Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hidden

The gates of U.A. loomed ahead, impossibly tall, bathed in the soft morning light. Elara Kuroyomi, known to everyone else by the name of Nyx Nova, stepped onto the grounds, her black-and-gold turtleneck hugging her figure like curse stuck to a child, emerald highlights in her hair catching the sun. Her eyes flicked over the campus, sharp and calculating, glowing faintly with an inner light that betrayed the threads of emotion swirling in her mind. To anyone watching, she appeared composed, elegant, even serene—but beneath that veneer, a storm brewed: the legacy of a father whose name was whispered in fear, the weight of quirks she had yet to master, and memories of a boy with fiery hair whose laughter still haunted her. Every step toward the school felt like crossing a threshold, one that might finally force her to decide who she truly was.

As she walked along the cobblestone path, students paused mid-conversation, stealing glances at the newcomer whose presence seemed to bend the light around her. Elara’s gaze swept over them effortlessly, reading the subtle flickers of emotion—excitement, curiosity, fear—and cataloging them with a practiced precision that made her chest tighten. Each thread of feeling whispered secrets she didn’t yet allow herself to act upon. Teachers moved past with mild interest, none suspecting the storm concealed beneath her calm posture. And then, in the back of her mind, a single memory stirred: a boy with spiky blond hair, stubborn and brash, whose fiery temper had once matched her own. She pushed the thought aside, letting her steps carry her closer to the heart of U.A., each one deliberate, measured, as if every stride could conceal or reveal the truth she had long been trained to hide.

She paused at the edge of the main courtyard, letting her thoughts settle around her like a living shadow, and allowed herself a single, measured breath. Every smile, every whisper among the students, was another thread she could feel, pull, and unravel—but she held back, forcing herself to remain unseen, untouchable. The weight of her father’s expectations pressed against her chest, a constant reminder that one wrong move could undo everything she had been taught. Yet, beneath the control, a spark of something unfamiliar flickered: curiosity, maybe even hope. For the first time in years, she wondered if she could step forward not as a weapon, not as All For One’s heir, but as someone who might—just might—belong. And as her gaze drifted toward the distant training fields, she thought she saw a familiar flash of blond hair moving through the crowd, and her heart betrayed her with a flicker of recognition she could not deny.

Even if it were him, she had to stay focused. She had to move as if she had never known him, never shared childhood laughter or stolen moments in the sun. She was on a mission, and any hesitation could put them both in danger. With measured steps, she approached the area where the entrance exams were about to begin, her mind ticking through each quirk she possessed. She could feel the familiar hum of power beneath her skin, but she restrained herself—she could only use one. Using more would draw unwanted attention, and she couldn’t afford to be exposed, not yet.

She noticed a small group gathered near the center: a round-faced girl bouncing on her heels, a green-haired boy scribbling furiously in a notebook, a stoic half-red, half-white-haired boy observing silently, and a shadowy figure leaning against a wall.

The round-faced girl waved awkwardly.

“Hi! Are you… um… new here? I’m Ochaco Uraraka!”

Elara inclined her head, her voice soft but steady.

“Nyx. Nice to meet you.”

Midoriya finally looked up from his notes, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“You’re… Nyx, right? I’ve heard about this school. Nice to meet you.”

Shoto Todoroki’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, appraising, quiet, the faintest flicker of curiosity in his cold eyes. Tokoyami didn’t say anything yet, but Dark Shadow shifted slightly, as if sensing the energy around her.

Elara offered a polite nod to each of them.

“I hope we all do well today.”

Ochaco smiled brightly.

“Yeah! Let’s try our best together!”

~~~~~

The horn blared, signaling the start of the entrance exam. A massive Nomu-esque robot appeared from the far end of the arena, fire and smoke already beginning to obscure the field. Panic rippled through the students.

Elara’s Predatory Instinct — no, not that. She didn’t allow herself to use anything but Ember Lash. Every movement, every dodge, every strike had to appear natural, just skill and timing.

The zero point robot’s hulking metal frame loomed over the students, sparks flying as it struck the ground. Panic rippled through the gathered first-years, and Elara moved like a shadow among them, Ember Lash coiled tightly around her wrists. The molten tendrils snapped forward with precision, intercepting debris and redirecting falling steel just in time to shield several students.

Class 1-A froze, whispering in disbelief.
“Did she just—?” Ochaco’s voice was barely audible.

“She blocked that falling beam… alone!” Midoriya muttered, wide-eyed, scribbling notes frantically

“Her timing… it’s perfect,” Todoroki added, ice forming subtly along his arm.

Tokoyami leaned slightly forward, Dark Shadow shifting protectively. “Her control… exceptional.”

Elara’s eyes flicked briefly to the crowd. Among them, a familiar crimson glare caught her attention — Bakugou. Her chest tightened at the sight of him, the familiar intensity of his gaze stirring something she hadn’t expected: a sense of home, safety, and… longing. But she couldn’t falter now. Not in front of him.

Focus, she reminded herself. This is about appearances. Only Ember Lash. No hints. No mistakes.

She twisted her body, snapping molten tendrils to block a robot’s swing, then swung a second strand to lift a falling beam away from Ochaco. Every motion was fluid, lethal, and carefully orchestrated to appear as a single quirk in action, masking the true depth of her abilities.

Class 1-A continued to whisper among themselves, eyes wide and impressed.

“She’s… amazing. How can one student be this skilled?”

“It doesn’t even look like she’s struggling…”

“I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”

Elara’s lips curled in a subtle, polite smile. The Ember Lash coiled back around her wrists as she lowered her arms, showing calm composure. Inside, however, her mind raced. The exhilaration of control, the brush with Bakugou, the tension of hiding her other quirks — it all pressed against her.

Stay perfect. Stay calm. Protect them. Appear as the hero they expect.

She glanced at Bakugou once more, just long enough to feel the warmth of familiarity, then refocused. The robot was neutralized. Her Ember Lash retracted completely, and she took a step back, maintaining the image of the composed, capable new hero.

Class 1-A stared, still murmuring, their awe palpable. Yet Elara knew: this was only the beginning. They had no idea what she truly was.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely risen over the UA campus, casting long shadows across the training grounds as Class 1-A assembled in neat lines. Elara stood among them, calm and composed, her Ember Lash coiled discreetly around her wrists, hidden beneath her sleeves. Whispers had already begun to ripple through the class — the new student who had ranked number one in the entrance exam — yet she didn’t flinch, her expression neutral, serene. Today’s test was the Quirk Apprehension Drill, a standard measure of skill and reflex, but for her, it was a delicate balancing act: every strike, every movement, every display of power had to appear effortless, precise, and limited to Ember Lash alone, hiding the depth of her other quirks. From the corner of her vision, she caught a glimpse of Bakugou, crimson eyes scanning the lineup. He didn’t know why, but there was a faint, nagging feeling of familiarity tugging at him — something about her posture, the way she held herself, made his gut twist in a way he didn’t expect.

The horn blared, signaling the start of the drill. A series of moving holographic targets sprang to life, each designed to mimic a student’s quirk in combat. Class 1-A scattered, dodging, blocking, and striking with varying degrees of precision.

Elara’s Ember Lash lashed out, molten tendrils whipping around her with fluid precision. One snapped toward a target lunging from her left, curling around it and flinging it safely away from the ground. Another coiled tightly, yanking a swinging beam just out of the path of a scrambling student. Every movement was deliberate, measured — calculated to protect without overdoing it, to maintain the illusion that she had only one quirk.

Ochaco gaped, cheeks flushed.

“Wow… she’s amazing… and she’s only using… that?”

Midoriya scribbled furiously in his notebook, eyes darting between the Ember Lash and the perfectly timed movements of Elara’s body.

“Incredible… her precision, her timing… and the restraint! She’s hiding so much potential!”

Bakugou, however, couldn’t look away. Every time she swung the Ember Lash or blocked a falling target, he felt an inexplicable tug in his chest — a strange sense that he had seen her before, that he knew her in some way. His crimson eyes narrowed, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Why do I feel like I… know her? he thought, jaw tightening.

Elara’s focus never wavered. She leapt, spun, and extended Ember Lash tendrils with the appearance of effortless control, shielding students from harm while staying just within the bounds of the test. Her mind raced with constant calculations — trajectories, momentum, timing — all while carefully suppressing any hint of her other quirks. Each strike and maneuver had to look heroic but limited, strong but not overpowered.

A stray student nearly collided with one of the holographic targets, and Elara’s tendril shot out like molten lightning, catching him and spinning him safely away. Class 1-A murmured in awe, some of them instinctively backing away from the heat radiating from the Ember Lash’s ends.

Even Todoroki raised an eyebrow, ice forming faintly along his arm in recognition of her skill.

“She’s… precise, fast, and controlled. That’s… impressive,” he murmured.

Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow shifted slightly, protective but respectful, acknowledging her discipline and awareness.

As the drill continued, Bakugou’s sense of familiarity deepened, gnawing at the edge of his mind. Something about her — the way she moved, the way she controlled herself under pressure — pulled at his memory. He had no idea what it was, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was someone important, someone connected to a past he couldn’t yet place.

Elara finished the drill with a final flourish, Ember Lash coiling back into a neat spiral, molten tips dimming to a safe glow. She took a slow, controlled breath, maintaining the calm, heroic facade that had become her mask. Around her, Class 1-A stared, whispering, still awestruck by her skill, her timing, her uncanny control.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, between focus and pretense, she acknowledged a single, fleeting thought: Bakugou notices me. And maybe that’s okay… for now.

~~~~~

The next phase of the test was announced: the baseball throw. Each student had to strike moving targets while keeping control over their quirk’s range and impact. The horn blared again, and the first spheres shot toward the students, rapid and unpredictable.

Elara’s Ember Lash coiled lightly at her wrists, molten tips glowing faintly. She didn’t hesitate. With a graceful flick of her wrist, a tendril shot forward, striking the first ball mid-flight. The molten whip wrapped around it, controlling its spin and trajectory before flinging it with precise force to hit the target dead center. Each motion was fluid, seamless — a dance of speed, strength, and accuracy.

Midoriya’s eyes widened as he scribbled furiously in his notebook. Every throw she made was calculated, deliberate, and controlled to perfection. He could barely keep up with the patterns she was creating, the way she read the balls’ angles and the timing of her own movements. His admiration grew exponentially with each strike.

“Incredible… her control, her foresight… she’s… she’s perfect,” Midoriya whispered under his breath, not daring to look away.

Bakugou, however, felt a sting of irritation gnawing at him. His crimson eyes followed her every movement, tense and alert. Each precise throw, each flawless reaction, each calculated redirection of the baseballs made his fists clench tighter.

Damn it… she’s good. Too good. Is she… going to surpass me?

And beneath that frustration was the unsettling, gnawing feeling he couldn’t shake: that familiarity he felt whenever she moved, whenever she struck with the Ember Lash. Something about her — her poise, her instinctive timing — tugged at a memory he couldn’t place.

Elara didn’t falter, even sensing the subtle glare from Bakugou. Her focus was absolute. Ember Lash struck again and again, each baseball finding its mark. Occasionally, she would allow a student to catch or hit a target slightly off-center, giving the illusion of fairness, of restraint, so no one would suspect that this was only one of many abilities she could wield.

Midoriya’s admiration grew into something more than awe — a fascination with the way she could simultaneously command power, protect her peers, and maintain composure. Every throw she made seemed to defy expectation.

“How… how can someone be this controlled?” he muttered, pencil pausing over his notebook.

Bakugou ground his teeth. His pride screamed at him — she was excelling without strain, without hesitation, and the thought that she might surpass him in skill, even as a new student, ignited a spark of competitiveness he couldn’t ignore.

And… why do I feel like I’ve seen her before?

He clenched his fists tighter, refusing to let himself dwell on it. But the sense of familiarity lingered, gnawing at him as Elara’s Ember Lash danced through the air, flawlessly striking every target in her path.

By the time the final baseball was thrown, the field was quiet except for the soft hum of molten energy from her Ember Lash as it retracted neatly around her wrists. Class 1-A stared, awe-struck. Midoriya’s mouth hung open slightly, eyes wide.

“She… she’s incredible,” he whispered, notebook forgotten.

Bakugou, meanwhile, scowled, jaw tight, chest rising and falling rapidly. His pride, frustration, and that unplaceable sense of familiarity churned within him. He didn’t want to admit it — but part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t just another new student.

Elara smiled faintly, calm and collected, hiding the storm beneath her surface. For now, she remained the perfect number-one student, the flawless hero in everyone’s eyes, while the threads of recognition and rivalry quietly began to coil around Bakugou.

~~~~~

Bakugou stormed a few paces away from the drill area, fists clenched so tight that his knuckles ached. He had just watched her — Nyx, the new student — tear through the baseball throw with effortless precision. Every throw, every dodge, every calculated strike of Ember Lash had been flawless. And yet… something about her gnawed at him, deeper than frustration at being outshone.

What the hell is it with her? he muttered under his breath, jaw tight.

It wasn’t just her skill. He had faced prodigies before — students stronger, faster, cleverer than anyone else in his year. But there was something different about her. The way she moved, the way she held herself under pressure… the way her Ember Lash seemed almost alive, bending with instinctive grace. It radiated power, yes — but it wasn’t only that. It was energy. Presence. Confidence. Something he couldn’t touch, couldn’t mimic, and couldn’t stop noticing.

And that made him furious.

Damn it… I don’t even know her, and I can’t stop thinking about her. What the hell is that feeling?

It wasn’t jealousy in the usual sense — at least, he didn’t want to admit it. But the way the class whispered, their awe obvious, the way Midoriya’s wide-eyed admiration radiated from him, it was… irritating.

So everyone else is in awe of her… why can’t I just ignore her?

And then there was that subtle, gnawing sense — a spark in the back of his mind that whispered something he couldn’t quite place: familiarity. A feeling that tugged at him every time she moved or spoke. That feeling made his stomach twist.

I’ve seen her somewhere… or maybe… I know her. Maybe she’s hiding something. That’s it. She’s hiding something.

He ran a hand through his hair, scowling so hard it hurt. He wanted to confront her, to call her out, to push her and see what she would do. He wanted to break past the calm, composed exterior, to see if she was as perfect as she appeared, or if there was something underneath — some flaw he could exploit.

I’ll… I’ll figure it out. One way or another, I’ll get to the bottom of this.

The frustration coiled tighter in his chest than any training fight ever had. It wasn’t just about skill, or competition, or pride. Something about Nyx (Elara) — her energy, her precision, her presence — rattled him. And the more he tried to ignore it, the more he realized he couldn’t.

Bakugou ground his teeth, crimson eyes blazing.

Damn it… I hate feeling like this. But I can’t let it go. Not now.

He clenched his fists again, not just with irritation, but with a strange need to confront her, to test her, to figure out exactly who — or what — she was.

Chapter Text

The field had quieted after the drill. Class 1-A was gathering their things, still whispering about Elara’s skill, but she had already slipped away, needing a moment to herself. Ember Lash coiled softly around her wrists, molten tips dimmed to a faint glow, heat dissipating into the morning air. She leaned against a stone wall, eyes scanning the empty field beyond, forcing her heartbeat to slow.

A sudden slam beside her startled her. Sparks danced where a hand struck the wall — Bakugou. Crimson eyes burned into her with an intensity that made her chest tighten.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, voice sharp and dangerous.

Elara’s expression remained calm, bored even, though her pulse thundered.

“You’re in my space,” she murmured softly, measured.

“Tch, don’t give me that crap,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You fight like… like someone I knew. Someone I’ve never stopped thinking about.”

Her lips curved into a soft laugh — careful, controlled, but laced with tension.

“People disappear all the time,” she said, tone deliberately casual.

“Don’t give me that!” Bakugou’s voice grew lower, dangerous. “You move like them… your stance, the way you react… You’re exactly like her. Tell me — who the hell are you really?”

Elara’s hands twitched slightly, Ember Lash instinctively shifting in her grip, though she retracted it immediately. Her voice stayed soft, calm.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?!” Bakugou took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen plenty of skilled fighters in my life. But none of them… none of them feel like this. The way you move, your timing, the way you think — it’s like I’m staring at someone from my past!”

Elara’s pulse quickened. His suspicion, his intensity, struck a nerve she thought she had long buried. She tilted her head slightly, forcing a faint smile.

“You’re mistaken. Stop insisting on something that isn’t there.”

“Mistaken?!” His voice cracked with frustration, heat and disbelief mixing in his glare. “I know her. I’ve known her forever! You’re hiding something, I can feel it. And don’t even try to tell me it’s just skill — you aren’t just skilled. You are her, aren’t you?!”

Elara’s jaw tightened, every instinct screaming to remain composed. Her eyes flickered briefly to Ember Lash, coiling lightly, then relaxed again. She stepped back, putting deliberate distance between them, her voice sharper now.

“I told you — you’re wrong. Whatever connection you think you have… it isn’t real.”

“It is real!” His fists clenched, sparks erupting at his knuckles. “Your movements, your energy… it’s you! I don’t care what the hell mask you’re wearing, what quirk you’re hiding — it’s you! Elara…?”

The name landed like a hammer blow. Her breath caught in her throat, the mask of calm cracking for the briefest second. Fear, hope, and longing collided, fiery and raw.

“…” she choked out, swallowing hard, forcing herself past him. Her steps were deliberate, cold, sharp. “You’re mistaken. I am not who you think I am.”

Bakugou’s crimson eyes narrowed, pupils blazing. Every instinct screamed at him that she was lying, yet the subtle cues — the familiarity in her stance, the way she held herself, the precision in her movements — were undeniable. He didn’t move back. He leaned closer, voice low, dangerous, insistent.

“I don’t care what you say. I know it’s you. And I’m not letting you disappear again. Not now. Not ever.”

Elara’s chest tightened. Her carefully built mask of composure felt heavier, the Ember Lash coiling faintly at her wrists as if aware of her tension. She forced herself to keep her voice steady.

“Then stay out of my way.”

But Bakugou didn’t back down. His fists relaxed slightly, but his gaze didn’t falter. The fire of recognition and frustration burned brighter than ever, and deep down, a dangerous promise lingered: he wasn’t going to let her hide, no matter how much she tried.

And for the first time in years, Elara felt the weight of her past pressing close — the part of her she had buried, the name she had hidden, and the connection she had tried to sever — all staring back at her in the crimson blaze of Bakugou’s eyes.

~~~~~

The next morning, Elara woke to the faint hum of the hideout. The warehouse was cold, drafty, and unmistakably temporary — a place the League had been forced to settle in. All For One didn’t offer much in the way of comfort or safety, only a fixed allowance each month. Her brother, Shigaraki, did his best to find them spaces that were at least livable for short stretches, but none came with heat, air conditioning, or anything resembling normalcy. She couldn’t blame him; the League didn’t exactly have the luxury of civilian apartments.

Voices carried through the metal beams above.

“Twice, that’s my coffee!”

“Relax, it’s not like it matters!”

Elara stifled a soft chuckle, leaning back against the wall. Hey, that’s my job, Twice, she thought, amused despite herself.

She took her time preparing for the day at UA. The turtleneck she chose was a deep pthalo green, designed to cover the coils of Ember Lash that occasionally wrapped around her neck and throat without anyone noticing. Tight black jeans clung to her frame, accentuating her figure while maintaining mobility, and she added subtle gold accessories for a hint of elegance. Her hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders, eyeliner and mascara carefully applied to give her eyes a sharp, controlled presence. She brushed her teeth methodically, every action deliberate, every motion part of the mask of composure she wore for the outside world.

By the time she reached the main floor of the warehouse, the argument had escalated, Dabi’s laughter cutting through Twice’s protests.

Elara allowed herself a brief smile, the faintest spark of normalcy before slipping into the persona she would wear at UA. For today, she would be the perfect student, Ember Lash controlled, every quirk hidden, and every move calculated. But beneath the mask, the tension of the League, the shadow of her father, and the pull of her own desires lingered — a storm she could never fully hide.

“There’s my little princess!” Dabi’s voice softened as he noticed Elara entering the warehouse.

Since she’d joined the League, he’d been quietly falling for her, head over heels, though she had always ignored it, dismissing it as irrelevant, unreal.

“Hi, Firestarter. How are you?” Elara replied smoothly, slipping her hand around the fresh cup of coffee he had just poured for himself and taking a long, deliberate sip.

Dabi’s eyes widened. “Really? I just made that… Twice drank my first one.” His voice carried a faint whine, almost sheepish.

Elara smirked without looking at him. “You love me, so shut it and let me enjoy the delicious coffee.”

Immediately, Dabi’s expression softened. He moved to pour himself another cup, this time preparing a third mug for himself, muttering under his breath.

Meanwhile, Twice was staring at her, frozen mid-motion, an unusual intensity in his gaze. There was something different about her today — the way she carried herself, the subtle energy radiating off her.

“Yes, Jin?” she asked lightly, not turning to face him.

Twice blinked, taken aback. He’d known her for years, yet her perception — the way she could notice things without looking — still surprised him.

“You… you look very pretty today.” One voice said.
“You look depressed and dead on the inside.” The other added.

Elara tilted her head, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. Even among the League, she maintained her mask — playful, teasing, precise — while every flicker of thought and observation reminded her that she was always balancing appearances with the weight of what she truly was.

“Why, thank you, my humble and loyal servant. And thank you as well, Jin,” Elara said lightly, blowing a playful kiss toward both personas.

Dabi’s eyes went wide. “Why don’t you ever blow me kisses?” he gasped, voice tinged with mock outrage.

Elara tilted her head, smirking but speaking with quiet seriousness. “Because Jin is a precious, sweet soul… and you’re a pyromaniac.”

Dabi sputtered, but before he could argue, she clapped her hands together. “I gotta get going! Can’t be late for a mission!” Her voice rang out as she moved toward the warehouse exit, Ember Lash safely hidden beneath her turtleneck.

Once she was outside, the mask slipped. Her playful, teasing demeanor faded, and the cracks in her composure let her real thoughts through.

This is going to be a lot harder than I thought, she admitted to herself, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation with Katsuki gnawing at her. The sharp edge of his voice, the intensity of his glare, the familiarity she couldn’t escape — it lingered in her chest like a wound she wasn’t sure she wanted to heal.

Her stride remained steady, outwardly confident, but inside, doubt and tension twisted with determination. Balancing the mission her father had set, the League’s expectations, and the dangerous pull of her own emotions — especially those tied to Katsuki — was going to test her in ways she wasn’t yet ready to face.

~~~~~

Bakugou slumps back in his chair, jaw tight, as Midoriya rambles on with that breathless excitement of his.

“…and her quirk control is insane—like, even Aizawa-sensei seemed impressed—”

Each word is another match striking inside Katsuki’s chest.
Nyx. Elara. Whatever the hell her name really is.
Everyone’s been talking about her since the moment she walked into the room — about her power, her confidence, the way she moves like she already owns the battlefield.

And it’s pissing him off.

“Tch. Like she’s that damn special,” he mutters under his breath. But Midoriya keeps going, oblivious.

Bakugou’s pen snaps between his fingers.

Finally, he explodes.

“Oi!” he snaps, voice sharp enough to slice the air. “Shut your damn mouth already! No one gives a crap about the new girl!”

The classroom goes silent. Heads turn.
Ashido raises a brow. Sero glances at Kaminari.
They’ve heard Bakugou angry — but this is different. Sharper. Bitter.

Midoriya blinks at him, startled. “K-Kacchan? I was just—”

“I don’t care what you were ‘just’!” Bakugou snarls, fists trembling. “I’m sick of hearing about her like she’s some kind of god!”

He looks away quickly, ears hot, heartbeat too loud.
Because underneath all that fury is something he refuses to name —

Recognition.
Suspicion.
A pull he doesn’t understand.

And it scares him more than he’ll ever admit.

Bakugou’s glare stays fixed on his desk, knuckles white, breaths uneven. The silence around him feels like a spotlight — like everyone can see through him.

Then the classroom door slides open.

Boots. A steady stride.
A presence that steals the air from the room.

Elara steps inside.

Her expression is unreadable, mask perfectly in place — but her eyes sweep the room with quiet calculation…
and land right on him.

For a fraction of a second —
Bakugou forgets how to breathe.

Those eyes.
That fire.
Something about them claws at buried memories he’s tried to incinerate.

Elara’s gaze flickers. Not softening — just noticing.
As if she can feel the heat of his anger from across the room.

“A-Ah! Nyx! Good morning!” Midoriya stammers, waving far too eagerly.

She doesn’t look away from Bakugou.

“Morning,” she replies, cool and controlled — but the word feels like it’s meant only for him.

Bakugou’s jaw clenches. His chair screeches as he stands abruptly.

“Tch. Move,” he growls at a cluster of desks blocking his path — but he’s not heading for the door.

He marches straight toward her.

The class watches, breath held.

He stops just inches away — sparks rippling across his palms.

“You think you can walk in here and act like you own the place?” he bites out, voice low and dangerous. “News flash — you’re nothing special.”

Elara’s lips curve in the slightest smirk — the kind that says she sees right through him.

“Funny,” she murmurs, leaning in just enough for him to feel her breath, “I could say the same to you.”

A single heartbeat.
Explosive tension.

Aizawa enters then — the only thing preventing a war.

“Seats. Now.”
His tired voice cuts through the moment like a blade.

Bakugou stalks back to his desk, fury radiating off him like heat waves.
Elara brushes past him… and there’s a whisper of familiarity in the way her shoulder grazes his.

It rattles them both.

Underneath the anger, the suspicion, the sharp words —
there’s a truth neither is ready to face:

They already know each other far too well.

~~~~~

Bakugou drops into his seat like the chair insulted him personally. His palms still crackle with leftover sparks he can’t shut off.

Because she’s right there.

Elara slides into the desk ahead of him, crossing one leg over the other with casual elegance — but everything about her feels like a challenge. The back of her phthalo-green sweater reveals just the slightest glimpse of the black and ember markings coiled beneath.

His eyes lock on it before he can stop himself.

Dammit.
Why can’t he look away?

She reeks of power — a weight in the air that pushes against his own. And yet… there’s something hauntingly familiar. Like a shadow of a memory just out of reach.

He hates it.

Up front, Aizawa drones through the lesson — something about hero ethics — but Bakugou hears none of it.
Every time Elara lifts her hand to tuck a curl behind her ear, his attention snaps to her. Every time she breathes, he catches it like a spark to gasoline.

Around them, the class notices.

Mina’s eyes ping-pong between the two with a grin that spells dangerous ideas.
Kirishima nudges Kaminari, whispering behind his textbook.
Even Todoroki glances up, curious.

Midoriya scribbles frantic notes about Elara’s quirk potential — but keeps shooting worried looks at Bakugou, like he expects him to explode any second.

He’s not far off.

Meanwhile, Elara’s pulse is misbehaving.
She can feel the heat of Bakugou’s stare burning holes into her back.
She tries — really tries — to focus on Aizawa’s monotone lecture.

But all she can think about is yesterday.
His voice.
That fire in his eyes.
Those hands reaching for her collar — lightning fast — the exact same way they used to in training games when they were kids.

Stop.
She squeezes her pen too tight.
He can’t be Katsuki.
He can’t remember her.
He can’t be dangerous in that way again.

She glances over her shoulder.

Their eyes meet.

The impact is instant — a punch to both hearts.

Bakugou feels the world drop out from under him.
Her eyes carry storms he knows he’s seen before… somewhere between childhood summers and a promise he barely remembers making.

Elara’s breath trembles before she can steel it.
Her mask cracks — not enough for anyone else to notice…

…but enough for Bakugou.

Something in his chest twists violently.

The room is silent except for Aizawa’s dry voice — but the air between them is screaming.

Why do I know you? his eyes demand.

Please don’t remember me, hers beg.

It’s a war neither chose —
but fate just placed them on the front line.

And everyone in Class 1-A can feel the spark before the explosion.

Chapter Text

Elara’s lungs feel too tight for the hallways of UA.

She needs silence. She needs distance. She needs to breathe without someone watching.

The rooftop air hits her like a quiet slap — crisp, real, grounding. From up here, everything below seems peaceful… almost normal.

Almost.

She presses two fingers to the tiny earpiece hidden beneath her hair.

Static — then a voice that slithers right into her bones.

All For One.

“Report, darling Elara,” he croons.
“Tell me my sacrifice in raising you has not been wasted.”

Her heart clenches.
His voice always feels like a chain.

“I’m in Class 1-A,” she says. “They trust me. The mission is on track.”

A slow breath, a soft chuckle.

“My perfect weapon,” he whispers.
“You’re playing the hero beautifully. They really believe you’re one of them?”

His laughter stings, because yes — they do.
And a part of her wants them to.

Elara forces steel into her voice. “It’s not difficult.”

Shigaraki breaks in — frustration and concern tangled together.

“Elara, forget him. How’s surveillance? Can you move freely?”

Finally — someone who sounds like family.

“It’ll be easy to manipulate security during USJ,” she says.
“I just need the exact timing.”

“You’ll have it,” Shigaraki replies, softer now.
“And hey… be careful, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

She almost smiles.

But AFO’s tone drops — sharp and hungry.

“You’re not getting attached, are you?”

The blood in her veins turns to ice.

“No.”

AFO hums — unconvinced.

“You remember what happens to things I own if they think they’re free?”

Her throat closes.

“You break them,” she says quietly.

“And rebuild them better,” he finishes, sweet again.
“I don’t want to break you, my little Ember. I love you.”

His love is a weapon.
Always has been.

She doesn’t respond — doesn’t trust her voice.

“Elara…” AFO’s tone swivels back to pure threat, “don’t disappoint me.”

The line cuts.

Elara stands in the silence that follows, breath shaking, nails digging crescents into her palm. Her eyes burn — not with tears.

With rage.

She almost doesn’t hear the door.

Almost.

But her instincts always warn her a second too soon.

Todoroki steps forward, hands in his pockets, face unreadable — except for the faint crease in his brow.

“I heard enough,” he says quietly.

Her walls snap back up — fast, flawless, practiced.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” he agrees.
“But someone needed to make sure you were okay.”

She laughs, sharp and brittle.
“I’m fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he replies, stepping closer.

The wind lifts her hair — and for a moment she feels exposed. Like he can see every shard she hides under her skin.

He holds her gaze.
Unflinching. Soft but unwavering.

“You looked… like you were in pain,” he says.
“And whoever that was… they enjoy causing it.”

Elara’s lips part — surprise flickering across her face.

She isn’t used to people noticing when she hurts.
Pain is something she survives alone.

“It’s complicated,” she whispers.

Todoroki nods once — like he respects that answer, but isn’t satisfied with it.

“You deserve better than whoever that is,” he says.
“Hero or villain.”

Her breath stumbles.

No one has ever told her she deserves anything.

He turns to the door — and then pauses.

“If you ever need someone to talk to… I don’t mind listening.”

Elara’s voice is small when it escapes her.

“Why?” she asks.
“You don’t even know me.”

Todoroki’s expression softens — barely noticeable, but real.

“I know what it’s like,” he murmurs, “to be controlled by someone who thinks you exist for their purpose.”

The truth hits her like a bruise.

For a heartbeat — raw, painful understanding passes between them.

She nods, grateful in silence.

He opens the door, waiting for her to walk beside him.

She does.

And neither of them say it aloud — but something just shifted.

Bakugou sees everything.

He leans against a hidden corner of the stairwell — jaw tight, fists clenched so hard sparks burst against his palms.

Todoroki walking with her.
Todoroki comforting her.

His teeth grit.

Why does it feel like she’s slipping through his fingers when he doesn’t even have a hold on her yet?

Why does Todoroki look at her like he already knows her?

Why does she look back like she wants to be known?

The jealousy isn’t loud.

It’s quiet.
Heavy.
Like suffocation.

And beneath it — a deeper panic.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is starting to remember:

A girl with fire in her smile.
A girl who never bowed.
A girl who left him behind.

He watches them disappear down the stairs, and the certainty settles like ash in his lungs:

She’s hiding something.
And he’s going to tear down every wall she builds until he finds the truth.

Even if it destroys him.

~~~~~

Back at the hideout, a storm brews that has nothing to do with quirks.

Shigaraki slams his hand against the wall — the concrete cracking under Decay’s threat before he forces himself to pull back.

“That bastard,” he spits — pacing like a feral animal trapped in too-small skin.

Dabi sits on the arm of the couch, leg bouncing, cigarette burning low.
He wasn’t present for the call — but he saw Elara’s face when she returned.

Her smile was wrong —
tighter
colder
shaken.

“What did he say this time?” Dabi asks, voice unusually level.
He already knows he won’t like the answer.

Shigaraki’s nails dig into his own throat as he speaks:

“He accused her of getting attached. Like she isn’t allowed feelings unless he gives them to her.”

Dabi’s jaw locks — smoke curling from his lips like fury escaping.

“He loves controlling her,” he mutters.
“Breaking her just to see if she’ll crawl back.”

Kurogiri steps forward — the only calm in the room.

“She has been strong for a long time,” he says gently.
“But even strength has limits.”

Twice wrings his hands, voices overlapping.

“She’s hurting—
No she’s fine—
We should help—
We’ll make it worse—”

Shigaraki turns to all of them — teeth bared with a protective rage even he doesn’t fully understand.

“She’s our family,” he snaps.
“Not his toy.”

Family.

The word settles heavy in the air.

Dabi flicks the ash from his cigarette with a scoff — but there’s fire in his eyes that isn’t from his quirk.

“I swear,” he says, voice low and lethal,
“If he lays a hand on her again — I’ll burn his sorry corpse to f*cking dust.”

Shigaraki nods, a cruel grin twisting across his face.

“If he wants to play father,” he murmurs,
“then he needs to remember parents can be replaced.”

Twice slams his fist into his palm.

“We protect her—
We protect her—
We protect her.”

And for once — both voices agree.

In the swirling silence, Kurogiri fades into mist.

“I will watch over her,” he promises.
“She won’t be alone.”

Their resolve hardens into something dangerous.

Because the League of Villains wasn’t built on love.

But they will burn the world to protect the one person who gave them a reason to feel it.

~~~~~

The hallway outside the dorms is quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that leaves space for thoughts Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t want to have.

And then he sees him.

Todoroki.
Calm. Composed. Walking away from the roof like nothing happened.

Bakugou’s blood spikes.

He doesn’t think — he grabs.

He fists Todoroki’s uniform and slams him into the wall hard enough that dust rains from the cracks.

“What the hell were you doing with her?” Bakugou snarls, explosions crackling in his palm — bright and furious.

Todoroki’s eyes widen only slightly.

“We talked.”

“That’s it?” Bakugou scoffs, leaning closer, voice low with threat.
“You don’t talk to people unless you want something from them.”

Todoroki studies him, slow and deliberate.

“She was upset,” he says calmly.
“I didn’t think she should be alone.”

Bakugou’s grip tightens — because that answer hits too close to something real. Something dangerous.

“There’s something off about her,” he mutters.
“She’s hiding something.”

Todoroki doesn’t deny it.

“And that bothers you?”
Not a taunt. Just a question.

Bakugou grits his teeth.

“She shows up out of nowhere. Number freakin’ one. Acting like she’s better than everyone.”
His voice drops — quieter, more raw:
“Like she already knows us.”

Todoroki’s eyes narrow — not in suspicion of her, but of him.

“You’re watching her,” he says.
“More than anyone else.”

Bakugou’s chest tightens — sudden heat rising behind his ribs.

“I watch threats,” he snaps.

Todoroki’s stare softens — a shift so subtle most would miss it. Not Bakugou.

“You looked angry,” Todoroki says,
“But your eyes looked… hurt.”

Bakugou’s breath catches — a fraction, but enough.

He shoves Todoroki harder, voice breaking into a rough whisper:

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“No,” Todoroki agrees, tone quiet.
“But I know what denial looks like.”

They stand locked in a standoff — heat against ice — two prodigies built from pressure and expectation.

Todoroki finally speaks again, slower this time:

“If you think she is dangerous… then you should figure out why you care.”

Bakugou freezes.

Care?

He scoffs — a shaky, defensive sound.

“I’m warning you,” he growls, backing a step away, fists trembling.
“Stay out of whatever’s going on with her.”

Todoroki doesn’t flinch.

“If she needs someone,” he replies,
“I’ll be there. Whether you like it or not.”

Bakugou’s heart gives a painful, unfamiliar lurch.

He hates it.
He hates all of it.

So he turns away before Todoroki can see the panic burning behind his glare.

But Todoroki watches him leave — thoughtful.

