his knuckles with a tiny smirk.

Rina bites her lip, torn between her usual need to be the dazzling center and the swelling pride in seeing everyone shine. “Hmph… they only cheered for me? Naturally. Of course they did,” she mutters, voice half indignation, half self-soothing.

Then she catches Midoriya’s bright, wide-eyed grin and Kaminari’s laughter as they tease Kirishima for nearly tripping over Todoroki’s ice setup during the finale. Her chest swells. They were incredible. Each one of them.

She twirls dramatically, letting her hands flutter over the air as though to gather the invisible applause. “Fine, darlings… you may have had your moment in the spotlight. But I saw you out there. Every leap, every note, every stardust spark… you were magnificent!”

Mina jumps in, bouncing on her heels. “Really, Rina? You mean it?”

“Absolutely! You all made this show live, breathe, explode!” Rina throws her arms wide, nearly knocking over a mic stand, and laughs. “I taught you the moves, yes—but YOU—every single one of you—made the stage yours. Not me. Not Violet. YOU!”

Jirou, still gripping her bass, looks up, surprised by the sincerity behind the dramatic flair. “You really mean that?”

Rina winks, fluffing her hair in an over-the-top gesture. “Darling, I’ve been an idol forever, but even I know the thrill of the stage is doubled when shared. You… all of you… you’ve got it. True sparkle. Real stardust. And now? I can finally let go of hogging all the attention.”

Bakugou snorts from the corner, muttering, “About time.”

Rina laughs, twirling again. “Yes, yes, my grumpy little star! Even you, Bakugou, add fire to the stage. And that… my dazzling friends… is why Class 1-A is unstoppable.”

Her classmates exchange smiles, some rolling their eyes at the over-the-top theatrics but all glowing with pride.

Suddenly, Mina bounds over, eyes sparkling. “Rina! You have to go back out! I mean, we loved performing with you, but… I’ve never actually heard you sing live on stage before. We’d love to see it!”

Jirou, fiddling with her bass, nods, cheeks pink. “Yeah… seriously. We don’t mind. You’ve carried us through the choreography and band stuff perfectly, but your singing… it’d be amazing to hear it live.”

Even Bakugou, arms crossed, gives a begrudging nod. “Yeah… fine. Go. We’ll manage backstage. Just… don’t screw it up.”

Rina gasps, flaring dramatically, one hand pressed to her chest. “Oh! You… you’d let me? All by myself?”

Kirishima laughs, his grin warm. “Of course! You’ve earned it. We want to see the diva shine. We’ve seen your moves, your energy… now we want the full performance. Go make that stage yours, Rina!”

Her heart practically leaps out of her chest. She spins in a perfect pirouette, sneakers squeaking against the floor. “Darlings… you are far too generous! But… oh, the thrill! The glory! Very well, then. Prepare yourselves, my sparkling comrades—Violet Crescendo returns to the stage!”

The class cheers, some clapping, others teasing her as she sashays toward the curtain. Rina rolls forward, hair glittering under the lights, and whispers to herself with a grin: Finally… a moment just for me. But with them supporting me, it’ll be even better than I imagined.

The curtains part again, and the spotlight hits Rina—Violet Crescendo—in her full idol outfit. Sequins glint under the lights, her hair styled perfectly, accessories sparkling, and her shoes catching every shimmer of stage light. The audience gasps, the cheers rising instantly. This isn’t Class 1-A anymore—it’s her moment.

Rina rolls forward, sneakers squeaking in rhythm, spinning and tossing her hair dramatically. “Are you ready, my sparkling stars? Because Violet Crescendo is about to set this stage on fire!”

From backstage, her classmates cheer loudly. Even Bakugou mutters under his breath, “Don’t screw this up…” though the corner of his mouth twitches upward, betraying a tiny grin.

The first notes hit, and Rina’s voice soars—crisp, commanding, yet warm and vibrant, filling the auditorium with pure energy. She spins, twirls, and leaps, choreographed perfection fused with natural charisma.

Every gesture is larger than life, yet every movement feels precise, calculated to captivate.

The lights follow her, changing color in perfect sync with her vocals. Rina’s hand gestures emphasize the lyrics, reaching to the audience as if drawing their hearts closer. Her eyes sparkle, bright with joy and raw excitement, feeding on the crowd’s roaring energy.

“Come on, everyone! Let me see your energy! Clap, stomp, cheer!” she commands mid-song, prompting waves of applause and stomping from the audience. The cheers echo off the walls, fueling her even more.

Backstage, her classmates beam. Mina bounces up and down, fists pumping. “She’s amazing! Look at her go!” Jirou nods, swaying to the rhythm, a proud smile on her face. Midoriya whispers, “She’s… incredible. This is the real idol experience.”

Rina flips dramatically, landing on one knee with a perfect pose, catching the audience’s eyes. “Thank you, darlings! But we’re not done yet! Violet Crescendo is just getting started!” She leaps up, kicking high and spinning into a flawless pirouette, each move hitting in perfect timing with her powerful, soaring vocals.

The crowd is on their feet. Even the critics from other departments are clapping, some whistling, completely captivated. Rina’s energy is infectious; every note, every spin, every flourish draws them in deeper.

Halfway through, she pulls in a series of complex dance moves she had been practicing secretly, rolls, and spins seamlessly flowing into splits and high jumps, her glittering outfit catching every glimmer of the stage lights. Her voice doesn’t waver—if anything, it’s more powerful, more commanding than before.

The final chorus explodes with confetti cannons, a cascade of sparkles raining down on her as she hits the ultimate pose—arms wide, one foot forward, head tilted back, eyes sparkling. The crowd erupts, cheering and shouting her name.

Backstage, Class 1-A cheers the loudest. Mina jumps onto a chair, pumping her fists. “She’s the best! She’s our best!” Jirou claps enthusiastically, her eyes glimmering with awe. Bakugou smirks, muttering, “She… didn’t screw it up. Not bad.”

Rina basks in the applause, a wide grin spreading across her face. She twirls, blowing a theatrical kiss to the audience. “Thank you! Thank you, my dazzling hearts! Remember this name—Violet Crescendo!”

The audience’s ovation continues, and for a moment, the stage is hers completely. But backstage, she glimpses her classmates cheering, clapping, and grinning wildly, and she realizes… this moment isn’t just about me. We all shine together.

She laughs, radiant and unstoppable, finishing her encore with a dramatic, sparkling bow. “Bravo, my sparkling stars… and thank you for letting me shine with all of you by my side!”

The applause doesn’t stop, and for the first time, Rina feels the perfect blend of solo stardom and shared triumph.

Chapter Text

The sun is high in the sky, golden light spilling across the U.A. campus. Rina steps off the stage, sweat-slicked and beaming, heart still racing from the adrenaline of her encore.

“My sparkling stars!” Rina calls, voice bright and theatrical. “We’ve conquered the stage, dazzled the audience, and—oh yes—made history! But now,” she leans conspiratorially toward the group, “we feast like the heroes we are!”

Mina squeals and grabs Tsuyu’s hand, dragging her toward the nearest food stall. “Takoyaki first! Ice cream second! Cotton candy third! And maybe—just maybe—a third helping of takoyaki!”

Jirou is smiling softly. “I guess this is the part where we get to… relax a bit?” she murmurs.

Kaminari bounces on the balls of his feet, eyes darting between candy apples and grilled corn. “Relax? Nah, this is the part where we attack the festival!”

Bakugou folds his arms, scowling, but a faint smirk tugs at his lips as he watches Mina juggle two candied apples while trying to keep pace with Tsuyu. “Hmph. Typical,” he mutters.

Rina twirls dramatically in the center of the group. “Heroes, dancers, musicians! Today, we are festival royalty! Every stall, every game, every bite of food—claim it as your own! And remember,” she points a glittering finger at Eri, “no hiding in corners, love! The world is full of wonders!”

Eri blushes but lets herself be guided by Mirio, holding a small scoop of shaved ice in her hands. Her cheeks pink, she watches the world with wide, curious eyes, finally allowing herself to enjoy the simple joy of being in a crowd without fear.

The class fans out, each student drifting toward different attractions. Mina and Kirishima head for the ring toss, Mina squealing each time a ring lands perfectly. “Yes! Another one! Tsuyu, watch this!” Tsuyu smiles faintly, gently nudging a misplaced ring back in place and helping Mina correct her aim.

On the food side, Kaminari eagerly drags Bakugou to a taiyaki stall. “C’mon! You have to try it, Kacchan! You’ll love it!”

Bakugou grumbles but eventually takes a small bite, his frown softening slightly as the sweet bean paste hits his tongue.

Rina sweeps through the crowd, always performing, even off-stage. She leans dramatically over a cotton candy stand. “Ah, my dear stars! Look at the colors! Look at the sugar! Feel the fluffiness of destiny in every bite!” She hands a stick of pink cotton candy to Eri, who giggles, her nervousness fading with each sugary bite.

Jirou, encouraged by her classmates, wanders to a shooting gallery with Ochaco. “You go first,” Jirou says quietly, handing Ochaco a small wooden gun.

Ochaco steadies her hands and fires, knocking down a row of small targets. Jirou lips twitch into a rare, genuine smile. “Not bad,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else.

Meanwhile, Rina gathers everyone for a short break near the school’s central fountain, glittering from the sun. She leans against the railing, hair bouncing with every laugh, and addresses the group theatrically. “Darling stars! You see? Life off stage can be just as brilliant as on stage! The crowd, the lights, the food—it’s all a performance in its own way! And we—yes, we—are the shining center!”

Mina and Kirishima demonstrate a small synchronized move from their dance routine, prompting Rina to clap and twirl. “Yes! Yes! That’s the energy! Channel it into the world, my loves!”

The afternoon drifts lazily. Students hop between game stalls, testing strength at hammer presses, scooping goldfish, trying their luck at lotteries. Mirio wins a small stuffed lion and hands it to Eri, who hugs it tightly, eyes sparkling with happiness.

Bakugou grumbles at the unfairness of a ring toss but secretly enjoys the challenge. Kaminari and Tsuyu team up at a water gun game, competing for accuracy while laughing at each other’s mistakes.

Rina doesn’t stop moving. She’s everywhere at once—encouraging, performing mini dance steps, snapping photos for posterity, and helping students when they fumble. Her energy is infectious, even coaxing Bakugou into a small, grudging smile when she theatrically declares, “That’s not just a shot, darling—that’s power! Channel it!”

By late afternoon, the group converges at the food stalls again. Skewers, yakisoba, and sweet treats are shared. Laughter echoes across the festival grounds as students tease each other over misfires in games, spilt ice cream, or slightly burnt takoyaki.

Rina spins dramatically in the middle of the group, arms wide. “You see, my sparkling stars? The festival isn’t just about lights or music—it’s about the joy we create together! Every laugh, every cheer, every tiny success makes this day legendary! And today, we have lived it!”

Eri, holding her stuffed lion, finally laughs fully for the first time in months. The sound is soft but bright, and Mirio wipes a tear from his cheek, watching her relax and open up. Rina kneels beside Eri, lowering her dramatic voice. “See, love? Even a hero-idol like me can step back sometimes. Today is about everyone.”

As the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the grounds, Class 1-A gathers near the stage once more. Rina flips her hair, rollerblades replaced with her sneakers sparkling faintly. “Time for our final adventure of the day—let’s take in the festival as stars once more!”