Because he’s seen it before:

The look of someone terrified of losing what they haven’t even admitted they want.

~~~~~

The dorm halls fall silent long before Elara feels safe enough to move.

She lies still in her new bed — the sheets soft, clean… foreign. The ticking of the clock only amplifies the pounding in her head. She checks the time again:

01:32 AM.
Everyone asleep… or pretending to be.

She slips from her bed, moving with a predator’s precision. Ember Lash coils faintly under her skin — a quiet warning, a hum of unease she doesn’t want to acknowledge. Her boots are silent against the floor. She avoids the creaky board beside Mina’s door. Navigates past Midoriya’s mumbling. And especially:

She avoids looking toward Bakugou’s room.
Toward the faint trace of familiarity her chest aches to fall into.

Focus. Mission. Father.

She slips out the window and drops from the first floor, her landing absorbed by enhanced instincts. The moonlight paints her in streaks of black and green as she disappears through the treeline — toward the last place someone like her should return to.

Toward home.

The rusted sliding door screeches as she enters. The air smells like smoke, metal, and the faintest trace of blood — grounding her in a way UA never could. Eyes immediately lift toward her.

Shigaraki’s game controller pauses mid-click.
Dabi perks up, cigarette glowing like a second set of eyes.
Twice waves enthusiastically and nervously at once.
Kurogiri inclines his vaporous head.

“You’re late,” Shigaraki mutters — but he’s already standing, inspecting her like he’s checking for wounds.

“Elaraaa!” Twice shouts, then whispers, “You good? You not good.”

She forces a smile — one Dabi doesn’t buy for a second.

“You look like shit,” he states bluntly.
Then, softer:
“C’mere.”

She tries to wave him off, but Dabi grabs her wrist and pulls her onto the couch beside him. His voice drops, rougher but stripped of flames:

“What did he say to you this time?”

The warmth of the warehouse walls suddenly feels suffocating.

“Nothing.”
Her voice is too even.

Shigaraki laughs — a harsh, broken sound.

“You think we’re stupid?” His eyes narrow under the mess of white hair.
“You flinched when I said his name.”

Kurogiri sets a warm mug in her hand — herbal tea he somehow always just knows she needs.

Dabi leans back, arms crossed.

“He’s ripping you apart and expecting you to thank him for it.”
He taps ashes into an overflowing dish.
“And don’t tell me that doesn’t hurt.”

Her jaw tightens — teeth grinding against the truth.

“It doesn’t,” she lies.

Twice’s two voices argue:

“It does!”
“It doesn’t!!”

“It does,” Dabi snaps, glaring fiercely.
“And if he keeps using that twisted mind game shit, I’m taking his head off myself.”

Shigaraki’s hands twitch dangerously — not toward her this time, but for her.

“We don’t answer to him,” he says, and the conviction is real.
“He doesn’t own us. He doesn’t own you.”

Her breath catches.

Because for all their destruction…
this is the only place she’s allowed to be fragile.

Kurogiri finally speaks — low, calm, protective:

“You are ours. Not his.”

Her chest burns, a quiet ache — relief and terror tangled into one.

She swallows.

“We have to talk about USJ.”

The shift in atmosphere is instant — like a blade drawn.

Dabi snuffs his cigarette, smirking.

“About time we shook up UA’s shiny little safety bubble.”

Shigaraki grabs a thick folder, tossing it onto the table.

“So here’s the deal,” he says, posture sharpening with purpose:

Phase One: Kurogiri warps us in. Surprise is everything.
Phase Two: Cause fear. Chaos. Break morale.
Phase Three: Find All Might. Remove him.

Elara feels the weight of those words — of her part in them.

“And me?” she asks.

Shigaraki looks her in the eye — truly looks.

“You keep Bakugou safe.”

She freezes — pupils contracting.

“What? Why him?”

Shigaraki shrugs, trying to sound unaffected:

“He’s powerful. And if Father wants you to bring him in eventually, he needs to stay alive.”

Her lungs squeeze— too tight — because the truth is crueler than his explanation:

Bakugou is the first piece of her heart she ever lost.

“And if I can’t save him without blowing my cover?” she asks, voice cracking like ice underfoot.

“Then,” Shigaraki says gently,
“You save him anyway.”

Dabi’s hand lands over hers — heat seeping through her gloves.

“We know you’re not a killer,” he mutters.
“Not by choice.”

Elara trembles — just once — the cracks in her armor showing.

I can’t keep doing this.
I can’t keep lying.
I can’t keep loving people I’m ordered to destroy.

She forces herself to stand, pushing back every emotion burning for release.

“I’ll handle it.”

Her voice is steady — the perfect mask.

But her heart is already falling apart.

Chapter Text

Elara slips back into UA grounds under the last shade of night — exhaustion settling deep in her bones. Her boots barely touch the grass as she scales the side of the dorm building, fingertips glowing faintly with power she refuses to unleash.

She ghosts through the window frame and lands silently—

—or so she thinks.

A shadow shifts in the hallway.

A voice — low, sharp enough to slice the dark:

“Thought you were slick, huh?”

Bakugou.

He steps forward from the corner like he was carved out of the shadows themselves. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes blazing unspoken questions. His messy blond hair is damp, towel draped around his neck — like he’d been pacing, too keyed up to sleep.

Or like he’d been waiting for someone.

Elara freezes — her chest a storm.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” she manages.

His scoff is quiet but venomous.

“Shouldn’t you?”
A beat.
“Where the hell were you?”

Her mask snaps into place.

“None of your business.”

Bakugou steps closer — too close.
Close enough she smells caramel smoke and heat.

“I make it my business,” he growls, “when someone sneaks around acting like a damn villain.”

Elara’s heart stutters painfully.

He doesn’t know how right he is.

“Move,” she whispers.

“No.”
He plants his feet.
“You think I haven’t noticed? You disappear. You’re hiding shit. And every time I look at you—”

His breath shudders — barely perceptible.

“—I feel like something bad’s gonna happen.”

Her nails dig into her palms.

Don’t crack. Don’t show him.

“Elara, my bad, Nyx” he says her name like it’s a secret only he should know — softer than he ever allows.

Her eyes rise to meet his, and—

The world falls away.

Familiarity burns bright in his gaze — recognition clawing at memories neither of them can fully reach. And he hates himself for caring. She sees it — every emotion he’s desperately trying to crush.

“So tell me,” he pushes, voice rough,
“What are you running from?”

She swallows.

“A nightmare,” she whispers.

His expression shifts — surprise softening his hard stare.

Before she can escape, he grips her wrist — gently but firmly — grounding her in a way that feels dangerous.

His voice drops to a whisper meant only for her:

“You can run like hell from everyone else.”
A beat.
“But not from me.”

She yanks her hand away, terrified by how much she needs him.

“That’s exactly who I have to run from.”

Her voice cracks—

—just once.

She turns away before he can see more, disappearing down the hall. Bakugou remains rooted to the spot, staring at his empty hand like it betrayed him.

His whispered confusion echoes in the dark:

“Why does it feel like I already lost you?”

~~~~~

Bakugou lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it personally insulted him.

Lights off.
Curtains drawn.
Dorm silent.

But his brain?

Screaming.

Every scene from the past week slams into him like explosions on repeat:

Elara walking into class like she’d been there before.
Elara flinching only when she thought no one could see.
Elara disappearing.
Elara trembling beneath his hand — but only when he got too close.
And that rooftop… with Todoroki.

His fingers curl into fists at the memory.

He growls and flips over, burying his face into the pillow — only to fling it across the room a second later.

“Damn it!”

It wasn’t just her behavior.
It was the way she made him feel — and that scared the hell out of him.

There’s something inside his chest — pounding and clawing — trying to remember something he swears he’s forgotten.

He turns onto his back again, one arm draped over his eyes.

And then there’s that name.

Elara.

He’d snapped once — frustrated, needing to get a rise out of her — and that name had slipped out like muscle memory. Like he’d said it a thousand times growing up.

Like he was supposed to know it.

Like he was supposed to know her.

But instead of correcting him like last time, instead of brushing it off, she just… froze.

It hit her.
Hard.

And he saw every shield she tried to weld around herself crack from the inside.

He can’t forget the look in her eyes.

A look that only someone who knew him before would have ever had.

He clenches a fist over his chest, like he’s trying to physically crush that aching familiarity.

“Who the hell are you?” he whispers into the dark.

And why do you feel like home?

No.
No.
No.

He doesn’t need anyone. He doesn’t want anyone.

Especially not someone who makes him feel—
confused
weak
vulnerable
hopeful
—

He groans, dragging his fingers through his hair.

This is ridiculous.

He’s Katsuki Bakugou.
He doesn’t feel lost.
He doesn’t get haunted.
He doesn’t yearn.

But she’s there — under his skin, behind his ribs — a ghost of someone he swore he never knew.

Every instinct tells him she’s a threat.

Every instinct tells him he needs to protect her.

And that contradiction alone makes him furious.

He sits up — jaw tight, eyes burning into the dark.

If she thinks she can keep secrets from him… she’s dead wrong.

Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t just want answers — he needs them.

And this time?

He’s not letting her run.

He promises the empty room — voice low, territorial, unshakeable:

“You’re gonna tell me the truth, Elara…
whether you want to or not.”

His heartbeat spikes — not with just anger.

With fear.

With longing.

With something he refuses to name.

The war inside him has officially begun.

~~~~~

The classroom air feels heavier than usual — like static right before a storm.

Elara slips quietly into her seat, eyes forward, posture perfect.
Her heartbeat is the only thing out of line — loud enough she fears someone could hear it.

Last night’s confrontation with Bakugou hasn’t left her lungs.
Or her pulse.
Or her thoughts.

She can still feel the heat of his breath when he cornered her.
The way the name she buried — Elara — tore its way out of him as if it belonged to him.

She forces her gaze away.

He can’t know. He can’t. He can’t.

The door slams.

Bakugou walks in.

Not loud like usual — no shouting, no threats — just a predator entering the room, eyes zeroed on prey.

Her.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t break his stare.
Like she’s gravity and he’s furious about it.

Elara looks down at her desk, nails digging into her thigh beneath the table.

If he keeps staring…I might break.

⸻

Midoriya notices everything.

Her rigid shoulders.
Bakugou’s volatile silence.

He scribbles something in his notebook — a new section forming:

Nyx Nova — Quirk Assessment & Behavioral Study

She caught his eye the moment she arrived at UA — confident but haunted.
A girl with power too large for her frame and sadness tucked beneath her smirk.

She fascinates him.
Not like admiration.
Like… concern.

He leans forward, nearly whispering across the aisle:

“Nyx…? You okay?”

She doesn’t hear him.

Or maybe — she can’t afford to.

⸻

Todoroki sits three rows behind her.

Cold eyes, observant, calculating.

He’s thinking about the rooftop — about that voice that belittled her with chilling familiarity… about how she buckled under it.

Someone is hurting her.

Someone with power.

And Bakugou seems to know something.

His gaze flicks between them — reading every twitch, every silent exchange.

He doesn’t trust coincidences.

Especially ones that bleed fear.

⸻

Aizawa shuffles in — uniform disheveled, eyes half-open.

“Morning. Today we’re electing a class representative.”

He sounds like he’d rather be unconscious.

The class erupts — laughter, bragging, Kaminari proposing himself, Iida standing on a desk to declare the honor a sacred duty.

Energy everywhere.

Except a silent pocket of tension wrapping around the back corner.

Bakugou’s teeth are grinding — silently seething.

Every time someone praises Elara’s performance on day one…
Every time someone whispers about how incredible her quirk is…
Every time she doesn’t look at him…

His fists twitch toward explosions.

He doesn’t know what pisses him off more:

— The familiarity in her stance
— The lie in her eyes
— Or the ache in his chest when she’s near

He can’t stand it.

Because some stubborn, buried part of him knows that ache.
He’s felt it before.
Six years ago.

Before she vanished.

Before his heart learned how to armor itself in explosions.

His thoughts snarl:

If she really is Elara… why the hell is she lying?

And why does it hurt so much that she is?

⸻

Elara can feel him.
Every nerve screaming his attention.

Bakugou has always been like a star burning too close — too hot — too bright to look at directly.
He shines with everything she’s been told she can’t have:

Freedom.
Purpose.
Love.

And if he uncovers the truth?

She’ll lose him a second time.

And she can’t survive a second time.

She swallows the lump in her throat — hard enough to bruise her voice.

Don’t let him in. Don’t let him see you. Don’t let him save you.

Please. Let me be a stranger to you.

She stares at the chalkboard like it’s the only thing holding her together.

⸻

A vote is cast.

Iida makes a speech.

Mina makes sparkles.

Kirishima cheers something about manliness.

The class laughs and shouts and is wonderfully, blissfully alive.

But four students feel like the world has paused:

Elara — trembling under her armor of apathy
Bakugou — battling memories he can’t quite reach
Midoriya — curious and worried beyond reason
Todoroki — watching a tragedy forming in silence

Everyone else sees a normal day.

They don’t know that the air is cracking.

That secrets are about to detonate.

That a hero and a villain are falling back into each other’s orbits
— without meaning to
— without wanting to
— without any chance of stopping it

Aizawa continues lecturing.

And in the back, two hearts are breaking in slow motion.

Because they already know:

This is only the beginning of the end.

~~~~~

The final bell rings — freedom for everyone but two.

Chairs scrape. Laughter echoes. Class 1-A spills out of the room in scattered groups — plans for lunch, games, chatter.

But Elara stays frozen.
Bag clutched a little too tight.
Breath trapped under her ribs.

Bakugou stands slowly — no eruption, no yelling.
Just a silent promise in the clench of his jaw.

He stalks toward her like a fuse searching for fire.

“Hey.”

One word — but it slams into her like a shockwave.

Her eyes flick up, meeting that molten gaze — and her lungs lock.

He steps closer.

“You and me. We’re talking. Now.”

His tone is a command.
A plea.
A fear in disguise.

Elara swallows.
She can’t do this.
Not again.

“Katsuki… please. Not here—”

His eyes flare.

“That’s twice now you’ve said my name like you—”

Like you remember me.

His voice cuts off when a shadow stretches across them — cool and unyielding.

Todoroki.

He stops between them, posture calm but sharp as ice.

“Bakugou. Back off.”

Bakugou sneers, sparks crackling in his palm.

“The hell do you want, Half-n-Half?”

Todoroki’s expression doesn’t change.
His mismatched eyes flick to Elara, softening imperceptibly.

“She said not here. Respect that.”

Elara’s lips part — surprise choking her.

Someone listened.
Someone protected.

That… almost hurts.

Bakugou’s hand slams into Todoroki’s chest.

“You don’t get to step in. This is between me and her.”

Todoroki doesn’t budge.

“And right now, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“And what, you think she told you that?” Bakugou snaps.

He turns to Elara — and that’s worse.

He looks at her like she’s both angel and ghost.

“Elara— just tell me I’m wrong.”

Her heart stops.

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lie #42 in a lifetime of lies — but this one tastes like blood.

His expression shatters.
A mix of betrayal and fury and something that feels like heartbreak.

“Bullshit.”

The word nearly cracks.

⸻

Aizawa leans against the wall nearby — watching.
Silent.
Eyes narrowing.

He saw her sneak in late last night.
He saw the rooftop conversation.
He saw Bakugou’s haunted look all morning.

Dots begin connecting, and the picture isn’t good.

But he doesn’t interfere.

Not yet.

Because what’s unfolding is giving him exactly what he needs:

Information.

⸻

Todoroki steps closer to Elara, placing himself in front of her like a shield.

Bakugou sees it — and it ignites a wildfire under his skin.

That protectiveness.
Like Todoroki has some right—

Like Elara’s safety belongs to him.

Bakugou’s eyes narrow, voice dropping dangerously low:

“You don’t know a damn thing about her.”

Todoroki doesn’t flinch.

“I know enough to see she’s scared.”

That word detonates everything.

Elara’s breath stutters.

Bakugou reacts like he’s been hit.

“Elara doesn’t get scared.”

He says it like it’s fact.

Like he remembers.

Like he knows her better than she knows herself.

His voice cracks — barely noticeable — but she hears it.

“She was stronger than anyone.”

The past lies between them like shattered glass.

Elara’s vision blurs at the edges — panic clawing up her throat.

She can’t breathe.
She can’t be seen like this.

Not by him.
Not by them.

“Elara?” Todoroki murmurs, gentle yet confused.

Her eyes snap shut.

Attack. Run. Survive.

Lie.

“…You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

The tremble in her voice betrays her.

Bakugou’s face drains of color.

His anger collapses into hurt so raw she nearly reaches for him.

Then—

He rebuilds.
Barbed-wire defenses snapping back up.

“Fine. Fuck it.”

His voice is cold.

“If you wanna pretend, go ahead. But don’t think for a second I’m backing off.”

A vow more than a threat.

He turns sharply — shoulder slamming Todoroki’s as he leaves.

Sparks scatter behind him like burning regret.

⸻

Todoroki exhales, tension easing.

“Nyx…”

She steps back — glassy-eyed — walls slamming up.

“Don’t.”

One word.
Sharp.
Broken.

She grabs her bag and walks away — fast — before she crumbles.

Todoroki watches her go, his jaw tightening.

Whoever she is —
Whatever she’s running from —
He has no intention of letting her face it alone.

⸻

From across the hall, Aizawa’s eyes follow her until she disappears.

He pulls out his phone.
A message typed quickly:

Keep a close eye on Nova.
Something isn’t adding up.

He hits send.

Then looks after the two boys left smoldering in her wake.

This isn’t just another student conflict.

This is a fuse burning toward a disaster.

And it’s only a matter of time before it blows.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, miles away, the League of Villains was already moving. The hideout was alive with a calculated chaos.

Dabi moved through the room with his usual sharp movements, tossing tablets and papers across the table while muttering corrections. Shigaraki sat nearby, silent but aware, monitoring every quirk simulation and map overlay. Twice flitted between rooms, testing his duplicates’ timing against simulated UA defenses.

“All systems check,” Dabi barked, voice cutting through the low hum of machines. “USJ is today. Every detail — every route, every quirk trigger, every timing — it’s perfect. And Elara?”

Shigaraki’s eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. “She’s doing okay. For now. She knows her role, and she’s prepared. You don’t need to worry about her collapsing under pressure.”

Dabi scoffed, leaning against a wall. “She’s Elara Kuroyomi. Always pushing herself too far. I swear, if she’s hiding the weight she’s carrying…”

“Then she’ll handle it,” Shigaraki said quietly. “She always does.”

There was a brief pause — the quiet before the storm, the seconds before the city and UA itself would become the chessboard of chaos.

“And AFO?” Twice asked from across the room, voice jittery. “Did he…? Did he leave any new instructions for her?”

Shigaraki’s lips tightened. “He didn’t have to. He expects her to perform. He expects her to execute perfectly. That’s enough to drive anyone into… something.”

Dabi’s flame-like hair flickered as he muttered, “Somebody’s gonna have to keep her sane before the mission, or she’s gonna crack.”

Shigaraki’s jaw tightened. “She’s stronger than she looks. And stronger than you all give her credit for.”

⸻

Back at UA, Bakugou stormed across the campus toward the training grounds, fists sparking with suppressed energy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Nyx — Elara — was already nearby, watching, calculating, hiding. That knowledge made his blood burn.

He found her alone at the edge of the field, hood drawn slightly over her face, bag slung over her shoulder. The Ember Lash tendrils coiled faintly around her arms, invisible to everyone else but radiating an energy Bakugou felt in his bones.

“Elara,” he said, voice clipped, almost trembling with frustration. “We need to talk. Now.”

Her head snapped up — eyes wide. That same wall, that same mask of control she always wore, slammed into place.

“Bakugou,” she said carefully. “Not here. Not now.”

He stepped closer, fists still sparking. “You think I care about where? You’re hiding. You’re lying. And I know you’re Elara. Stop pretending, dammit!”

Her body stiffened, eyes narrowing. Ember Lash twitched as if sensing the storm emanating from him.

“I’m not—”

“You are! And I’m not letting you slip away again!” His voice roared, carrying the weight of years, memories, and a longing he couldn’t name. “Not again. You’re not going anywhere without me knowing everything.”

Her fingers tightened on her bag strap. She couldn’t afford to lose herself. Not to him. Not to anyone.

“I can’t. I… I can’t involve you in this. You’ll—”

“Die? Get hurt? Or maybe I don’t care!” His hands clench until sparks explode, but his voice cracks at the end. “I don’t care! I just… I don’t… I can’t lose you again!”

Her eyes widen — recognition, fear, longing, panic — all mixing in a whirlpool of emotion.

For a heartbeat, the world seems to stop.

Then Kirishima’s voice cuts from behind him, calm but firm: “Katsuki, step back. You’re going to make this worse. You can’t force her!”

Bakugou whirls, breathing heavy, eyes ablaze. “I don’t care! I can’t let her hide from me! Not now!”

Kirishima steps between them, hands raised. “Then calm the hell down before you burn the entire campus down!”

Bakugou glares at him but doesn’t move forward — not yet. The restraint is brittle, a thin veneer over a volcano waiting to erupt.

Elara backs away slowly, Ember Lash retracting, her chest tight. “Just… go,” she whispers. “Please. Go before you get hurt.”

Bakugou freezes, jaw flexing. “Go? You’re asking me to just walk away? From you?”

Her eyes glisten. She swallows hard. “Yes. Please.”

And yet, he can feel it — the truth behind every word, every motion, every hesitation.

He doesn’t move.

Because some truths are too dangerous to leave unspoken.

And some people… he can’t afford to lose.

Chapter Text

The air was heavy, thick with the scent of gasoline, concrete, and the faint tang of fear. UA’s campus felt unnaturally quiet, almost suspended in time. Students milled about, talking, laughing, joking — oblivious to the storm coming for them.

Elara sat on the edge of the small courtyard, legs drawn close, bag beside her, Ember Lash coiled invisibly around her arms like a lifeline she couldn’t afford to let anyone see. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Her mind was a war zone.

I can’t—
I can’t screw this up.
I can’t let him know. Not Bakugou. Not anyone.

Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag. Every memory, every flash of her life with him — him yelling, teasing, calling her Elara — clawed at her heart. But she had no right to feel. She couldn’t allow herself to care.

A faint rustle behind her made her jump. She turned sharply — green eyes wide, Ember Lash snapping slightly in response.

“Nyx?” A quiet, hesitant voice called.

Her shoulders tensed. Not Bakugou. Not him.

Midoriya stood a few feet away, hands raised slightly in a non-threatening stance, eyes wide and soft. “I… I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?”

Elara blinked, trying to compose herself, forcing her usual calm mask into place. She curled her arms around her knees. “I’m fine,” she said, voice brittle. “Just… thinking.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Midoriya said gently, taking a careful step closer. “You’ve been… you’re not yourself today.”

Her pulse thundered. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. She forces a small, sarcastic smile. “I’ve been… perfectly normal.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Midoriya said softly. His gaze didn’t waver, and somehow, that felt like a knife cutting straight through her armor. “I saw how you were in class, with the quirk tests… you’re… incredible. But scared, too. And… overwhelmed.”

Her chest tightens. He senses it. Not just her quirk, not just her skills, but the fear. The weight. The pull of everything she’s hiding.

She shakes her head, trying to dispel it. “You don’t… understand. You couldn’t.”

“I want to,” he says quietly. “If I can.”

She looks at him, really looks, and almost says too much. Almost lets the wall drop. But she can’t. Not now. Not with Bakugou so close in her thoughts, so close to the truth.

“I… I have to go,” she murmurs instead, rising to her feet. Ember Lash coils reflexively around her wrist, glowing faintly before disappearing back into subtle containment. “I have… errands.”

Midoriya frowns, hesitant. “Errands? Here? Right now?”

Her eyes dart away. She can’t answer honestly. Not that she even can. Her legs move before her mind can catch up, carrying her down the empty pathways of the campus. Midoriya follows cautiously, careful not to startle her.

⸻

Bakugou is a storm contained in human form. He paces in a quiet corner of the school grounds, just outside the training fields. His fists crackle with barely restrained energy. Sparks fly from the heels of his boots as he stomps, muttering under his breath.

Katsuki… calm down. Just breathe… Kirishima’s voice echoes in his memory, a tether he can’t reach.

He can’t.
He won’t.
Not when she’s out there.

His crimson eyes scan the courtyard, snapping to every shadow, every movement. His ears catch laughter and footsteps — ordinary, but every sound feels like a lie, like a trap. And then he sees her — just a flash of dark green and black at the far end, moving with purpose and grace.

His chest tightens. Every step she takes is a reminder of the home, the childhood, the bond he can’t explain, the longing he can’t name. And the anger. Oh, the anger — because she’s hiding from him.

He clenches his fists until his nails dig into his palms. “Dammit, why are you making this so hard…?”

He doesn’t notice Kirishima approaching again. “Katsuki, maybe—”

“I said don’t!” Bakugou snaps, eyes blazing. “I’m not letting her out of my sight today. Not after last night.”

Kirishima sighs, defeated. “I told you…”

⸻

Elara disappears into the shadows of the city streets near UA, careful, silent. Every heartbeat screams at her — the pounding of fear, the tension of anticipation, the ache of longing she can’t allow herself to feel.

If he sees me…

If Bakugou sees me…

I can’t risk him.

She finally reaches a quiet alley, pulling her phone out. Her fingers hover for a moment before tapping in the encrypted line to Shigaraki.

“Shigaraki… it’s me,” she whispers. Ember Lash coils lightly around her forearm, almost like a nervous tick.

“Are you alright?” he asks instantly, concern threading through his calm voice. “You sounded… unstable.”

“I’m… managing,” she murmurs. Her voice falters — just slightly. She hates that she falters. “AFO’s… making sure everything is going to plan. I can’t… let anyone see…”

“You won’t. I’ll make sure nothing interferes,” Shigaraki says quietly, steadying her, anchoring her even from miles away. “You’re doing fine. Remember that. You don’t have to handle everything alone, even if you think you do.”

Her throat tightens. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. But she swallows it down. Ember Lash constricts around her arm briefly, responding to her pulse.

“Right… right. I’ll be careful,” she says, voice steadier than she feels.

The conversation stretches, filling the alley with the weight of unspoken truths. Shigaraki’s patience, his gentle insistence, keeps her from unraveling completely — but only just.

Finally, she hangs up, pressing her back against the cold brick wall, chest heaving.

I can’t… I can’t let him know. Not today. Not now. Not ever…

⸻

Midoriya follows cautiously, watching her disappear into the alley. He doesn’t understand everything, but he feels the weight she carries. He swallows, determination setting in.

“Bakugou’s right,” he mutters softly. “She’s… she’s not just any student. And I… I need to be ready, too.”

⸻

And somewhere above the city, the League is moving with precision. Maps are laid out, routes memorized, quirk tests rehearsed. Dabi snaps orders, Shigaraki checks simulations, Twice keeps the timers synchronized.

“The stage is set,” Dabi mutters, eyes flicking to the clock. “USJ won’t know what hits it. And Nyx… Elara… she’s in position, and she’s ready. She has to be.”

Shigaraki’s gaze lingers on the monitors showing Elara’s movements across the city streets, worry barely contained.

“She’ll make it through,” he says quietly. “She always does. But… she’s human, after all.”

A moment of silence hangs, thick as smoke.

The fuse has been lit.

And UA doesn’t know it yet — the first strike is coming.

~~~~~

The sun hung low in the late afternoon sky, casting long shadows across UA’s training grounds. Most of the students were still scattered across the campus, chatting, reviewing notes, or performing light exercises before the day’s events. For once, the chaos that seemed to always follow Elara was absent, replaced by a deceptive calm that made her nerves twitch with unease.

She found herself sitting on the low stone wall that bordered the edge of the training field, her legs dangling over the side, Ember Lash carefully coiled around her wrist, hidden beneath the sleeve of her pthalo-green sweater. She had deliberately chosen this spot — far enough from the main crowd to avoid unnecessary attention, but close enough to observe the others.

Ochaco’s bright presence approached first, cheerful as ever but with a careful, observant tilt to her head. “Hey… um, mind if I sit here?” she asked, gesturing toward the wall.

Elara gave a small nod, her lips curling into a neutral smile. “Go ahead. It’s a free seat.”

Ochaco sat down beside her, tucking her legs beneath her. “So… you’re new here,” she said, voice light but probing. “Nyx, right?”

“That’s right,” Elara said, eyes scanning the horizon just slightly, as if measuring every sound, every movement. “And you are…?”

“Ochaco Uraraka,” she replied, smiling warmly. “But you probably already knew that.” She glanced sideways at Elara, trying to gauge her mood. “So… what’s it like? Being new at UA? Must be… intense.”

Elara let out a soft exhale, a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh. “It’s… everything people say it is. Intense, chaotic, exhausting. But… there’s something refreshing about it too. Everyone is so… willing to push themselves.” Her green eyes flicked briefly toward the main training field, where a group of students practiced aerial maneuvers.

Ochaco nodded, intrigued. “Yeah… I feel that too. I mean, sometimes it’s scary, right? Everyone’s so strong. But it’s inspiring too. I want to get better, not just for me, but… you know, for the people I want to protect.”

Elara’s lips twitched at the sentiment. Protect… Such a simple word, yet heavy with weight. She wanted to scoff, to remind herself she couldn’t allow herself to care, but instead, she found herself nodding. “I get that,” she admitted softly. “There’s… a responsibility to it, even if it’s overwhelming.”

Before Ochaco could respond, a shadow fell across them, elongating unnaturally in the waning sunlight. Elara’s gaze sharpened automatically — reflexes honed, instinct kicking in — before she relaxed slightly.

“Ignore me,” came a deep, calm voice. Tokoyami stepped into view, dark cloak swaying slightly with his movement. “I saw you sitting here alone. Thought I’d… join.”

Elara tilted her head, assessing him. “Fine by me,” she said, neutral, though her pulse picked up slightly. She didn’t know why she felt the need to measure him so carefully.

Tokoyami seated himself, legs crossed, observing both her and Ochaco. “You’re new… and not like the others,” he said, eyes shadowed under the hood. “I’ve seen plenty of students, plenty of quirks, plenty of… personalities. You’re… different.”

“Different in a bad way?” Elara asked lightly, a trace of defensiveness creeping into her voice despite her attempt at calm.

“Not bad,” Tokoyami replied. “Just… unusual. Precise. Controlled. A predator in the making, maybe. But also… not without understanding. There’s a weight to you.”

Her fingers itched slightly at the mention, Ember Lash quivering beneath her sleeve before she forced it to remain still. She looked at him, really looked, and for the first time allowed herself the faintest hint of… curiosity. “A weight?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “Some people carry nothing but their quirk. Others carry their quirk… and something else. Something personal, something hidden. You carry both, I think. That… makes you interesting.”

Ochaco glanced between them, a smile tugging at her lips. “I like that,” she said softly. “I think it’s nice to meet someone who isn’t just about showing off, you know? Someone who… thinks about things, feels things. I mean… everyone’s scared, but they don’t always show it.”

Elara hesitated, fingers flexing around the hidden coils of Ember Lash. She wanted to correct Ochaco — you don’t understand, you have no idea what I carry — but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she said softly, “Maybe… maybe fear isn’t always a weakness. Sometimes it’s… guidance.”

Ochaco’s eyes brightened. “Yeah! Exactly! And if you can use it… then maybe it’s strength instead of weakness.”

For a brief, flickering moment, Elara let her guard down. She allowed herself to breathe a little more freely, to laugh quietly at Ochaco’s enthusiasm, to feel the strange warmth of connection forming. Even if it was fleeting. Even if it was dangerous.

Tokoyami’s eyes, dark and unreadable, studied her quietly. “It’s rare,” he murmured. “To let people see… the part beneath the control. Most hide it. Most fear it. You… you’re almost brave enough to show it.”

Elara’s lips quirked up again, a fleeting smile. “Almost.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, letting the gentle hum of the campus wash over them. It was calm. It was temporary. And for Elara, it was almost enough to convince herself that she could… almost belong here.

But even in that quiet, her instincts remained alert. Every flicker of shadow, every creak of steel, every distant tremor reminded her — the storm was coming. The USJ event. The League. The mission.

She pushed the thought down, letting the faint warmth of friendship linger just a little longer.

For Ochaco, it was a light she could see. For Tokoyami, it was a flicker he acknowledged silently. And for Elara… it was a dangerous, fragile tether to a world she might never truly be allowed to stay in.

When the faint vibrations of distant movement reached her ears, she was already standing, hands flexing around her hidden Ember Lash. “I should… get back,” she said softly, almost regretfully.

Ochaco frowned. “You don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.”

“I know,” Elara murmured, and for once, she meant it. But the words carried more resignation than promise.

Tokoyami inclined his head, silent acknowledgment, watching as she disappeared down the path, her presence leaving a lingering gravity in the air.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the training grounds, Elara allowed herself the briefest sigh. The tether of connection had been made — fragile, fleeting, yet undeniably real. And somewhere deep inside, beneath layers of training, deception, and fear, she allowed herself to hope.

Hope that she could survive today. Hope that she could protect the people she’d come to care for, even if just a little.

Even if she had to do it under the name of someone she wasn’t.

~~~~~

Class 1-A trained under the watchful eyes of their teachers. Students were scattered across the facility — Bakugou sparring with Midoriya, Ochaco practicing maneuvers with her floating techniques, Tokoyami stalking silently in the shadows, and others testing their quirk limits under the crisp afternoon light. The air was calm, deceptively so, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, without warning, reality itself tore open. Warp gates shimmered violently in mid-air, twisting the space around them like a predator rending its prey. From the ruptures emerged the League of Villains — Shigaraki at the forefront, his fingers twitching with anticipation, Dabi flaring blue flames with a casual malice, Twice appearing in dizzying duplicates, and Kurogiri’s fog spreading like a living shadow, engulfing parts of the facility and disorienting the students.

Screams cut through the air as chaos erupted. Nomu lumbered forward, smashing walls and machinery, their strength and resilience terrifyingly unnatural. Sparks flew from broken wires, debris fell in heavy chunks, and students scattered instinctively.

Bakugou’s eyes blazed with fury, fists crackling. “Get the hell off my field!” he roared, lunging toward a Nomu, while Midoriya’s mind raced through tactics, quirk usage, and defensive strategies. Ochaco floated high, attempting to protect students with zero-gravity, and Tokoyami struck from the shadows, his Dark Shadow weaving in lethal, calculated arcs.

From her vantage point, Elara — known to the class as Nyx — stood at the edge of the chaos. Her instincts flared immediately. Her orders had been clear — she was supposed to support the League, to subtly manipulate the fight in their favor without revealing herself. But as she scanned the terrified faces of her classmates, something deep inside stirred: a flicker of hope, an impulse she hadn’t allowed herself in years.

A Nomu charged at Midoriya, its massive frame crushing a training dummy in its path. Midoriya leapt, quirk activating instinctively, but the Nomu swung its heavy arm, smashing into the ground with a reverberating impact. He gritted his teeth, pushing himself off the rubble, fists sparking with One For All.

Bakugou was already grappling with another Nomu, sparks flying as his explosions met the monstrous strength of his opponent. He ducked under a swinging limb, pivoted, and lashed back with a precise explosion that staggered it — but Nomu was relentless.

Ochaco floated desperately, pulling Izuku out of the Nomu’s path as debris fell around them. Midoriya’s analytical mind tried to coordinate a strategy, but even he could barely keep up with the sheer ferocity of the assault.

Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow darted across the battlefield, striking Nomu with precision, yet even he could feel the overwhelming pressure of their strength.

The sound of shattering concrete, screams, and explosions echoed through the USJ facility, yet to Elara it all became muffled, like distant thunder. She stood on the edge of the chaos, Ember Lash flickering around her wrists, molten light illuminating the smoke curling around her. Nomu and League members alike barreled past, sparks flying, debris crashing around her. But none of that mattered.

Her mind was a battlefield of a different sort.

They’re counting on me. I can’t fail. I can’t betray my father, Shigaraki, the League. They’ve trained me. They’ve molded me. I’m a weapon. That’s my purpose.

A memory flashed unbidden — her father’s voice, cold, commanding, suffocating:

“Power is everything, Elara. Loyalty to me, to the League, to All For One… that is the only truth. Emotions are weakness.”

Weakness… right. I can’t afford weakness.

But then, the echoes of the students’ laughter from the morning before — light, unguarded, fleeting — pierced the fog of her mind. She remembered Ochaco’s smile, Tokoyami’s thoughtful nod, Midoriya’s fierce determination. And then there was Bakugou… her heart constricted involuntarily.

Bakugou… why does my chest… she shook her head, trying to ignore the warmth blooming there.

Another explosion ripped through the facility. Dust filled her lungs, sparks hissed from molten metal hitting concrete, and a Nomu barreled toward a group of students pinned beneath debris. Instinct surged, overriding hesitation.

Her Ember Lash lashed out reflexively, wrapping around the monster’s arm, searing through reinforced joints. Sparks flew, the Nomu staggered, and her chest heaved as she stared at the terrified faces of Class 1-A.

I can’t… I can’t just watch them die.

But her father’s voice screamed in her head again: Elara! You will not fail me! The League expects obedience! Everything you are is owed to me!

She stumbled backward, mind racing. Obedience… power… family…

Her hand twitched. The mental constructs of Psychebound Dominion flickered at her fingertips, threads of psychic energy dancing in the air. She could manipulate the students’ fear, control their movements, even incapacitate Nomu before they knew what hit them. She could follow orders. She could do exactly as All For One wanted.

And yet, the look in Bakugou’s eyes from the morning — the suspicion, the gnawing curiosity, the way he had remembered her name before she had a chance to deny it — it echoed in her mind. The raw intensity of his presence, the way he fought and protected others without hesitation…

I can’t let him get hurt. I can’t let them all get hurt.

Her breaths were short, shallow. Sparks from Ember Lash illuminated the swirling smoke and debris around her. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, the weight of every choice pressing down like a mountain.

Then she saw them: Ochaco struggling, floating too close to a collapsing wall; Midoriya caught mid-dodge as a Nomu lunged; Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow ensnared by Kurogiri’s fog.

The League was approaching, Shigaraki’s hands twitching with lethal anticipation. Twice multiplied in chaotic waves, and Dabi’s flames licked the edges of the battlefield. All were counting on her to follow the plan, to ensure the students fell, to serve her family without hesitation.

But the faces of her classmates — their courage, their fear, their vulnerability — pierced through the fog of obedience.

No.

Her choice crystallized. She would fight for them. Not for orders. Not for power. Not for loyalty to a man who had never truly loved her — for them. For the students who trusted the impossible in a single day. For Bakugou, whose presence stirred memories of home she had buried for years.

Elara’s chest tightened, and then the surge of clarity hit her like a tidal wave. I am not just a weapon. I am not just All For One’s daughter. I am Elara. And today, I choose… I choose to protect.

She activated Regalia Carapace, black-and-gold plating erupting across her arms and shoulders, shielding her from debris. Predatory Instinct sharpened her senses to a razor edge, every movement of the Nomu and the League precise and perceptible. Ember Lash erupted in molten glory, lashing around the enemies, constricting, striking, cutting. Psychebound Dominion bloomed outward, constructs of green psychic energy swirling, confusing, restraining, and shielding.

Her eyes glowed — spectral green flecked with gold sparks — as she moved with lethal elegance through the chaos. Every attack she blocked, every student she pulled to safety, every Nomu she staggered, reinforced her decision.

I choose them. I choose life. I choose hope.

A small part of her winced at the thought — the thought of betraying her “family.” But it was distant, hollow. Power without purpose, loyalty without conscience… all meaningless if it destroyed everything she could protect.

And so, amidst the chaos, Elara became a storm incarnate. Not a weapon. Not a pawn. Not a villain’s daughter. She became a savior.

Her lips curled in the faintest, almost imperceptible, smirk, the flicker of hope she had felt in the morning grew into a roaring flame: for the first time in years, she was choosing herself. Choosing her morality. Choosing the people who needed her.

And in that moment, the die was cast. She would never return to being just a weapon.

And then she saw it: Bakugou pinned, sparks flying, his strength insufficient to move the twisted steel beam crushing him. Ochaco, floating and vulnerable, her eyes wide with panic as debris fell around her.

She would no longer hide behind orders. She would help them.

First came Regalia Carapace — black-and-gold psychic armor erupting across her shoulders and arms, shimmering in the firelight. Sparks hissed as debris collided with the plating, shielding her from falling steel and concrete. She moved like a shadow across the chaos, terrifyingly precise, almost inhuman.