The group meanders slowly through the grounds, savoring each stall, playing games, and sharing stories of the day.

Every laugh, every cheer, every victorious shout at a game reinforces the bond between them. Today isn’t about performances or accolades—it’s about friendship, shared joy, and the simple, grounding pleasures of a Japanese school festival.

And as fireworks begin to bloom faintly on the horizon, Rina twirls one last time, beaming. “Darling stars… remember this day. The world is full of moments like these. And together, we shine brighter than any spotlight ever could.”

Rina is perched on a low wooden bench near a food stall, cheeks pink and gleaming, a half-eaten taiyaki in her hand.

The sweet aroma mingles with the festival air, and for a fleeting moment, she allows herself to relax, laughing with Mina as they compare who got the better sugar coating.

Then—the shadow falls.

“Rina!”

Her eyes widen. The familiar sharp voice pierces through the festive chatter. Her manager storms toward her, impeccably dressed, tie perfectly straight, face taut with disapproval. Hands on hips, glaring like a general ready to chastise a soldier.

“Rina!” he repeats, voice rising, “what are you doing?! That’s not on the diet plan! Do you realize what kind of example you’re setting?”

Rina freezes mid-bite, taiyaki hovering inches from her mouth. “Uh… I—”

“You—” he snaps, cutting her off, “are an asset! Not some common high school student, not some… tourist at a festival. You have obligations, contracts, expectations!” His finger jabs toward her, trembling with irritation. “Every bite you take outside the plan undermines your brand! Do you even understand what the word responsibility means?”

Mina stifles a giggle, but Rina’s grin falters, eyes dropping to her treat. The joy of the day seems to falter under the weight of those words.

“I… I just wanted to try some festival food…” Rina murmurs, voice small. “It’s… it’s a special day. Everyone’s here, and—”

“Special day or not!” the manager barks, stepping closer until Rina leans back defensively. “You are paid to be perfect! Every moment is scrutinized, every public appearance evaluated. Your indulgence is not just a personal choice—it reflects on your management, your sponsors, and your career trajectory. Do you even realize the damage you’ve caused by eating that?”

The festival sounds around them—the laughter, the calls of vendors, the sizzling of food—fade to a dull background hum.

Rina’s stomach knots, and for a fleeting moment, the carefree idol she projects feels hollow.

Mirio steps forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s… it’s fine, Rina. It’s just a little food. You’ve done amazing today.”

But the manager doesn’t flinch, eyes narrowing. “Fine? Fine?! You are jeopardizing everything! Do you think the public will accept an idol who lacks discipline? Who flouts rules?”

Eri, standing nearby and clutching her stuffed lion, looks up at Rina with wide eyes, sensing the shift in tension. Rina’s hands shake slightly, the sweet treat now heavy in her grip.

Rina swallows hard, chest tightening. “I… I’m not just an idol. I’m… me,” she whispers, voice almost drowned out by the manager’s continued tirade. “I wanted… just for today… to… be part of the festival… with my friends…”

The manager’s expression softens for a fraction of a second—just a fraction—before the stern mask returns. “You are never ‘just you’ while the cameras are on or your fans are watching. Your life is the image you project. One slip, and you risk it all!”

Rina’s eyes sting. The taiyaki drops slightly from her hand as guilt, shame, and frustration war within her. She feels torn between the person she wants to be—a girl enjoying a festival with friends—and the idol she has to be, polished, perfect, untouchable.

Mina places a hand over Rina’s trembling fingers, squeezing gently. “Rina… it’s okay. You’re not hurting anyone. You deserve this, even if it’s just a bite.”

The manager steps back, arms crossed, still scowling. “You will finish the day under strict supervision. No more deviations. No excuses.”

Rina nods silently, swallowing hard, forcing her lips into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She watches the festival around her—cheering students, laughter, glowing food stalls—and feels the bitter weight of responsibility settle onto her chest.

She’s still an idol. She still loves performing. But the cost of being perfect is crushing. For a moment, just a brief, fragile moment, she wonders if the cost is worth it at all.

The sun sets over U.A., streaks of pink and gold fading into deep blue as the last festival guests head home. The dorms hum with leftover energy — laughter drifting through the halls, the faint smell of takoyaki and grilled mochi still clinging to their uniforms.

Inside Heights Alliance, Class 1-A gathers in the common room, sprawled across beanbags, couches, and even the floor.

The air is warm with chatter and that post-performance high — the kind of tired that comes after giving everything.

Mina flops onto the couch, face buried in a cushion. “We. Did. That.” she groans dramatically. “Did you see the crowd?!”

Kaminari laughs, his hair still slightly glittery. “I still can’t hear right! Bakugou’s explosions nearly blew up the speakers!”

“Shut up, Dunce Face,” Bakugou snaps from his spot near the snacks — but there’s no real bite in it. He’s smiling, faintly, under his breath.

Jirou sits cross-legged on the rug, her bass case leaning against the wall. Her fingers still twitch, like they’re playing invisible strings. “It was insane,” she admits, cheeks flushed. “I’ve never felt something like that before… all that sound, that energy.”

Rina sits at the low table, her idol outfit swapped for a soft oversized hoodie, her hair tied loosely back. There’s still a faint shimmer of glitter at her temples, catching the light. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The manager’s harsh words echo faintly in her head — asset, brand, image.

She takes a quiet sip of tea, watching her classmates laugh and tease each other. They’re messy and loud and real. It feels like something she’s been missing for a long time.

Ochaco leans against the window, gazing out at the fading festival lights. “It really was amazing. The whole school felt… alive.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima agrees from the floor, munching on leftover taiyaki. “Everyone was smiling — especially Eri. That’s what it’s all about, right?”

Rina glances up at that, her heart tightening. “Yeah,” she says softly. “That’s what it’s all about.”