Her Predatory Instinct flared next. Every vibration of the floor, every faint scent of burning metal, every shadow of movement registered. She wove through falling beams, skipping over rubble with uncanny agility.

Then Ember Lash erupted. Molten whips coiled outward like fiery serpents, snapping around Nomu limbs, searing and constraining with precise force. Sparks flew, catching the horrified eyes of the villains and the awe-struck gaze of her classmates.

Finally, she unleashed Psychebound Dominion. Dark green constructs of psychic energy erupted from her, swirling around the Nomu. Illusions of multiple Elaras appeared, striking simultaneously from all angles, while subtle threads of fear pulsed directly into the Nomu’s mind. The monstrous creature faltered, unsure which attack was real and which was an illusion.

“Bakugou! Ochaco! Get out of here!” she shouted, projecting her mental influence.

He felt it immediately — a nudge, a guiding pull that allowed him to leverage his strength. With a roar, he pushed the steel beam off himself, sparks flying, eyes widening in shock and recognition.

Ochaco’s floating faltered again, panic rising, but molten whips shot forward, coiling gently around her, pulling her to the ground safely. Psychic constructs formed a protective cage around her, deflecting falling debris and ensuring she landed unharmed.

Class 1-A froze. The magnitude of what they were witnessing hit them all at once.

“Ember Lash… Psychebound Dominion… Regalia Carapace… Predatory Instinct…” Midoriya’s mind raced, processing everything in fragmented bursts. She… she has all of these quirks? All at once?

“She’s a walking arsenal,” Kirishima breathed, awe and disbelief warring in his chest.

The Nomu roared, breaking free of its momentary paralysis, but Elara didn’t flinch. Ember Lash struck again, molten whips lashing out, searing and constricting. Psychic constructs coiled, warping its perception. Regalia Carapace shimmered as debris clanged against it. Her movements were precise, fluid, predatory — every strike calculated, every dodge intentional.

Her eyes, glowing a spectral green with golden sparks, swept across the battlefield. She wasn’t here to conquer. She was here to protect. And in that moment, the line between hero and villain, between duty and conscience, blurred entirely.

Class 1-A watched, mouths agape, as the student they had barely known — the mysterious Nyx — revealed herself to be far more than anyone could have imagined. A single person, a combination of finesse, instinct, and power, standing amid the chaos like a storm incarnate, saving lives while defying every expectation.

Even the League’s monitors flickered with shock. Shigaraki’s fingers twitched nervously. “She’s… not following orders,” he muttered, disbelief cutting through his usual calm cruelty. Dabi’s eyes narrowed, flames flickering with irritation and curiosity. Twice tilted his head, confused and concerned.

Elara didn’t wait for them to react. Her mind was entirely on the battlefield, on the students scrambling for survival, on Bakugou and Ochaco who now had a fighting chance because of her intervention.

The battle was far from over. The League was relentless. But for the first time in years, Nyx — Elara — felt the weight of her own agency. She wasn’t just a weapon. She wasn’t just a tool. She could fight… for them.

And she would.

Chapter Text

The battlefield had evolved into a nightmare.

Cracked walls oozed smoke. The air shimmered with heat from scattered fires. Metal twisted under collapsing structures, creating a symphony of destruction. But standing in the center of it all — calm, deliberate — was Elara.

Her chest rose once, slowly.

Then she moved.

Ember Lash roared alive, molten tendrils snapping outward in a burning halo. She cracked one whip against the ground, the heat melting through concrete and searing upward into a charging Nomu’s chest. The creature shrieked, stumbling back as molten slag dripped from the charred wound.

Another Nomu lunged.

Without looking, Elara shifted — Predatory Instinct calculating every movement before the attack even formed. She glided low, twisting beneath the swipe and raking another whip across the Nomu’s knees, slicing tendons disguised beneath synthetic tissue. It collapsed with a roar, struggling to rise.

Before she could finish it — a third Nomu barreled into her blind side.

Too slow, she told herself—

But Psychebound Dominion reacted before fear could surface.

Spectral constructs of psychic force exploded into being, swirling around her like an armored cyclone. They seized the Nomu’s arms, twisting its perception, filling its mind with projected threats that forced its attention away.

The beast roared confusion at phantoms attacking from every direction.

Elara pivoted. Regalia Carapace shimmered across her shoulders — black and gold armor plates that crackled with energy. She slammed her elbow into the charging Nomu’s throat, armor amplifying the impact with brutal efficiency.

Another came.

And another.

Four Nomu surrounded her — towering masses of muscle, metal, rage.

Her pulse thrummed steady.

I am not afraid.

She inhaled sharply, molten whips crackling.

With a primal pull, Ember Lash wrapped around two Nomu at once, twisting their bodies into each other until bone and metal collided in a thunderous crash.

Her psychic illusions swarmed the remaining pair, misdirecting claws and ripping swings — every strike aimed at shadows instead of her.

Their confusion gave her time.

Time she used mercilessly.

Elara launched upward, molten tendrils propelling her like a comet. She landed atop a Nomu’s shoulders, psychic constructs gripping its skull as she twisted—

CRACK.

It dropped.

Her boots hit the ground again. Ember Lash and Dominion coiled around her like a crown of fire and shadow.

Her eyes blazed emerald and gold in the smoke.

She wasn’t a hero.

She wasn’t a villain.

She was inevitable.

~~~~~

Bakugou wasn’t breathing.

Smoke burned his lungs, but he didn’t feel it. His attention was locked — unshakable — on the girl wreathed in fire and psychic power. She fought like she was born in war. Like battle was the only language she trusted.

He recognized every single movement.

The sharp forward lean before she sprinted.
The switch of her stance when cornered.
The way she always protected her left side — the side she once broke falling out of his treehouse.

It all came back to him in one violent rush.

“Elara,” he whispered, barely audible over the chaos.

Not Nyx.
Not the mysterious new girl.
His Elara.

His childhood partner-in-mischief.
His first friend.
His first — and only — love.

It’s really her.

His throat constricted.

She wasn’t supposed to be alive. He had convinced himself she wasn’t. Even while trying to get her to admit she was really Elara, he’d still convince himself it wasn’t her, she was dead. That she was just… gone. Ripped out of his world with no explanation and no goodbye — a wound he soldered shut with anger.

But here she was.

And she looked like the storm that stole her.

A Nomu charged her from behind — fast, silent. Too silent.

Bakugou didn’t think — his instincts roared louder than logic.

He launched himself forward with an explosion that rattled the cracked foundation under them, blasting the Nomu away in a burst of smoke and torn concrete.

Elara spun toward him.

That was a mistake.

The moment their eyes met — everything broke loose inside him.

Her eyes…
God, her eyes.

Emerald green with flecks of gold he swore he only ever saw up close when they were kids searching for frogs by the lake. The same eyes that used to sparkle every time she dared him to be better, faster… more.

He stepped closer, chest heaving.

“You,” he breathed. “You… can’t be real.”

Elara froze.

Her armor flickered — a glitch in control.

“I-I knew it was you…”

That tiny stutter was enough.

His voice cracked open — not angry, not harsh — terrified.

“You were supposed to come back!”
His fists trembled, palms starting to spark.
“You promised me—!”

Her breath caught. A memory flashed behind her eyes — two kids sitting under fireworks. Little fingers intertwined. A whispered pact under the booming sky:

We’ll always find each other.

She ripped her gaze away before the emotion killed her resolve.

Bakugou’s vision blurred red with adrenaline.

“No more running,” he growled, stepping closer.
“Say it. Say your name.”

She shook her head once — silently begging him not to shatter her disguise. Not to shatter his world.

But Bakugou had already decided.

“Elara.”

Her name fell from his lips like a truth he had bled for.

She didn’t deny it.

Not this time.

And it wrecked him.

~~~~~

Shigaraki’s boots scraped loudly against the metal walkway above the battlefield. Rage brewed under his skin — visible in the twitching of his fingers.

“What is she doing?” he growled, voice jagged as broken glass.

Kurogiri’s portal flickered, unstable. “It appears she has… made her choice.”

“Wrong choice,” Dabi spat, flames rising higher with irritation.

Dabi’s flames licked higher than normal — fueled by something uglier than rage.

“She’s picking them?”
His voice was a low, shaking snarl.
“She’s actually choosing them over us?”

Twice wrapped his arms around himself, both halves of his mind crumbling.

“She’s saving them!”
“She’s abandoning us!”
“She’s protecting them!”
“She’s betraying us!”

His voice fractured like glass — the duality of his loyalty tearing him apart.

Toga’s lips quivered, uncharacteristically silent as she stared at the girl she considered a sister.

“She promised she wouldn’t leave…”
The whisper cracked on her tongue.
“She swore she wouldn’t.”

Shigaraki’s nails dug so hard into his neck that blood welled under them.

He wasn’t angry — not at first.

He was hurt.

The kind of hurt that rots.
The kind that comes from love turned inside out.

“All For One wants a weapon,” he rasped.
“But I— I wanted a family.”

He stared down at Elara — brilliant, burning, unstoppable — fighting to protect the students who never had to suffer the way she did.

“She’s not just disobeying orders,” Kurogiri murmured quietly, voice barely more than fog.
“She is rejecting… us.”

Shigaraki’s breath trembled.

“After everything we did to keep her alive…”
His voice was a growing storm.
“After everything we gave her…”

Toga choked back a sob, tears carving clear streaks through soot on her cheeks.

“She doesn’t want to be a villain,” she whispered.
“She doesn’t want to be a monster like us…”

Silence.

Then—
The switch flipped.

Shigaraki’s face twisted into something feral.

“If she thinks she can just walk away… she’s dumber than I thought.”

His fingers spread, five deadly points shaking with betrayal.

“We adjust the plan. We take hostages. We spill blood. And if she tries to stop us…”

Dabi’s flames ignited fully — hell-blue and wild.

“We put her down.”

Twice’s two voices finally aligned for once:

“She’s one of us.”
“She’s one of us.”

Shigaraki’s snarl deepened — grief hidden under wrath.

“And that’s why she doesn’t get to leave.”

Shigaraki snarled, scratching at his neck — his worst tell of spiraling.

“She thinks she can defy him. She thinks she’s strong enough to choose.”
His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
“She doesn’t realize she doesn’t get that luxury.”

Dabi’s flames ignited fully, scorching the ground. “Say the word, boss. I’ll go teach her what family means.”

“No.” Kurogiri’s voice remained eerily calm. “We need her alive. She is still an asset.”

Shigaraki’s glare could have melted steel.

“Then we adjust.”

He pointed toward Elara — now standing like a goddess of destruction among broken Nomu.

“She wants to protect them?” He smirked, empty and cruel.

“Then we tear them apart.”

The League surged back into motion — more violent, more desperate, more focused.

Elara had just become the most dangerous enemy in the building.

~~~~~

The battlefield roared around them — metal screaming, Nomu screeching, flames and lightning clashing in the air thick with smoke.

Bakugou stood with his back pressed against hers.

Their breathing synced.

Not by choice.
By instinct.

Like two puzzle pieces violently forced apart finally clicking back together.

Elara’s energy pulsed — psychic rings of heat and pressure swirling around her boots, keeping the three Nomu lunging at them from closing the distance. She wielded four quirks seamlessly, a force too fluid and unforgiving to be human.

A Nomu leapt left — her hand snapped up, fingers splaying as a telekinetic burst crushed the creature mid-air, bones snapping like wet branches.

Another Nomu rushed low.
Bakugou’s palm detonated beneath its jaw — flesh and feathers exploding upward in a plume of dust and gore.

He didn’t look at the kill.

He was watching her.

She spun — fire trailing her movement like comet-light — and a whip of explosive flame slashed through the third Nomu’s abdomen, hurling it into a shattered column.

“What the hell are you?” he muttered, more awe than insult.

Elara didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat was a blockade of emotion.

She could feel his eyes — burning hotter than any quirk she possessed.

Another Nomu — larger, armor-plated — lunged from above.
Bakugou dipped under its claws, explosions firing rapid and precise — no wasted motion.

Elara mirrored the rhythm.

When his blast hit the Nomu’s underside, she struck the top — cratering its skull between their combined force.

Silence fell in the three-second gap before the next wave hit.

That silence felt like something sacred.

Bakugou finally spoke — voice lower than he meant.

“You kept up with me.”

Elara’s breath shook.

“No,” she whispered, eyes flickering with fear she refused to show.
“I had to keep up with everything.”

The words cracked him — because he realized:

She hadn’t just survived her disappearance.
She had clawed her way back from something worse.

He turned, reaching — actually reaching — for her.

“El—”

A shriek split the air as five more Nomu dropped in around them.

His fingers brushed her elbow…

And then they were fighting again.

But the moment stayed — a promise not spoken, but loud enough to change everything.

~~~~~

The warp gate overlooking the battlefield flickered like a torn pupil in the sky — and through it, the League watched.

They saw Elara and Bakugou back-to-back.

They saw how her flames shaped themselves around him without scorching skin.

They saw how he fought with her as though they had trained together every day of their lives.

They saw how she looked at him.

Not strategically.
Not as an asset.
Not with duty.

But with love.

Dabi’s blue fire pulsed hotter, licking up the cracked tiles beneath his feet. His burn scars tightened with fury.

“She’s protecting him,” he growled.

Not observation. Accusation.

Shigaraki tilted his head, silver hair shifting like a blade preparing to cut.

“She makes it… very obvious,” he hissed.
“How sentimental.”

Spinner gripped his sword, knuckles whitening.

Toga stepped closer to the portal’s edge, trembling.

Her heart was thundering in her ears.

Elara had sworn…

“I won’t abandon you like the rest of them.”

But down there — she was smiling with them.

Bleeding for them.

Choosing them.

Toga whispered like a prayer sharp enough to cut:

“She promised…”

Kurogiri’s smoky plume crackled — unease filtering through his usually calm voice.

“We must not jump to conclusions. Perhaps she is maintaining her cover—”

Shigaraki snapped.

“No,” he cut in sharply.
“This isn’t cover. It’s defiance.”

His decayed fingers hovered just above the railing — stone powdering beneath five hovering fingertips.

Exposure had always been a possibility.

But rebellion?

Never.

“Let’s test her loyalty,” he decided, voice ice-cold with a cruelty sharpened by disappointment.

His red-rimmed eyes locked onto one spot on the battlefield:

Katsuki Bakugou.

The boy with explosions in his hands —
The boy whose name she whispered in her sleep.
The boy who made her flinch when All For One questioned her loyalty.

Shigaraki raised one hand — slow, deliberate.

The command slid from his lips like venom:

“Kill the blond. Make her watch.”

Toga gasped like she’d been stabbed.

“No—! If you kill him, she—she’ll break—!”

“That’s the point,” Dabi snarled. His flames snapped outward like starving wolves.
“Break the piece that’s holding her back.”

Kurogiri hesitated — mist hitching, form glitching.

“We risk driving her entirely away.”

Shigaraki’s smile split his cracked lips, jagged and dead of warmth.

“She already left us.”

He flicked his wrist with a motion so casual it felt monstrous.

Warp gates burst open all around Bakugou — villains pouring from them like beasts unleashed from cages. Bodies slammed into him, pinning, clawing, dragging him off his feet.

The steel walkway beneath him dented with the force.

Elara spun — eyes widening into something heartbreakingly human.

And then, her scream —

“KATSUKI!”

—wasn’t Nyx’s voice.

It was Elara’s.

Her real voice.

Her real fear.

Her real choice.

The sound carried heavy — cutting through smoke and metal and screams — enough to make Toga crumple to her knees.

Because the League understood in that single moment:

She wasn’t afraid of villains.
She wasn’t afraid of heroes.

She was afraid of losing him.

And that meant…
She didn’t belong to them anymore.

Chapter Text

They watched from the catwalk as the world below convulsed.

Smoke and steam rolled up in thick, gray waves, obscuring the lines between sky and rubble. The training grounds were a torn thing of metal and heartbeats — students screaming, Nomu roaring, sparks arcing from shattered conduits. In the middle of that maelstrom, something had happened that none of them had planned for: Elara, the weapon they’d kept, trained, and shaped, had stepped into the light not to serve them but to save the students. She’d ripped through Nomu and villain alike with a terrible, precise grace — and then, at the cost of everything she had left, collapsed into the arms of the blond boy who had once been her whole world.

Shigaraki’s hands were splayed on the railing. He didn’t speak at first; there was a weird, stunned quiet to him that felt almost like mourning. Heat and cold warred in his chest. For years he’d smoothed the edges of this girl into a blade — obedience, focus, ruthlessness — and now she had turned that blade inward, away from them, toward a world that had never had the right to ask for her allegiance.

Dabi exhaled a thin plume of blue flame that guttered in the smoke. The light from it carved lines into his face: irritation, wounded pride, and something like betrayal. He spat the words out bluntly, bitter enough to taste metallic. “That was not the plan. She’s made a choice.”

Twice, jittering and ajar with nerves, swayed where he stood. His two voices argued at half volume — one weeping and exultant, the other panicked and accusatory. “She saved them! She saved them! But she left us! She left us!” Neither side could accept the contradiction, and the contradiction sat between the group like an accusation.

Toga’s lips trembled. For her it was personal; she had collected pieces of people, had built secret altars to small, violent comforts. Watching Elara hand her tenderness and attention to others, to the students — it was an ache that made her recoil. Her hands clutched at the railing until her knuckles blanched. “She promised she wouldn’t leave us,” she whispered.

Kurogiri’s fog drifted in restless eddies. He had the calmest face of them, but his voice that came out of the vapor was thin with concern. “We must not act rashly,” he said. “She is valuable as she is. If All For One knows we killed or broke her, the consequences will not be minor.”

Shigaraki’s laugh cut like broken glass. It sounded like it came from far away. “All For One expects results,” he said quietly, and there was steel under the words. “He expects loyalty. He expects obedience. We raised her for the moment she could command the field. Not for this softness.”

“Softness?” Dabi barked, but it had the edge of something deeper. “She didn’t just ‘soften.’ She turned her back on the League. She chose them. She chose a boy over us.”

That word — choose — sank through the catwalk like a falling stone. The League had always been a marriage of shared ruin, of mutual need and mutual brutality. They had been careful to couch their violence in ideology; they had said they sought to tear down a corrupt society. But on nights like this one, when loyalty curdled and someone they’d kept like a pet chose otherwise, it felt devastatingly intimate.

Shigaraki’s fingers flexed. Decay twitched at the tips of his fingers as if eager to reach. “We cannot lose her,” he said finally. “Not to them. Not to him. Not to whatever sympathy she’s found down there.”

Kurogiri’s mist gathered and thickened, the edges of his vapor coiling as he thought through logistics. “We must withdraw and plan,” he said. “If we try to force this now amid the chaos we risk unnecessary losses. We are wounded here; the element of surprise is gone. We need to retreat, regroup, form a plan. We will take her back in a way that cannot be traced and that minimizes loss.” His voice was methodical, but it carried the blunt truth: they would kidnap her later, when the world thought it was safe.

“Tonight?” Twice asked immediately, two voices at once. “We can take her tonight! We can—” One voice was feverish; the other shuddered in fear. The idea of striking now echoed in him like a half-baked solution.

Dabi shook his head, jaw tight. “No. If we move tonight, we do it in panic. We get sloppy. We get All For One’s attention. He won’t like sloppy.” He flicked his gaze back down to the train grounds where Elara lay quiet against Bakugou’s chest. The sight drove something ugly through him — not merely anger but an ache. “We pull out, we vanish, and we draft a plan that removes the variables. We take her when no one expects it. We take her without getting everyone watching.”

Shigaraki’s eyes, when they settled on the raw scene below, were a furnace of disappointment and something like calculation. He had no illusions about how humans — and villains — responded to breaches of trust. “We will make this perfect,” he said. “We will take her whole. No theater. No public games. We’ll take her away, keep her where All For One can’t sniff out our path, and we’ll break whatever softness remains.”

Toga’s voice rose — quiet, sharp. “If we take her, she’ll—” She stopped, cutting herself off, too fragile for the rest of the thought. The others understood: “she’ll be remade.”

“That’s the point,” Dabi said, and it was less cruelty and more ownership in his tone. “We didn’t raise a child to lose her to a system that will pat her on the head and move on. We made something. We keep it.”

Spinner’s jaw worked. He had been a cog in more brutal machine-shifts than this; he knew the practicalities required. “We need routes, times, false flags. We need a place to take her that’s not connected to our usual networks. We need to know who watches the boy, who watches the school, who’s got a beef with us that will happily throw a cloak over our movement.”

Kurogiri answered with an efficiency that steadied the others a little. “There are safe houses in the northern industrial corridor we scouted months ago for supply runs. They’re insulated from prying sensors. We can stage there, gather intel, and pick our moments. Twice will rehearse ingress windows with me. Toga can maintain visual contact; Spinner can manage route clearance. Dabi will ensure that any physical intercepts are surgical.”

Shigaraki rubbed his neck, jaw tightening as the plan formed in blunt strokes. He knew how to command a gang, how to marshal damage into a central spike. This was personal. “We’ll gather the materials we need,” he said. “A sedative, something that helps break a quirk’s signal for a few critical minutes. We’ll isolate All For One’s presence — we don’t want him sniffing at our doorstep. We’ll set a time when the boy, Bakugou, is offsite or otherwise engaged. We’ll pick a moment when the school’s attention is elsewhere — maybe during a public distraction, a false alarm we can manufacture. Then we move.”

Twice’s voices made a small, delighted sound at the turn toward theater — for all his fear, the two halves of him loved the thrill of precise choreography. “We can do drills,” he said, hands clapping. “We can do drills and—” His second voice cut in, terrified at the thought of losing her forever. “—and we can bring her back. We will bring her back.”

Toga was already thinking smaller, more intimate, crueler. “If she resists, we make it quick and surgical. Take everything and take her to a place she can’t crawl away from. Take the thing that anchors her.” The last part of that sentence hung in the air unspoken; they all knew what she meant — take whatever in her that kept her tethered to those fragile, human attachments and sever it.

Dabi scoffed a little at that, flames dancing as his temper did. “We don’t need to kill a boy. If anything, we’ll use him,” he said. “Create leverage. Why break her? Break her options.” He had a cruelty that could be masked as efficiency. “If we keep him alive and make sure he sees what we take from her, the message will be clear.”

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched in thought. “We will not be reckless,” he said again. “We will not be sloppily cruel. We will be surgical. We will take her, and when she looks at me again it will be with the memory of who kept her alive.”

Kurogiri’s fog thickened in the catwalk light, a cloak of practical silence. “We leave now,” he said simply. “We withdraw, pick a secure staging area, and compile surveillance. Twice and Spinner: rehearsals. Toga: watch and report. Dabi: maintain the incendiary options and keep a low profile detector team active. I will arrange a private corridor out of the city.” His voice folded into the plan like oil pouring into a vessel.

Shigaraki glanced at Toga, then at Twice, then at Dabi. “Make it fast.” He didn’t like going slow, especially on things that hurt him. “And remember — All For One watches everything. We can’t leave a trace. If he smells this, he will either punish us or take her himself. Prepare as if we are invisible.”

They took their positions like predators divided — some filling roles in the plan, some hunting resentments in the look they exchanged. Twice practiced the first steps with a manic whisper. Toga wiped the last of the soot and tears from her face and composed herself into the eagerness that had always been a dangerous facsimile of care. Dabi watched the field like a man calibrating a gun sight, and Spinner listed potential backup routes and safe houses in a low, practical voice.

Before they left, Shigaraki took one last, long look at the scene below. Bakugou had propped Elara up, one arm around her shoulders, protecting her head from dust; his other hand glowed with the angry sparks of his quirk, fingers fidgeting with the raw, desperate strength that could not keep him from trembling. For a blink Shigaraki’s face creased with something that looked strikingly like sorrow. But sorrow was a luxury. Possession — the terrible, controlling need to hold what you had made — was not.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “Pull back,” he told them. “We don’t move tonight. We plan. We make sure our next move is the one that can’t fail.”

Kurogiri opened like a shutter, fog rolling out to cloak them. One by one, the League withdrew from the catwalk and folded into themselves — a ripple of shadow and flame and ragged humanity. Twice’s two voices echoed for a beat: a frantic hope and a terrified wail. Toga dragged one hand across her face. Dabi lingered, blue flame guttering, before he dropped into the fog.

When the last of them had gone, the catwalk felt colder and somehow larger for the weight of what they were leaving behind. Below, the students fought and screamed and helped each other rise. The war continued — ugly, terrible, and alive.

Elara lay in Bakugou’s arms, eyes half-lidded, breathing ragged and shallow. She was warm to his touch, but the warmth was fragile. She didn’t know yet about the retreating shapes or the whispered promises being made above. For a few small minutes, she was simply human — a person held by someone who had not allowed himself to be gentle in a long time.

Above, the League’s retreating fog swallowed their war plans and their grief. They moved off the field not because they had been defeated but because, in their view, what had happened was far worse: she had chosen to leave them. Now they would build the precise machine to take her back — not by force in the heat of battle, but by calculated, personal theft in the cold light of night. They would plan a kidnapping that would be surgical and ugly and tailored to break what the battlefield had left intact: the fragile, human tether between Elara and the people she had chosen to save.

~~~~~

The lights of USJ still flickered like dying stars when Bakugou scooped Elara into his arms.

Her head lolled against his shoulder; debris clung to her hair and the once-pristine uniform was scorched through with claw marks and burn scars. The psychic armor she’d summoned had long since dissolved into shimmering dust. Only the faint glow beneath her skin — that ethereal green fading into gold — hinted at the immense power she’d poured out for them.

“Move!” Bakugou’s voice cracked through the chaos, deeper and more frantic than any explosion he could produce. “We’re getting her to Recovery Girl! Now!”

Midoriya was right on his heels, breaths sharp, panic gripping his chest. Todoroki flanked his other side, ice forming under his feet every few steps where his nerves slipped into instinctive activation.

They tore through the emergency exits as the faculty regained control of the battlefield. Aizawa staggered behind them, blood soaking the scarf around his neck, his exhausted eyes tracking the girl who had kept his students alive longer than they should have been able to withstand.

Bakugou didn’t wait for permission — he shouldered straight into the medical wing doors.

Recovery Girl gasped the moment she saw Elara. “Good heavens—! Lay her down, quickly!”

She clicked immediately into her practiced motions — salves, diagnostics, a gentle kiss that released a surge of healing energy — but even she paused, momentarily struck by the unusual nature of the girl’s injuries. Burns that weren’t burns. Psychic backlash. A mind strained past its natural limits.

Bakugou hovered like a storm at her side.

“Is she gonna be okay?” he demanded — except it wasn’t a demand, not really. It was fear, unguarded.

Midoriya stepped forward, voice shaking, “She—she saved us all. She went against the villains for us. I don’t understand how she could use so many—”

Todoroki cut in, calm but coldly suspicious. “We always thought she had one quirk. But four? That’s… impossible for anyone who isn’t—”

Bakugou snapped his glare toward him. “Don’t you finish that sentence.”

The implication was radioactive: multiple quirks belonged to one person — the Symbol of Chaos himself. If the teachers caught that possibility, Elara wouldn’t wake up in a bed — she’d wake in a cell.

Recovery Girl raised a small hand, silencing all three boys. “She’s physically stable. But I sensed—something unusual. Her quirk signatures are… tangled. Traumatized. Whatever life she lived before U.A… it was far from kind.”

Bakugou’s jaw locked so hard his teeth groaned. Todoroki’s mismatched eyes lowered. Midoriya looked like someone had carved sympathy into the shape of worry inside him.

“Let her rest,” Recovery Girl instructed, ushering them back. “If she awakens, don’t overwhelm her with questions.”

Like they’d listen.

Hours crawled by.

The room dimmed to twilight, then softened into the warm hush of medical quiet — distant beeps, hushed conversations outside, the smell of disinfectant and aloe.

The three boys remained.

Bakugou slumped in a chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, hands hanging limp — as if explosions were useless if they couldn’t fix this. His sharp eyes softened only when they drifted toward her.

Midoriya had fallen asleep leaning forward, notebook still clutched in hand, pages filled with frantic scribbles of what he had witnessed.

Todoroki sat upright, arms crossed, chin dipped — sleeping only because exhaustion forced him to.

Elara woke to silence.

Her lashes fluttered, the room swimming into focus. A ceiling she didn’t recognize. A world that was supposed to feel safe.

But three sleeping figures made her heart lurch in her chest.

Bakugou.

Izuku.

Shoto.

All three — who had fought for her, worried for her — their bodies unconsciously angled protectively around her bed.

Her throat tightened painfully.

They stayed…

Not because she was a weapon.

Not because they were ordered to.

But because she mattered.

She swallowed, breath trembling as she lifted a shaky hand to her forehead.

What now?

All For One’s voice echoed in memory:
You are ours. They will never claim you.

But the scene around her — these boys leaning closer unconsciously at every shift in her breathing — told her that was no longer true.

Her gaze fell on Bakugou.

He’d always known. His suspicion wasn’t fear — it was recognition. Memories of childhood scraped raw and reborn.

If I tell him…
If I tell him I’m Elara — his Elara — he will never let me go back.

And the League… her so-called family… would come for her. With teeth bared. With plans crafted in the shadows of abandonment.

She stared at her palm — faint crackles of green and gold ghosting across it like small stars.

If she confirmed his suspicion — she wasn’t just choosing truth.

She was choosing a side.
She was choosing a future.
She was choosing them — over everything she grew up being told to protect.

And that terrified her.

But then Midoriya murmured her name in his sleep — soft, relieved:
“Nyx… please be okay…”

Todoroki’s brow furrowed, even unconscious — concerned, stubborn, watchful.

And Bakugou…

Bakugou shifted closer, hand instinctively reaching toward her wrist as if checking her pulse even while asleep.

“I’ve got you.”

He didn’t say it — but she felt it.

The fear in her chest trembled… and loosened.

Maybe it was finally time.

Time to stop running.

Time to stop lying.

Time to stop being Nyx.

She brushed her fingers lightly against Bakugou’s knuckles, barely a touch.

She tried shifting, just slightly — but pain shot through her torso. The soft gasp she released was barely audible… yet it was enough.

Bakugou’s eyes snapped open.

Blood-red and furious — and relieved.

“Elara.”

The name escaped him like the air had been punched from his lungs.

Her heart froze. That name was taboo. Dangerous.

“I… I told you,” she murmured quietly, “you’re mistaken—”

He surged forward, palm slamming beside her head on the mattress — not loud, not explosive, but desperate.

“Stop lying to me.”

She held his stare, breath shallow.

Bakugou wasn’t yelling — that was somehow scarier. His voice was low, tight, like each word cost him something.

“You look at me like you’ve known me forever,” he breathed. “You move like the same kid who used to drag me into the river every damn summer.” His jaw tightened. “You saved me — like you always did.”

Her pulse thundered. Memories flashed — muddy riverbanks, matching victories and bruised knuckles, her laugh echoing like sunlight.

“Katsuki…” she whispered, voice cracking before she could stop it.

His lips parted — that one word undoing him.

He grabbed her wrist — not rough, but as if terrified she’d vanish.

“I searched for you,” he rasped, voice splintering. “I thought you were dead. Or kidnapped. Or—” His voice cut off with a sharp inhale. “And then you show up — acting like I’m a stranger?”

Anger sparked again — the kind born from grief.

“You don’t get to do that to me,” he snapped quietly. “Not when you were my—”

He stopped himself.

My what?
Best friend?
First love?
Only safe place?

Her eyes glistened. “Katsuki… if I told you everything, it would destroy you.”

He shook his head — no patience for riddles.

“You think I’m weak?!” he hissed.

“No,” she replied instantly. “I think you’re human. And the monsters in my world don’t care about that.”

His hand trembled where it held her.

Then — the crack in his armor widened.

“I’m scared,” he choked out. “Scared I’m gonna lose you again before I even get you back.”

Her breath shattered.

He leaned in closer, forehead almost touching hers.

“Just tell me the truth…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

It was the please that broke her.

Tears slid silently down her cheeks. He stared like each one was a knife.

“I didn’t leave you,” she confessed through trembling lips. “I was taken.”

Bakugou blinked — fury and terror igniting together.

“By who?” he growled. “Who the hell took you—”

She squeezed his hand — stopping him mid-sentence.

“My father.”

He stilled. Completely.

“…Your father?” he echoed, confused.

Elara swallowed.

“All For One.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Izuku stirred.

But Bakugou didn’t look away.

His grip tightened — not rejection, not fear —

Resolve.

“You’re scared I’ll hate you,” he said — not asking, knowing. “You think what he is… makes you like him.”

Her tears kept falling. She couldn’t deny it.

Bakugou leaned closer — voice rough but unwavering.

“You are not him.”

She flinched — disbelief carved into every line of her face.

“You are the girl who stood between me and three Nomu.” His thumb brushed her pulse, grounding her. “You are the girl who laughs like the world hasn’t beaten her yet.”

His voice broke again.

“You are Elara. And I’m not losing you again.”

She sucked in a shaking breath.

“…I don’t know how to be saved,” she whispered — the most honest words she’d ever spoken.

Bakugou’s stare softened into something almost holy.

“Good,” he murmured, leaning in so only she could hear.
“Because I’m not done fighting for you.”

A tiny, helpless laugh slipped out of her —
painful and hopeful all at once.

Then she corrected him — barely audible:

“…maybe I never wanted you to stop.”

He finally let his forehead press to hers — gentle, reverent.

“As soon as you’re healed,” he promised,
voice a vow etched in fire —

“We’re going to talk about everything.”

She nodded, breath trembling against his.

“Everything,” she whispered back.

For the first time in six years…

Elara let herself believe she wasn’t alone.

And Bakugou finally — finally — had her back.

~~~~~

Bakugou is still staring at her, chest heaving, breath uneven. He looks like someone who has just fought the entire world and won — only to realize the victory terrifies him.

Elara’s quiet confession still hangs in the air:

“My name is Elara. And…I was taken by All For One.”

Silence becomes a living thing — heavy, coiling around all of them.

Bakugou swallows hard, his voice a low rasp, not explosive for once, “…I knew it. I fuckin’ knew it.”

His eyes — usually wildfire — are softer now. Furious and relieved at the same time.

She tries to look away, but he steps closer, refusing to let her hide again.

Elara whispers, “I never wanted you to know. I didn’t want any of you to be dragged into my mess.”

“Too late for that, dumbass.”

But the insult lacks venom. It’s a tether — proof that he hasn’t pushed her away.

From the corner of the room, a sleepy shift — a faint rustle of fabric.

Midoriya and Todoroki slowly stir awake, still slumped in the uncomfortable visitor chairs. Midoriya’s eyes open first, bleary but immediately alert, concern sparking green light beneath exhaustion.

Midoriya is the first to speak,“N-nyx…? Are you—were you crying…?”

He sits up quickly and winces as his back protests. Todoroki blinks awake too, gaze sharpening immediately — calculating, protective, and suspicious all at once.

Their eyes flick between Bakugou and Elara, recognizing tension, vulnerability — truth.

Todoroki’s voice is low, calm but cutting straight to the core, “What did we miss?”

Elara freezes — hands tightening in the sheets.

Bakugou glances at her. Exhales. And for the first time today, he gives her a choice rather than taking action for her.

She nods.

So he answers for her — blunt, harsh honesty, “Her name isn’t fuckin’ Nyx. It’s Elara. And All For One — that bastard — he stole her from her family and forced her to live with that league of freaks.”

Midoriya’s breath catches, eyes wide — like a child hearing his favorite hero bleed.

“He—He took you? Like…against your will—?”

She nods once. It hurts more than any nod should.

Todoroki’s jaw tightens — fire and ice warring beneath his skin.

“Did they hurt you?”

Elara laughs softly — brittle.

“They trained me. Molded me. Told me UA would hate what I am. And I…believed them.”

Midoriya leans forward, voice trembling with protective desperation, “But we don’t. We won’t.”

Todoroki steps closer too — quiet, resolute, “You chose us at USJ. That says everything.”

Bakugou scoffs at their softness but doesn’t deny it. His fists clench — fury simmering hotter than his explosions.

“They’re never taking you back. I’ll kill them before they touch you again.”

His voice cracks. Barely. But Elara hears it.

Before she can respond — boots thunder down the hallway.

All three boys tense.

The hospital room door slides open with urgent force.

Standing in the doorway are All Might, still in his muscle form but trembling with exhaustion… and Aizawa, wrapped in bandages, eyes already fixed sharply on Elara like he can see every secret lodged in her bones.

The air becomes razor-sharp.

Aizawa’s voice is low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“Nyx… We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

The hospital room door slides open with urgent force.

Standing in the doorway are All Might, still in his muscle form but trembling with exhaustion… and Aizawa, wrapped in bandages, eyes already fixed sharply on Elara like he can see every secret lodged in her bones.

The air becomes razor-sharp.