Jirou turns to her, smiling. “Hey, Rina… that encore? You killed it. I didn’t know someone could own a stage like that.”

Mina jumps up again, flailing dramatically. “Seriously! You were like—” she throws her arms out— “BAM! Violet Crescendo returns! I was losing my mind!”

Rina laughs, waving them off. “Oh, please, you guys were the reason the show worked! I just… followed the rhythm.”

“Followed it?” Kaminari snorts. “You dragged it into orbit.”

Laughter breaks out again, bright and chaotic. For a moment, it feels perfect.
Then the clock chimes nine, and the laughter quiets just a little. The exhaustion sinks in — muscles sore, voices rough from singing, hearts still pounding from the adrenaline.

Rina leans back on the couch, closing her eyes. She can still hear the crowd — the cheers, the chanting of her idol name. But now, in the safety of Heights Alliance, it feels… distant. Less like worship, more like a memory.

Aizawa’s voice cuts through from the doorway. “You all did well,” he says, his usual monotone softened just slightly. “Now get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

The students grin, murmuring “Yes, sensei,” before dispersing — some heading to showers, others to their rooms.

Rina stays behind for a moment, staring into her cup of tea. The steam swirls up, catching the light like stardust. She thinks about her manager, about the words that still sting, about how being “Violet Crescendo” and being “Rina” feel like two different people.

Then she hears laughter down the hall — Mina’s voice, Jirou’s teasing reply — and something in her chest eases. Maybe, for tonight, she doesn’t need to be anything other than Rina. She smiles softly, finishes her tea, and whispers to herself, “Yeah… I think I’ll stay like this a little longer.”

Chapter Text

At their dorms Class 1-A lounges around the common area, sprawled over couches and beanbags, the exhaustion of the day wrapped up in laughter and quiet chatter.

Rina sits elegantly on the arm of one of the couches, hair brushed out into glossy waves, one leg crossed over the other. She’s wearing a stylish lounge set. A warm cup of tea rests between her hands as she listens to her classmates, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Tokoyami suddenly sneezes, nearly spilling his drink. Kaminari, ever the loudmouth, leans over with a grin. “Yo, someone’s talking about you! Probably a fan!”

Rina raises an eyebrow, amused. “A fan of our brooding birdman? Mysterious types do have their allure.”

Ochaco laughs lightly. “Honestly, I could see that! He did intern under Hawks, after all.”

Tokoyami shakes his head, deadpan. “It’s too soon for me to have fans.”

Before Rina can tease him further, the dorm door slides open.

“Hello, Class 1-A!”
The bright, familiar voices instantly draw everyone’s attention. Standing at the entrance are the Wild, Wild Pussycats—cheerful as ever, smiling in their matching uniforms.

Mina squeals, “No way! The Pussycats!” and practically jumps off the couch.

Rina straightens, her posture instantly composed, watching the pro heroes stride in. She remembers them vividly from training camp—their energy, their power, their flair.

Tiger offers a small bow. “We brought a little something for you all.” Pixie-Bob waves a box in her hands, revealing steaming, cat-shaped buns.

There’s an immediate rush toward the box. Even Rina gets up for one—graceful, of course, but not immune to the lure of fresh, warm food. “Adorable and delicious,” she muses, holding up the paw-shaped treat. “Marketing genius, really.”

Tiger steps toward Bakugou, his voice dipping lower. “Sorry, kid… for not being able to protect you back at the training camp.”

Bakugou shrugs it off with his usual scowl. “Tch. Don’t bring that up. It’s old news.”

The mood lightens again when Kota peeks shyly from behind Mandalay. Midoriya beams, kneeling to greet him. “Kota! Wow, look at you—you’ve grown!”

Kota blushes, mumbling something before Mandalay proudly shows off the boy’s new shoes—red ones, just like Midoriya's. The class coos, some laughing, others teasing gently.

Rina watches from the sidelines, her smile softening. There’s something so simple and good about this moment—heroes, students, warmth. The kind of balance she rarely gets to feel in the idol world.

As Sato serves tea, Momo—ever the polite hostess—asks, “So, what brings you all here today?”

Pixie-Bob grins, hands on her hips. “We’re coming off our hiatus! Time to get back into the hero scene!”

Midoriya looks surprised. “Oh! I thought Ragdoll was still taking a break since—”

Ragdoll waves her hand dismissively, cheerful as always. “My Quirk’s gone, sure, but that doesn’t mean I can’t contribute! I’m joining as the team’s new office lady!”

Rina nods slightly. “A comeback in style. I respect that.”

Momo tilts her head. “May I ask why now?”

Mandalay sighs lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, the Hero Billboard Chart JP came out recently. Since we’ve been inactive, we dropped from 32nd to… 411th.”

The room goes quiet for a second. Midoriya's eyes widen. “That’s… a big drop.”

Kirishima laughs awkwardly. “So you’re back to stop the fall?”

Ragdoll chuckles, shaking her head. “Not exactly. We actually stayed in the triple digits because of our approval ratings. Our fans never stopped believing in us.”

Rina’s gaze softens again at that—approval ratings, fans, people waiting for them to return. It hits close to home, in a way she doesn’t quite want to admit.

Pixie-Bob pumps a fist, beaming. “That’s right! So, we’re back to work—and we wanted to visit U.A. first! You all inspired a lot of people, you know.”

Mina cheers. “You guys are awesome!”

The Pussycats laugh, the room filling with warmth and chatter again.

Rina takes another sip of her tea, eyes half-lidded but thoughtful. The festival, the applause, the fans, the exhaustion—it all lingers in her chest. Watching the Pussycats now, she realizes something small but certain: for all her love of the spotlight, maybe the real shine comes from moments like this—quiet, unguarded, shared.