Aizawa’s voice is low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“Nyx… We need to talk.”

~~~~~

“Nyx, I was informed of the attack… of the USJ incident. You survived?” All Might speaks.

Aizawa speaks next, “And you were directly involved in saving some students. Explain yourself. Everything you just did — why?”

Elara’s hands clutched the blanket. She could feel the weight of the room, the judgment, the sheer expectation. All Might’s broad shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world, and Aizawa’s gaze cut through her, seeing right to the core.

Elara responds, voice low and trembling slightly, “I… I didn’t have a choice for a long time.”

All Might tilted his head, concern deepening.

“What do you mean, no choice?”

Bakugou, unable to restrain himself, leaned forward. His voice was harsh but protective, “She’s been hiding everything. And I’m not letting her just gloss over it.”

“…I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always…” She paused, swallowing hard. “…a student at UA, or a hero, or… even a person free to make choices.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t move closer, didn’t need to — his gaze already pinned her down.

“Nyx. Speak clearly. I need facts, not riddles.”

Her chest heaved. The words wouldn’t come easily, but the truth clawed its way up from inside her. Every memory she had buried, every command forced upon her, every name she had hidden… they all pressed at her lips.

Elara gives in, her voice shaking almost in a whisper, “My name… my real name… is Elara Kuroyomi.”

The room went silent. Even the monitors seemed to hold their breath. All Might’s expression shifted subtly — shock, disbelief, concern — and Aizawa’s eyes widened fractionally.

Elara continues, her voice a little stronger now, “I was taken as a child. By All For One… my father. He forced me to be a weapon, to obey, to do terrible things. I was trained to fight, to hurt, to manipulate, to follow orders. I… I had multiple quirks forced into me.”

All Might’s hands clenched briefly at his sides, his voice softening, “Multiple quirks? Elara… this is extraordinary — and dangerous. But you… you defied them? You defied All For One…”

Her gaze flicked to Bakugou, who looked like he might collapse from relief and fury combined.

“I… I saved some of the students. I couldn’t let them die. Not again. I’ve been running my whole life, but I couldn’t… not this time.”

Aizawa stepped closer, scarf tightening around his hand, “And the League? The other villains you were forced to work with? Are they after you now?”

Her nod was barely perceptible. Her voice was quiet, but clear, “Yes. They’ll try to take me back. But… I won’t let them. Not anymore.”

Bakugou’s hands were trembling on the bedframe now. His voice broke, low and ragged, “See? I fucking told you. She’s not one of them. She’s… she’s Elara.”

All Might knelt to her level, placing a hand gently on hers. His presence radiated a warmth that felt foreign and protective.

“Elara… I can see the weight you’ve carried. And the courage it took to make your own choice. You’re choosing the hero’s path. That is remarkable. That is… inspiring.”

Aizawa’s tone, though stern, softened marginally, “But make no mistake — the danger isn’t over. If All For One knows you’ve defied him, if the League suspects… you will be a target. You must train. You must be vigilant. And you must be honest with us — we cannot protect you if we don’t know everything.”

Elara looked at him, at All Might, at Bakugou. Exhaustion weighed on her, but for the first time in years, she felt a faint flicker of safety.

“I… I want to be a hero. But I’m scared.” She says softly.

All Might smiled gently, hands still resting over hers, “Then that fear will guide you, not control you. You are stronger than you know. You will learn. And you are not alone.”

Bakugou leaned closer, his forehead brushing hers, whispering, “I’m not letting anyone touch you. Not him, not the League, not anyone. Got it?”

“…Got it.” She breathed out, tearful, relieved, scared.

The room fell into a tense, quiet peace. Midoriya and Todoroki watched, knowing they had interrupted nothing — this was between her and the two people who mattered most in her immediate world. They were witnesses, not interlopers.

The battle outside UA would continue, the League’s vengeance looming — but inside this hospital room, for the first time in years, Elara felt like she had chosen her side.

And, maybe, she finally had a chance to fight as herself.

~~~~~

The morning sun poured through the tall windows of UA’s conference room, scattering long golden beams across the polished floors. The air was still, heavy with anticipation, as the staff prepared for a meeting unlike any other. Every corner of the room seemed to hum with the weight of the revelation that had come the night before: Elara Kuroyomi, formerly a weapon of the League of Villains, had chosen the path of heroism, and the pro heroes now had to decide how to protect her.

All Might sat at the head of the table, his posture uncharacteristically tense. His broad shoulders, usually the epitome of unwavering strength, slumped slightly as his mind ran over the reports, the threat assessments, and the reality that the League had their eyes firmly on this girl. Aizawa, sitting beside him, observed everything with his usual sharp, calculating stare, the loose scarf around his neck emphasizing the intensity of his gaze. Even Midoriya and Todoroki, positioned quietly at the edge of the room, seemed acutely aware of the gravity of the situation.

Elara’s name had been spoken openly now — the truth of her history laid bare. Both All Might and Aizawa were only now fully realizing the stakes.

All Might leaned forward, hands clasped, eyes flicking between Aizawa and his younger colleagues. “Elara Kuroyomi’s abilities are… extraordinary. Multi-quirk, trained as a weapon from childhood, and now directly defying her father, All For One, and the League. She has chosen heroism. That choice alone demands our respect — and our protection.”

Aizawa’s voice cut through the air, calm yet firm. “Protection alone will not suffice. She must train to control all her abilities, understand the full extent of her powers, and know when to fight, when to defend, and when to strategize. She cannot remain a student who simply reacts. She must be proactive, aware, and prepared.”

Midoriya, leaning forward with earnest intensity, interjected before the others could respond. “We can start immediately! I’ve already been analyzing her abilities from the USJ incident — her Ember Lash, Predatory Instinct, Regalia Carapace, and Psychebound Dominion. We can develop combat drills that help her integrate them seamlessly while minimizing risk.”

Todoroki added quietly, “Her psychological state matters just as much as her physical abilities. She has been trained to obey, to act without question, to isolate herself. We cannot force trust, but we can create an environment where she can choose to rely on others without fear.”

Aizawa gave a slow, approving nod. “Exactly. Her independence and experience cannot be dismissed, but we can facilitate connections with her classmates. Her survival depends not just on skill, but on alliances.”

All Might’s fingers drummed lightly on the table as he considered the situation. “Then the students must know the truth. They need to understand who she is and what she has faced. Only then can they stand beside her as equals — not just classmates, but comrades.”

~~~~~

By mid-morning, Class 1-A gathered in their usual training room. The air was thick with murmurs, a mix of curiosity and tension rippling through the students. Some fidgeted, some whispered, all of them stealing glances toward the door. Bakugou, ever vigilant, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes flashing every time the door opened. Midoriya perched on a bench, notebook in hand, but his gaze kept drifting, barely able to concentrate. Todoroki remained stoic, leaning against the wall with hands in his pockets, silently watching every motion.

When the door finally opened, All Might led the way, followed by Aizawa. Behind them, Elara stepped forward, head held high, a controlled elegance in her stride. Black-and-gold accents on her clothing hinted subtly at the Regalia Carapace she had used in battle, though no one but herself could recognize it. Her eyes scanned the students carefully, lingering ever so briefly on Bakugou, who met her gaze with a mixture of suspicion, awe, and relief.

Aizawa’s voice cut through the quiet. “Class 1-A, you are aware of the events at USJ. Some of you witnessed her actions firsthand. Today, you will meet the person responsible — not merely another student, but someone whose life and choices are extraordinary, and whose decisions could affect all of you.”

The students shifted in their seats, some leaning forward, others whispering nervously. Midoriya’s eyes widened behind his mask, processing the words, trying to keep his excitement in check.

All Might stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest as he addressed the class. “Her name is Elara Kuroyomi. She was forced into the League of Villains, trained from childhood to be a weapon of terror, and yet… she chose to act heroically. She saved students during the USJ attack. She chose life. She chose to stand for justice.”

The room froze. Gasps, whispered questions, and stunned looks spread across the students. Some took a hesitant step closer, curiosity overpowering fear. Midoriya felt his pulse race, thinking about her precision, her calm, and her terrifyingly controlled power.

Todoroki observed her silently, taking in the calculated way she held herself — poised yet ready, serene yet undeniably dangerous. He noted every twitch, every slight movement, and the awareness in her gaze that no ordinary student could maintain.

Bakugou’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest tight. He could feel the familiar, suffocating tug in his chest — the recognition, the anger, the need to protect her. Even though the others did not know her true identity, he knew. He had known all along.

All Might gestured to Elara. “She will speak to you now.”

Elara’s voice was soft but unwavering, carrying through the room with quiet authority. “I know you all have seen me fight. You’ve seen my abilities. I don’t expect you to understand everything yet. But I promise — I am here to protect you. I am here to fight alongside you. I want to be a hero, not a weapon. I want to stand with you, not against you.”

Ochaco’s hand shot up immediately. “We believe you! And we want to help! You saved us — you risked yourself for us!”

Tokoyami, his voice calm but sincere, added, “I do not take your words lightly. To see your skill, and to hear your story… I am honored to have you as a classmate. I will stand with you if danger approaches.”

Other students, initially hesitant, began to murmur their agreement, offering words of support. Even the quietest, most observant members of the class — like Iida and Sero — nodded firmly, their resolve strengthening.

Midoriya, unable to contain his excitement, spoke next. “Elara… if you’ll let me, I want to help you master your quirks. I want to study them with you, understand them, and help you train safely. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed at Midoriya, a low growl rumbling from his chest, but his gaze shifted to Elara. He saw the slightest acknowledgment, the faintest nod of approval — enough to set his teeth grinding in a mix of frustration and relief.

Elara’s lips twitched slightly — the barest hint of a smile — before she allowed herself to exhale, feeling, for the first time, that she was truly among allies.

Aizawa’s voice cut through, still calm but serious. “Class 1-A, observe and assist. Do not overwhelm her. She is a student, but her experience far exceeds yours. Respect her abilities, respect her boundaries, and support her.”

The students nodded, some still whispering in awe, others now fully determined to stand with her.

Elara’s gaze swept the room one final time, taking in the faces of those who would fight beside her. She could see the determination, the willingness to help, the spark of trust forming.

Maybe… I can trust them. Maybe… I can finally be something more than a weapon, she thought, letting a fraction of hope slip through her carefully constructed walls.

Bakugou’s crimson eyes lingered on her, burning with unspoken promise and relentless protection. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she allowed herself the faintest thought: for the first time in years, she wasn’t alone.

~~~~~

The training room smelled faintly of sweat and metal, mixed with the faint tang of ozone from lingering quirk sparks. The usual clatter of weights and crash of dummy attacks was subdued this morning, replaced with quiet murmurs and shuffling footsteps. Elara stood near the center, arms folded, observing a holographic projection of the combat scenario Aizawa had set up. Her eyes, calm yet piercing, scanned every moving figure with the precision of someone who had spent her life calculating the slightest advantage.

Midoriya approached first, notebook in hand, adjusting his glasses nervously as he studied her stance. “Elara,” he began, his voice soft but eager, “I’ve been thinking — your Ember Lash has incredible flexibility and range, but if you combine it with predictive movement patterns, you could preemptively block attacks while still keeping your offense active. I made some diagrams if you want to see.”

Elara’s gaze softened, and for the first time that morning, she allowed a fraction of warmth to flicker through her otherwise controlled demeanor. “Show me,” she said simply, stepping closer. She examined the pages carefully, nodding occasionally. Her fingers brushed over the drawings in a light, thoughtful way, and Midoriya felt his chest tighten slightly at the attention.

“Also,” he continued, voice almost a whisper, “if you combine Ember Lash with your Predatory Instinct… you could almost sense attacks before they even happen. You’d essentially have the ability to anticipate multiple threats at once, not just react.”

Elara’s lips curved into the tiniest, almost imperceptible smile. “You’ve really thought about this,” she murmured. The words were soft, but they carried a weight that made Midoriya’s heart skip.

Meanwhile, Todoroki had been standing a few steps behind, silently observing the interaction. He noticed the way Elara listened, really listened, to Midoriya’s ideas — not just for utility, but for understanding, for connection. It struck him how naturally she could make someone feel like their thoughts mattered. He stepped forward cautiously.

“Your Regalia Carapace,” Todoroki began, voice quiet but firm, “it’s effective defensively, but if you synchronize it with Ember Lash, you could create both offensive and defensive zones simultaneously. You’d be harder to hit while still controlling the battlefield.”

Elara turned, giving him a brief nod, her expression calm yet open. “I can see that working. I’d have to adjust the plating’s expansion to avoid restricting my movements, but… yes, it could be effective.”

The simplicity of her acknowledgment, the subtle respect in her tone, made Todoroki’s chest tighten. He had expected her to be distant, cold, maybe even untouchable — but here she was, listening to suggestions and considering them seriously, valuing his input. A strange warmth, unfamiliar and intriguing, began to settle in his chest.

Midoriya noticed it too — the way Todoroki’s gaze softened, how he unconsciously leaned closer to her as she spoke. And the way she smiled, even faintly, when acknowledging him, sparked something protective and admiring in Midoriya. He forced himself to focus on the technical aspects, scribbling notes, but his mind kept wandering to her green eyes, the quiet grace in her movements, and the gentle, thoughtful way she weighed every idea.

Meanwhile, Bakugou, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scowled. His eyes followed every gesture, every smile, every slight nod. He watched as she laughed softly at Midoriya’s flustered explanations, watched the subtle flicker of acknowledgment she gave Todoroki’s suggestion. He felt it like a punch to the chest — this closeness, this ease with others, gnawed at him in a way that was unfamiliar and unwelcome.

Why the hell does she act like that with them? he thought, jaw tightening. She’s mine. I know who she really is… and she can’t be mine if she’s laughing and talking like that with those two nerds.

He clenched his fists, the heat of his quirk humming faintly, almost mirroring the irritation and possessiveness curling in his chest. His jaw set, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t not watch. Every glance she gave Midoriya, every nod toward Todoroki, twisted something raw and possessive inside him.

Elara, completely unaware of the storm raging in Bakugou’s chest, continued to engage with the two boys. She adjusted the positioning of her Ember Lash tendrils in response to Todoroki’s advice, testing the limits of her Regalia Carapace in a small, precise defensive weave while keeping her Predatory Instinct active to anticipate even the faintest movement of the dummies scattered around the room.

Midoriya leaned forward, eyes shining behind his mask, heart racing. “And if you rotate your plating in this pattern while launching Ember Lash, you could create an overlapping shield grid while attacking multiple targets…”

Elara nodded, her focus entirely on the mechanics, but there was something in the way she thanked him that made him feel… seen. Really seen. It was a feeling he hadn’t expected from someone so battle-hardened, someone who had been trained to trust no one.

Todoroki’s voice, low and controlled, interrupted his reverie. “You’re stronger than you realize. And more precise than most students who’ve trained for years. But strength alone isn’t enough. You’ll need to rely on others eventually — even if it’s only strategically. You have allies now.”

Elara’s gaze softened, meeting his. “I’m learning,” she admitted quietly. The single word, almost a whisper, carried sincerity and vulnerability that she rarely allowed herself to show. Todoroki felt a subtle tug in his chest, a mix of admiration and something he hadn’t felt in a long time — the first stirrings of something dangerous, something compelling.

From the corner of the room, Bakugou’s teeth ground together. He didn’t like the closeness, the soft words, the subtle laughs. His possessive instincts flared, a roaring heat that he had to consciously suppress. Yet he couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop watching her interact with them, the way she made them feel seen, valued, and connected. No one else gets to have that, not them, he thought darkly.

Elara, oblivious to Bakugou’s storm of jealousy, continued to move fluidly between suggestions, testing small attacks, redirecting dummies, and explaining why certain movements worked better than others. Her voice carried quiet authority and intelligence, drawing respect without demanding it.

Midoriya whispered to Todoroki, almost inaudibly, “There’s… there’s more to her than anyone could have expected. She’s incredible, and yet… she’s kind. She actually cares.”

Todoroki’s gaze remained fixed on Elara, analyzing every movement, every blink, every subtle expression. “Yes,” he murmured, equally quietly. “And that’s what makes her… irresistible.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling from his chest. “I don’t care how ‘irresistible’ she is… I’m not letting anyone else get close,” he muttered under his breath, the fiery possessiveness in his chest threatening to boil over. He clenched his fists, sparks igniting faintly at his fingertips, and forced himself to step back, though he still watched every subtle gesture Elara made.

The rest of the class watched, mesmerized by the synergy between Elara and the two boys. Some noted the mutual respect, some the subtle emotional undercurrents, but all were aware of one undeniable fact: Elara had drawn them in, body and mind, and was quietly, almost effortlessly, forging bonds that would shape the days — and battles — ahead.

As the session continued, Elara moved fluidly between suggestions, testing, listening, and subtly laughing at the occasional flustered misstep. Her voice was soft yet confident, her presence commanding but comforting. The room was alive with the thrill of strategy, training, and connection, yet Bakugou could feel the sharp sting of jealousy prickling every nerve. And deep down, he realized it wasn’t just admiration — it was possessive, protective, and absolutely undeniable: she belonged to no one else but him.

And he would make sure she knew it.

Chapter Text

The common room was dimly illuminated by the warm glow of the ceiling lights. It was 11:03 PM, yet the dorm was far from quiet. Most of Class 1-A had gathered, scattered across couches and floor cushions, leaning in close around Elara, who sat cross-legged on the largest couch, radiating that calm, dangerous elegance. Her hair, slightly curled at the ends, shimmered faintly under the soft light. The pthalo-green cardigan hung perfectly off her frame, subtly showing the coils of Ember Lash that wrapped around her neck and wrists. Black sweats still hugged her legs and figure, and her gold accessories caught the light as she moved slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

The students leaned forward, eager to discuss quirks, battle strategies, and training techniques. Kirishima had his notebook out, scribbling ideas as Elara explained subtle ways to combine Ember Lash with her mental constructs.

“So, if you combine Ember Lash with Psychebound Dominion,” Kirishima said, eyes shining, “you can manipulate both physical space and enemy perception simultaneously, right? That would basically let you trap multiple targets without even touching them.”

Elara nodded, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Exactly,” she said softly. “But the timing has to be precise. Too soon or too late, and the constructs collapse. It’s about reading intention as much as movement.”

Mina bounced on her seat, eyes sparkling. “And your Predatory Instinct! You can sense fear, right? So you can predict an opponent’s reaction before they even make it?”

Elara smiled faintly, almost amused. “Yes… but it’s more than fear. Every subtle shift in their body, every micro-expression—it’s all data. I can’t ignore it, or I risk misjudging a threat.”

Todoroki, leaning casually with arms crossed, raised a brow. “And the Regalia Carapace? How much strain does it put on your body to maintain it during a fight?”

Elara’s calm, measured eyes flicked to him. “It’s temporary. It grows with my focus and intention. I can maintain it for short bursts, but continuous use… it drains energy fast. So, I choose my moments carefully.”

Bakugou, sitting a little away on the arm of another couch, felt a fire coil in his chest. He was watching the way she leaned slightly toward Todoroki as she explained the combination of constructs and armor, the faint tilt of her head, the delicate way she gestured with her hands. She’s mine. Always mine. Sparks flickered faintly along his fingers as he clenched them under the table.

Midoriya noticed immediately, notebook forgotten in his lap. “K-Katsuki… calm down… don’t let it—”

“I’m fine!” Bakugou snapped, voice low but dangerous. His glare followed every motion of Elara’s, and every time she laughed softly at Todoroki’s quiet comment, his chest ached with possessive frustration.

Mina leaned forward, clapping her hands. “Okay, okay! Enough with the serious talk. Let’s play something fun! Truth or dare! I promise it’ll lighten the mood.”

Kirishima leaned back, chuckling. “I don’t know if I trust how ‘fun’ this will get, Mina.”

Kaminari grinned, picking up a bottle from the floor. “Let’s spin it. We’ll start with whoever it points to first.”

The students arranged themselves in a loose circle. Tokoyami adjusted his feathers, looming silently as usual, while Ochaco and Midoriya exchanged a small, conspiratorial smile.

The bottle spun. Mina gasped as it pointed to Bakugou.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, smirking knowingly.

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. “Truth.”

Mina leaned in slightly. “Alright… what’s the one person in this room you secretly care about the most?”

Bakugou’s fists tightened, sparks flying faintly, and he growled. “None of your business.”

The bottle spun again, landing on Tokoyami. Midoriya grinned mischievously. “Truth or dare?”

Tokoyami’s shadow shifted slightly over his shoulder. “Dare.”

Midoriya’s face flushed. “I dare you… to whisper the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done to someone in this room.”

Tokoyami’s crimson eye glimmered in the dim light. “Embarrassing? Hmph… fine.” He leaned toward Mina, whispering something that made her shriek and clutch her face, while the rest of the room dissolved into muffled laughter.

Next, the bottle pointed to Mina. Kaminari grinned, biting his lip. “Dare! I dare you to… kiss Kirishima.”

Mina’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Kirishima, who froze. He stammered. “W-what?! Mina, seriously?!”

Kaminari chuckled, shrugging. “It’s a dare, dude!”

Mina smirked and leaned forward, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to Kirishima’s cheek, making him nearly fall off his cushion. Kirishima’s ears turned red, and sparks of laughter erupted around the circle.

The bottle spun again, landing on Ochaco. She laughed softly. “Truth.”

“Alright,” Mina said, eyes glinting. “What’s your real opinion of Bakugou? Be honest.”

Ochaco paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, then smiled softly. “He… cares more than he lets on. He’s stubborn and loud, but… he would do anything for his friends. And sometimes I think he doesn’t even realize how deeply he feels.”

Bakugou scowled, fists clenched, face burning. Elara’s calm, teasing smile didn’t help.

The bottle spun and landed on Elara. Kaminari’s grin widened, dangerous. “Dare. I dare you… to sit in Todoroki’s lap.”

The room froze. Todoroki’s eyes widened slightly, while Elara tilted her head, lips curling faintly. Slowly, deliberately, she moved toward him and seated herself, her weight shifting just enough to make him acutely aware of her presence.

Bakugou’s crimson eyes narrowed to slits. Sparks flared across his hands involuntarily. The hell is this?

Elara adjusted slightly, her voice calm and teasing. “Close enough to observe, I think?”

Todoroki’s jaw tightened, his usual calm faltering ever so slightly. “You’re… precise,” he murmured.

Midoriya scribbled furiously, eyes wide as he watched the tension radiate from Bakugou and Todoroki, both boys unaware of just how much of themselves they were revealing in their reactions.

Finally, the bottle pointed to Bakugou again. Mina leaned forward, whispering with a wicked smile. “Dare. Kiss Elara.”

The room collectively gasped. Bakugou froze, jaw tight, fists clenching as his eyes blazed. Elara’s expression was cool, teasing, almost challenging. Slowly, he stepped toward her, and the tension was palpable.

“You’re mine,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and possessive.

Elara’s pulse quickened at the edge of his words, and she tilted her head, eyes glimmering. “I think… you might be right.”

Without warning, Bakugou leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a heated, deliberate kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let herself respond just slightly, one hand resting lightly against his chest. The students in the room were frozen in shock, mouths agape.

The kiss lingered a few heartbeats longer than necessary before they pulled apart slightly, breathing shallow, foreheads nearly touching. The tension was electric, heavy, and intimate, leaving the entire room buzzing.

The bottle spun again, but the energy in the room had irrevocably shifted. Even as the game continued, every glance, every laugh, every subtle brush of a hand was loaded with meaning.

Midoriya’s notebook was filled with observations, not only of quirks and strategies but also of Elara’s charisma, composure, and the raw magnetism that had both Todoroki and Bakugou reacting unconsciously. Todoroki remained quiet, watching her closely, analyzing the subtleties in her posture, gaze, and voice.

Bakugou, arms crossed and still smoldering with jealousy and desire, refused to take his eyes off Elara, silently vowing he wouldn’t let her get close to anyone else.

The night stretched on, playful dares and truths fading into quiet conversations, but the undercurrent of desire, jealousy, and subtle competition had only just begun.

~~~~~

The dormitory was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerators and the occasional creak of the floorboards settling. The common room lights had long since gone out, and even the corridors were shrouded in shadows. Elara slipped from her bed, careful not to disturb the few classmates who were still awake but quietly dozing in the common room after the late-night truth or dare. She tugged her sleeves down over her hands and padded softly across the floor, her Ember Lash coiled invisibly under her blood red silk robe, the heat dormant but ready.

The kitchen was dark except for a single beam of light spilling from the island overhead. There, Midoriya sat hunched, scribbling in one of his many notebooks. His dark green eyes, magnified slightly by his glasses, lifted when he sensed her presence.

“Elara?” His voice was soft, tentative, careful not to startle her.

She froze for a heartbeat, the sound of her name from him pulling her focus in a way few people could. “Midoriya,” she whispered back, stepping closer to the island. Her voice was tired, raw, but steady—like the remnants of the day’s chaos clinging to her.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her as she approached. “You… you look exhausted,” he said, almost more to himself than to her, his gaze sweeping her from the faint dark circles under her eyes to the subtle slump of her shoulders. “Not just physically… mentally too.”

Elara let out a faint laugh, soft and dry. “You could say that. Long night.” Her hand instinctively moved to smooth a strand of hair behind her ear, though it did little to hide the tension in her posture.

Midoriya’s brow furrowed. “I… I think I understand, maybe more than most would.” He closed his notebook slowly, resting his hands on it as though anchoring himself. “I’ve… I’ve had my own experiences with All For One. I know what it’s like to feel trapped under expectations, to feel like you’re just a tool for someone else’s plan…”

Elara’s eyes widened slightly at the understanding in his voice. No one in years—no one—had ever even come close to articulating her experiences like that. Her heart thudded in her chest, unsteady. Maybe… maybe he’s the first person who actually sees me.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Midoriya asked gently, not pressing but offering space, his green eyes open, warm, and unjudging. “About… about your past? About your home… life with… him?” His words trembled slightly at the mention of All For One, as if saying the name aloud carried weight.

Elara hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. The kitchen seemed to shrink around her, the quiet amplifying the intensity of being seen. She leaned her hands on the countertop, her knuckles brushing the cold marble. “You… really want to hear that?” she asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

“I… I want to listen,” he said firmly, and there was no hint of judgment. “Not to use it, not to judge… just… to hear it. You don’t have to be alone with it anymore.”

Something cracked inside Elara. The careful walls she’d built, the controlled mask she wore even at UA, wavered slightly. She sat down on the stool across from him, her elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped loosely. “It’s… complicated,” she murmured. “I’ve been… forced to be someone I didn’t choose. I’m… not just a villain, not really. I’ve been trained, molded… controlled. Every decision I make, every quirk I use, it’s been… expected of me.”

Midoriya leaned forward slightly, careful not to crowd her. “I think… I can understand. You’ve had no freedom, no say in who you want to be. That kind of pressure, it… it changes a person.”

Elara swallowed, her lips pressing together. “It changes everything. You learn to hide… to lie… to protect those you care about by not letting them see the real you. And even when I’m here, with classmates who might be friends… I still feel… trapped.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” Midoriya whispered, his voice soft but steady. “I… I can’t fix it for you. I can’t make it go away. But I can listen. And… if you let me, I can be someone you don’t have to hide from.”

Elara’s chest tightened. Her eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, softened as they met his. For the first time in years, she felt seen without having to perform, without the weight of expectation crushing her. “It’s… nice,” she admitted quietly. “To feel… like someone actually sees me. And… wants to, not because it’s their job, not because it’s convenient… but because they care.”

Midoriya’s lips twitched in a small, shy smile. “I… I care. I don’t know how to say it any better than that. And I… I feel like I understand you in ways others can’t. I’ve… I’ve spent so much of my life wanting to be helpful, to save people… but sometimes… sometimes it feels impossible. And then, seeing you… hearing this… I want to help you, even if I can’t fix it all.”

Elara’s shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in her body melting just a bit. “It… means more than you know,” she said softly. “More than… anyone has in a long time.”

The silence between them stretched, but it was comfortable. She could feel the warmth of his presence, the quiet strength in the way he listened, the subtle pulse of his concern radiating through the small kitchen. Her hands unclenched slowly from the edge of the countertop.

“You… you don’t have to hide from me,” he said again, softer this time. “I… I want to see all of you. Even the parts that scare you. Even the parts that hurt.”

Elara looked down at her hands for a moment, then met his gaze again. There was a vulnerability there, a rare spark of intimacy. “I… I think… I want that too.” Her voice was almost a whisper, but the honesty in it filled the quiet kitchen, louder than any shout could have been.

Midoriya’s notebook sat forgotten on the counter. He leaned back slightly, but his gaze never wavered from her. The night seemed to slow, the world outside fading. In that moment, they weren’t a student and another student with secrets, weren’t heroes-in-training or weapons—just two people connecting over shared understanding, over trauma and trust, over the quiet intimacy of being truly seen.

Elara’s lips curled into the faintest smile. It wasn’t bold, not teasing, not like the one she wore around her classmates—it was soft, intimate, and entirely hers. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe… someone could see the real Elara Kuroyomi, and maybe… she could survive the darkness without being alone.

Midoriya’s green eyes softened, admiration and something deeper sparkling in them. He didn’t speak, didn’t move closer—he simply offered the safety of his presence, of someone who would listen, who would stay. And that was enough.

Sunlight filtered through the dorm windows, spilling over the worn floorboards in long, warm lines. The quiet of early morning clung to the common room, the type of stillness that made every heartbeat sound amplified. For Elara, the calm was suffocating—her mind still replayed last night’s events, the game, the laughter, and the kiss with Bakugou. The memory burned hotter than the morning sun, impossible to shake, leaving her stomach in tight knots and her pulse thrumming in her ears.

She perched at the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap, staring down at the floor as if the grain of the wood could absorb her racing thoughts. Why did it happen? Why did I let him…? Her mind spiraled, refusing to let go of the touch of his lips, the fire in his amber eyes, the way his hand had brushed against hers during the game.

The creak of boots against the floor made her stiffen. Bakugou had arrived, leaning casually—but with the kind of intensity that made the air between them crackle—against her doorframe. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes sharp and unrelenting.

“Elara,” he said, low and rough, each syllable carrying the weight of his frustration, jealousy, and unresolved feelings.

She lifted her gaze slowly, her own pulse jumping. “Bakugou,” she whispered, careful not to betray the storm inside her.

He pushed off the doorframe, closing the space between them in a few purposeful steps. “We need to talk,” he said, fists clenched at his sides, amber eyes blazing.

She felt the familiar tingle of fear and longing. “About… yesterday?” she ventured, voice calm but brittle.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened further. “Yeah. Yesterday. That damn kiss. What the hell were you thinking?”

Her chest constricted. “I didn’t mean—” she began, but he cut her off with a growl that carried all the frustration he hadn’t known how to release before.

“You didn’t mean for it to what?” he demanded. “Do you even know what you did to me?”

Elara’s cheeks warmed. “Bakugou, I…” Her words caught in her throat.

And then, from the corner of the room, Todoroki’s quiet presence shifted slightly. He had been observing from a distance, silent, arms crossed, chest tightening as he watched the interaction. Something in him compelled him to step forward, to try to diffuse the rising tension that was laced with so many emotions—anger, longing, fear, and vulnerability.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki said, voice calm but firm, “you’re… you’re scaring her.”

Bakugou’s glare snapped toward Todoroki, fiery and dangerous. “I don’t care! She—”

“She’s not your enemy,” Todoroki interrupted, stepping a little closer, positioning himself so he could speak to both of them without letting his presence dominate. “You can’t just—”

Elara’s heart fluttered at the unexpected intervention, relief mingling with tension. She took a small, careful step back, letting Todoroki’s voice be a bridge between her and Bakugou.

Bakugou’s fists tightened. “Then what do you want me to do, Ice Boy? Just stand there while she walks all over me?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was vulnerability hidden beneath it.

Todoroki’s eyes softened, though his expression remained serious. “No. I want you to calm down. You’re letting jealousy and fear make you reckless. And she… she doesn’t need to feel cornered.” His gaze flicked to Elara, who stood stiffly, fingers clenching at her sides. “Look at her. You’re both letting this situation… control you.”

Elara swallowed, heart thundering, caught between the heat of Bakugou’s amber eyes and the cool, steady presence of Todoroki. The mix of emotions made her feel dizzy—her pulse racing, her chest tight.

Bakugou’s voice dropped, closer, quieter, yet no less intense. “I can’t just… I can’t let you… be with him, or anyone else. Not like this. I…” He faltered, the words catching in his throat, amber eyes softening slightly as he struggled to express what he truly felt. “…I’m not letting you go, Elara. Not ever.”

Elara’s breath hitched. She wanted to respond, to explain, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she let the tension linger, letting the truth of his emotions wash over her.

Todoroki stepped closer to her side, placing a gentle hand near her shoulder—but not touching, just close enough to offer a sense of stability. “It’s okay,” he said softly, eyes meeting hers. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself, with him—or with anyone. You’re allowed to breathe, to make your own choices.”

The words pierced through the chaos of Bakugou’s storm, a soft balm that made her knees weak. She glanced at Todoroki, appreciating the calm in his eyes, the quiet understanding he radiated. He gets it. He sees me… The thought gave her strength she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Bakugou, meanwhile, was nearly vibrating with tension, his jealousy mingling with fear and a deep, unspoken longing. “You’re… you’re messing with me,” he muttered, barely above a growl. “I don’t even know who you really are half the time… but I know I’m not letting you slip away again.”

Elara’s chest ached at the raw honesty in his words. She wanted to reassure him, to step closer, but fear clawed at her. Fear for him, fear for herself, fear of the League. She let her eyes meet his, a silent acknowledgment, a quiet confession that she cared—more than she could ever admit out loud.

Todoroki’s hand dropped slightly, sensing the subtle shift, stepping back to give her space while remaining close enough for support. “Bakugou,” he said quietly, but firmly, “don’t forget—she’s her own person. She makes her own choices.”

Bakugou’s amber eyes flickered between Todoroki and Elara. His chest heaved with emotion—anger, jealousy, longing, protectiveness, and undeniable love. He clenched his fists tighter, finally stepping back slightly, though his presence still dominated the space.

Elara exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain just a fraction, but her mind raced. She was caught between the storm of Bakugou’s emotions and the steady, quiet care of Todoroki, and somewhere behind it all, the silent admiration of Midoriya, watching, taking in every word, every subtle movement, every microexpression, learning the depths of her courage and vulnerability.

And in that morning light, the three of them—Bakugou, Todoroki, and Elara—stood in a tense, charged triangle of emotion, unresolved confessions, and unspoken promises. Time seemed to pause, caught in the fragile balance between fire, ice, and the delicate pulse of a heart that had been hidden too long, finally letting a fraction of itself show.

~~~~~

The morning sun poured over the UA training grounds, glinting off the metal railings and casting long shadows across the open field. A crisp wind carried the scent of concrete, dirt, and faint ozone from residual quirk energy left over from early drills. Class 1-A had gathered for sparring exercises, but the tension in the air was palpable. The events from the dorm the previous night—the whispered confessions, stolen glances, and the truth-or-dare chaos—had left more than a mark on the students.

Elara adjusted the cuffs of her pthalo green training jacket, hiding the faint glow of Ember Lash coils beneath her sleeves. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked toward Bakugou across the field. He was stretching near the starting line, jaw set, fists crackling with faint sparks of quirk energy. There was a familiar intensity to him today—a fire that hadn’t cooled since the kiss and the tension in the dorms.

“Alright, Class 1-A,” Aizawa’s monotone voice cut through the murmur of stretching students. “Sparring pairs: Elara and Bakugou. Everyone else, form your own.”

Elara froze for a heartbeat at hearing her name paired with his. Bakugou’s amber eyes locked on hers, a dangerous glint of restrained frustration—and something more—hidden behind his scowl.

The two moved to the center of the field, the air thickening as their first steps closed the distance between them. The sparring area was bounded, but sparks practically seemed to radiate from Bakugou’s every movement, and the tension in the atmosphere made the ground hum faintly with anticipation.

“Ready?” he growled, fists igniting. “Try not to get in my way.”

Elara’s lips twitched in the faintest smirk. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she whispered, Ember Lash coiling invisibly along her forearms.

Their sparring began explosively. Bakugou struck first, fists blazing with quirk sparks, lunging forward with the familiar aggressive style Elara remembered all too well from their childhood training sessions. She moved fluidly, twisting her body, letting Ember Lash flare and whip out in arcs to parry his attacks, catching his fists, and redirecting them with molten precision. Each clash sparked miniature explosions of energy against her flexible whips, their coiled ends snapping with a sizzling hiss.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. She’s fast… too fast. His frustration flared—not at her skill, which he grudgingly admired, but at the sense of familiarity gnawing at his gut. Every deflected strike, every perfectly timed dodge reminded him of the version of her he had known, someone who had vanished years ago. And now, she was here, standing before him, impossibly strong, impossibly calm, and undeniably affecting him.

Elara could feel his emotions radiating through every strike, every glance, every unspoken word. Her own chest tightened, but she had to remain composed. She couldn’t allow herself to get too close, couldn’t let him see the way her pulse quickened, the way her heart leapt whenever he moved near.

Minutes passed, strikes flying, Ember Lash flaring against Bakugou’s fists, sparks dancing like fireflies. Their movements were almost a conversation—challenge and retort, aggression and precision, familiarity and restraint—but the tension between them had begun to teeter into something far too personal.

Aizawa’s voice cut through the escalating intensity. “Todoroki. Switch with Bakugou. Now.”

Todoroki’s crimson and icy gaze shifted to him. “Huh?”

“Elara and Bakugou,” Aizawa said flatly, “This is getting too heated. Switch immediately before someone crosses a line you can’t take back.”

Reluctantly, Bakugou stepped back, huffing, fists still sparking. Todoroki silently approached Elara. She exhaled slowly, letting Ember Lash retract and glow fade, relief mingling with an undercurrent of disappointment.

The field felt different now—quieter, charged with a softer tension, yet heavy with unspoken words. Todoroki moved into his position across from her, careful, measured. Unlike Bakugou’s explosive aggression, Todoroki’s presence was calm, deliberate, but no less powerful. Ice formed faintly along his fingertips, steam wafting lightly from the warm side of his quirk, a subtle contrast to the molten Ember Lash curling along her arms.

“Elara,” Todoroki began, voice low and steady, “I’ll go easy… for now.”

Elara tilted her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Their sparring began. Todoroki attacked methodically, testing her defenses, striking with bursts of ice to slow and control her movement, paired with sudden jets of fire to test her adaptability. Elara moved fluidly, Ember Lash coiling, snapping, and weaving around his attacks. She anticipated his shifts in temperature, adjusting her whips with uncanny precision, wrapping around flying ice shards, deflecting them, even using the heat to twist molten arcs into his flame bursts, redirecting energy away from herself.

With each exchange, Todoroki’s internal tension grew. There was a grace, a precision, a controlled power in Elara that went beyond quirk mastery—beyond even Bakugou’s raw intensity. She was strategic, fluid, and alive in a way that drew him in, made his pulse race, made his thoughts betray him. He couldn’t stop noticing the subtle curve of her jaw as she concentrated, the way her hair fell slightly across her forehead, the calm yet fierce determination in her eyes.

He struck again, ice spikes shooting toward her, and she leapt with Ember Lash coiling like serpents of fire. The molten energy hissed as it collided with the shards, wrapping around them, redirecting and melting them before they could reach her. Todoroki’s breath hitched slightly at the elegance, the raw control she had over her powers. Every movement screamed confidence and careful thought.

Why… why am I feeling this? Todoroki thought, stepping back slightly as he adjusted his stance. She’s… amazing. And… I can’t stop noticing her. Her eyes, her movements… it’s like she’s everything I didn’t know I needed to see.

Elara, sensing his hesitation, tilted her head, eyes softening for a fleeting moment. “You’re holding back,” she said quietly. “Are you… nervous?”

Todoroki froze, fists clenching. Nervous? He had no right to be nervous—he was Todoroki, calm, precise—but her words… her presence… his chest tightened in a way that was impossible to ignore. “I’m… not,” he muttered, voice rougher than intended.

She smiled faintly, a warm curve that softened her otherwise lethal precision. “Good,” she whispered, letting her Ember Lash coil around a floating training dummy, redirecting it harmlessly to the side. “But you should be.”

Each strike, each parry, each whispered exchange was a dance—electric, intimate, charged with unspoken tension. Todoroki found himself caught not just in the sparring, but in the quiet storm of emotions that swirled between them. He was jealous of the way Bakugou had that fiery claim to her attention, frustrated by his own growing feelings, and terrified at the undeniable pull she held over him.

Meanwhile, Midoriya observed from the sidelines, wide-eyed. The way Todoroki moves with her, how she responds… it’s like she’s opening him up in ways I didn’t know were possible. And she… she’s affecting everyone, even Bakugou. She’s incredible.

The sparring continued, neither holding back, each testing the other, pushing limits. Todoroki found himself consciously protecting her, subtly adjusting his strikes so that she wouldn’t be harmed, all the while marveling at her control, her power, and the way her mind worked in tandem with her body. By the end of the drill, they were both breathing heavily, Ember Lash coiled and dimming, ice melting into puddles around them.

Todoroki’s gaze lingered on her as she stepped back, chest rising and falling with controlled rhythm. I… I care about her. More than I thought. And I don’t… I don’t know what to do about it. His inner voice was raw, vulnerable, and entirely new.

Elara, noticing the shift in his eyes, felt a flutter of warmth, a whisper of relief, and a pang of guilt. She wanted to say something—anything—but the weight of her hidden past, Bakugou’s possessiveness, and the unspoken tension made her lips press together.

As the class began to gather and the next round of drills was called, the three—the fiery, the icy, and the observant—stood caught in a delicate web of emotions, tension, and admiration, each unsure of what the next spark would ignite.

Chapter Text

One week after the sparring incident

Night at U.A. settled like a held breath.

The dorms were quiet — lights dimmed, hallways still, the kind of silence that felt suspended and unnatural. Earlier, the living room had been warm and calm: Elara curled into the corner of the couch beside Tokoyami and Todoroki, a soft blanket draped over her legs. She spoke quietly with them — Tokoyami sharing dry humor and stories of Dark Shadow’s moods, while Todoroki offered gentle observations, eyes flicking to her with a softness he refused to acknowledge.

Across from them sat Bakugou.

Slouched. Arms crossed. Eyes glued to Elara.

He pretended he wasn’t staring — but every time she laughed, it clawed at him. Every time Todoroki leaned close to her to speak quietly, something hot and vicious curled in Bakugou’s stomach. She shined brighter than anyone else in the room — even exhausted, even with shadows beneath her eyes. A light that wasn’t meant to belong to villains.

A light that wasn’t allowed to leave him again.

Tokoyami eventually excused himself, murmuring something about Dark Shadow needing rest. Elara rose to follow, but Todoroki gently caught her wrist — not gripping, just holding.

“You look tired,” he said quietly.
“You should get some sleep too.”

She smiled — a soft, grateful curve of lips. “Thank you, Shoto… goodnight.”

Bakugou watched that tiny moment like it was a blade twisting between his ribs.

When she turned toward the hallway, he forced out—

“…Night.”

She paused. Looked over her shoulder.
A small smile — just for him.

“Goodnight, Katsuki.”

He held onto that like it was oxygen… even as jealousy burned him alive.

They all drifted off to their dorms.
Doors shut.
Lights out.
Breathing slowed.

Time crawled.

~~~~~

2:58AM

Elara lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Something in her chest felt wrong — a familiar tightness, a quiet instinct honed by years living under a monster’s shadow.

She slipped from her bed, bare feet whispering against the floor. The air tasted sharp.
Too still.
Too silent.

She stepped into the hallway—

—just as a shape materialized behind her.

Mask. Dark hood.
Gloved hand clamping over her mouth.

Her body instinctively lit with quirk energy — shadows coiling, lightning sparking beneath her skin — but rough fingers pressed to her neck, right over old scars All For One had left.

A voice whispered:
“Don’t. Your master wants you back.”

Her heart dropped to ice.

Warp-gates shimmered to life at both ends of the hallway — Kurogiri and two masked villains closing in.

Elara thrashed — silent panic clawing up her throat — and managed to twist free just enough to slam one attacker into the wall with a burst of gravitational force.

Her whisper broke, terrified:
“No—no, not again—”

Another villain grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her. A quirk-canceling device clamped around her wrists before she even processed the movement.

And then—

A door slammed open.

“ELARA?!”

Bakugou stood in the hallway, hair a wild explosion, eyes wide — the rawest terror she had ever seen in them.

Her voice cracked:
“Kacchan—help—”

He didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.

He lunged.

Bakugou’s explosions erupted — deafening, violent, desperate. He sent one villain flying, smoke choking the corridor. His gaze snapped to Elara — trapped, shaking, eyes wide with the same expression he wore when he realized she was alive.

“Let. Her. GO!”

The villain gripping her yanked Elara back toward Kurogiri, using her like a shield.
Bakugou saw the move — and rage flickered into horror.

If he blasted full power…
He might hit her.

Two more assailants appeared from the shadows — All For One’s elite retrieval force — Nomu-level enhancements.

Bakugou snarled, teeth bared like a cornered wolf.

“You’re not—fucking—taking her!”

He charged one, grabbed them by the collar— point-blank explosion — the floor cracking from the blast.

But they kept coming.
Regenerating. Stronger.

Another grabbed Elara’s waist, hoisting her off her feet.

Bakugou tore forward—
“ELARA!”

She reached for him—
Fingers brushing—
Almost—

But Kurogiri’s warp swallowed her knees, then her waist, then her chest—

“KATSUKI—!”

His hand closed around hers—

For a breath.
A heartbeat.
A promise.

Her eyes — those eyes that held every secret she was terrified to share — locked onto his.

“Don’t let them take me—!”

He pulled. He roared with the effort, explosions tearing into the portal—

But a villain struck him across the head, slamming him into the wall. His grip slipped—

“No—! NO—!”

She looked at him as if he were the only thing in the world, “Stay there. I will be fine.”

Elara’s fingertips vanished into the darkness.

And she was gone.

Bakugou dropped to his knees — lungs tearing for breath, vision spinning. The hallway was scorched and broken, alarms blaring, lights flickering.

Too late.
Too slow.
Too weak.

He punched the floor — once — twice — knuckles splitting.

“She trusted me…”
His voice cracked — a sound he would never make in daylight.

“She trusted me… and I let them take her…”

Footsteps pounded — Midoriya first, then Todoroki — panic all over their faces.

But Bakugou didn’t look up.

His forehead pressed to the ruined floor as a silent vow tore through him:

I will burn the world down before I lose her again.

His tears hit the concrete like falling embers.

And far away — somewhere cold and suffocating —
Elara screamed his name into the dark.

But no one heard her.

Not yet.

~~~~~

The world slammed back into existence like a coffin lid sealing shut.

Elara hit cold stone — her knees scraping against the rough floor as she gasped for air. Her wrists were still cuffed with the quirk-suppressing device; it burned against her skin like iron dipped in betrayal.

Dim lights flickered overhead. Metallic walls. Damp, industrial air.
She knew this place.

One of his cages.
One of his forgotten prisons.

Her chest seized.

“No… no, please… not here again—”

Hands grabbed her hair — yanking her head back. She bit down on a cry.

A voice coiled down her spine like a sneer wrapped in silk.

“Welcome home, Elara.”

All For One stepped into the light.

Not the false warmth he’d used to manipulate her as a child.
Not the voice feigning affection.

This was the monster.

His mask reflected her trembling form — small, powerless, alone. He circled her slowly, studying the bruises forming across her throat from the abduction.

“You look… damaged.”
He clicked his tongue.
“I told them to retrieve you without harm. They disobeyed.”

He crouched, gloved fingers sliding under her chin to force her to meet his gaze.

“That will be corrected.”

Elara jerked away, hatred burning hot in her veins.

“I’m not yours anymore.”

A thin, amused hum escaped him.

“A charming delusion.”

One lazy motion — and the room’s gravity spiked around her body.
Her limbs shook, bones straining.
A groan tore from her throat — unwilling, humiliating.

“You saved the children of U.A.”
He said it like a joke.
Like a stain on her soul.

“You chose them over me.”

His boot pressed between her shoulder blades — shoving her flat against the floor.

“You chose to betray your family.”

“I never—”
Her voice was a rasp.
“They aren’t my family. You never were.”

The pressure on her back increased — a warning, not yet punishment.

“Oh, Elara. You misunderstand.”

He leaned close. She could feel the artificial air from his mask brush her ear.

“You don’t get to choose.”

Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs like a trapped animal.

“If you run from me again… if you dare raise your hand to protect them again…”
His voice dropped into a whisper of death:
“I will kill the boy who screamed your name.”

Everything inside her froze.

Her voice was barely air.
“…Katsuki.”

“And the other two? The half-and-half and the bright-green nuisance? I could snap their necks in a moment. U.A. can’t save them from me.”

He let the threat settle like a blade against her throat.

“Your task remains unchanged: Break them.
Burn that school from the inside.”
He paused.
“And bring me One For All.”

Her stomach twisted. This was why he wanted her back — not because he cared, but because she had value. Because she was a tool.

Because she wasn’t human to him.

Her breathing trembled — her terror raw — but beneath it
hate
smoldered.

“I won’t help you.”

Very slowly… he stood.

“Then we will re-educate you.”

A door slid open. Footsteps entered — slow, deliberate. She recognized the movement even before she saw the face.

Shigaraki.

He looked down at her with a child’s curiosity and a murderer’s grin.

“You made us look stupid.”
He crouched, head tilted.
“And you made Kacchan angry. He’s fun when he’s angry.”

Her fists clenched, nails cutting into palms.

He reached out — fingers hovering dangerously close to her cheek.

Elara flinched. For the first time, Shigaraki laughed.

“You’re shaking.”

All For One spoke like a king addressing a servant.

“Elara requires discipline.
Make her bleed… but do not break her.
We still need our weapon intact.”

Shigaraki’s grin stretched too wide.

“With pleasure.”

He grabbed her by the cuffs and dragged her across the floor, her knees scraping open, pain ripping through her joints. The metal door slammed shut behind them — sealing her fate in darkness.

~~~~~

A single light hung above her — swinging slightly, casting shadows like claws. Her breathing echoed off the steel.

Shigaraki paced in front of her, dragging his nails along the wall — leaving streaks like scratches from something feral.

“You could have had everything with us. Family. A home.”
His voice shook with fury.
“And you threw it away for some stupid heroes.”

He kicked her — sharp and unforgiving — right in the ribs.
The sound echoed.
She refused to scream.

“You think they’ll come?”
Another kick.
“You think he will? That hot-head idiot?”

Blood tasted metallic on her tongue, but her heart didn’t waver.

“Yes.”
Her voice was a breath of defiance.
“He’ll come for me.”

Shigaraki froze.

And then he laughed — ragged and broken.

“Oh, you’re in love with him.”
He leaned close, voice venom.
“That makes this even better.”

Elara glared up through strands of hair stuck to her face with blood and sweat.

“You can hurt me,” she whispered,
“but you’ll never own me.”

Shigaraki’s rage cracked across the room as his hand slammed into the floor beside her — decaying the concrete into dust.

His breath hit her cheek — manic and shaking:

“By the time I’m done…
you’ll beg to come home.”

Elara looked him dead in the eyes.

“I’d rather die than belong to you.”

Silence stretched — then with a snarl, he signaled the guards.

“Chain her up.”

Metal clamped around her wrists again. Another set around her ankles. They hoisted her upright — suspended from the ceiling.

Her injuries screamed.
Her body trembled.

But her gaze held fire.

When the guards stepped out, leaving her alone in the suffocating dark…

Elara allowed the first tear to fall.

Not for the pain.
Not for herself.

For him.

For the look on Bakugou’s face as her fingers slipped from his.

She pressed her forehead against the restraint — eyes burning with a fury that tasted like survival.

He’s coming.

They’re coming.

And this time—

She wasn’t the weapon.
She was the war.

Chapter Text

The Class 1-A common room was suffocatingly still.

Students sat scattered — half-awake, half-panicking — with the thick, vibrating tension of something gone terribly wrong. Bakugou stood in the very center of the room, his body a barely-contained explosion, chest rising and falling in furious, uneven breaths.

His palms sparked — unstable, angry pops of sweat-ignited nitroglycerin.

He was shaking.

Everyone stared at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet their eyes.
Not now.
Not after what he let happen.

He dragged in a breath — one that scraped like fire up his throat.

“They came out of nowhere.”

His voice was different — hollow and raw.
Not loud. Not shouting.

Broken.

“I heard something — just… faint. A shift. Like static in the damn air.”

He looked up — red eyes filled with rage and grief.

“So I went to check — and there she was. Elara. Cornered right in the hallway.”

The room fell completely silent.

Tokoyami’s feathers bristled.

Todoroki’s breath hitched.

Bakugou continued, voice cutting like a blade:

“Shigaraki had his hand around her throat. Not choking. Just… holding her there. And she was trying — she was trying so hard not to scream.”

His fist slammed the wall — BOOM — a reflexive explosion tearing through drywall.

Mina flinched.
Sero swallowed hard.

“She saw me. And she—”

For the first time, his voice cracked.

“She told me not to come any closer. That she’d be fine. That she didn’t… she didn’t want any of us to get hurt.”

He laughed — a sharp, bitter sound.

“Like she didn’t matter.”

Bakugou’s teeth clenched tight.

“Then Kurogiri opened a warp gate behind her. They were dragging her back… to him.”

Darkness pooled in Tokoyami’s eyes, Dark Shadow rumbling in fury like a caged beast.

Bakugou took another step forward, chest heaving:

“I blew up the whole damn hallway. I tried to grab her. I swear to God I tried—”

His voice dropped into a whisper that physically hurt to hear:

“She told me to stay.”

Tokoyami’s voice was a low tremor.

“She has fought against her destiny every day she’s been here…”
Dark Shadow hissed behind him:
“And now the darkness has claimed what it believes is its own.”

Tokoyami’s hands curled into claws.

“I should have been awake,” he muttered.
“Her shadows call to mine — and I ignored them.”

Todoroki stared down at the floor, ice creeping from his right fingers — frost crackling over the couch beneath him.

“I noticed she’d been jumpy recently,” he whispered.
“Scared. She wouldn’t say why…”

His mismatched eyes tightened in agony.

“I should’ve asked again.”

Kirishima’s jaw trembled — brimmed with tears he refused to let fall.

“She always tries to carry it alone,” he choked.
“She just wants to protect everyone. Even if it destroys her.”

His voice cracked into broken stone:

“She didn’t deserve this.”

Midoriya’s notebook was crushed between his fingers — pages ripping as his quirk-enhanced grip tightened.

“She helped me study tonight,” he whispered, shaking.
“She walked me back, told me to sleep well. She—”

His voice rose, frantic:

“I should have checked if she got back to her room! I should have noticed something was wrong!”

He slammed his fist into the floor, teeth bared in self-hate.

“I couldn’t even wake up while a classmate was being kidnapped in the hallway right outside—!”

Bakugou’s head snapped toward him, eyes blazing.

“Don’t you dare—”
But Midoriya didn’t stop.

“She could be hurt — or worse — because we were all asleep!”

Ochaco wiped furious tears from her cheeks.

“I promised her once that I’d be there if she needed me,” she whispered.
“And she needed me more than ever tonight.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“And I slept.”

The common room doors burst open —

All Might, hair wild from being woken, eyes blazing.
Aizawa, scarf already floating, quirk activated.

“What happened!?” Aizawa snapped, voice a lethal whip.

All Might scanned the room — expression hardening with dread.

Bakugou stepped forward, chest still shaking, voice low as smoke:

“They took her.”

Aizawa’s stare sharpened — no confusion, only fury.

“Elara?” he demanded.

Bakugou nodded once.

“She didn’t want us involved,” Midoriya said hoarsely.
“She hid how scared she was.”

Tokoyami added, “Her darkness… grew restless. We should have noticed.”

Todoroki’s fists trembled.

“They’re forcing her back into a life she risked everything to escape.”

All Might’s shoulders rose — he looked suddenly older as a terrible realization washed over him.

“She was right to be afraid,” he murmured.
“They were always waiting for a moment like this.”

Aizawa turned away for a moment — jaw tightening, grief replaced by ice resolve.

“No one is to blame except the villains,” he said sharply.
“You all did what you could with what you knew.”

Bakugou scoffed sharply — turning away so no one would see the tear he refused to let fall.

Aizawa continued — commanding, steady:

“Class 1-A — listen to me.”

The students looked up, barely breathing.

“We will get her back. But we do it strategically — not by running blindly into a trap.”

His voice softened only slightly:

“Elara risked her life for every one of you. Now we return the favor.”

All Might stepped forward — towering but not comforting, anger radiating off him in waves.

“We will not fail her again.”

~~~~~

Silence shouldn’t roar.

But in the darkened chamber of the League’s hideout, silence had teeth.
It gnawed at Elara’s sanity while cold steel bands dug into her wrists and ankles, pinning her to a chair bolted into concrete slick with old blood. Her own, and maybe someone else’s.

Her head lolled forward, hair shadows spilling like ink over her face.
Her ribs ached with every strained breath.
Her quirk—every one of them—felt like they were being held underwater, suffocated.

The device clamped to the back of her skull hummed like a dying heartbeat.
It pulsed with a sickly green light. It hurt with every pulse.

AFO had designed it.
To keep his creation obedient.
To cage a girl whose heart dared to dream of something better.

Chains rattled.

A door groaned open.

Shigaraki entered first—hands twitching, skin peeling, red eyes glowing like a child’s temper tantrum turned homicidal.

Behind him—

The man who raised her in fear.
Who taught her to kill before she learned how to hope.
Who said she was a gift to him.

All For One.

His presence alone curled the shadows toward him, eager to please.

“Elara,” he spoke as if soothing a frightened animal.

Her jaw clenched. She refused to look at him.

She refused to shatter.

That seemed to amuse him.

“Tell me,” he continued, slowly circling her like a wolf selecting where to bite,
“What did they give you that I did not?”

Elara’s vision blurred from the pain in her skull, but she forced her voice to work.

“…Freedom.”

AFO laughed softly—like a father disappointed instead of enraged.

“You call chaos freedom. You call weakness caring. You call the naive affection of children something worth defying me for?”

His hand lifted.
Two fingers touched the quirk-suppressing clamp.

Pure agony.
Electricity laced with psychic force detonated behind her eyes.

She tried not to scream.

She failed.

The sound tore from her throat raw and broken.

Shigaraki watched, head tilted, enjoying the music.

“Again,” AFO murmured.

Another pulse.

Her muscles seized.
Blood trickled from her nose.
Her powers slammed against invisible walls, begging to fight, begging to protect.

“This is what they made you,” AFO hissed.
“A traitor to the only family that ever wanted you.”

Elara gasped through the pain, voice shredding:

“You don’t want me.
You want my power.”

AFO leaned closer, the empty nothingness where his eyes should be locking onto hers.

“I created your power. I cultivated every cell of your potential. You are mine. Body, mind, and quirk.”

Shigaraki stepped forward, fingertips hovering inches from her cheek—decay readied like a threat.

“You should’ve stayed with us,” he said, voice scratchy with resentment.
“You were supposed to ruin heroes with me… not become one.”

Her heart twisted.

Because somewhere in that broken voice… there was a boy who had once sat beside her in isolation.

“There’s still time to come back,” Shigaraki whispered, almost pleading.

Elara’s eyes softened—just for a moment.

Then hardened again.

“I’m not your weapon anymore.”

AFO sighed. Then nodded to the shadows.

Four Nomu lumbered out.
Close enough she could smell them — rot and formaldehyde and death recycled into puppets.

“All those quirks inside you,” AFO said, voice dripping with ownership,
“yet you cannot move.
Not unless I grant permission.”

A flick of his fingers.

The collar deactivated.

Just enough.

Not mercy — temptation.

“Show me,” he commanded.
“Show me you are strong enough to survive your choice.”

The Nomu charged.

Elara’s instincts surged—Predatory, Regal, Infernal, Psychic—

Her heart burned.

Fury. Terror. Defiance.

Black-gold armor burst across her limbs—Regalia Carapace flaring like molten obsidian.

She ripped one arm free of its restraints—shredding skin but she didn’t care.

Ember Lash exploded from her palm—whips of fire cracking like dragons’ jaws—striking the first Nomu with enough force to sear bone.

She headbutted the second as it lunged—Predatory Instinct guiding bone and rage—shattering teeth.

The third grappled her legs—tearing flesh—

She screamed but fought.

Psychic shadows writhed into existence—Psychebound Dominion twisting into serpents of thought—wrapping around the creature’s mind like chains.

She weaponized fear.

She weaponized survival.

She weaponized hope.

But the fourth Nomu seized her from behind—quills injecting venom laced with quirk-nullifying serum.

Her knees buckled.

The room swirled.

AFO caught her chin, forcing her eyes up to him as the collar reactivated—throttling her power back into helpless silence.

“You are strong,” he said.
“And that is why I will break you.”

Her vision flickered.

Her heart defiantly kept beating.

Not for him.
Not for what he made her.

But for the voices calling her name in memory—

Katsuki.
Shoto.
Izuku.
Ochaco.
Tokoyami.
Kirishima.

Students who looked at her and saw a person, not a project.

AFO leaned closer, voice venomous:

“You will return to me.
You always do.
Because there is nowhere else in this world where you belong.”

Her tears hit the floor, burning with rage.

“…You’re wrong.”

Chains tightened.

Pain rose like a tidal wave—

But she clung to one fragile, beautiful truth:

Someone out there was still looking for her.

Someone cared enough to fight the world.

And one person especially…

Would burn it all down to get her back.

~~~~~

The alarms blared, a relentless cacophony echoing through the dorms. Smoke filtered faintly from the shattered windows of the common room, evidence of the chaos outside. Red emergency lights flickered across the walls, casting the students’ faces in sharp, unsettling shadows. Bakugou sat rigidly in the center of the room, fists clenched on the edge of the table, eyes blazing. He had just finished explaining, in harsh, rapid-fire sentences, exactly what had happened: the League had come, Elara had been taken, and he had been the only one awake to witness it.

Tokoyami, Shoto, and Kirishima leaned in, their bodies taut with worry, minds spinning with plans and possibilities. Tokoyami’s shadow stretched and shifted nervously across the room, mirroring the tension that gripped him. “If we move too slow, she could…” he trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Even the words themselves seemed too small for the magnitude of danger.

Midoriya’s hands trembled, gripping the edge of the table. “I—I should have heard it. I should have woken up,” he muttered, voice tight, eyes wide and guilty. “We— we failed her.”

Ochaco’s lips pressed into a thin line, guilt clawing at her chest. “I was supposed to be vigilant… I was supposed to protect her,” she whispered, barely audible over the blaring alarms. “I… I let her down.”

Bakugou’s scowl sharpened, every muscle in his face tense. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who screwed up! She’s in danger, and you’re whining about guilt?!” His voice cut through the chaos, fierce and raw. “I saw her—she didn’t even get a chance to fight them off! And she’s… she’s strong enough to kill them all herself if she wanted to, but now they have her, and if anyone so much as looks at her the wrong way—”

“Bakugou!” Shoto’s voice rang cold and sharp, cutting through his rage like a blade. “We are all aware of the stakes. Channel that anger—don’t waste it on panic.” His glare was icy, and even in the chaos, his command carried weight.

Kirishima slammed a fist to the table, punctuating the tension in the room. “We don’t have time to panic! Katsuki’s right—she needs us now. Every second we waste thinking about who’s at fault is a second she’s suffering!”

Tokoyami’s voice finally rose, calm but urgent, “We need a strategy. Her survival isn’t just about brute force—it’s about timing, coordination, knowing the enemy. We cannot just rush in blind!”

Shoto’s glare swept across them all, chilling in its intensity. “Enough. Guilt changes nothing. Only action matters.”

Bakugou’s teeth ground together, crimson eyes blazing. “Action? You think standing here talking is action? She’s out there, and we’re just—” His voice broke, but the heat behind it didn’t waver. “I’m not letting them hurt her. Not the League, not anyone. If they lay a hand on her, I will—” He stopped, chest heaving, voice thick with raw fury.

All Might slammed his fists on the table, making the whole room vibrate. “We need calm, we need a plan! Rushing in blindly will get her killed!” His voice was fierce, commanding, but threaded with desperation. “We don’t have the luxury of panic! She’s alive, and we are going to bring her back!”

Aizawa’s eyes were cold, scanning each student like he was reading the battlefield before it even existed. “Bakugou is right about urgency. But chaos is deadly. You will follow orders, you will coordinate, and if anyone acts recklessly—” His gaze locked on Bakugou, “—there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched tight, fists still white. “I’ll follow orders… but only if it gets her back. Only if she comes back alive.”

All Might nodded, massive hands flexing as if he could physically grab the storm in the room and bend it to his will. “Then we move. Now. Every second counts. We bring her back.”

The room erupted into controlled chaos. Laptops, maps, and strategy boards were pulled out. Every student had a role, every teacher a command. Midoriya’s mind raced, calculating every variable. Ochaco devised evacuation paths and protective barriers. Shoto analyzed attack patterns. Kirishima mapped physical engagement. Tokoyami calculated stealth routes and perimeter control. Bakugou’s information—every second of observation, every quirk move she had displayed—formed the foundation of the rescue mission.

Amidst it all, one truth glimmered in every student’s mind: Elara was not alone. And they would not let her face the League unprotected.

Bakugou’s eyes, filled with burning determination, lingered on the empty space where she had been. “I swear… if they touch her, I’ll rip them apart myself.”

Aizawa’s gaze hardened, voice cutting through the frantic planning: “Thirty minutes. Everyone ready. No mistakes. Elara comes back with us.”

The students and teachers alike felt the weight of every second, every move, every quirk at their disposal. And in that charged silence, every heart throbbed with one thought: they would not fail her again.

~~~~~

The cell smelled of rust and old ozone, a metallic tang that made the back of Elara’s throat burn. Light above her swung like a slow heartbeat, casting long, hungry shadows that crept across her face and pooled in the hollows beneath her eyes. Her wrists and ankles ached where the restraints bit into bone; small bruises had already bloomed into dark petals. The clamp at the base of her skull throbbed with every small pulse, a steady mechanical reminder that whatever edge her quirks had once given her was now a distant, frantic tide.

Shigaraki stood too close, a grinning fault line. He’d learned cruelty as if it were a language he could speak without breath. He’d spent their childhood inventing new ways to make people break; now, with the power of the League backing him, his cruelty had more shape, more rehearsal, more relish.

All For One watched from the shadows, a presence like a black sun. He did not need to move to be felt; the room answered to him. Dabi leaned beside him, arms folded, the blue fire at his fingertips guttering briefly when his jaw tightened. He looked older than his years, hollowed by a different kind of hurt—one that wasn’t simply cruelty but betrayal.

“Elara,” Shigaraki said, voice soft and curious, and as usual that softness made everything worse. “Do you remember the last time you disobeyed me?”

Elara kept her chin tucked, spit dry in her mouth. The collar at her throat rattled with her breath. “I remember saving them,” she said, voice a thread. “I remember making a choice.”

Shigaraki’s smile sharpened. He crouched until they were eye to eye. His decayed fingers hovered over the back of her hand but did not touch. “You made a choice to betray your family,” he said. “You shamed us. You made me and the others look weak. That isn’t something we forgive easily.”

All For One’s voice, when it came, was the hush of a room that knows it must obey. “She is valuable,” he said. “Not for who she says she is. Not for her feelings. For what she contains.” The words were clinical, pityless. “Make her understand.”

Shigaraki let the understanding twist into performance. He produced a small screen from the folds of his coat—one of those cheap, stolen devices villains used to mock heroes. It flickered alive. On it, they had spliced footage: grainy clips of the dorm hallway, flash frames of feet, of a hand slipping free, the consequences of every second Bakugou had not spent there. Intercut were images of the boys: Bakugou’s face as he lunged and screamed, Todoroki’s frozen expression, Midoriya’s frantic hands on the phone—moments plucked raw, rearranged into accusation.

“Look,” Shigaraki said. “These are the people you chose. These children—do you know what happens to the people we love when they disobey All For One?”

Elara’s lungs clenched. A memory slipped, sudden and savage: Bakugou’s hand, the brush of fingertips that had touched hers before the warp took her. The image was a knife.

Dabi watched the flash of it cross her face. For a beat his expression faltered—eyes narrowing, not with hatred for her this time, but with grief. He folded his arms tighter to hide it.

Shigaraki’s fingers drummed like insects on the screen. “We will make an example,” he said. “Not to others—no, to you. To remind you what happens when you think you’re free.”

He stood and walked to the control panel. All For One’s silhouette stepped forward so the single light glinted on the edge of his mask. “This is not about hatred,” AFO said. His voice was antic and incinerating. “This is about utility. You belonged to a cause that gave you purpose—power which could have shaped the world’s order. Instead you threw it away for… sentiment.”

“You mentioned two boys by name,” Shigaraki said, eyes glittering. “We could—” He let the sentence hang like scaffolding.

All For One shook his head with slow, theatrical disappointment. “No theatrics. Not yet.” He tapped a control; a soft, clinical hum filled the room as the clamp at her skull recharged. “You will obey. You will resume the mission at UA as if the betrayal never happened. Your family will be restored if you are useful. If not—” He tilted his head. “We have means to be efficient.”

The threat was thinly veiled but absolute. He didn’t need to describe violence; he implied an architecture of erasure and reconfiguration—of removing the parts he decided were inconvenient.

Elara’s mouth moved as if to form a thousand refusals, but the clamp leapt, hot and electric, pushing against her cortex with the deliberate cruelty of someone adjusting a gauge. Her body convulsed; images not of her own choosing flamed behind her eyes—faces rearranged, voices folded into commands. For a moment the edges of her own memories blurred. The pain was chemical and memory-twisting. She tasted copper and ash.

Shigaraki laughed, delighted by the small collapse. “Hear that?” he said softly. “Music.”

Dabi’s jaw worked. He turned his head away as if the sight offended him personally. He was a man constructed from fire and ruined devotion; to watch what he’d once held sacred be hammered back into allegiance was an ache like hot iron.

All For One leaned close, so close his voice was a rasp against her ear. “You will go back,” he whispered. “You will do what you do best. You will smile and become the hero they trust. And then you will open the gates for us. You will make it possible for us to step through.”

Elara tasted bile. Her mind, assaulted by the clamp’s sick mathematics, flagged—images of bombs, of hallways folding, of the students’ sleeping faces—scattered inside her skull like leaves. Her quirk—a chorus: the armor, the lashes of ember, the predator’s whisper, the psychic threads—thudded under the restraint like caged animals.

Shigaraki’s hand found her chin; decay left a whisper of cold. “If you do not cooperate,” he said, “we will hurt them in ways you cannot look away from. We will make you watch.”

The words were surgical. They drilled a corridor of possibility: she could fight and perhaps doom the boys she loved, or she could comply and live with the stain of betrayal. The choice was framed not as betrayal but as sacrifice—“for the many” rather than the few. It was a philosophy AFO believed in to the marrow.

Elara’s lungs trembled. All the wills that had put her to sleep as a child—orders, jerks of control, lullabies of obedience—wrapped cold hands around her heart. The clamp thrummed again, more insistent, and the last buckling resistance in Elara’s mind splintered.

She thought, briefly, of Bakugou’s face: the way his jaw worked when he lied to himself about feelings; the small, impossible warmth of that single word he’d spoken. The image steadied something in her. Then the clamp forced her to see other images—scenes of catastrophe if she refused: a burning corridor, two boys falling, the entire school engulfed—crafted with All For One’s clinical imagination to be unmistakable and exact.

She bowed her head. The decision had the shape of a bone being set: crooked, painful, and final. “I’ll do it,” she said, voice hoarse and very small. The words were not freedom. They were a covenant sealed under violence. They were the sound of a weapon re-whetting its edge.

Shigaraki smiled like someone who’d been given a toy. “Good. We’ll start tonight. You’ll return to UA. You will be them. You will be their savior. And when the time comes—when you open the door—remember who you belong to.”

All For One’s hand settled on her shoulder with the possessive grace of a planet taking orbit. “Proceed as if nothing happened,” he instructed. “Your betrayal will be deemed a lapse. We will rearrange the world accordingly.”

Dabi watched them prep her—folding restraints, recalibrating the clamp—with a kind of private mourning. He had loved a version of her that had smiled at him once, that had been an ally in quiet moments. Watching that version dismantled before his eyes, reshaped into obedient instrument, carved something out of him that he couldn’t name. He turned away because his face would betray him; he had rattled his own loyalties beyond repair and could not afford the ache of watching its instrument be remade.

As the team left the chamber—Shigaraki humming, AFO schematic and unhurried—Elara sat very still. The light swung overhead. Somewhere else, in another city room still quiet, students were preparing to tear the world apart to get her back. She swallowed and felt the taste of iron and resolution. She let the new orders thread through her like poison and settle.

She would go home. She would smile. She would let them believe their triumph. She would be their weapon again—because in that moment of breaking, it felt like the only thing she could give them was obedience in exchange for the faint and impossible hope that someone—Katsuki, perhaps—would come anyway.

And in the floorboards below, hidden from their scope and at the edge of a war that neither AFO nor the League could entirely control, a clock ticked toward midnight.

Chapter Text

The dorms of UA were unusually quiet for the hour. The moonlight spilled through tall windows, casting angular shadows across the common room where the students of Class 1-A were preparing, tension coiling in the air like a live wire. There was no laughter tonight—no chatter about training or ordinary adolescent woes. Every mind was focused, burning with a singular purpose: Elara.

Bakugou paced like a caged predator, his quirk crackling faintly in bursts of controlled sparks that mirrored the storm raging in his chest. Each footstep thudded like a drumbeat of impending violence. His jaw was clenched so tight that it ached, his dark crimson eyes wild with a mix of anger and desperation. He didn’t care who—or what—stood in his way. “If anyone touches her… I swear I’ll—” he growled under his breath, stopping short and glancing at the others, struggling to contain the tidal wave of emotion threatening to consume him.

Beside him, Todoroki was a pillar of icy focus. His expression calm, measured, but his fists were white-knuckled. He didn’t speak much, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his resolve. He had seen the shadows in Elara’s mind during the rooftop and USJ events—the fear, the pain, the forced obedience to powers she never chose. He had silently promised himself he would protect her, even if it meant risking everything he had. Every fraction of his quirk waiting, poised to shield her at the cost of his own flesh and blood.

Midoriya and Ochaco flitted nervously between packing their gear and going over the operation in hushed whispers, their faces pale in the moonlight. Each of them felt the sting of guilt—how could they have missed her being taken? How could they have let her vanish under their noses? Their murmured promises sounded fragile compared to Bakugou’s fiery determination or Todoroki’s cold intensity, yet they clung to them tightly: We will save her. We have to.

Kirishima, Mina, Kaminari, Tokoyami—each carried a silent oath in their hearts, words spoken only to themselves or to the shadows of their friends: I will not fail her. Not again. The energy in the room was electric, charged with fear, adrenaline, and an unspoken unity. Every student understood, at some level, that this wasn’t just another training exercise or simulated rescue. This was real. This was about saving a life, and not just anyone’s—but Elara’s.