She exhales softly, hiding the smile that tugs at her lips. “Guess even stars need to rest between performances.”

No one quite hears her—but in the golden calm of the dorm, that truth settles deep.

A few days later the chill in the air bites softly at U.A.’s training grounds, the morning sun glittering faintly against the steel and concrete of Ground Gamma.

Class 1-A stands gathered, their breath visible in the cold. Winter means updated costumes — sleeker, tougher, and for some, flashier than ever.

Rina flicks her hair back as the wind sweeps through it, posing like she’s on a runway instead of a training field.

Her winter hero costume gleams in deep violet and black — a cropped, fitted jacket trimmed with faux fur, high-waisted battle shorts over glossy leggings, and thigh-high boots with shimmering purple panels that catch the light when she moves.

Her cape, a gradient of violet fading to silver, flows like liquid starlight with every turn. A gemmed comm-piece shaped like a crystal mic rests elegantly by her ear.

“Finally,” she sighs dramatically, twirling once. “A costume worthy of me. Function and fashion? Perfection.”

Mina whistles. “Girl, you look like you’re about to headline an idol concert!”

Rina grins. “Why not both? Maybe I’ll debut a ‘save the city in style’ single after this.”

As everyone admires each other’s upgrades, the banter is light — until a familiar smug voice pierces the air.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Class 1-A — basking in your spotlight again!”

Rina’s smile freezes. “Oh no,” she mutters, spinning on her heel. “Not him.”

Neito Monoma and Class 1-B strut onto the field, hero costumes gleaming. Monoma’s got that trademark smirk plastered across his face, hair bouncing perfectly in the wind like he’s in a shampoo commercial.

“According to my thorough research, Class 1-B’s festival performance was favored by exactly two more ballots!” Monoma declares, dramatic as ever. “It seems the true star power lies with us—”

Aizawa’s scarf shoots out, wrapping around his torso mid-sentence. “That’s enough,” the teacher says dryly.

Rina claps slowly, a devilish grin spreading. “Two more ballots? Wow, congratulations on being barely more popular. Maybe next time, try hitting a note that isn’t flat.”

Monoma gasps in mock offense, putting a hand to his chest. “Excuse me? At least my audience appreciates refined sophistication — not glitter and pop tracks about self-love.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rina shoots back sweetly, “I didn’t realize envy counted as refinement.”

The class groans collectively. Kaminari mutters, “Here we go again…” while Mina hides a laugh behind her hand.

Monoma flicks his hair. “Face it, darling, there’s only room for one diva at U.A.—”

“Agreed,” Rina cuts in sharply. “And it’s me.”

Their voices clash in a perfect mix of dramatic flair and ego. If someone added background music, it would sound like a full-blown stage rivalry.

Vlad King sighs. “Every time these two are in the same airspace…”

Aizawa just mumbles, “At least she’s not fighting Bakugou.”

Rina flicks her hair again, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. “Anyway, congrats on being a runner-up, Monochrome. Must be humbling.”

“It’s Monoma!” he shouts, indignant. “And this rivalry isn’t over, Violet Crescendo!”

She blows him a kiss. “It never is, darling.”
The tension dissolves as Vlad and Aizawa step forward.

“Alright, enough noise,” Vlad says firmly. “We’ve got a special guest today. Don’t embarrass yourselves.”

That gets everyone’s attention.
“A guest?” Mina perks up. “Like, a pro hero?”

“No,” Vlad replies. “A student — a potential hero candidate from another class.”

A tall figure steps into view: Hitoshi Shinsou, dressed in tactical darks, mask concealing half his face, a capture scarf draped over his shoulders.

Rina tilts her head. “Hmm… mysterious, stoic, brooding. Oh, he’s totally my type of stage partner.”

Kaminari snorts. “Stage partner? You mean opponent.”

She shrugs, eyes glinting. “Same thing if you do it dramatically enough.”

When Aizawa tells Shinsou to introduce himself, he speaks bluntly: “I’m far behind all of you. If I want to be a hero, I need to catch up. I’m not here to make friends.”

The class applauds, genuinely impressed by his honesty.

Rina crosses her arms, smirking. “Now that’s an entrance. Someone get this guy a theme song.”

Midoriya meets Shinsou’s gaze, determination flickering like lightning between them. A rematch — a promise — hanging in the winter air.

When Shinsou finishes his serious, no-nonsense introduction, Rina claps lightly, her smirk playful. “Ooh, broody and mysterious. I like the energy,” she teases. “He’s got that moody-idol look down already.”

Before anyone can respond, Vlad King steps forward, voice booming. “Now that introductions are over, it’s time to explain the training format. Both classes will face off in teams of four!”

Monoma immediately perks up, tossing his blond hair dramatically. “Ah, so this is where Class 1-B once again outshines Class 1-A in every possible category, including charm and presentation!”

Rina gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense. “Excuse you? Presentation? Sweetheart, your hair has more volume than your confidence.”

The nearby students snicker as Monoma splutters. “I’ll have you know, my presentation is impeccable! The audience adores me!”

“Oh, trust me,” Rina fires back with a grin, “the audience adores me. You’re just the warm-up act.”

Their bickering continues until Todoroki sighs softly to Midoriya, “Do they… do this often?”

Midoriya nods helplessly. “Pretty much every time they’re in the same space.”

Meanwhile, Vlad King raises his voice, cutting through their banter. “Ahem! As I was saying—since Shinsou will be joining the exercise, that makes forty-one students total. He’ll participate in two matches—one for each class.”

Rina’s expression shifts back to attentive, though her stance still screams diva poise. Hagakure pipes up from beside her, “Wait, won’t the teams with him have an advantage?”

Vlad shakes his head. “Actually, incorporating someone with little to no battle coordination will be a challenge in itself.”

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “So basically, he’s a handicap.”

Kaminari whirls around. “Dude! Harsh!”
But Shinsou simply nods. “He’s right. I’ve got a lot to prove.”

Rina folds her arms, her tone softening. “Then show us, Shinsou. Every star starts somewhere, right?”

The teachers move on to the team lottery, anticipation buzzing through the air like static. Each name drawn brings a mix of cheers and groans.

“Team Asui, Team Yaoyorozu, Team Ida, Team Bakugou, and Team Midoriya for Class 1-A,” Vlad announces. “Team Shiozaki, Team Kendo, Team Tetsutetsu, Team Tokage, and Team Monoma for Class 1-B.”

Rina flips her hair and mutters under her breath, “So I'm on Team Midoriya…”

Vlad gestures to Shinsou. “Now, Shinso, draw your numbers.”

Shinsou reaches into the box and pulls out two slips. “Number one for Class 1-A, and number five for Class 1-B.”

“That means you’re with Team Asui and Team Monoma!” Vlad declares.

Rina groans audibly while Monoma throws his fist into the air. “Ha! Destiny itself pairs us, diva girl! Our fight will be legendary!”

“More like tragedy,” Rina mutters, earning a few chuckles from her classmates.

As excitement builds, Ochaco nudges Midoriya with a grin. “Looks like you’re getting your rematch, huh?”

Midoriya nods, eyes gleaming with determination. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see how much he’s grown.”

Vlad wraps things up. “Each match will last twenty minutes. Capture four opponents to win—or whoever has more members standing when time runs out!”

The students cheer, energy coursing through the cold air.

Rina tosses her hair, flashing a confident grin toward Monoma. “Hope you’re ready to see how a real star steals the spotlight.”

Monoma smirks back. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Chapter Text

The air over Ground Gamma vibrates with tension as Team Midoriya steps onto the battlefield. Steam curls from vents and pipes, the metal beams gleaming under the cold morning light. The maze-like structure is perfect for ambushes.

Rina adjusts the high collar of her winter hero costume — a dazzling blend of white, gold, and shimmering lavender accents — and flips her long violet hair back with a flourish. The glowing soundwave patterns across her coat pulse faintly as her Quirk hums in anticipation.

“Alright, my shining stars,” she declares, voice ringing across the battlefield, rich and commanding. “We neutralize Shinsou first. No encore for the brainwashing boy today!”

Ochaco frowns, tugging her gloves. “Rina… that’s risky. Class 1-B has ambush Quirks everywhere. We can’t just charge in.”

Mina bounces lightly on her heels. “We might be at a total disadvantage…”

Rina crosses her arms, lips pouting ever so slightly. “Disadvantage? Please. That’s just a word people use before I prove them wrong.” She lets her violet eyes sweep the battlefield with a diva’s confidence, her aura glowing faintly in pulsing purple soundwaves.

Midoriya smiles, determined, stepping forward. “Don’t worry. I’ll act as a decoy — draw them out. You three handle the rest.”

Rina tilts her head, a smirk playing across her lips. “Decoy? Bold move, hero boy. Alright, fine… but if you get caught, I’m not dedicating my next single to you.”

Mina giggles. “You don’t even have a single out right now!”

Rina gasps theatrically, clutching her chest. “Rude! I am always on the verge of a comeback!”

Ochaco exhales a smile. “Let’s just win this first, okay?”

The team moves forward, steam curling around their legs. Rina lingers slightly behind the front, her voice vibrating as she hums — her Quirk resonating, subtly enhancing her teammates’ focus and agility. The battlefield hums with a faint violet aura around Team Midoriya.

Suddenly, a whistle cuts the air. Metal fragments streak toward them.
“Incoming!” Rina shouts.

Bolts, pipes, and scrap metal hurtle like bullets — Reiko’s Poltergeist quirk in full force. Ochaco flares her Zero Gravity, catching fragments midair, while Mina’s Acid forms a protective barrier, melting several projectiles.

Then the mass of incoming objects grows. Yui Kodai’s Size Quirk warps them into massive, unwieldy weapons.

“Ugh, she’s changing their mass!” Mina groans, adjusting her stance.

Rina dives aside, rolling with flair and spinning upright. “Oh, how rude! I didn’t even get to finish my line!” Her voice amplifies her Resonance, a melodic pulse cutting through the chaos, bolstering her allies’ reflexes as they dodge.

Ochaco nullifies another volley with Zero Gravity, but Nirengeki launches a second wave. “Twin Impact!” Midoriya realizes too late. The battlefield explodes with sound, light, and motion. Rina’s song cuts sharply — not just dramatic, but tactical, disorienting 1-B’s approach and bolstering 1-A’s coordination.

“Everyone, regroup!” Midoriya calls, shield raised.

Rina dusts herself off, smirking. “Hah. They found our location. Guess our entrance was a little too show-stopping.”

Ochaco shoots her a sharp look. “Rina, this isn’t a performance!”

Rina’s grin widens. “Oh, darling — everything’s a performance if you’re fabulous enough.”

Then, chaos escalates. A black power surges from Midoriya’s arm, tearing his equipment apart. Tendrils of inky energy lash out, propelling him through the air like a ragdoll. Both teams scramble to dodge the rampage.

Rina’s violet eyes flare. “Darlings, this is not part of the plan!” She surges forward, cape-like coat billowing, rolling into position beside him. Her voice resonates, soothing yet commanding — her Harmonic Guard forming around Midoriya and a small radius of allies, dampening the destructive energy.

“Listen, you big goofball! This power isn’t yours! Control it — or I will control the situation for you!” she cries, directing a steady wave of sound toward him, her Resonance bolstering his morale despite the chaos.

Spotting Shinsou frozen, Rina points dramatically. “Shinsou! Help him, please! Use that brain of yours for more than looking confused!”