Aizawa’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. Calm, unyielding, but firm. “Plan remains the same. Tokoyami, Kaminari, you take perimeter coverage. Midoriya, Kirishima, stay on backup support. Todoroki, Bakugou—you two lead the entry. Timing is crucial. Do not underestimate the League. They know what she is capable of, and they know she is capable of choosing. That means we are racing against time—and against her loyalty to them. Everyone clear?”

~~~~~

The world smelled of rust, metal, and damp stone.

Elara sat curled inside the reinforced steel cage—its bars humming faintly with quirk-neutralizing technology. Her hands were still bound, wrists bruised from the restraints. Her head ached from the psychic strain of Shigaraki’s torment, AFO’s whispers still crawling like parasites under her skin. She stared at her reflection in the glossy floor—barely recognizing the exhausted, hollow-eyed girl staring back.

A pawn. A traitor. A weapon.

The labels echoed like chanting in her skull.

Kurogiri materialized beside the cage without a sound—inky black mist swirling, soft but suffocating. His glowing yellow eyes regarded her with his usual unreadable calm, though something strangely close to concern flickered there.

“It is time.”

The lock disengaged with a cold metallic snap. The door swung open. Elara didn’t move—not immediately. Her knees were stiff, trembling when she tried to stand. It felt wrong walking out. Like stepping out of one prison only to be shoved into another.

Kurogiri’s mist curled gently around her shoulders, easing her forward. His voice came low, careful.

“Do not let your mind fracture further, child. Stay focused. You must return to your mission.”

Elara blinked—lashes damp with a kind of fear she refused to show. Her voice was barely more than a cracked whisper.

“…And what if I can’t?”

“You will.”
No softness. No room for doubt.
A command.

His presence surrounded her like a dark guardian—stern, unyielding, yet oddly protective, like he was tethering her sanity by a single thread.

“You infiltrated U.A. for a purpose. You will resume that purpose as though nothing has changed. You will earn their trust again. And when the time comes…” His voice deepened, resonating like thunder in bone.
“You will help us crush them from the inside.”

A tremor ran through her, but she forced herself to stand straighter. A soldier accepting orders. A blade remembering its edge.

Kurogiri paused—studying her silently. For a moment, the mist flickered with what could have been hesitation. Or sorrow. But then—

“Stay alive. Stay useful.”

And with a swirl of shadow, he wrapped her in darkness.

━

When the world solidified again, she was standing on the familiar wooden floor of her UA dorm room.

Moonlight filtered through the blinds, silvering the soft blankets on her bed, the training uniform tossed over a chair, a half-finished mug of honey tea still sitting on her nightstand from before she was taken. It was a perfect snapshot of innocence. Of a life she had dared to want.

Her knees buckled.

A sob clawed up her throat—but she swallowed it back with violence. No tears. No cracks. No weakness.

She pressed trembling hands to her face.

You can’t lose it now. Not here. Not in the one place that ever felt safe.

Kurogiri’s lingering mist faded into nothing.

She sat there in the silence—counting her breaths.
1. For survival.
2. For the lie she had to maintain.
3. For the people she had begun to care about. Too much.
4. For the pain she would have to inflict on them again.

Her thoughts splintered like broken glass.

You betrayed them by being taken.
Now you betray them by returning.

A quiet, bitter laugh escaped.

Then she inhaled sharply—dragging her mask back into place. The Weapon. The perfect infiltrator. The version of Elara who could fool even the brightest hearts.

Her posture straightened. Her eyes hardened.

And she stood.

━

Every step down the hallway felt like wading through cement. Her legs wanted to freeze—to turn back. But forward she went, silent and ghostlike, moving toward the murmurs echoing from the common room.

The voices sharpened into clarity—

“…We’re going to find her. We have to—”
Midoriya. Frantic guilt sharpening every syllable.
“I should have sensed something—anything—”
Ochaco’s voice, thick with tears she refused to let fall.
“This isn’t manly at all… letting her be taken like that.”
Kirishima, fists shaking.

Bakugou paced in tight, explosive lines.
Sparks popping angrily from his palms.
Jaw locked. Eyes bloodshot.
He looked ready to tear through the walls with his bare hands.

Todoroki stood calm and deadly at the center of it all—like a blade sheathed in ice. But his eyes… those mismatched flames of worry would have melted glaciers. His chest rose and fell just a little too fast. Every muscle held tension like he was restraining himself from sprinting out the door.

Aizawa stood near him, briefing the class on rescue formations—masking his fear under exhaustion and authority. He had already lost one student to the League’s influence. He would not lose another.

For one heartbeat—nobody saw her.

Then Bakugou turned.

His eyes widened. His breath hitched.

He froze.

“…Elara?”

Her name came out like a wound he didn’t know how to close.

The room fell silent. Chairs scraped. Conversations died. Twenty hearts hammered in unison.

Elara’s gaze flicked first to Todoroki.

His relief was bright—and painful.
Like hope she knew she didn’t deserve.

Warmth. Safety. Understanding.
He had given her those without asking anything in return.
It terrified her.

Then she looked at Bakugou.

His expression was a wildfire—rage, fear, longing, betrayal, love—burning all at once. He didn’t move toward her. Didn’t breathe. He simply stared, like if he blinked she might vanish again.

Her pulse stuttered.

Home.
That was what he felt like.

She swallowed, her mask tightening until it hurt.
A single nod. Controlled. Empty.
She stepped closer, voice neutral and precise:

“…I’m back.”

But inside—her heart was fracturing loudly enough she wondered if they could hear it.

Aizawa reacted first—cloak snapping as he rushed forward, shock barely hidden behind his usual monotone.

“Elara—how—?”

She lied flawlessly.
Cold. Straightforward. A weapon returning to her mission.

“I escaped.”

The class stared—caught between disbelief and overwhelming relief. Midoriya rubbed his arm, tears gathering. Ochaco choked back a sob. Tokoyami lowered his head, darkness pulsing around him protectively.

Todoroki stepped toward her before he could stop himself—concern overriding logic.

“Elara… are you hurt?”

She flinched. Barely noticeable—except Bakugou noticed instantly, eyes narrowing with deep, feral fury at the implied abuse.

Elara forced a tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m fine.”

And the moment she said it, she felt the blade twist deeper inside her. Because she wasn’t fine. She was shattered. Used. Reforged into a monster.

But she would play her part.

For them.

For the fragile threads of connection she refused to sever completely.

Bakugou’s voice was raw, cracking as he finally spoke again.

“If they touched you—if they hurt you—just say the word and I’ll—”

She cut him off, gently. Too gently.

“Katsuki.”

His name broke him. His breath shuddered, chest rising like he’d been underwater too long.

She couldn’t look at him anymore.

She couldn’t look at anyone.

So she straightened—military precise.

“Aizawa-sensei… I’m ready to return to my role. I won’t let U.A. down.”

Aizawa stared at her longer than anyone ever should stare at lies. His eyes narrowed—knowing something was off—but he didn’t push. Not yet.

“Then… welcome home.”

Home.

The word carved its initials into her ribs.

And as she stood there in the center of her classmates’ relief…

…Elara realized the cruelest truth:

She had been sent back to destroy the only place that ever made her want to live.

~~~~~

Elara walked down the dorm hallway with silent, steady steps—perfect soldier steps—mask locked firmly over her expression. The soft glow of the lights brushed against her pale skin, her shadow stretching long behind her like a specter.

She reached her door and slipped inside before anyone could stop her, before the concern in their eyes could tear her open again.

As soon as the door latched shut—

Her entire body collapsed forward.

Her palms slammed against the wood, fingers digging into the grain as if she needed something—anything—to ground her. Her breath hitched in a strangled gasp, air refusing to enter her lungs properly.

You are fine.

The words echoed like a drill in her skull.
A lie she’d been ordered to live.

You escaped.
You saved yourself.
You’re safe.

None of it felt true.

Her knees gave out. She hit the floor hard, breath leaving her in a whimper she hated hearing come from her own mouth. Her hand flew to her shoulder where Shigaraki’s fingers had lingered too long, burning ghostly scars she couldn’t heal.

Every second in that cage replayed in flashing, jagged fragments:

Shigaraki’s nails scraping her chin.
AFO’s voice twisting inside her skull like poisoned wires.
Kurogiri’s disappointed silence.
Dabi’s gaze—hurt, scalding, familiar.

Terror. Pain. Betrayal.

And then—

Katsuki’s voice screaming her name while she was dragged away.

A broken sound tore from her chest and she clamped a hand over her mouth to silence it. No one could hear her falling apart. Not when she had to convince them she was still a hero.

Her vision blurred.

Her throat closed.

Then a whisper slithered through her mind—

“You belong to me.”

AFO’s voice.

She choked on a sob. Her fingers clawed into her scalp.

Stop. Stop. STOP.

She crawled to her bed, hands shaking uncontrollably as she ripped off her hoodie—throwing it to the floor like a serpent skin that still carried their touch. She pressed her back against the cold wall, pulling her knees tight to her chest.

Her heartbeat felt like punches.

You can’t break. Not here.

But another voice surfaced—
softer,
fragile,
hopeful:

They need you.
They care about you.
Katsuki… cares.
Shoto… understands.
Izuku… listens.

That hurt the worst.

Because caring meant vulnerability.
And vulnerability meant leverage.

And leverage could destroy them all.

A tremor ripped through her chest—half cry, half scream—but she bit it back with a violent sob. Her nails pressed hard enough into her arms to draw blood.

She slid down the wall until her forehead pressed to the floorboards.

She wanted to scream.
She wanted to rip out the part of her heart that still longed for a life here.

She wanted someone—
anyone—
to knock on her door
and tell her she wasn’t alone.

But she could never let them.

If they understood how deeply embedded AFO’s claws still were—

They’d never look at her the same again.

Her tears finally hit the floor—quiet, trembling droplets that betrayed everything she tried to hide.

Her entire body shook with each breath.

She hated the sound of her own crying.
She hated herself for being weak enough to feel.

And then—

A soft knock.

She froze.

Her entire body tense, like a hunted animal cornered.

“Elara?”

—Todoroki.

His voice was gentle. Too gentle. It nearly shattered her again.

“Elara, it’s me. …Are you awake?”

Her throat constricted.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, forcing silence.

“We’re all worried. Especially Bakugou… he’s—”
A pause.
“…hurting.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Steps paused outside her door.

“If you can’t speak… just know we’re here. You’re not alone.”

Quiet.

Then his footsteps retreat.

Her breath returned in jagged fragments.

Not alone.

The words echoed,
a painful promise she desperately wanted to believe in.

She curled tighter—
bones trembling,
heart breaking—

but for the first time since the cage…

…it wasn’t breaking into emptiness.

It was breaking toward something.

Toward them.

Toward a life she almost had the courage to want.

The tears slowed. Not gone—but quieter. Her breathing softened, exhaustion finally weighing heavy in her limbs.

Her voice came out as a cracked whisper into the dark:

“…I don’t want to be his weapon anymore.”

And though no one heard it—

It was the bravest sentence she had ever spoken.

~~~~~

Hours passed.

Elara had eventually crawled into bed—not really sleeping, but lying perfectly still, eyes open, breathing shallow. She stared blankly at the ceiling, forcing her mind numb. It was the only way she knew how to survive the night.

A faint knock at her door cut through the quiet.

Not hesitant.
Not curious.

Precise. Firm. Authority in every tap.

She didn’t answer.

“Elara.”
Aizawa’s voice filtered through the wood, low and tired, but edged with something sterner than usual. “We need to talk.”

Her heart sank.

Of course.

She forced her muscles to respond, sitting up too quickly—pain cracking along her ribs where Shigaraki had kicked her. She clenched her teeth and pushed herself to her feet.

Her feet carried her to the door like she was moving through water. She opened it just a crack—enough to see him—

But the moment his eyes landed on her, the crack wasn’t enough.

He pushed the door wider gently, stepping inside without asking permission. He looked exhausted—hair messy, capture weapon hanging loosely around his shoulders—but his gaze was sharp and searching.

He examined her for a long, breathless moment.

She avoided his eyes.

“Elara…”
His voice was quieter now.
“I need to know what happened.”

She swallowed. “They… they let me go.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.

“Let you go?”

Her silence answered for her.

His gaze dipped—taking in the way she held her ribs, how she favored one leg, the bruises peeking from under her collar.

“Lift your sleeve,” he said.

It wasn’t a request.

Elara’s hands shook as she slowly pulled her sleeve up. Dark fingerprints stained her arm—Shigaraki’s grip imprinted in violent purple and green. Her skin trembled beneath the cold air.

Aizawa’s jaw clenched, anger flickering in his eyes.

“Other injuries?”

“…it’s fine.”

His stare hardened.

“Show me.”

Her breath broke.

She hesitated—
and that hesitation told him everything.

With trembling fingers, she tugged up the hem of her shirt, revealing—

Bruises like spilled ink across her ribs. Burns that hadn’t fully healed. Scratches from restraints.
And most damning—

thin, deliberate lacerations around her sternum—AFO’s method of “control.”

Aizawa froze.

For a moment, the pro hero… disappeared.

Only Shouta remained.
An adult who has seen too many children hurt.

His voice came out rough:

“Who did that?”

Her answer was barely a whisper.

“…Shigaraki.”

“And the cuts?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Shame boiled in her stomach, even though she had done nothing wrong.

“All for One.”

Aizawa’s fists curled.

A tremor of rage rippled through his capture scarf, like it reacted to his emotions. His breathing turned controlled and dangerous, the way predators inhale before striking.

He stepped slower toward her—not to threaten, but to keep himself from exploding.

“Elara…”
He waited until she finally looked at him.
“You survived hell. And then they sent you back here to pretend nothing happened?”

Her eyes filled again—against her will.

She nodded once.

Aizawa’s chest rose and fell with a deep, weighted breath.

“I’m going to ask you something,” he said.
“And I want you to answer honestly.”

A long pause.

“Do you want to go back to him?”

Her entire body recoiled.

“No.”
It came out sharp. Immediate.
Absolute.

The first truth she didn’t hesitate to speak.

Aizawa stepped close enough to rest a steady hand on her shoulder—gentle, but grounding.

“Then you won’t,” he said. “Not ever again.”

Her breath stuttered.

He looked her firmly in the eyes.

“You are not his weapon. You are a student of U.A. You are under my protection. And I will not allow anyone—villain or otherwise—to break you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Aizawa didn’t point it out. Instead, his thumb brushed a streak of dried blood from her temple—an act far too soft for a man so hardened.

“Elara,” he said quietly, like the word itself was something fragile he had to handle carefully.

Her breath hitched—another sob threatening. She tried to swallow it down, but it only made her chest shake harder. She wrapped her arms around herself like she could hold the pieces of her together.

She didn’t expect him to move.

Aizawa stepped forward, slow and deliberate, giving her room to pull away if she wished—but she didn’t. The moment she stayed still, he gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest.

Not tight. Not smothering.

Steady.

Warm.

Safe.

His capture scarf slid with the motion, the fabric coiling softly around them like a barrier from the world outside. Elara froze for a heartbeat—then her fingers gripped the front of his uniform, clutching like she’d drown if she let go.

She buried her face into the cloth over his shoulder.

He didn’t speak right away. He just held her, letting her silence break first.

“You’re home,” he murmured against her hair.
“You’re not alone anymore.”

Her trembling slowly eased. Her breathing steadied.
Because for the first time since they dragged her away—

Someone wasn’t demanding answers.
Someone wasn’t treating her like a weapon.

Someone was just… holding her.

Protecting her.

Aizawa rested a firm hand at the back of her head. His voice dropped to a vow:

“I’ve got you. And I’m not letting go.”

“We’re taking you to Recovery Girl,” he said, voice resolute. “And after that—you’re telling us everything. I don’t care how long it takes. We are finishing this fight.”

Elara nodded, slow and scared—but hopeful.

And Aizawa guided her out of the room, ready to wage war against the monster who dared to lay a hand on one of his students.

~~~~~

Elara sat on the cold metal table in the nurse’s office, legs dangling, toes barely brushing the floor. The room smelled sterile—antiseptic and mint. Too clean. Too safe. It felt wrong.

Aizawa stood behind her like a silent shadow — arms folded, eyes sharp and protective. He refused to leave her side.

Recovery Girl moved slowly, like approaching a wounded animal that could bolt or attack at any second.

“Oh, child…” her voice broke before she even touched her.

Elara stared straight ahead, pupils dilated, unfocused. Her posture rigid — like she wasn’t allowed to rest even now. Her hands lay perfectly still in her lap. Too still.

Recovery Girl reached first for the bandages on her wrists — soaked deep crimson. She unraveled them with careful hands.

Each layer peeled away another memory.

Scratches. Burns. Deep lacerations. Wrist bones swollen and inflamed from pulling against restraints.
The old hero’s jaw set tight.

“These are fresh,” she whispered.
“These were deliberate.”

Aizawa’s fist clenched so tight his knuckles cracked.

Elara didn’t react. Not even a flinch.

But then Recovery Girl inspected her ribs — mottled bruises in sickening shades of black, violet, and dark green. Some hits so recent the blood still pooled under the skin. One rib was visibly displaced.

“How long?” Recovery Girl asked softly.

Elara blinked. Her voice barely existed.

“Time doesn’t exist there.”

A small whimper slipped out before she could stop it. She immediately stiffened, terrified of the vulnerability she’d shown.

Aizawa stepped closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder — grounding her before she disappeared back into the void. She leaned into him without thinking.

Recovery Girl’s attention moved to her back — and her expression changed.

Horror.

There were scars layered over new wounds — cracked skin burned by quirk energy, jagged claw marks like she’d been restrained by something monstrous, and a patch of skin along her spine blistered in the exact shape of fingers—

Too large. Too cruel.

“Who did this to you?” Recovery Girl breathed, voice trembling.

Elara hesitated.

Then:

“Shigaraki… wanted to see how much I’d hold together… before I shattered.”

Aizawa inhaled sharply like he’d been struck. He looked away for a moment — because if she saw his rage, it might scare her more than comfort her.

Recovery Girl pressed a hand over her mouth to stop the sob threatening to escape.

“Sweet girl,” she whispered, “you were tortured.”

Elara’s lips parted — a ghost of a smile. Broken. Resigned.

“That’s what I was made for.”

Aizawa knelt in front of her then. No more distance. No more walls. His voice was low, but fierce like a vow carved into steel:

“No. That is what they tried to make you into.”

He held her gaze — and she actually looked back.

“Who you are,” he continued, “is the girl who survived them.”

Her breath quivered. The mask she had forced back on herself started to tremble — ready to shatter.

Recovery Girl placed her hand over Elara’s heart — healing power beginning to glow softly.

“Does this hurt?” she asked.

Elara nodded.
But the tears dripping from her chin revealed—

She wasn’t answering about the injuries.

Aizawa wrapped his scarf around her shoulders like a shield.

“We’re going to fix what they did to you,” he promised.

“For as long as it takes.”

Elara’s voice cracked like thin glass:

“Even if I break again?”

Aizawa didn’t hesitate.

“Especially if you break again.”

Her tears finally came — silent and unstoppable. She leaned forward, forehead resting against his shoulder, hands gripping his uniform like it was the only solid thing left in her world.

Recovery Girl turned away, giving them the smallest privacy she could in a moment where privacy wasn’t possible.

Elara’s voice was a whisper made of apology and fear:

“They’ll come back for me…”

Aizawa’s hand steadied her back.

“And we’ll be ready.”

His voice dropped — lethal, protective, unwavering:

“You’re not theirs anymore.”

Chapter Text

The common room was alive with fear.

And now…

They waited for news that might destroy them.

Iida paced like a live wire.
Midoriya’s fingers trembled around the fabric of his pajama pants.
Todoroki hadn’t spoken a single word — just stared holes through the floor.

Bakugou sat on the couch, arms rigid, eyes burning with sleepless rage.

His voice had been the one to wake the school.
His explosions the signal flare.

He saw her get taken.
And he would never forgive himself for not stopping it.

The elevator suddenly pinged.

Every head whipped up.

A figure walked out first — Aizawa.

And then…

Elara.

A room full of hearts broke at once.

She looked like a ghost sewn back into flesh.

Her dark hair hung limp, tangled, and matted slightly with dried blood.
Bandages snaked up both arms, peeking out beneath her sleeves — some stained, some fresh.
A bruise shadowed her cheekbone like a handprint.
Another dark one circled her throat, screaming of fingers that had gripped too tight.

Her uniform jacket hung loosely, sleeves slightly torn — like someone had dragged her by them.

But worst of all were her eyes.

Eyes that once held storms of emotion —

Empty.

As if Tomura Shigaraki had reached inside her chest and stolen something irreplaceable.

The room exhaled — then held its breath again.

Bakugou stood so violently his chair slammed backward.

“Elara—”

She stiffened.

A subtle flinch. Almost imperceptible.

But Bakugou saw it.
Todoroki saw it.
Midoriya saw it.

And the knowledge sliced through all three boys like a blade.

“Don’t.”
Her voice sounded like she was speaking from underwater — distant and fractured.

Bakugou froze mid-step.

Todoroki moved instead, slow and careful, like approaching a frightened animal.

“You’re hurt. You shouldn’t be—”

“I said I’m fine.”

She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t look at anyone.

Her eyes tracked only the floor, expression carved into a cold, calculated neutrality.

Denial.

Control.

Survival.

Midoriya stepped forward, guilt crashing through him like tidal waves.

“Elara… we should’ve heard you— we should’ve—”

“You didn’t fail me.”

Her tone snapped sharp — too quick, too rehearsed.
Like a soldier reciting orders drilled into her mind.

Tokoyami clenched his fists, wings trembling behind him.

“What did they do to you?” his voice rumbled low with fury.

Nothing.

She didn’t even blink.

As if the question didn’t apply to her anymore.

Kirishima swallowed back horror.

“The League— they— they tortured you, didn’t they?”

She finally lifted her gaze.

Everyone wished she hadn’t.

“Well…” a thin smile ghosted across her mouth — a terrible, humorless thing, “I wouldn’t call it torture. It’s only torture if you break.”

Bakugou flinched — as if he’d been punched.

“You’re already broken, dumbass.”

Silence.

Her eyes flicked to him — slow — like it physically pained her to reconnect with reality.

Then she spoke:

“Maybe.”

Not defensive.
Not sarcastic.

Just a confession.

Aizawa took a step behind her, as if ready to physically catch her should she collapse.

But Elara didn’t collapse.

She stood perfectly straight.
Perfectly composed.

Perfectly wrong.

Todoroki’s voice came gentle — gentle enough to hurt:

“Elara… you can talk to us. We’re right here.”

Her expression twitched — and for a split second — the facade cracked.

Raw fear flashed through her eyes.

Then she crushed it again.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Midoriya’s voice broke:

“You don’t have to be strong right now—”

“I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Her admission hung in the air like smoke choking them all.

Bakugou stepped forward again — slower this time.

He reached toward her shoulder—

She recoiled.

Not softly.
Not subtly.

Instinctive. Violent. Terrified.

Her breathing stuttered — chest tightening — panic flooding the edges of her armor.

“Don’t— don’t touch me.”

Bakugou immediately pulled back — eyes wide, devastated.

His hands shook. His voice nearly cracked:

“They hurt you that bad…?”

She stared through him, voice barely audible:

“They showed me who I really am.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

Todoroki stepped closer, jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered beneath his skin.

“They don’t get to define you.”

She looked at him — tears finally gathering but refusing to fall.

“They already did.”

Her breath hitched as she willed the tears back.
Pain flickered through her posture — a slight tremor in her knees.

Aizawa finally intervened, voice steel-wrapped concern:

“That’s enough. She needs medical treatment and rest.”

Elara didn’t even react to her own pain.

She simply turned — robotic — and began walking away.

Past her classmates.
Past their grief.
Past everything she had begun to love.

Each step was a battle she refused to lose.

Every eye followed her —

Todoroki’s full of silent desperation.
Midoriya’s drowning in guilt.
Tokoyami’s filled with dark vengeance.
Kirishima’s glassy with heartbreak.

Bakugou’s burning — rage and love tearing him apart.

Just before she reached the hallway, her voice — small and broken but undeniable — slipped out:

“Please… stop looking at me like I’m someone worth saving.”

Then she disappeared down the corridor.

Door closing softly behind her.

And it sounded like the world ending.

Bakugou slammed his fist into the wall — explosions crackling against bone.
Todoroki’s breath seized in his chest.
Midoriya’s tears finally spilled down his cheeks and he didn’t bother to wipe them.

Aizawa exhaled — heavy, pained — eyes glowing red with silent fury.

“They will pay,” he promised, voice shaking with restrained violence.

No one doubted him.

Because Class 1-A had just realized something terrifying:

Elara wasn’t rescued.

She was returned broken.

And they were going to put her back together—

even if it meant burning the League of Villains to ash.

~~~~~

Training Fields — Two Weeks After the Abduction

The sun was too bright.

The sky was too warm.

And Class 1-A pretended the world hadn’t nearly stolen one of their own.

But she felt it.

Every ray of sunlight felt like a lie pressed against her skin.

She stood alone on the far end of the training field, posture stiff, gaze glazed over as she stared straight ahead as if waiting for an attack that would never come—or would, at any moment.

Her gloves were tightened perfectly over her fingers. Her breathing perfectly controlled. Every movement rehearsed survival.

Not healing.

Denial wrapped in discipline.

The others stole glances at her when they thought she wasn’t looking.

They always thought she wasn’t looking.

Aizawa’s voice cut across the grounds:
“Pair up. Standard spar rotations. No pushing limits today—focus on controlled technique.”

But everyone knew who that order was for.

Elara didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Didn’t react.

She simply nodded once, mechanical.

As if she could snap herself into being fine.

As if fine was a language she still understood.

Midoriya fidgeted, worry creeping into every logical analysis he wrote mentally.

“She keeps zoning out… like she’s somewhere else,” he murmured.

Todoroki’s eyes never left her form.
“She is. Trauma doesn’t disappear just because she’s back.”

Kirishima scratched nervously at the back of his neck.
“She hasn’t smiled once since she… since she came back…”

Bakugou stood slightly apart from them all.
Jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.
Hands shoved in his pockets to hide the way they trembled.

He had suffered battles.
He had suffered pain.

But this—
Watching her suffer?

It was the first fight he couldn’t explode his way through.

The thought cut through him like shrapnel:

She won’t look at me anymore.

Not even anger.
Not even fear.

Just… distance.

He wanted to grab her, shake her, scream at her, hold her — all at once.

Wanted her eyes on him again.

Wanted his Elara back.

“Tokoyami. Elara.” Aizawa called, clipboard in hand.
“You’re first.”

Tokoyami stepped toward her without hesitation.
Elara walked at a slower pace, as if every step felt like walking into a memory she couldn’t outrun.

They stopped ten meters apart, the field silent except for wind brushing leaves overhead.

Tokoyami bowed respectfully.
She mirrored the motion — stiff, reserved.

Dark Shadow flickered beside him, already sensing something wrong in her stillness.

Tokoyami’s voice was soft but sure.
“We do not have to fight.”

Elara blinked — confusion briefly softening her blank stare.

Tokoyami continued, head tipped slightly down as though offering reverence:

“I know what it is like to be consumed by darkness… to fear what lives inside you.”

Dark Shadow let out a low, thoughtful hum.

“You don’t have to speak,” he added gently.
“You don’t have to show strength. You don’t have to let us in.”

His feathers ruffled — protective.

“I only ask that you allow us to stand with you in the dark… even if it is silent.”

Elara’s throat worked around a breath she couldn’t quite release.
Her eyes flickered — damp for a heartbeat before she crushed it back down.

“I don’t know how to let people do that,” she whispered, voice barely there.

Tokoyami gave a small nod.
“That is alright. We can sit beside you while you learn.”

Dark Shadow floated closer, voice surprisingly soft,
“We like you, Elara. You don’t scare us.”

Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

A small, shaking inhale.

She opened them again and forced her stance into battle readiness.

“We… should spar,” she murmured. “People are watching.”

Tokoyami didn’t argue.

Because he understood.

Her reputation was her armor.
If she lost that… she’d have nothing left.

He launched first — quick but not aggressive.
She blocked with muscle memory, movements rigid, efficient.

Every motion she executed was sharp enough to kill, yet empty enough to be soulless.

Tokoyami swept a leg — she countered.

He swung — she ducked.

He feinted darkness forward — she shut it down with a flicker of her quirk.

But it wasn’t a fight.

It was a performance.

A quiet declaration:

I’m still useful. I’m still strong. I’m not weak. I’m not broken.
Don’t look at me like I’m broken.

Midoriya whispered, fists clenched:

“She’s holding everything in… It’s like she’s afraid to feel anything at all.”

Todoroki nodded, jaw ticking with restrained anguish.

Bakugou didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

His stare pinned her so intensely people could feel it burning.

“She’s disappearing,” he finally rasped.
“And none of you are doing anything.”

Midoriya shot him a look. “We’re trying—”

“Tch.” Bakugou’s laugh was bitter, hollow.
“You think trying is enough?”

He stepped toward the sparring field, voice breaking into a snarl:

“I should’ve killed every single one of those bastards for touching her—”

Kirishima put a hand on his shoulder.

Bakugou’s quirk flared—
Kirishima held firm.

“Bro,” his voice was low, steady, “this isn’t the time to explode. It’s the time to be her anchor.”

Bakugou glared, grip shaking, tears threatening to burn behind his eyes again.

He hated crying.

He hated feeling.

He hated that he wasn’t enough to protect her.

But most of all—

He hated seeing her so far away.

~~~~~

Her balance slipped during a blocking rotation — barely — but enough for those who cared to feel dread clamp their hearts.

Tokoyami eased the pace, lowering his stance.

“You’re exhausted. We should stop.”

Her response came too sharp:

“No.”

Then again, quieter:

“No… If I stop, I’ll think.”

Tokoyami’s eyes softened.

“That is not weakness.”

Elara’s chest tightened — breath catching painfully.

“But if I think…”
she swallowed hard,
“…I won’t come back.”

Tokoyami froze.

Because he understood exactly what she meant.

Behind them, Bakugou took one staggering step forward—

Aizawa’s scarf shot out, catching his shoulder.

“Not yet,” Aizawa murmured. “Let her choose help freely.”

Bakugou’s voice splintered:

“She’s not choosing anyone.”

Silence answered him.

Because he was right.

~~~~~

Aizawa finally called the match.

Elara stepped back, arms rigid and fists clenched until her gloves groaned.

Tokoyami bowed again.
She attempted to mirror him… but her knees almost buckled beneath her.

Tokoyami shot forward, steadying her without touching — hands hovering near her arms.

“I told you,” he whispered.
“We stand with you in silence. Even if you collapse.”

Her breath shook.

Just once.

And that alone was more emotion than she had allowed anyone to see since returning.

She turned her back on the class — heading toward the benches with that same controlled pace.

But her hands…

They trembled.

Bakugou noticed first.

Todoroki noticed second.

Midoriya noticed third.

None of them breathed.

None of them could move.

Because if they did…

She might shatter.

And none of them knew how to pick up the pieces
without bleeding in the process.

Chapter Text

The night at U.A. was utopian‑quiet — a stillness that felt almost sacrilegious.
No alarms.
No distant villains.
No shouting students.

Just the echoing hush of steel fencing and floodlights that hummed like electric cicadas.
The moon bled silver onto the grass, painting everything in cold luminescence.

And in the center of the training field stood Elara.
Barefoot.
Shaking.
Burning.

The wind whipped her hair wildly — tangling moonlight in the strands — yet she didn’t shiver.
Pain was a familiar coat she’d worn for years.

Scars decorated her skin like constellations — reminders of AFO’s cruelty, Shigaraki’s claws, and the betrayal she could never erase. Some still tore open when she breathed too deeply.

“You’re weak.”
The memory of AFO’s voice slithered into her skull — oil‑slick and venom‑rich.

She sucked in a breath that scraped her lungs on the way down.
Her hands curled into fists so tight her nails carved crescent moons into her palms.

Heat exploded.

Flame rippled across her arms — vibrant orange and blistering red — but tinged with something darker. Corruption staining power.
Ember Lash erupted — a molten whip cracking against the earth with a scream of searing rock.
The ground buckled beneath it, glowing like magma veins spreading outward.

Ash kissed her ankles.
Smoke curled around her throat like a noose.

Still — not enough.

Not enough to burn away the fear.
Not enough to silence the ache.
Not enough to kill the part of her that still believed AFO owned her soul.

She hurled flame after flame, teeth clenched, voice breaking into jagged shrapnel:

“I should be stronger!”
CRACK.
“I should be someone better!”
CRACK.
“I should not—”

Her voice shattered with the last whip strike.
She dropped to her knees — palms slamming into the dirt — skin splitting open. Blood threaded into soil, steaming from the heat radiating off her body.

Why do I feel everything?
Every scar screaming.
Every memory poisoning.
Every emotion screaming she did not deserve love or trust or forgiveness.

Fire surged around her — a ring of hellfire expanding outward until the night looked like early dawn.
Her heartbeat synced to the violent pulsing light.

THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.

Then — the world changed.

Reality tilted.
Colors she’d never seen vibrated into existence.
Her pupils dilated—shattered into rings of flickering gold.

Threads appeared.

Emotional energy — raw, unfiltered — weaving through the darkness like glowing roots connecting every soul she had ever touched.

Love → rose‑gold heat warming her chest despite herself
Fear → electric, sharp enough to stab
Hope → blindingly white, painful to behold
Rage → molten red streaking across sky and mind
Sorrow → deep violet curling around her ankles like chains
Loyalty → emerald threads pulsing like arteries

A map of humanity’s heart.
And she stood at the center of it.

Her voice was barely air:
“Soul… Divination…”

The quirk pulsed — godlike — ancient.
It whispered in every beat of her heart:

Take what they cling to.
Rewrite them.
Become what fear promised you are.

Her skull felt like it was cracking open from the inside.
She stumbled, gripping her head — nails drawing blood.

“No—no… I won’t—”

Her own soul screamed back—desperate not to become the devil she was built to be.

That was when the night exploded.

BOOM

The shockwave rolled across the field, kicking up ash and smoke.
Elara spun around — flames flickering wildly.

Bakugou stood there.
Chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted through hell itself to find her.
Fists still smoking.
Ash stuck to his cheeks like war paint.

His eyes — red, wild, terrified — locked on hers.
The glow in her irises reflected back into his pupils like golden fire.

“Elara…”
The word cracked apart in his throat.

No yelling.
No insults.
Just fear.

The kind of fear people had when watching someone they loved walk toward the edge of a cliff — and not slowing down.

She stepped back reflexively — the emotional threads flickering violently.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
Not a warning.
A plea.

He ignored it.
He moved closer.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone?”
His voice trembled.
He tried to hide it — failed.

She turned away sharply.
Ash fluttered from her skin like black snow.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He lunged forward — hand snapping around her wrist before she could retreat.
His grip was shaking.

“You’re breaking yourself apart right in front of me!” he barked.
“You don’t talk.
You don’t eat.
You barely even look at us—”

His voice faltered — softening into something raw.

“You won’t look at me.”

Her breath hitched.
His hand eased its hold — but didn’t let go.

“You came back,” he whispered, “scarred up and shaking and pretending it didn’t happen.”

She pulled her arm free — clutching her burned skin.

“I’m not your responsibility, Katsuki.”

That line — that specific line — gutted him.

His expression snapped into something between heartbreak and fury.

“That’s BULLSHIT!”

His voice boomed across the empty field.
Sparks lit the ground beneath him.

“You think I don’t—”
His voice stopped again, choking on words too dangerous to release.

“You think I haven’t been losing my damn mind over you?”

Her power flickered violently — the emotional threads swirling around him —
exposing him to her like his heart was ripped open:

• rose‑gold love he couldn’t admit
• crimson protectiveness that burned hotter than his explosions
• blue fear of losing her again
• violet grief over the parts of her they couldn’t save

Elara staggered — clutching her skull — choked by the rush of emotion.

“STOP—” her voice cracked, “—I can feel EVERYTHING—STOP FEELING AT ME!”

Ember Lash whipped out — a whip of molten agony.
It struck toward his chest — too fast — too emotional — too dangerous.

Bakugou barely rolled aside — the whip searing the air.
His boots scraped through scorched dirt.

“Elara, you’re not okay!”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” she screamed — tears blurring gold vision into chaos.

“You want me to leave?” he shouted back.
“Too damn bad!”

He countered with an explosion — measured — just enough to disperse the flame.
The ground cracked beneath their feet.
They circled each other — elements clashing — fire and fury and heartbreak.

Her Ember Lash swung again — sloppy this time — her sobs ruining her aim.

“Elara—STOP.”

He stepped into the strike — letting the tail end of the flame lick against his gauntlet.
He didn’t flinch.

He only looked at her.
Really looked.

Tears.
Terror.
A soul unraveling at the seams.

Smoke still drifted from the place Elara’s flames had scorched into molten trenches. Her chest heaved, eyes glowing like possessed stars — gold threaded with the colors of every emotion Bakugou dared to feel.

He stood across from her, arms trembling at his sides, palms raw from blasts he refused to fully unleash.

She looked feral.

Not like a villain.

But like someone who had forgotten how to be human.

Elara’s voice cracked through the night like a whip:

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Another Ember Lash tore out of her, slicing through the air. A lash of burning power — desperate, defensive, terrified. Bakugou dodged again, but slower this time, refusing to raise his palms at her.

If he hurt her — even by accident — he’d never forgive himself.

“Elara!” His voice shredded with fear and anger. “Why are you fighting me like I’m the enemy?!”

Her breathing hitched — a sob choking itself into rage.

“Because I AM still the enemy!”

Her voice broke into hysteria — sharper than any blade.

“Because villains don’t have to pretend they’re okay! Because I want to LIVE — and heroes can’t save themselves!”

The fire around her flickered violently —
Crimson ➝ Violet ➝ White
— like every emotion she’d buried burst to the surface at once.

Her quirk grabbed him.

Invisible command — like a vice tightening around his limbs.
His muscles locked in place mid‑step.
His breath hitched, frozen.

He was trapped in her power — in her fear.

She marched toward him — steps uneven, eyes wild.

Bakugou swallowed hard — forcing calm into a voice that wanted to scream.

“You really think preserving your life makes you any less of a hero?”

He kept his tone soft — careful — like handling glass cracking under its own weight.

“Answer me.”

That tone — almost… tender.

It pierced through the screaming storm in her mind.

Her arm faltered.

Her ember tendril wavered like a candle in a draft.

“W‑well…” she whispered, voice so small it hurt.
“Yes. Being a hero is about saving people… not yourself…”

Her shoulders curled inward — shrinking — like she wanted to disappear.

Bakugou’s heart lurched.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Quietly — slowly — he let one hand shift behind his back.
Fingers twitching against the strain of her command.

He mirrored her softness, voice steady but raw:

“And what if the person who needs saving… is you?”

Her jaw clenched, eyes darting away — shame sparking in gold fire.

“It’s not a priority,” she murmured.
“It doesn’t matter. No one cares about the hero’s feelings or mind…”

Her quirk flickered — for a moment he could move his wrist — but she panicked, tightening the hold instantly, her breathing accelerating into sharp, painful gasps.

She couldn’t lose control.
Couldn’t let anyone see the bleeding truth inside her.

Bakugou stared at her — really stared — and something inside him cracked straight through.

“That’s fucking tragic,” he breathed.

Too gentle.
Too honest.

“You think being a hero means destroying yourself to the point there’s nothing left to save?”

His voice lowered — intimate and dangerously sincere.

“Even villains take care of themselves more than that.”

Her eyes widened — a flinch of realization.
He saw the mask slip.

Just a fraction.
But it was enough.

He stepped forward an inch — testing her hold — but kept his voice calm, steady, curious.

“You asked me something,” she whispered, voice trembling.
“So… answer your own question.”

Her eyes — blazing with turmoil — locked into his.

“Do you think preserving your life makes you any less of a hero?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Fuck no.”

Not even a breath between question and conviction.

He spoke like a truth he’d carved into himself with blood.

“Staying alive means I can keep fighting. Keep protecting the people I care about.”

The tip of his boot barely scuffed forward — her control loosening again — not because she weakened…

…but because she was listening.

His voice dropped to a softer place — a place he rarely let anyone hear.

“And if I die saving someone… then fine. At least I died doing something that mattered.”

A swallow — hard — like the words scraped something deep.

“But ignoring your own needs because it looks heroic?”

He shook his head.

“That’s not noble.
That’s not brave.”

His voice thickened — pain creeping in.

“That’s suicide by fucking idealism.”

Something shattered in her expression — a flicker of horror at her own beliefs.

The wind stilled.

Her quirk loosened — threads of emotional command dissolving into sparks.

Bakugou stepped closer, free now, gently reaching out to brush her hand — fingers warm against trembling knuckles.

“Elara…” he whispered,

“Heroes deserve to live.
You deserve to live.”

Her breathing stuttered — a devastated sound ripped from a throat full of ghosts.

For the first time that night — she didn’t pull away.

Didn’t lash out.

Didn’t tell him to leave.

She just looked at him — truly looked —

And saw in his soul:

Fierce, blazing rose‑gold love
Violet sorrow anchored in guilt
Crimson protectiveness burning like a storm
Emerald loyalty unbreakable as steel
Ice‑blue fear of losing her again

It overwhelmed her —
Her knees nearly buckling,
Her power buzzing painfully under her skin.

Bakugou caught her shoulders, grounding her.

Not restraining.

Supporting.

“Elara,” he murmured, voice rough from holding back tears.

“Let me save you too.”

“If you’re falling — then I’m falling with you.”

Her fire collapsed instantly — sparks raining around her like dying stars.
Her hands trembled before falling to her sides.

The emotional threads still glowed faintly around him — but their pull hurt less now.

She stared — petrified — that he could still see her.
That he didn’t run.
That he stayed.

“You’re home,” he whispered.
“And I… I want to be home too.”

That line punched air from her lungs.

She swayed — dizzy — exhausted.

Bakugou reached for her slowly — hand trembling mid‑air — not grabbing this time.
Offering.
Asking.

Her lip trembled.
Her knees buckled.

And before she hit the ground—
his arms caught her.

He held her like something precious, fragile, and worth breaking himself to protect.

The training field was quiet again.
The moon was the only witness.

And Elara — who had been trained to never need anyone —
let herself lean into him.

For just one stolen moment,
she wasn’t AFO’s weapon.
She wasn’t a danger.
She wasn’t broken.

She was a girl —
held together by the arms of someone who refused to let her burn alone.

And slowly, like a dying ember rekindling —

she let him.