Shinsou steels himself, recalling his first clash with Midoriya. He removes his Artificial Vocal Cords and calls clearly: “Midoriya… can we have our proper rematch?”

The black tendrils pause, sensing the change. Midoriya trembles but allows himself to submit to the controlled influence. Slowly, the destructive energy fades, retreating like shadows at dawn.

Rina catches Midoriya as he collapses, her arms strong and elegant. She lands on one knee with theatrical flair. “See, my stars? Even in the darkest moments, a diva shows up to save the day!”

Midoriya blinks, realizing he’s suspended in her arms. “Rina! Get away from me!” he panics.

Her hands cradle him safely, voice flowing like a melody of calm. “Darling, breathe! I’ve got you—focus on staying upright and not turning this into a spectacle… though really, who wouldn’t enjoy it?”

Midoriya glances at her, concern mixed with awe. “Are you hurt?”

“Silence, hero-in-distress!” she declares, spinning midair, lowering them safely. “You’re safe, and I’m fabulous. That’s all that matters!”

Monoma attempts to sneak attack Midoriya, but Rina’s eyes narrow. “Not on my watch!” Her Harmonic Disruption quivers in her voice, immobilizing him with a precise vocal pulse.

Reiko’s Poltergeist rains projectiles at her, but Rina rolls and spins with balletic precision, deflecting each attack. “Miss me, darlings? You’ll need more than that!”

Meanwhile, Mina and Ochaco handle Yui and Nirengeki, their coordinated attacks precise. Rina zeroes in on Monoma, rollerblades gleaming. “Step aside, darling. Time for a proper diva’s touch!”

She leaps, locking Monoma in her cell with a controlled Crescendo Barrage — multiple, perfectly aimed purple energy arrows launched in sync with her singing, stunning him.

Shinsou fires his Capturing Weapon at Midoriya, who clings midair. Rina glides away, holding Monoma with style and grace.

Monoma hurls a metal pipe at her — she deflects it effortlessly with a flick, letting her voice flow in a resonant, high note that bolsters her teammates’ awareness. She glances at him, noting his Copy Quirk limit has expired.

Monoma smirks. “I could’ve stretched it… think you can beat me one-on-one?”

Rina tilts her head, striking a perfect pose. Silence. Confidence radiates from her as she locks Monoma in the cell. “End of discussion, darling.”

The dust settles. Team 5-A emerges victorious, scoreboard flashing a perfect 4-0.

Rina spins, arms wide, rollerblades gleaming under the lights. Her voice echoes, melodic and triumphant: “My sparkling stars! That, my dears, is how you turn a battlefield into a stage!”

Her teammates collapse in exhaustion and exhilaration, while Rina strikes a final, dramatic pose — a diva victorious, a hero dependable, and a true leader in performance and battle alike.

The air in Heights Alliance’s training hall buzzes with excitement as Midnight steps forward, clipboard in hand, and announces the final results. “Class 1-A! You are the overall winners of the joint exercise!”

Cheers erupt instantly. Students throw their arms around each other, Mina bouncing uncontrollably, and Ochaco wiping a triumphant tear from her cheek.

Rina, meanwhile, does not simply cheer—she spins on her heel, flicking her hair back in slow motion, letting her victory radiate like the queen she is.

“My sparkling stars,” she proclaims, voice ringing with authority and delight, “behold! The battlefield bowed before our brilliance! I hope everyone in 1-B took notes on how true elegance and heroism intertwine!”

Class 1-B groans collectively, their dejection apparent. Monoma glares at the scoreboard, muttering about “substance over flair,” but even he can’t hide the grudging respect forming in the corners of his eyes.

Shinsou stands a bit apart, shoulders slumped. “I… I feel disappointed in myself,” he admits quietly to Aizawa and Vlad. “I lacked the strength to act decisively on my own. And… I figured out that this joint training also doubled as my transfer exam for the hero course.”

Rina, overhearing this, saunters up beside him, resting one hand on her hip. Her other hand gestures dramatically toward him.

“Darling, don’t be so gloomy! Hero exams, ambushes, black tendrils spiraling out of control—your performance was absolutely riveting!” Her eyes sparkle as she adds, “And you did look smashing while doing it.”

Midoriya flushes, mumbling, “Rina… you—”

Rina cuts him off with a sharp, playful wave. “Darling, save the stammering for post-battle interviews. I was simply doing what any proper diva would do—rescuing a hero-in-distress while keeping the stage… I mean battlefield… flawless!”

Mine tilts her head with a mischievous grin. “So fast to save him, huh? Did you even think about him or just the drama?”

Rina gasps, clutching her chest theatrically. “How dare you suggest it’s about the drama! Of course, heroics come first—but style is a close second!”

Aizawa’s dark gaze sweeps the room as he begins feedback. “Midoriya, explain the new power you used.”

Midoriya swallows, voice steady but tinged with awe. “I… wasn’t sure what was happening at first. The black tendrils just… overflowed. I couldn’t control them, and I was scared of hurting someone. I… I owe it to Murasaki and Shinsou that no one got seriously hurt.”

Shinsou shrugs, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I just… acted on instinct. And… she kind of made it clear what needed to happen.”

Midnight smirks, her words loaded with the kind of teasing praise only she could give. “Impressive heroism, Violet Crescendo. Truly… it turns me on seeing that kind of energy and passion channeled so effectively.”

Rina throws an exaggerated side-eye at Midnight, hand on her hip. “Darling, I don’t need validation from mere mortals—or faculty—though I appreciate the sentiment.” She pauses, then spins dramatically, tossing her hair. “It’s far more satisfying to see the results shine like amethysts in the spotlight, yes?”

Mine smirks and teases again. “All that diva flair, and you still managed to save the day first. Quick reflexes, or just lucky timing?”