~~~~~

The air still hummed with the faint residue of power. Ember Lash curled lazily around scorched dirt, dying embers reflecting the chaotic storm of Elara’s emotions that had just ravaged the training field. Bakugou’s chest heaved, holding her close, feeling the heat radiate from her trembling body. Every fiber of him screamed to protect her, to never let her fall again.

Her golden eyes, now dimming, flickered as she leaned fully into him, body almost melting against his, letting the weight of her exhaustion settle on him. He could feel her quirk pulsing faintly beneath the surface, threads of Soul Divination still vibrating from the intensity of the emotions she’d unleashed.

“She’s… she’s breaking,” he whispered under his breath, voice low, raw. His jaw clenched, trembling with fury and fear at the fragility in her form.

And then — a soft step from the shadows.

“Tch…” Bakugou tensed immediately. “Who’s there?”

From the darkness emerged Todoroki, silent as always, eyes sharp and glowing faintly in the dim moonlight. But the moment he saw Elara leaning helplessly against Bakugou, chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart twisted in jealousy, worry, and something else — something he hadn’t anticipated.

“I heard everything,” Todoroki said quietly, almost a hiss, voice edged with restrained fury. “Bakugou…”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, tightening his grip slightly as though to physically claim the space she was occupying. “And what, ice-boy? Gonna lecture me? Or are you here to snatch her from me?” His voice trembled with anger, but it wasn’t the usual venom. It was desperate, raw, protective.

Todoroki’s gaze flicked to Elara, then back at Bakugou, chest tightening. “She’s exhausted. She can’t… she can’t handle this alone. You’re risking her, Kacchan.”

Bakugou’s fists sparked slightly, his body trembling with tension and emotion. “I am protecting her! You think I’m not thinking about her? About everything she’s been through?!”

“Protecting her?” Todoroki snapped, a rare edge in his voice. “By holding her like that? By letting her rely on you completely? You don’t see that she’s been pushed to the brink? That she needs stability, not—”

“She doesn’t need you either!” Bakugou cut in, voice hoarse but fierce. “I’ve been there for her. I know her! I know what she feels, I know what she’s been through—don’t pretend like you know anything better than I do!”

Todoroki’s jaw tightened. His crimson and icy blue eyes burned with conflicting emotion — worry, anger, and something that lurked uncomfortably beneath: jealousy. “I know enough to see you’re pushing her too far, Katsuki! She’s fragile right now, and your… possessiveness is only making her quirk flare even more!”

“She’s not fragile!” Bakugou roared, heat rising in his chest. “She’s strong as hell! And don’t you dare tell me how to take care of her!”

The argument escalated, voices overlapping, sharp and desperate. Sparks of Bakugou’s quirk sizzled faintly in the air, Todoroki’s ice subtly radiating from his fingertips, the tension between them crackling almost tangibly.

But before the exchange could spiral further, Elara’s body sagged completely. Her head fell forward, chest rattling with labored breaths. The residual stress, the overexertion of Ember Lash, the mental strain of Soul Divination, and the flood of emotions had pushed her beyond her limits.

“—Elara?!” Bakugou’s voice broke, panic overtaking his anger. He immediately adjusted her in his arms, holding her closer, careful not to let her weight crush him, but desperate to stabilize her.

Todoroki froze, eyes wide, his jealousy momentarily replaced with sharp worry. “She’s… she’s passed out,” he murmured. “We need to move her — now.”

Bakugou’s hands trembled slightly, but he refused to let go. “I’ve got her. You help me. Carefully!”

Todoroki nodded, stepping forward. His ice powers shimmered faintly, ready to counterbalance her body’s weight as Bakugou wrapped his arms fully around her. Together, they lifted her, moving with precision yet still edged with raw urgency.

As they navigated the scorched terrain toward the dorms, Bakugou’s anger simmered beneath the surface, now entwined with desperation and guilt. “Damn it… I can’t… I can’t lose her,” he muttered under his breath.

Todoroki shot him a glance, voice low, almost a growl. “Neither of us can. But fighting over who gets to hold her isn’t helping her right now.”

Bakugou gritted his teeth. “I’m not… letting go, ice-head. Not when she’s like this.”

Todoroki exhaled sharply, tension radiating off him in icy waves. He took a careful step closer, hand hovering near hers, just in case she stirred. “Then we work together. But you listen to me — don’t push her beyond what she can handle.”

Bakugou growled softly, voice low and fierce, but gave a slight nod. “Fine. But if she needs me, I mean it, Todoroki. She’s mine to protect.”

Todoroki’s jaw tightened again, but he kept his focus on the girl in Bakugou’s arms. “And I’ll make sure she’s not alone,” he said softly, almost to himself, but loud enough for Bakugou to hear. His tone carried unspoken confession, worry, and a possessive streak of his own.

The three of them moved in tense, coordinated silence, the moonlight casting long, wavering shadows across the scorched field. Ember Lash flickered faintly from Elara’s fingertips even in unconsciousness, and the faint golden glow of Soul Divination still pulsed behind her closed eyelids, threads of her emotions reaching out in spectral whispers only the two boys could feel.

Bakugou’s heart thumped in sync with her faltering pulse, a storm of worry and love he couldn’t name fully. Todoroki flanked him, vigilance sharpened, chest tightening at the thought of her vulnerability, every step echoing the fear that someone could take her from them again.

Finally, the edge of the dorms appeared through the mist of moonlight and smoke. Bakugou’s arms tightened instinctively. “We’re almost there, El. Almost…”

Todoroki’s voice was quiet, firm. “Stay with us. You’re safe now. No one can hurt you here.”

Her chest rose and fell against Bakugou’s shoulder, shallow but steady. And for the first time in hours, the weight of the world, the cruelty of her past, and the chaos of her powers seemed… almost bearable, if only because the two strongest, most trusted anchors in her life were carrying her through it.

~~~~~

The dorm halls were quiet, drenched in the silver glow of the moon filtering through the high windows. The usual hum of the building was absent, replaced only by the soft creak of the floorboards beneath Bakugou and Todoroki’s feet. Between them, cradled carefully in Bakugou’s arms, Elara lay limp, the subtle tremors of exhaustion and quirk overuse running through her body. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, golden threads of Soul Divination faintly flickering behind her closed lids, radiating a kaleidoscope of emotions that neither boy had fully anticipated.

Bakugou’s jaw was clenched, teeth biting down on the frustration that coursed through him like wildfire. Every step he took toward her dorm room was deliberate, careful, his arms tense but unyielding, refusing to let her slip. He felt every heartbeat of hers beneath his palm, every tremor of fatigue, every residual flicker of power she hadn’t fully controlled. Each tiny movement was a knife to his chest, and yet, as much as his anger burned, so did the desperation — the raw, unfiltered need to protect her, to shield her from a world that had already hurt her so deeply.

“You’re shaking,” Todoroki’s voice murmured from beside them, calm yet taut with worry. He was close enough that his heat and ice balanced each other subconsciously — an unconscious attempt to stabilize the fragile storm that was Elara. “Careful with her, Kacchan. She’s… exhausted.”

Bakugou growled, though it was low, almost internal. “I know,” he snapped, but his voice carried nothing but restrained panic. “Don’t tell me how to hold her.” His fingers flexed, just enough to ensure his grip was secure without harming her. Every instinct in him screamed that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, be let go — not again.

Todoroki’s eyes softened as he watched Bakugou carry her down the narrow hallway. He couldn’t deny the pang in his chest, the jealousy that flared uncontrollably as he realized just how protective Bakugou was, how intimate this act of care had become. And yet, beneath that jealousy, there was a profound, almost aching tenderness. He wanted to be the one to hold her, to make her feel safe without fear, to be the warmth that reached her even when her own mind betrayed her with panic and doubt.

Bakugou’s steps slowed as they approached her dorm room. “Careful… okay,” he muttered, almost to himself, “almost there…” The tension in his arms eased only slightly, his eyes flicking down to her face. Her lashes rested lightly against her cheeks, mouth parted faintly, and the faintest whimper escaped her throat. He pressed a finger to her forehead, a protective, silent question: Are you still with me? Her slight shiver in response was enough to set his chest aflame with relief and something far deeper — longing, fear, love, and guilt all tangled together.

Todoroki stepped closer, ready to support, his gaze catching the faint shimmer of Soul Divination in her unconscious form. It flared unpredictably, threads of emotion snapping outward like fine tendrils of colored light. Her feelings for him radiated soft and warm — gentle, soothing, a quiet yearning for understanding and acceptance. The glow of her affection made his chest tighten; he realized, in a sharp pang of clarity, that he felt the same. She had begun to love him for his warmth, for the quiet kindness he’d shown her in moments of vulnerability, for the way he made her trauma feel seen rather than shamed.

And then came the other threads. Molten, fiery, intense, electric — her love for Bakugou. She had loved him since they were children, had never stopped, had buried it deep for fear of the damage it could do. But the flames of affection, fear, and desire wrapped around him like a storm, whispering the truth in his veins even as he held her. The intensity nearly made him stagger, nearly made him drop her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“You feel it too,” Todoroki murmured, voice low and almost haunted, though he kept his attention on the air around her, the subtle aura of her power, trying to ground himself without intruding on Bakugou’s care. “The quirk… it’s showing us… everything she’s hiding, everything she feels.”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped to him, dark and fierce. “Don’t. Just… don’t talk. I’ve got her. Don’t… don’t try to take this from me.” His voice was rough, raw, protective. It wasn’t just his anger; it was his heart laid bare, a silent admission that she belonged, in this moment, in this space, with him.

The dorm room door creaked open, and Bakugou eased her down onto the bed with deliberate care. Each movement was painstakingly slow, gentle — not the Bakugou of the battlefield, but the one who remembered the girl from childhood, the girl he had loved for years, and the one he was terrified to let go. Her weight settled against the mattress, and for a heartbeat, he felt the world stop, the heat of Ember Lash still flickering faintly around her wrists and ankles, uncontained yet harmless in her exhaustion.

Todoroki moved to the side of the bed, careful not to crowd her. He reached out, adjusting the blanket around her, tucking it around her shoulders, smoothing it gently. “She can’t control herself right now,” he said quietly, almost to Bakugou, almost to himself. “She’s still too raw, too scared.”

Bakugou’s hand hovered over her, fingers trembling slightly as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah… I know,” he muttered, voice low and almost broken. “I see it. I see everything, Todoroki. And I… I can’t let her fall apart alone again.”

Her quirk pulsed faintly again, sending another surge of Soul Divination energy into the room. The threads of her feelings for the two boys intertwined, collided, and flared — a chaotic storm of love, fear, trust, and longing. It pressed against them both, impossible to ignore. Todoroki’s heart tightened at the warmth and vulnerability, while Bakugou’s chest burned with possessive desperation, a need to shield her from the world — and from himself.

Bakugou leaned forward slowly, forearms resting gently on either side of her, voice low, trembling with emotion. “Elara… it’s okay. I know you’re scared. I know you feel like you can’t… like you can’t be… anything but this mess. But you’re not alone. Not now. Not ever. You’re home, right here.”

Todoroki’s hand hovered near hers, his breath shallow. “We’re here too,” he said softly. “I’m here… so you don’t have to feel it alone. Not Bakugou’s way, not mine — just… here. With you.”

Her fingers twitched, almost imperceptibly, as though reaching for the warmth and security that each boy offered in different ways. Her mind, still fraying from Soul Divination and exhaustion, absorbed the care like a fragile vessel desperate to be filled.

Bakugou’s thumb brushed lightly over her cheek, catching a tear that had escaped despite her unconscious state. “I… I’m not letting anyone take you again. Not from me. Not from anyone.” His voice cracked, heavy with a thousand unspoken promises, fierce and fiery as the love he’d carried for her since childhood.

Todoroki’s gaze fell to the floor for a moment, voice low, almost reverent. “I can’t… I can’t protect her from everything, but I’ll be here. I’ll stand by her side. Always.”

The room was thick with the weight of their emotions, all three hearts beating in precarious harmony: her feelings radiating uncontrollably, Bakugou’s burning need to protect and possess, and Todoroki’s quiet, simmering resolve to comfort and shield her.

Bakugou’s hand curled gently around hers, and for the first time, the heat of his emotions reached her subconscious, comforting and terrifying all at once. Soul Divination threads shimmered faintly in response, her golden eyes flickering behind closed lids as though recognizing safety, care, and the love she had always feared to embrace.

Neither boy spoke again, the silence filled with understanding, tension, and unspoken vows. The world outside could wait. Nothing mattered but her, her safety, and the fragile balance of love and protection that both of them fought for in silence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Elara’s body relaxed slightly against the mattress, just enough for the storm of her powers to simmer, if only temporarily, as the two people she cared for most in the world remained steadfast — watching, waiting, protecting, and loving.

Chapter Text

Elara’s consciousness returns like rising from the bottom of a freezing lake—slow, suffocating, disorienting.

The world is muted at first. A dim lamp paints the dorm room in a weak amber glow. The sheets beneath her feel too soft, too clean. She is somewhere safe… which only makes her panic rise.

She isn’t supposed to feel safe.

A flicker of movement pulls her gaze—two figures slumped in chairs beside her bed. Bakugou and Todoroki. Both asleep. Both still in their training clothes. They’d stayed. Even after everything.

A warmth tries to bloom in her chest… but before it can take form—

A voice coils through her skull like black smoke:

“You disappointed me.”

Her lungs turn to stone. Her vision tunnels.

AFO.

That voice. That presence. The rot beneath her skin that never leaves.

She doesn’t turn her head—she knows there’s nothing to see. But her entire body reacts. Her muscles tense violently. Her breath stutters.

“You let him see what you are,” the voice hisses. “You let them see the monster they made.”

Her knees would’ve hit the ground if she wasn’t already lying down.
Not fear.
Conditioning.

“You feel,” he continues, laced with disdain. “I stripped that weakness from you. Yet here you are… crying over children who would lock you in a cell if they knew the truth.”

She can’t breathe.
Her hands tremble against the sheets.

A phantom grip coils around her throat—tight, cold, absolute.
Her heart stammers as memories surge:

metal restraints
blood as proof of obedience
“heroes don’t want broken weapons”
“I am the only one who will ever want you”

“You are my legacy,” AFO breathes into her soul.
“Not theirs. You belong to me. Do not forget—
I forged you.
I own you.”

The invisible hand releases—just enough to let the air burn its way into her lungs again.

Her lips move before she even realizes:

“…yes, Father.”
But the obedience tastes different now.
Like acid.
Like something dying.

The room turns silent again.
The shadows recede.

And for the first time in what felt like eternity—

a tear escapes.

Just one.
Then another.
Then she can’t stop them.

It scares her.

A small, broken whimper slips out—

And that soft sound is enough.

Two chairs scrape sharply.

“Elara?”
Todoroki’s voice is low, frantic.
He reaches her first, his hand hovering just above her cheek—like touching might shatter her.

Bakugou is already on the opposite side of the bed, eyes wide and wild, panic badly disguised beneath anger.

“What the hell—? Why are you crying? Who did something? Was it me? Tch—dammit—Elara—talk to us.”

Their worry crashes over her like waves she doesn’t know how to swim in.

She wipes her cheeks too fast, too harshly.
“I’m fine,” she lies.
“It was just… a nightmare.”

Their eyes say they don’t believe her.
But they also see how fragile she looks—
and both decide not to push.

The silence that follows is heavy.
Dense.
Charged.

Because they remember.

They remember the soul‑threads—
her heart laid bare against her will.

Todoroki looks down first, jaw tight, the tips of his ears pink with shame and longing. He felt everything—her gentle love for him, her reliance on his warmth, the security she sees only in his presence.

Bakugou still hasn’t moved or spoken.
His fists are clenched so hard his knuckles are white.

He felt it too—
the part of her that burns for him
like wildfire restrained behind trembling hands.
The love she buried alive.
The love that terrifies her.

None of them know which emotion to speak of first—
guilt
love
fear
jealousy
shame
desperation

So no one speaks.

Instead—

Todoroki finally lifts his gaze. Calm, but not composed.
“Elara… you don’t have to go through anything alone. Not anymore.”
His voice cracks at the end.

Bakugou scoffs—too sharp, too defensive—
but his voice betrays him with softness he never shows anyone else.

“You scared the hell out of us,” he mutters.
“You don’t get to just shut us out and drown, you hear me? We’re not letting you.”

Elara looks at them—
at the two boys who would tear apart the world if she asked—
and her heart aches so deeply it’s almost physical.

How is she supposed to choose between:

a sunrise
and a wildfire?

“I don’t deserve either of you,” she whispers.

Two simultaneous reactions—
Todoroki steps closer.
Bakugou’s breath catches.

“You deserve more than the world has given you,” Todoroki says, voice like a promise.

“And I swear,” Bakugou growls, leaning in, “whoever made you think you don’t— I’ll kill them myself.”

The mention—however indirect—
makes her flinch.

They both notice.

Both react.

Todoroki’s eyes soften further. “You’re shaking.”

Bakugou’s anger turns inward—
rage at every scar on her he can’t erase.

She tries to sit up—she can’t.
Her body is still too weak.
So instead, she folds into herself, arms wrapped around her own ribs as though keeping her heart from spilling out.

“I… I don’t know how to be here,” she admits.
“I don’t know how to be… loved.”

The word hangs there.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
True.

Todoroki places a careful hand over her clenched fist.
Warm. Steady.
“I can teach you,” he murmurs.

Bakugou places his hand over her other one.
Hot. Trembling.
“This time, I won’t fuck it up.”

Her breath hitches.

Because this—
their hands on hers
their hearts open
their eyes begging—

is scarier than AFO ever was.

Because this is real.

And real means she could lose it.

The room stays wrapped in silence—
but it’s no longer empty.
It’s full of love they’re all terrified to name.

Her tears still fall—
but this time she doesn’t hide them.

And for the first time in her life—

someone else wipes them away.

Two someones.

~~~~~

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the tall windows of Class 1‑A, painting the room in warm, pale gold. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, but the serenity of the morning was nothing like the tension that clung to the students inside.

Elara sat rigidly at her desk, her posture immaculate, eyes forward, but her hands curled slightly around her notebook. Every muscle in her body seemed coiled, every breath calculated. Todoroki sat just a few desks away, arms folded, jaw tight, his gaze drifting constantly toward her. There was a quiet storm behind his cool facade, the same storm she could feel whenever she dared to meet his eyes. He wasn’t touching her, not yet, but his presence was a physical weight she carried—both comforting and suffocating.

Across the room, Bakugou sat with his arms crossed, his eyes dark pools of barely restrained emotion. Every twitch of Elara’s fingers, every tilt of her head, every subtle expression drew his attention. He wanted to speak, to demand answers, to pull her into his arms and make her safe, but he couldn’t. The memory of last night—the heat, the words, the tears—still burned in his chest, leaving him jittery with unspent emotion.

The rest of the class buzzed around them, oblivious to the invisible tension slicing through the air. Midoriya sat between them, but his gaze was locked on Elara, taking in her every subtle movement. He noticed the faint tremble in her hands, the way her lips pressed into a thin line, the almost imperceptible sigh she tried to hide. His own chest tightened as he watched her, heart hammering. He knew he needed to tell her how he felt, needed to break through whatever walls she had rebuilt around herself. He could already imagine her looking at him with that calm, wary kindness, a mixture of warmth and fear. But would it be enough? Could he pierce the distance she had cultivated?

Aizawa’s flat, measured voice broke through the room, cutting the day’s tension with his usual precision.

“Training camp begins tomorrow. Pro hero Mandalay will be supervising. You will be splitting into teams. Team leaders will be chosen based on quirk synergy and your ability to maintain control under stress.”

Elara’s eyes flicked toward him briefly, but her attention snapped back to the page in front of her. Todoroki’s gaze followed, unwavering. She could feel it—the quiet, unrelenting focus. It made her chest constrict. Her mind wanted to flee, to pretend it didn’t matter, to hide behind the mask she wore so well.

Bakugou’s patience, thin as it already was, began to fray. He leaned forward slightly, subtle but deliberate, and muttered just loud enough for her to hear, his voice a low growl:

“Pay attention, but don’t think you can hide from me.”

Her breath caught. Her hands clenched tighter around her notebook. That voice, that tone, it was fire and home all at once, and it made her entire body feel raw. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral, even as a small part of her wanted to look up and meet his eyes.

Midoriya’s mind raced. He wanted to speak, to say something, anything to reach her. He imagined her turning toward him, giving him the faintest hint of that small, genuine smile that sometimes flickered when she allowed herself to be present, if only for a moment. Could he tell her how he felt? Could he risk opening the wound that was already raw with past trauma?

The rest of the students were too absorbed in their own excitement to notice the unspoken battles surrounding Elara. Kaminari was practically vibrating in his seat, Mina whispering animatedly about the exercises she hoped to try. Kirishima and Tokoyami were sharing theories about team strategy, their voices light and eager, completely unaware of the emotional tension radiating from the two boys around Elara.

Todoroki’s jaw tightened. He wanted to reach out, to touch her shoulder just to remind her he was there, that she wasn’t alone. But he held back, knowing that any move could provoke Bakugou, whose possessive energy flared just beneath the surface. The air around them was charged with electricity, a subtle pulse of unspoken emotion that even the other students could feel but not identify.

Bakugou’s hands twitched at his sides, fists balling and unclenching as he tried to maintain control. Every subtle glance she gave, every small movement of her fingers, fueled a storm of protectiveness and frustration in him. He hated that she was this close, this fragile, and yet still so untouchable. His mouth opened, then closed. He needed to wait. He had to wait.

Midoriya’s notebook sat forgotten in front of him, scribbled with notes he wasn’t actually reading. His thoughts were entirely occupied with her—the slight way her shoulders tensed, the controlled exhale she gave as if she were holding back an entire ocean. His heart ached to tell her the truth, even if it was terrifying, even if she might reject him.

Aizawa’s monotone voice continued to outline the camp’s rules and expectations. He spoke of safety, of coordination, of maintaining awareness and teamwork. But no one could hear him properly, not really. Not when their focus was so wholly captured by the quiet, radiant figure of Elara.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Todoroki, narrowing imperceptibly. His jaw tensed, a silent challenge that Todoroki met with a quiet, unreadable gaze. Both boys’ attention was locked on her in a way that the others couldn’t understand, a tension palpable in the room like static before a storm.

Elara felt it all—the tension, the quiet judgments, the love, the worry, the jealousy. Her stomach churned. Her heart beat too fast. She wanted to shrink back into herself, to escape the weight of their attention, but she also wanted… she didn’t know what she wanted. Maybe safety, maybe acknowledgment, maybe all the raw, burning intensity of the feelings surrounding her.

And then—the bell.

Its harsh clang tore through the classroom, signaling the end of the lesson.

It cut through the tension like a knife, scattering thoughts, leaving lingering glances and unresolved emotions in its wake.

Elara exhaled, almost unconsciously, a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She remained seated for a moment longer, absorbing the atmosphere—the weight of Bakugou’s unspoken demands, Todoroki’s quiet concern, Midoriya’s yearning gaze. The classroom buzzed with movement as students gathered their things, chatter rising about the upcoming training camp.

But in that quiet moment before she rose, the threads of emotion around her pulsed faintly, almost imperceptibly—a storm of unspoken promises, fears, and attachments that would not be settled so easily.

And in the corners of her mind, she knew this day, this morning, was only the beginning of the battles yet to come—both outside and within.

~~~~~

The bell still echoed faintly in the hallway when Midoriya’s chair scraped across the floor.

He stood too fast.
Heart pounding too loud.
Hands clenched too tight.

He watched Elara gather her things slowly, every movement careful, almost haunted. She was preparing to walk away — again — with that quiet grace she carried like armor.

If he didn’t speak now…
he never would.

Midoriya swallowed hard, his breaths shaking as he forced his legs to move.

“E-Elara?”

Her shoulders stiffened. She turned — guarded, polite — like she was already anticipating pain.

Midoriya pushed through the dryness in his throat.

“Could you… help me train? Just a little. Before we go to the training camp.”

He tried to sound casual. He failed.

Elara blinked, hesitant — but she nodded.

“…okay.”

The sky was a washed-out blue, sunlight cold and heavy.
They stood facing each other — far apart but wound together by tension neither could escape.

Midoriya adjusted his stance.

“You’re the strongest. The most skilled in our class,” he said honestly, admiration softening his voice.
“I know I’ll learn the most from you.”

Elara froze, something in her chest twisting painfully at the praise.
Strong.
Skilled.
Dangerous.

She raised her fists, trying to shut down her thoughts.
“Then focus. I won’t go easy.”

And she didn’t.

She moved like wildfire — fast, fluid, lethal in the way only someone trained by monsters could be. Midoriya countered what he could, trying to read the rhythm of her movements.

He went to punch — she dodged effortlessly.

She swept her arm toward his ribs — he blocked, barely.

But when she spun to strike again, he caught her wrist.

Tight.
Steady.
Certain.

“Elara—”
His breath trembled.

She froze.

Midoriya gently pulled her closer, his other hand circling her smaller one — holding it like he feared she’d vanish if he loosened his grip even a fraction.

His voice cracked under the weight of what he’d been holding back:

“You think you’re dangerous… but when I look at you—”
He swallowed, tears burning behind his eyes.
“All I see is someone trying so hard to protect others… even if it destroys you.”

Her heartbeat faltered.
Her eyes widened — fear, confusion, a flicker of something softer.

“Elara, I…”
His chest heaved with the courage it took to continue.
“I like you. A lot.”

Her lips parted.
The Earth seemed to sway under her.

“Not because you’re strong,” Midoriya whispered,
“but because you’re hurting… and still trying.”

His thumb brushed her knuckles — gentle, reverent.

She felt her walls beginning to crack.
And panic swallowed her whole.

She yanked her hand from his, stepping back like his touch burned.

“Izuku, I can’t—”
Her voice shook like glass about to break.
“It’s not… I shouldn’t…”

“Let me choose you!” he urged, reaching out again.

He looked so earnest. So real. So hopeful it terrified her.

“I just don’t feel the same.”
The truth stabbed into her tongue.
Her voice softened, trying to cushion the blow:
“I love you as a friend… a brother I wish I could’ve had. But not like that.”

Midoriya’s breath left him slow and painful — like she’d ripped something vital from him.

His smile faltered — a tragedy dressed as acceptance.

And yet he still stepped closer — still hopeful.

“Then let us choose you…”
He pointed over his shoulder — toward the school, the dorms, their classmates…
toward Bakugou and Todoroki.
Toward people who loved her loudly, painfully, relentlessly.

“Elara… you don’t have to save the world alone.”

Her lungs compressed.
Her vision pulsed.
Her heart begged.

But her voice…

Her voice was the soldier her trauma had trained it to be.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words.
Sharp as knives.

She turned before he could see how shattered she was.
Before he could touch her again and unravel her resolve.

She walked.

Each step away from him was a war.

She didn’t look back — because she couldn’t survive seeing the heartbreak in his eyes again.

Her breaths came shallow and uneven.
Her fingernails dug crescents into her palms.

Choosing him could kill him.
Choosing anyone could.

All For One’s voice still echoed in her skull:

Emotion is a flaw I thought I erased from you.

Her door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded too final.
She pressed her back to it, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold floor, knees pulled tight to her chest.

She wanted to scream.
She wanted to run back to Midoriya and say Yes.
To Todoroki and say Stay.
To Bakugou and say I never stopped loving you.

But all she could do
was shake
and breathe
and break
quietly—

because silence was survival.

Mere hours before leaving for a training camp meant to push them past their limits…

Elara already felt dangerously close
to hers.

~~~~~

Night crept over Heights Alliance like a predator.
The halls slept. The moon hid. The world stilled.

Elara finally drifted into sleep — too exhausted to keep her guard up.

But sleep was never safety.

Not for her.

Blackness swallowed everything.
A void with no ground, no sky — no escape.

A single spotlight flickered to life, illuminating her barefoot form.
Cold air sliced into her lungs.

Then —

A voice

smooth, condescending
too familiar to ever forget—

“My beautiful creation.”

The darkness rippled.
All For One stepped forward, a silhouette sculpted from pure malice.
His smile stretched wrong — like skin wasn’t meant to shape itself that way.

Elara stumbled back, breath splintering into frantic shards.

“You’ve made attachments,” he cooed.
“Pathetic. Temporary. Human.”

His gloved fingers brushed her cheek.

She recoiled as though bitten.

“N–No… I wouldn’t choose them ov—”
Her voice cracked like a snapped bone.

His shadow towered over her, smothering every thought.

“You forget…”
His tone sharpened — metallic and final—
“who owns your soul.”

Chains exploded from the ground — black, serrated, alive — coiling around her wrists, her ankles, her throat.
They yanked, suspending her in place — choking, crushing, claiming.

Her mouth opened in a scream—

but
no sound existed here.

Her chest heaved against the pressure.
Tears burned behind her eyes but trained discipline forced them back.

All For One leaned close, breath icy and sterile.

“Love is a weakness.”
His whisper slithered into her skull.
“And I will strip it from you… piece by piece.”

He tugged a chain — her spine arched, pain bursting white behind her eyes.

She wanted to die again just to escape this.

But then —

A crack in the darkness.

A tremor.

A voice.

“Elara!”
Bakugou — raw and furious — like fire refusing to die.

Then another.

“Elara!”
Todoroki’s voice — calm but terrified — reaching for her across the void.

And a third.

“Elara, don’t give in!”
Midoriya — steady as ever, his hope radiating like a beacon.

Invisible lights flared — warm threads weaving through the darkness.
Love.
Fear.
Loyalty.
Her Soul Divination awakened — rebelliously.

Rage ignited inside her.

The chains rattled.
Cracked.
Burned.

Spectral flames erupted from her body, scorching the ink-black restraints.

“You don’t own me,” she growled, molten gold blazing in her eyes—

SHATTER

Chains disintegrated.

She dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch — fierce, feral, free—

But All For One only smiled.

Slow.
Triumphant.

“I don’t need to own you…”
He stepped back into the shadow
as darkness coiled tighter around him like a throne.

“…not when I can take what you love instead.”

Her blood ran cold.

The spotlight snapped off—

Elara ripped awake with a violent gasp.

Her scream tore the silence apart — raw, animalistic.

She clutched her chest like holding her heart inside her body was suddenly optional.
Her dorm room spun. The moonlight mocked her.

Panic flooded her bloodstream like venom.

Then—
Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Her shaking fingers hovered.
She answered.

“Hello?”

Static.

Then a voice like nails peeling skin:

“Miss us?”

Shigaraki.

Her stomach dropped.

“The training camp,” he drawled, bored like murder was a routine chore.
“We’re crashing it.”

Her pulse stuttered.

“And since you failed Daddy’s expectations…”
A sick grin coated every syllable,
“you’re going to make up for it.”

Her breath fractured.

“You will track the students. Feed us positions.
Disable the camp’s barrier.”
He clicked his tongue like she was an unruly pet.
“Then we warp in and ruin their vacation.”

“No— please— don’t hurt—”

“Tsk, tsk…”
His voice lowered to a venomous hush.
“You don’t get to plead for the lives of toys.”

She felt herself crumbling.

“Follow orders,” Shigaraki warned,
“and maybe that little childhood crush of yours keeps his face.”

The phone line went dead.

Her entire body shook.

She couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t choose.

Save them and betray them.
Protect them and kill them.
Love them and destroy them.

She curled forward — silent sobs tearing down her cheeks at last.

Her whisper trembled into the dark:

“Please… someone… save me before I hurt them.”

But she already knew:

No one could save her
—not from the monster who made her
not from the fate she was built to fulfill
not from the love that would be used as a weapon.

And morning was coming.

And tomorrow
she would lead death straight to the people she loved most.

Chapter Text

The sun rose too cheerfully for a day destined to end in blood.

Students spilled onto the bus ramp outside U.A., energy crackling through the morning air like a festival.
Iida was rallying the class into order — as always — while Mina and Kaminari argued about snacks. Sero stretched lazily, already joking about who would get lost in the woods first.

This was supposed to be their chance to grow stronger.
Together.

Elara stepped onto the bus.

Her hands were cold.

Her phone — the device that would betray them — felt like a block of ice in her pocket.
Every innocent laugh around her became another stone tied to her ankles.

She slipped into her seat, pressed against the window.
Trying to make herself small.

Trying not to sob.

⸻

Midoriya sat further up the aisle with Uraraka and Iida — smiling at their excitement, but every few seconds his gaze flicked back to her like his heart worked as a compass pointing only at her.

⸻

Todoroki took the seat across from her.

He didn’t speak — he just watched her quietly, eyes careful and soft.
He noticed the way she squeezed the edge of the seat so tight her knuckles whitened.
He noticed the flicker of dread in her gaze when she stared out the window.

His chest tightened.

She cares about me.
He knew that now — he had felt it in her soul.

So why did she look like she was already grieving him?

His jaw clenched.

Maybe… maybe if I tell her how I feel, she won’t look so lonely.

⸻

Bakugou sat behind her, arms crossed, posture relaxed but eyes locked on the back of her head like a predator guarding something it wasn’t ready to lose.

He could smell tension like smoke.
And right now — she was a wildfire.

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to hear her breathing — shallow, uneven.
His gut twisted.

Something’s wrong.
Horribly wrong.

But—

He wasn’t the type to ask, Are you okay?

Instead, he watched.
Waiting for the moment he’d have to burn whatever haunted her.

⸻

Laughter erupted from the back — Kirishima was challenging Kaminari to an arm-wrestling bet.
Sato passed out chocolate chip cookies.
Tsuyu chatted happily with Tokoyami, who pretended not to enjoy it.

For everyone else, this was a field trip.

For Elara?
A countdown.

She kept her eyes on the trees racing by outside the window.
They blurred into streaks of green — knives slicing the sky.

Every bump in the road jolted her stomach with fresh guilt.

Shigaraki’s voice replayed in her skull:

“Follow orders… or your favorites die first.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

No matter which path she walked
someone she loved would bleed.

⸻

Todoroki shifted, unable to stay silent.

“Elara,” he murmured, voice just loud enough for her to hear.

She flinched — barely — but forced a stiff smile when she turned her head.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated.
Heart hammering in a rare display of fear.

“If there’s anything you need to talk about…”
He paused, searching her eyes for a truth she refused to show.
“You can trust me.”

Her throat tightened.

Trust.
If only she could.

She offered a tiny nod — a lie shaped like gratitude.

He swallowed disappointment, gaze drifting to her trembling hands.

She feels for me. He reminded himself.
So why is she shutting me out?

⸻

Bakugou’s foot tapped once — sharply — impatience edging into irritation.

She was breaking, right in front of them.
And those extras were too damn busy laughing to see it.

His fingers curled around the seat handle.

If someone was hurting her—
if someone dared threaten her—

He’d turn the world to ash.

But for now…

He waited.
He watched.
He guarded.

Silently.

⸻

A sudden cheer burst through the bus:

“We’re almost there!” Mineta yelled.

The class erupted into chatter — Mandalay this, wilderness that, training upgrades and cabin gossip.
Their excitement filled the space like fireworks.

Elara felt like she was suffocating in smoke.

Her phone vibrated.

A single text flashed on the screen:

Tomorrow, little ghost. Be ready.

Her blood froze.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed — he saw her reaction.

Todoroki’s gaze sharpened — he felt her panic.

And Midoriya stiffened — he sensed her pain.

Three boys, three hearts,
three reasons to fight for her.

Three reasons she feared living through tomorrow.

⸻

The bus rounded the final bend — mountains rising ahead like jagged teeth.

The training camp waited.

So did the League of Villains.

So did the moment she’d have to decide
who she truly was.

Hero?
Villain?
Or just a girl who loved too much and chose too late?