Rina scoffs, voice dripping with mock offense. “Lucky? Please. I am always precise, darling! Besides, it’s better to act than to stand there gawking. That’s what separates a true stage hero from an understudy!”

Aizawa, recalling Rina’s earlier statement about wanting to rescue more people, nods approvingly. “Your growth is evident. You’re learning to act for others, not just the spectacle.”

Shinsou, on the other hand, waves off the praise with a small grin. “I didn’t save Midoriya because she said so. I did it because I wanted a proper rematch and to act decisively. My actions… were my own.”

Aizawa’s eyebrows lift, then he scolds him lightly, a rare softness behind his usual sternness. “Precisely. That’s how heroes operate—you can’t rely solely on instruction or orders. Recognizing when to act independently is key.”

Midoriya nods, glancing at Shinsou. “I… I understand now. Your control, your decision-making—it’s grown so much. You’ve really improved since our last encounter.”

Vlad King steps forward, finalizing the feedback. “And with that, Shinsou will officially join the Hero department starting next year. You’ll be integrating fully into either Class 1-A or 1-B.”

Students murmur in excitement and curiosity. Shinsou looks both bewildered and proud, a rare, satisfied smile crossing his face.

Monoma, still fuming slightly, can’t resist a parting jab. “Even if we lost, I now know Midoriya’s Quirk in full. A rematch? Easy.”

Vlad King calmly dismisses him. “Class has ended. There won’t be another joint exercise anytime soon.”

Rina, meanwhile, flutters to Midoriya’s side, radiant even in the casual glow of victory. “See, darling? Victory tastes divine when shared with sparkling stars like you all. But remember, my performance wasn’t just for the score—it was to make the battlefield a stage worth remembering!”

Mina giggles, nudging her. “You really can’t stop being a diva, can you?”

Rina sweeps an arm gracefully. “And why would I, darling? The world deserves the brilliance of Violet Crescendo at all times!”

The hall echoes with laughter, teasing, and applause, Rina basking in her triumphant aura while her classmates enjoy the glow of victory—and the unmistakable glamour only a true battle idol can bring.

The training hall hums with quiet chatter as students begin packing up their gear. Class 1-A is sprawled across the floor, some sprawled, some leaning against beams, catching their breath after the grueling exercises. The adrenaline is fading, leaving a warm, tired glow in its place.

Rina, however, is not slouching. She stands tall, striking an exaggerated pose atop a stack of crates, her arms extended like a conquering queen. “Behold, my stars!” she announces, voice carrying across the hall. “We have turned chaos into art, mere opponents into an audience, and victory into a masterpiece! Witness the glory of Violet Crescendo!”

Mina groans, rolling her eyes, though a smile tugs at her lips. “Do you ever stop?”

Rina tilts her head, hair cascading over one shoulder. “Stop? Darling, this is the post-victory flourish. It’s practically mandatory.”

Ochaco laughs softly, shaking her head. “I think… it’s kind of great. You make even finishing exercises look… fun.”

Rina gives her a dazzling smile. “Of course, darling! Fun is simply a matter of perspective—and performance!”

Midoriya, sitting cross-legged on the floor, looks up at her, still a little red-faced from earlier. “Rina… thanks. For saving me. I—I couldn’t have handled that power on my own.”

Rina descends gracefully from her crate, landing on one knee beside him. “Darling, it was nothing. A diva’s duty is to ensure the spotlight never dims on her co-stars.” She ruffles his hair lightly, smirking. “But… you fought bravely, even if you do have a habit of getting carried away. Consider it… dramatic tension for my performance.”

Her classmates chuckle at her theatrics, but the warmth in her voice is genuine.

Momo approaches, adjusting her own uniform. “Your Quirk coordination was impressive, Rina. You kept the team motivated even in the middle of the chaos.”

Rina sweeps her arm in a graceful arc. “Ah, darling Momo, flattery suits you. But let’s be honest—I make teamwork sparkle. You’re welcome.”

Even Bakugo, leaning against a beam with his usual scowl, mutters begrudgingly, “Not bad… you actually kept your act together. Didn’t expect that from some stage diva.”

Rina flicks her hair back dramatically, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Darling, I am a stage diva. But apparently, I’m also a reliable hero-in-training. Multi-talented, as always.”

Ochaco nudges her gently. “You know, it’s really nice… having someone so confident around. Even if you are a little extra.”

Rina kneels slightly to meet her gaze, voice softening just enough to drop the stage persona slightly. “Extra is only a problem when you lack substance, darling. But you, my stars,” she gestures broadly at the group, “have plenty of heart. And that? That deserves applause every time.”

Mina giggles, bouncing up. “I knew you weren’t just all show!”

Rina stands, letting her cape-like coat flutter with an airy flick. “Of course not, darling! A diva without depth is just… a chandelier—shiny, but hollow. I have depth, flair, and impeccable timing.” She winks. “And apparently, quite the rescue instincts.”

Midoriya smiles softly. “You… really are amazing, Rina.”

Rina twirls once, then lands elegantly, hands on her hips. “Darling, I know I am. But it’s better shared with sparkling stars like all of you.” She sweeps a grand gesture across the exhausted but smiling team. “Now, my stars, let’s not just celebrate the win. Let’s celebrate style, flair, and heroism—the Rina way!”

The group bursts into laughter and applause, some rolling their eyes, others shaking their heads in disbelief at her theatrics. And yet, beneath it all, they feel an unmistakable warmth, an energy that carries them beyond exhaustion: Rina’s diva persona isn’t just performance—it’s a beacon, a rhythm that pulls them together, making them feel unstoppable.

Even in the quiet aftermath of battle, the aura of Violet Crescendo lingers. A reminder that heroism can be brave, heroic… and fabulously dramatic all at once.