And as laughter continued to bounce around her…

Elara sat in silence
holding her breath
like this bus was driving straight toward her execution.

~~~~~

The bus doors hissed open.

Fresh mountain air flooded inside — pine-sharp, earthy, clean. Birds scattered from the branches as Class 1-A spilled out, stretching and chattering like they were finally free from the confines of school walls.

The rocky cliffside path leading upward seemed almost like a challenge laid out just for them.

“Whoa! Look at this place!” Kaminari shouted, eyes sparkling.

“This is going to be so manly!” Kirishima flexed, matching the energy.

Even Iida had dropped his strict posture for once, absorbing the excitement buzzing around the group.

All except three…
and especially her.

Elara stepped off last — her boots crunching gravel with hesitant, careful steps.
Every tree felt like an enemy watching.
Every shadow a warning.

⸻

Across the way, two pro heroes stood waiting:

Mandalay and Tiger — members of the Wild, Wild Pussycats — striking bold poses against the wilderness backdrop.

Mandalay’s golden eyes gleamed with practiced charm as she waved at the class.

“Welcome to your training camp, Class 1-A!”

A chorus of cheers erupted — Mina jumping, Kaminari fist-pumping, Sero swinging his tape in excitement.

Elara… barely inhaled.

And Mandalay saw it.

Her gaze lingered just a moment too long on the girl who stood still while everyone celebrated.
Fear had a scent — it clung to Elara like smoke.

Mandalay didn’t press.
But her smile softened — a quiet acknowledgment.

⸻

Before she could speak further—

A small, scowling figure stomped into view.

Short. Hoodie. Hat.
Glare sharp enough to slice stone.

Kota.

Midoriya’s face lit up with the enthusiasm of a man who saw a child and immediately wanted to Yes-This-Is-My-Adopted-Kid him.

“Oh! Hey—! You must be Ko—”

WHAM.

Kota’s tiny fist rocketed straight into Midoriya’s groin.

Midoriya folded like a lawn chair.

“Elara— help— I’m seeing God—” he gasped, voice three octaves higher than normal.

Some students burst into laughter. Others cringed in sympathetic agony.

Elara rushed to Midoriya, helping him stand with gentle hands.

“Kota… right?” she said softly, turning to the boy who still glared like the world owed him a fight. “Sorry he bothered you. We’ll give you space.”

Kota froze.

His scowl faltered — barely — as he looked at Elara.
Not fear.
Not hatred.
Something warmer.

Like… safety.

He didn’t smile.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared a moment too long before huffing and storming off.

That was practically a hug in Kota language.

Elara watched him go — confusion flickering in her eyes.
Why would a kid like that feel drawn to her?

Because monsters recognize survivors.

⸻

Mandalay clapped her hands, pulling attention back.

“All right, everyone — gather up!”

The class formed a semi-circle, buzzing with anticipation.

“This camp is designed to push you far beyond your limits,” Mandalay explained. “Your bodies, your minds, your Quirks — all will be tested. By the end of this week, you won’t even recognize yourselves.”

Sato whispered, “Sounds… intense.”

“It’s supposed to be!” Ashido elbowed him, excitement bright in her eyes.

Mandalay gestured toward the dense woods stretching endlessly ahead.

“Your first exercise: the Beast Forest. You’ll make your way to the main lodge… using your Quirks to survive whatever’s waiting inside.”

Excitement shifted to nerves.

“And for the record…” Mandalay added with a playful grin, “It’s a very long way down.”

She shoved.

The ground vanished.

Every student screamed as the cliff edge crumbled beneath them —
and they plummeted—

into the forest.

⸻

Elara didn’t scream.

She simply spread her limbs and let gravity take her—
feeling the free fall tug at her heart.

This wasn’t fear.
This was relief.

If she died before tomorrow…
no war to fight.
No betrayals to commit.
No more love to endanger.

But two hands shot through branches:

Bakugou — explosive palms slowing his descent, teeth gritted in annoyance.

Todoroki — Frost blooming beneath their feet, stabilizing the drop.

Both landing beside her—
both glaring at each other—
both pretending they hadn’t just fought the earth itself to save her.

“Watch it,” Bakugou growled at her, the worry disguised in anger.

Her heart twisted.

Because tomorrow…
they might die because of her.

⸻

Above them, Mandalay’s voice echoed telepathically into their minds:

“Welcome to your first lesson: survival.”

The forest roared to life — beasts emerging from shadows, trees rustling as though they were hunting back.

Students shouted strategies, power surges lighting up the woods like fireworks.

Adventure for them.
Impending hell for her.

Elara forced herself into motion — hands steady, footsteps precise.

The mask slid back into place.

She would play the role of Class 1-A’s strongest hero…

All while preparing to become their biggest threat.

Somewhere deep in the woods, Shigaraki was waiting.

And so was her choice—

Love and death were coming.
Hand in hand.

~~~~~

Moonlight bleeds through the canopy in fractured, silver shards as Elara glides through the forest, every step calculated, silent. The air is thick with the smell of damp earth and pine — peaceful, almost deceptively so. Her heartbeat, however, betrays the illusion. It pounds against her ribs like a creature desperate to escape.

She pauses at the crest of a small hill, eyes narrowing on the view below.

The lodge.
Warm light hums behind its windows — a beacon of safety for her classmates. And yet, she is here to deliver it into darkness.

Her breaths fog in the air as she works — fingers trembling as she pulls out a small notebook she must never let anyone at U.A. see. She scribbles down what she’s spent the last hour memorizing:

North sector ridge — steep drop, limited visibility.
Training grounds — wide, flat terrain… perfect for ambush.
Rocky outcroppings — ideal sniping points.
Waterfalls — sound cover + dangerous footing.
Cabin entrances — choke points.
Natural animal trails — escape routes or surround tactics.

Every detail becomes a weapon the League can use.

A gust rattles the leaves. Elara flinches — hand already glowing faintly with Soul Divination energy before she forces herself to breathe again.

You’re not being watched. Relax. Please… relax.

She continues on — checking every corner, every blind spot. The lodge looms closer now. She can hear faint laughter inside — her class, trying to enjoy the night.

And she is outside, betraying them.

Her voice cracks inside her own mind:

I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…

⸻

At the forest’s edge, she pulls her phone from her pocket. The screen illuminates her face — pale and haunted, dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes. She hesitates. Her thumb shakes over the call button…

Then she taps it.

The dial tone rings like a countdown to doom.

Click.

A breathy, slow exhale leaks through the speaker.

“Elara.”
Shigaraki’s voice is silk over broken glass — calm, chilling. “I assume this means you have something worthwhile to share?”

She forces her voice not to crack.
“Yes. I’ve confirmed the layout. I’ll send a detailed map when I’m back near the lodge. I’ve also analyzed visibility points, student rest areas, and—”

“That’s not what I asked.”
His tone sharpens — a knife pressed against her throat.
“What about you? How close are you to breaking?”

Her heartbeat stumbles. “I… I’m not going to break.”

A low chuckle.
“You think I want you to? No… no, you’re special, Elara. You endure. Even when every part of you begs to give up.”
His voice drops into something near a purr, suffocatingly intimate.
“And your fear? It’s delicious. Motivating.”

Elara swallows hard, forcing courage into her lungs.
“I’ll contact you again in the morning. Once I know the exact training schedule — where everyone will be and when.”

“Hm… Very well. Just remember what happens if you slip.”

She freezes — breath locked painfully inside her chest.

“You don’t want them to suffer,” he continues. “Not those sweet, trusting classmates… especially that loud one who can’t keep his eyes off you. Katsuki, yes?”

Her reaction is immediate — a flash of protective rage.
“If you touch him—”

“Oh?” Shigaraki hums thoughtfully.
“So you do care. Good. Attachments make you predictable. They make you compliant.”

Her nails dig into her palm, drawing crescent-shaped wounds. The phone crackles with his pleased amusement.

“You’ll deliver them to us,” he says.
“And in return, I won’t take away anyone you love.”

The threat coils around her like chains.
“…I’ll get you what you want,” she whispers.

“Perfect.”
A rustle of fabric. The sound of a smile spreading across scars.
“Rest well, Elara. Tomorrow marks the beginning of your true purpose.”

Click.
The line goes dead.

⸻

Elara lowers the phone slowly, her hand shaking violently now that she’s alone again. The weight of the night presses down on her shoulders until she feels she might collapse into the soil and let the earth consume her.

Her whisper is so small, even the trees barely hear it:

“Please forgive me…”

But the wind doesn’t answer —
and the moon turns its face away.

~~~~~

Dawn came like a cauterized wound — too bright, too sharp — slicing the dark open with a blade of cold light. Elara woke before the sun had fully cleared the treeline, heart pounding a frantic cadence against the ribs that remembered restraint better than rest. She lay there a long moment, listening to the dorm’s soft whispers: the distant breath of students sleeping, the building settling, the small domestic sounds that meant the world was alive and, for now, safe.

She forced herself to rise. The mask went on first — not a physical mask so much as a careful arrangement of expression and motion. Her shoulders relaxed, the painful tightness around her mouth smoothed into something like a smile. She practiced a laugh in the mirror until it sounded like the other students’ laughter and not the brittle snap she’d been taught to make when obedience was required. When she stepped out into the corridor, the mask had hardened into place: bright, eager, completely convincing.

The lodge was only a few minutes from the dorms; she walked there on autopilot, breathing in pine and cold and the faint copper metallic tang of adrenaline. Mandalay was already on the porch, stretching in the morning light with the easy confidence of someone who knew the woods better than the back of her own hand. When she saw Elara approach she opened like a sunflower.

“Elara! You’re up early.” Mandalay’s voice was warm and easy, a professional’s practiced cheer. “Good. That’ll make the first exercise smoother. How’re you feeling? Ready for a proper challenge?”

Elara smiled — big, bright, the smile that belonged to the mask and not the body beneath it. “Excited,” she said. “I wanted to make sure I knew what to expect. Could you run me through the schedule for the day? I want to help with logistics for my team.”

Mandalay’s eyes softened with the pleased pride of a pro who’d found a student keen to learn. She leaned on the railing and, in the gentle cadence of someone speaking to a child she liked, began.

“We’re starting with the Beast Forest exercise right after breakfast,” Mandalay said. “Groups will be assigned by quirk synergy — small teams to encourage cooperation under stress. Each group will follow a mapped route through the forest to the lodge. The idea is to keep you moving, forcing quick decisions and improvisation. We expect the morning exercise to take most of the first half of the day — movement, obstacle negotiation, and team-based problem solving.”

Elara nodded and jotted mental notes, attentive and engaged. Mandalay went on.

“After the Beast Forest, there’s a scheduled regroup at the fire ring outside the lodge for debrief and recovery — it’s loud and visible, meant to be a central point so instructors can scan the area. Then a short skills rotation: ropework, quirk-safe close-quarters practice, and non-dominant-hand coordination drills. Lunch at the lodge — then the afternoon is split: a timed navigation exercise for smaller pairs and a collective rescue scenario near the stream and the footbridge. That’s when you’ll do more precise coordination—teams have to stabilize an injured person and get them across the bridge. We close the day with cabin checks and a night exercise focusing on observation and stealth.”

She chuckled and tossed Elara a small grin. “Mandalay’s rule of thumb — we don’t put all the rookies in the same place at once. You’ll be spread between the forest paths, the lodge approaches, and the stream crossing depending on how your instructors slot you. Tiger and I will be watching the main approaches and the cliffside drop — the technical bits. Mandalay’s not a fan of surprises, so if you see something you think is risky, tell us. We’ll adapt.”

Elara’s brain worked flatly through the list — nod, confirm, catalog. To Mandalay she was the bright, zealous student asking the right questions. To herself she was a ledger of points: time windows, congregation nodes, predictable instructor behavior. Mandalay’s casual tips — which approaches instructors liked, how they nudged students toward regroup points, which teams always lagged and why — were gold. Mandalay’s frankness came from trust and an earnest aim to teach. She had no reason, no instinct, to suspect the hungry undercurrent in the way Elara listened.

“How will you assign teams?” Elara asked, the question practiced so many times it felt like a script.

Mandalay shrugged easy shoulders. “Quirk balance first, leadership second. We look for someone who can read the room — not necessarily the strongest quirk, but the one who keeps the team calm. That’s part of what you’re studying now, right? How to lead under pressure?”

“Yes,” Elara said. “Exactly.”

Mandalay smiled, the kind that both praised and encouraged. “Perfect. After breakfast we’ll break up into groups by color tags — yellow, green, red. Yellow goes north ridge first, green to the lowland trails, red takes the footbridge rotation. We’ll switch after the rotation; that way everyone gets a taste of everything. Be ready to move fast.”

Elara folded those instructions neatly into the part of her mind reserved for duty. She asked a few technical follow-ups — which instructors would be stationed at which points, whether Mandalay or Tiger preferred to be in the lodge or on the move, the likely cadence of the debrief at the fire ring — and Mandalay answered with the helpful candor of someone who wanted her students to feel prepared.

“Thank you,” Elara said at last. The smile didn’t falter. “That helps a lot.”

“You’ll do great,” Mandalay assured, patting Elara’s shoulder in the easy way of a mentor. “I like your focus. Don’t burn yourself out, though — you’ll need your energy for the night exercise.”

Elara walked away with Mandalay’s easy laughter at her back, a dozen safe, ordinary gestures etched into her head to be converted, in the dark, into coordinates and timings. She moved without haste back toward the treeline where she’d hidden her route notes, throat dry and adrenaline already simmering into a tense vigilance. Dawn was a strip of silver behind thick trunks; the lodge lights still winked through the trees.

The call to Shigaraki tasted like freezing metal in her mouth. She sat on a fallen log, phone pressed against her palm as if proximity to skin made her braver; she dialed the number that appeared on no contact list and felt the familiar sick twist in her gut as the call connected.

“Did you have a nice chat with Mandalay?” Shigaraki’s voice arrived like a smell she knew by heart — sour, amused.

Elara kept her tone regulated, practiced: bright, efficient, obedient. “Yes. She’s being thorough. Beast Forest in the morning. We break at the fire ring for debrief. Lunch at the lodge. Afternoon rotations include the footbridge rescue and the stream crossing. I asked about instructor positions — Mandalay and Tiger will monitor the main approaches and the cliffside.” She spoke quickly, precisely; the map inside her head unfurled from the names Mandalay had given, and she committed them into the ledger she carried silently.

A long, slow inhale hissed through the speaker. “Good,” Shigaraki said. “You included the regroup points?”

“Yes. Fire ring debrief is scheduled at roughly midday. Teams will rotate after the first drill. Yellow group heads north ridge, green takes lowland trails, red does the footbridge rotation. Mandalay wants quirk balance; she’ll be tagging people with color bands for team assignment.”

Shigaraki’s amusement bled into something colder. “You’re thorough. Did she say who is likely to be on the north ridge first — instructors or student leaders?”

Elara hesitated for the sliver of a second that felt like an edge. “If I had to guess — Tiger will take the north ridge with a small support element. Mandalay will rotate among teams, but she’ll step in when an instructor needs relief. She emphasized checking the stream crossing after lunch because of the terrain.”

A small sound, pleasure-thin, escaped Shigaraki. “Perfect. The north ridge is where we’ll open our first point. It’s exposed—good for isolating a group. The stream crossing will be useful for complicating movement and watching which teams are effective under stress.”

“You want… the fire ring?” Elara asked softly, because she had to ask the questions a soldier asks her master even though asking felt like carving the enemy’s name into her own skin. “If we time the regroup right, the fire ring will keep a lot of people in one place. It’s visible and loud; it will be safe, which is why they’ll choose it.”

Shigaraki’s voice was amusement sharpened to a weapon. “Exactly. Bren the chaos there; make the panic clean. Make sure that loud one — the one who keeps staring at you — is exposed when the first wave hits. If he’s in the right place at the right time, his reaction will be useful.”

Elara’s throat closed. She thought of Bakugou — of the way he moved, how he bristled, how his entire existence seemed keyed to protect. Her mouth felt like the inside of a tin can.

“You want me to place him?” she whispered.

“Of course.” Shigaraki’s certainty was a crackling fire. “It’s strategic and lovely that you have… attachments. They make your targeting precise, Elara. Don’t make it sentimental. Do your duty.”

She tasted bile. “I understand.”

“And one more thing,” he said, soft as a hand at the base of her skull. “Call with updates. Confirm placements after the morning rotation. I want timing — when teams break, when they rotate. If Mandalay deviates, we adjust. If she changes the fire ring debrief, you tell us. Capiche?”

She pressed the phone tighter until the plastic bit the skin at her ear. “Capiche.”

A heartbeat later the line went dead. The small, ridiculous relief that followed felt like thievery. She sat still on the log, the wood damp and cold against her legs, eyes fixed on the lodge through the trees. Children’s laughter drifted faintly on the wind; somewhere close by Midoriya and the others were finishing a warm joke. The world felt obscene in its normalcy.

Elara folded the list of names and times in her head like a piece of origami she would hand to strangers dressed as friends. She had Mandalay’s voice, Mandalay’s laugh, Mandalay’s casual leadership — all soft things twisted into precise inputs on an enemy’s map. She stood, tamped down the anxiety crawling along her skin, and walked back toward the group as if she belonged.

She was a student again, mask intact, hands steady, and the night’s coordinates burning hot in the ledger of her chest. Tonight would come on a schedule she had helped set with a smile. Tonight she would hand the map to hands that would use it to rip the camp open. Today she would sit with the others and learn to look like one of them.

She told herself every mantra she needed in the silence between her breathing and the trees. She would call at first light. She would make sure the loud one was where Shigaraki wanted him. She would be precise. She would not fail. She would survive.

And beneath it all, like a single, fragile bone, an apology hollowed out into the shape of a prayer: Forgive me.

Chapter Text

The forest at the U.A. training camp was alive with the quiet hum of competition—the soft rustle of leaves, the occasional sharp shout of effort from a student navigating an obstacle, the distant hum of Mandalay’s PA announcing rotations. But all of it vanished in an instant.

A sudden, unnatural silence fell first. Then the ground quaked violently as black silhouettes tore through the treeline. The League of Villains had arrived. Their appearance was sudden, overwhelming, and terrifying—a perfect storm of chaos. Smoke and debris burst into the air as Nomu, Toga, Moonfish, Muscular, and Mustard emerged, spreading across the forest like a nightmare made flesh.

⸻

Team Asui: Tsuyu and Ochaco
Tsuyu’s tongue shot out instinctively, latching onto a tree branch and swinging them both back as Toga lunged from the shadows, knives glinting in the pale afternoon sun. Ochaco’s gravity manipulation barely stabilized her landing as Toga’s wild strikes came faster than she expected, each one lashing out like a predator testing its prey.

“We need to—split her attention!” Tsuyu croaked, eyes darting to track Toga’s movements. Her body moved on reflex, flipping over roots and snapping her tongue around a low branch to pull herself into an advantageous position. “Ochaco! You float over there—distract her from above!”

Ochaco’s face hardened as she levitated, countering Toga’s agile flips with bursts of controlled gravity, hurling rocks and debris in precise arcs. “Got it!” Her voice was calm but urgent, betraying the tension in every calculated movement.

Toga grinned maniacally, her knives slicing the air as she teleported with her quirk, each reappearance forcing the girls to adjust, dodge, and react. Tsuyu’s precise flips and Ochaco’s careful gravity manipulation formed a fragile ballet of survival, sweat beading on their foreheads as each second stretched taut with danger.

⸻

Team Yaoyorozu: Momo and Yosetsu
The ground shook under the Nomu’s footsteps, metal grinding and sinew straining as it roared, charging toward them. Momo’s hands flew instinctively, crafting weapons and shields—steel gauntlets, long flexible blades, even a miniature dome to redirect the Nomu’s crushing blows. Yosetsu, muscles taut and eyes narrowed, blocked a massive fist with his own armored arms, sparks flying where metal met metal.

“Keep it moving! Don’t let it corner us!” Momo barked, sweat clinging to her temples as she realized their usual calculated strategies were insufficient against sheer brute strength. Her eyes flicked to Yosetsu, nodding as they adjusted, pivoting, and trapping the Nomu into a narrow space. Even then, the monster’s regenerative ability made every attack a temporary relief. “It won’t stop! It’s endless!” she shouted, forcing herself to think two steps ahead, crafting chains and reinforced steel cages that would hold it long enough for a counterattack.

Yosetsu gritted his teeth, slamming into the Nomu with full force, yelling, “We’ve got this, Momo! Just… follow my lead!” Each strike tested both his endurance and strategy, and Momo matched him blow for blow, the two of them moving in tandem as the Nomu staggered, but never fell.

⸻

Team Bakugou: Bakugou, Todoroki, Tokoyami
Moonfish struck first, emerging from the darkness with a terrifying grin, chains swinging from his mouth like weapons. Bakugou was the first to react, kicking debris into Moonfish’s trajectory before his explosions tore a tree into splinters, the shockwave throwing Moonfish backward. Tokoyami’s shadow extended, forming massive wings and tendrils to block the Nomu’s chains and protect his teammates, but Moonfish was relentless, every lunge testing their coordination.

“Todoroki! Fire! Ice! NOW!” Bakugou barked, his eyes blazing with focus, every motion sharp and precise. Todoroki unleashed a torrent of fire, followed immediately by an ice wall rising from the ground, forcing Moonfish into a narrow channel. Tokoyami’s shadow wings closed behind them, sealing their position.

Moonfish twisted, chains snapping toward Tokoyami and Bakugou, forcing Bakugou to leap between his teammates and the villain, explosions flaring from his palms. Todoroki, eyes sharp, created a slick ice platform to keep Moonfish at a distance while Bakugou’s fists collided with the villain’s chains. “We have to end this fast,” Bakugou growled. Sweat and grit streaked across his face. His mind kept drifting to Elara, wondering if she would be here… if she was ready.

⸻

Team Midoriya: Midoriya and Elara

The forest trembled under the weight of Muscular’s steps, each one a reminder of the raw, oppressive power barreling toward Kota. Izuku’s heart slammed against his ribs as he spotted the boy, frozen in panic, unaware of the terror closing in. His body moved on instinct.

“Elara! I’ll try to hold him—help me—protect Kota!” he shouted, voice cracking with urgency. The veins in his arms pulsed as he prepared, channeling One For All through every fiber, ready to move faster than Muscular could anticipate.

Elara didn’t hesitate. She moved like a shadow, every step precise, almost predatory, her eyes scanning the forest for the faintest signs of danger. Soul Divination hummed softly in her mind, a spectral lattice of golden, green, and violet threads connecting her to the emotions of everyone nearby. She could feel Kota’s terror—the untainted fear of a child who had done nothing to deserve this—and it ignited a feral determination within her. Every pulse of fear and bravery, every tremor of the forest beneath Muscular’s feet, became data she could manipulate.

Midoriya lunged, fist glowing with One For All energy, aiming to strike Muscular’s chest with precise force. Muscular barely flinched, shrugging off the impact as if it were nothing, and Midoriya felt a twinge of fear—but Elara was already moving.

“Elara!” he heard his own voice echo in the chaos, but it was her reply that cut through the fear.

A whip of Ember Lash lashed from her fingertips, scorching the earth around Muscular’s feet, destabilizing him. Sparks and flames danced like fiery serpents in the undergrowth, illuminating the twisted lines of the forest and the sweat-streaked faces of the students caught in the chaos.

She extended her quirk, threads of Muscular’s fear pulsing like tendrils through the air. They wrapped around his perception, subtle yet insidious, feeding hesitation into his attacks. Midoriya followed every cue, ducking, dodging, striking with One For All bursts at the precise moment she predicted he’d falter.

“Keep him distracted! I can’t hold him forever!” Midoriya yelled, adrenaline laced with desperation. Kota was counting on them. The boy didn’t deserve this, had never done anything to earn the attention of someone like Muscular, and that knowledge pushed him further. He had to be the shield.

Elara’s golden-green eyes gleamed with unnatural clarity. She sensed every thread of terror, every shred of courage, and she manipulated them with terrifying precision. Each pulse of fear in Muscular slowed him, each calculated distraction creating openings. Midoriya responded instinctively, One For All amplifying his strikes, landing each blow with devastating force.

Her voice rang out over the roar of battle, commanding, unwavering: “Now, Midoriya—strike now!”

He lunged with full force, One For All coursing through him, landing a blow that staggered Muscular back, enough for Kota to scramble behind a fallen tree. The boy’s small, terrified eyes met Elara’s for a moment, and she felt her chest tighten, determination burning hotter than her Ember Lash. She would not let him be harmed. Not him. Not anyone innocent.

Muscular roared, swinging massive fists toward them, but Elara anticipated each motion. Ember Lash whipped, searing the forest floor, sending embers into the trees above. Her Predatory Instinct guided Midoriya around attacks that would have pulverized him without warning. His movements became fluid, almost inhuman—he felt as though he and Elara were a single entity, his fists moving with her mental whispers guiding him.

“Deku!” she barked, her voice steady despite the chaos. “Distract him! Make him focus on you, now!”

He obeyed instantly, dashing forward, One For All coursing through him, every muscle and nerve honed on precision. His punches hit with concussive force, enough to stagger Muscular and give Elara the chance to manipulate the threads of fear more aggressively. Muscular faltered, confusion flickering across his monstrous face.

“Keep him off Kota!” she hissed, eyes narrowing. A tendril of golden emotion pulsed outward, targeting Muscular’s awareness of fear itself, feeding hesitation into his limbs. The villain growled, swiping wildly, but Midoriya dodged with a burst of One For All, countering with a rapid flurry that finally made Muscular stumble.

For a fleeting second, Midoriya’s breath caught—not from exhaustion, but awe. Elara wasn’t just strong or fast. She was terrifyingly precise, manipulating not just her powers but the battlefield itself. Every swing of Ember Lash, every subtle twist of her quirk, every calculated pulse of fear in Muscular was part of a deadly, choreographed symphony. And she did it all for Kota.

“I won’t let him touch you!” Elara muttered, voice barely audible over the chaos, but filled with feral determination. Her body moved with supernatural grace, each step placing her between the child and Muscular, each lash of fire a barricade.

Midoriya realized, as he lunged again with One For All, that he was no longer just fighting to hold Muscular back. He was fighting with her. Fusing his strength with her control, reacting to her commands, predicting the chaos before it happened. The synergy was breathtaking—and terrifying.

Finally, with a synchronized movement, Ember Lash searing the ground, One For All-fueled strikes landing perfectly timed, they forced Muscular into a temporary retreat. Kota scrambled behind Elara, eyes wide, shaking but alive. Midoriya’s chest heaved, sweat and ash streaking his face and two broken arms, but he kept his eyes on her.

In that moment, he realized the truth: she wasn’t just a teammate. She was a storm, a force of nature, someone capable of commanding terror, fire, and emotions with the precision of a god. And she was doing it all for someone else—protecting a child who didn’t deserve even a fraction of the danger he faced.

Midoriya felt something inside him shift. He didn’t just want to protect Kota. He wanted to protect her. Not because she needed saving—but because she deserved it. She had fought monsters in a world that wanted her to become one herself, and still, she chose to stand for others.

And he would fight with her until the end.

 

⸻

Team Kendo: Kendo and Tetsutetsu
Mustard launched himself at the duo with feral intent, aiming to crush and intimidate. Kendo’s arms formed reinforced gauntlets, ready to meet each strike with steel and determination, while Tetsutetsu slammed his fists against the villain’s movements, testing each attack.

“We need to work together!” Kendo yelled, sweat stinging her eyes. Mustard’s unpredictable swings required them to anticipate one another’s movements perfectly, and even then, they were barely keeping up. Tetsutetsu grunted, pushing with every ounce of strength, “I’ve got your back!”

The clash was relentless, sparks and debris flying. Kendo had to continuously create shields and countermeasures while Tetsutetsu baited Mustard, drawing him into precise zones of attack. Every second stretched into an eternity, each student aware that any mistake could be catastrophic.

⸻

The forest rang with the clash of quirk and fury, the cries of students, and the terrifying growls of villains. Every team fought desperately, adapting to the chaos, relying on each other’s skill, speed, and ingenuity. Elara’s eyes flickered with gold as she scanned the battlefield, reading emotions, adjusting strategies in real-time—silent, lethal, indispensable.

And above it all, the League pressed their attack, unaware that the person they thought they had fully controlled—Elara—was already turning the tide in ways they couldn’t see, every heartbeat of hers a quiet rebellion against the darkness she had been forced to serve.

The camp, once a place of training and camaraderie, had become a battlefield where chaos and control collided, and every Class 1-A student was pushed to their absolute limits.

~~~~~

The PA system cut through the forest like a knife, Mandalay’s voice amplified yet tense.

“Class 1-A, attention!” she announced, her eyes scanning every student with an urgency that made hearts pound. “We’ve just received information: the League of Villains has targeted Bakugou Katsuki. All students, locate him and keep him safe. This is not a drill.”

The words hit like a physical blow. The forest seemed to constrict around Elara as her mind split into sharp, chaotic shards.

Bakugou… the target… I have to find him… but if I go in, if I save him… Her thoughts twisted violently. Saving him could destroy everything… myself… everyone else…

She tore through the trees, a shadow among shadows, flames licking at her fingertips from the sheer tension coursing through her veins. Every snap of a branch underfoot made her pulse spike. She had to find him. She had to protect him.

Behind her, Midoriya moved like a blur, carefully guiding Kota toward the lodge, his hands trembling just enough to betray the weight of responsibility. Kota clung to him instinctively, small, terrified, but trusting.

“Elara! Be careful!” Midoriya’s shout cut through the chaos, but she didn’t even acknowledge it. Her mind was consumed—Bakugou’s safety was all that existed in that moment.

Branches whipped against her face, tearing through her hair, but she barely noticed. She could feel him—his fear, his fiery determination, the way his pulse slammed through the threads of Soul Divination. Every instinct screamed that he was close.

Her chest burned, lungs ragged, and still she pushed further, scanning every shadow, every rustle of leaves. Her Ember Lash flared instinctively, small bursts of fire lighting her path. Her mind screamed He’s mine. He has to be safe. I can’t let them touch him.

The forest burned.

Ash spiraled into the night sky like black snow as dread rippled through the air — a sickening promise that hope was slipping.

Elara’s lungs burned as she sprinted, leaping over charred roots and fractured boulders. Mandalay’s telepathic warning still echoed in her skull:

Bakugou is the target. Protect him. They want him.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Not him. Not again. Please…

A bellowing explosion boomed ahead — violent, furious, familiar.

Bakugou.

She pushed faster.

Branches whipped at her arms as she burst through a wall of smoke — and froze.

Bakugou stood at the center of a clearing, surrounded.

Dabi lounged atop a blackened tree stump, blue fire crackling lazily at his fingertips.
Toga bounced on her toes, twin knives glinting wickedly.
A Nomu hunched nearby, drooling, claws gouging into the soil.

And Bakugou — Katsuki Bakugou — bled.

His chest heaved, his cheek split open, sweat and blood dripping from his jaw. But his eyes… those crimson eyes still burned defiance hotter than any flame around him.

“You want me?” Bakugou snarled, lips curling viciously. “COME AND—”

A warp gate sliced reality apart behind him — Kurogiri’s mist swirling — and Bakugou was ripped from the ground mid‑charge.

“BAKUGOU!” Elara’s scream tore out, raw and terrified.

He hit the earth hard — a Nomu’s claws pinning him down. He roared and blasted, but the beast only tightened its grip, drawing a choked gasp from him.

Then he appeared.

Shigaraki Tomura walked through the firelight like a nightmare made human — each step deliberate, uncaring, unstoppable. His fingers twitched with murderous excitement.

“Explosive brat first,” Shigaraki muttered, dead voice dripping with amusement. “He’s made her… difficult.”

Elara’s blood iced over.

No. Not him. Don’t touch him. Don’t take him away.

Her heartbeat turned into a roar inside her skull.

And then she snapped.

⸻

Heat detonated from deep within her — Ember Lash unfurling like wings of volcanic fury. The ground beneath her feet liquefied into molten cracks.

Her voice was not a plea — it was a threat from the depths of hell:

“GET. AWAY. FROM HIM.”

She didn’t move like a student.
She moved like a predator unleashed.

Ember Lash scorching arcs through the air — slicing branches, tearing into the Nomu restraining Bakugou. The creature shrieked as molten fire severed its arm like butter. Bakugou rolled free, gasping, scrambling up on shaking limbs.

Dabi snarled and unleashed a hurricane of blue fire —

Elara devoured the flames.

Her whips curled around them and turned them to blistering white heat. The shock in Dabi’s eyes was brief — then he smirked.

“Well… look at that.”

Toga giggled, dancing across the carnage.
“Daddy’s favorite little monster finally woke up~!”

Elara faltered — horror slicing through her fury.

This wasn’t random.

She was the objective.

Shigaraki spread his fingers, red scarf fluttering in the heatwave she radiated.

“Show us what All For One made you.”

Her control shattered.

⸻

Her quirk, soul divination, surged — its darkest layers uncoiling:

Judgment.
The power she swore never to use.

Her irises burned spectral gold and venomous green, swirling like a galaxy of souls.

A Nomu lunged — and she didn’t dodge.

Her hand shot forward, piercing into its chest — not physically, but spiritually.

“I deem you…”
Her voice split — ethereal, terrifying.
“…unworthy of power.”

She ripped.

Not flesh — ambition.

The Nomu collapsed — wailing, hollow, alive but ruined.

Silence swallowed the clearing.

Even Shigaraki stopped walking.

Elara stood shaking, smoke curling from her shoulders as Judgment coiled back into the shadows of her mind.

Bakugou stared at her like he was seeing a stranger wearing Elara’s skin.

“You… did that for me?”
His voice cracked — fear and awe tangled together.

Her eyes found his — softening, wet with tears she hadn’t realized were falling.

“I won’t let anyone take you from me,” she whispered, voice breaking like glass.

He took a staggered step toward her —
“Elara… what did you just—?”

Her breath hitched.

“Something I can’t undo.”

⸻

A slow clap.

Dabi.

“That’s it,” he murmured, delighted. “Come home, little inferno.”

Toga twirled, eyes glittering.
“Mmm, Daddy is going to be so proud!”

Shigaraki’s grin split wider — cracked lips peeling like corrupted porcelain.

“There she is. Father’s perfect little catastrophe.”

Elara stumbled back like the words were physical blows.

Bakugou’s fists clenched — blood running down his forearm.
He positioned himself between her and Shigaraki, shoulders trembling.

He didn’t look away from her — not once.

She wasn’t just strong.

She was terrifying.

And she had used every terrifying piece of herself
to save him.

⸻

The villains began to withdraw — not defeated, but victorious in another way entirely.

Their message hung heavy in the burning air:

“We know who you care about now.”

Dabi’s voice drifted back through the trees, mocking and cruel:

“We’ll come collect him later. And you, princess.”

Kurogiri’s mist swallowed them — one by one — until the forest held only fire and fear.

Elara collapsed to her knees.

Bakugou was beside her instantly, hand hovering, unsure if touching her would break her further.

“Elara,” he rasped, voice raw. “Stay with me.”

She looked at him — eyes full of guilt, love, rage, despair —

And understood:

Next time…

They wouldn’t come to threaten.

They would come to take.

And she would burn the world itself before she let that happen.

Chapter Text

Elara stumbles through the shattered entrance of the lodge, every breath a knife in her ribs, Shigaraki’s headbutt still pulsing in her skull. The night outside is chaos — students gathering, crying, checking wounds, calling names lost in smoke. Mandalay’s exhausted voice carries orders, trying to hold the world together by sheer will.

Elara keeps her head low.

She can’t let anyone look too closely.
Not when her heart is still dragging behind her in the dirt with Bakugou.

The lodge’s interior is dim, emergency lanterns flickering. Kota sits curled on a cot, knees hugged tight to his chest, trembling. He looks up the moment she steps in — those wide, scared eyes landing on her like a lifeline.

“Elara…?” His voice is small.

She forces a smile.
It shakes.

“You’re safe now, Kota,” she whispers, kneeling beside him. “I promised I’d keep you safe.”

Her body tries to collapse, vision swimming. She grips the bed frame to stay upright. Her hands are still stained with villain’s screams — with Judgment.

And Bakugou’s voice still echoes in her skull:
You did that for me?

A tear slips before she can swallow it down.

The door slams open.

“Elara!”

Bakugou storms inside like a living explosion — hair wild, panting, eyes savage with panic. Sweat and ash streak across his skin; his fists are still trembling from the fight.

He scans the room— sees her.

Alive.

His chest heaves like he’s been underwater too long.

“What the fuck are you doing here alone!?”

His voice cracks through the quiet like a detonating mine.

Elara jumps, heart stuttering. She swipes at her face — too late. The tears are already there, shining under the lantern light.

Bakugou freezes.

His rage chokes mid‑breath.

She’s crying.

“Elara…” he breathes, like the air itself hurts.

He steps forward — slow, like she’s a shattered glass sculpture he’s terrified to touch wrong. His voice drops to something unrecognizable for him — low, shaking, raw:

“Don’t shut me out.”
Another step.
“Don’t—” his throat tightens, “don’t fucking disappear like that.”

Her gaze drops, words thick and breaking:

“I’m dangerous, Katsuki.”

One heartbeat.

He grabs her wrist — not harsh, but anchoring, like if he lets go she’ll vanish into smoke.

“You’re only dangerous when I’m not there to cover your blind spots,” he growls, jaw clenched with a truth he’s terrified of.

Heat rises up her spine — the urge to collapse into him, to confess everything—

But she can’t.

He leans closer, breath shaky against her cheek, every word ripping out of him:

“I thought I lost you.”
He swallows hard.
“I can’t lose you.”

She feels his forehead press to hers — gentle, desperate. Their lips hover — a whisper apart. Electricity arcs in the silence.

Her heart chooses him.
Her mission condemns him.

She jerks back like she’s been burned. The break between them is violent.

“If you care about me…”
Her voice fractures, barely a whisper —
“…stay away.”

Bakugou stares — eyes wide, wounded, disbelief tearing through him. Something inside him erupts — not loud this time, but molten.

“Hell no.”

He steps forward again — unstoppable.

“If you’re going down—”
his voice shakes, furious and terrified,
“—I’m going with you.”

Silence.

Kota sniffles behind them, watching a war neither of them can explain.

Elara’s tears fall silently now — because his promise is both everything she’s ever wanted…

and the one thing that will destroy him.

~~~~~

The lodge is quiet now, a fragile calm falling over the chaos outside. Lantern light flickers across splintered wood and soot-stained walls, but the room where Elara and Bakugou stand feels separate — as if time itself is holding its breath.

Bakugou’s grip on her wrist has loosened, but he’s still close, watching her like she might vanish if he blinks. His chest heaves, every exhale a storm of relief, fear, and raw emotion he can’t tame.

Elara swallows hard, fighting the urge to collapse against him. Every nerve in her body screams for it. Just let him hold me. Just let him see me. But the mask she’s worn for years is still in place, brittle but intact.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmurs, voice barely audible. Her eyes flick to his, catching the mixture of anger and care that mirrors her own conflicted feelings.

“Doing what?” he asks, but he doesn’t pull back. He leans just slightly closer, narrowing the space between them — not for attack, not for dominance, but for connection.

“…letting you get close.” Her chest tightens. The words are heavier than the forest night, heavier than her exhaustion. “If I let you in, I—”

“You’d burn yourself up trying to save everyone,” he interrupts, voice low, trembling with frustration and something deeper. His thumb brushes a line of dirt from her cheek, lingering longer than it should. His gaze pierces hers, unrelenting.

She wants to shiver, wants to tell him it’s okay, that he’s safe — but all she can feel is the echo of Shigaraki’s threat, the chains of loyalty to her mission pressing her down.

“I can’t let anyone see what I am,” she whispers, almost to herself. “Not fully.”

Bakugou flinches, like he’s been punched by her words. His fingers tighten around her wrist. “And you think I don’t care?” His voice breaks, raw and ragged. “Elara… I don’t give a damn what you are. I don’t care about the past, the enemies, your quirk—”

He swallows, chest rising and falling hard. “…I just… I don’t want to lose you again.”

Her chest aches. She wants to cry. She wants to throw herself into him. Instead, her hands curl into fists, trembling at her sides.

“I—” she begins, voice barely audible, “I can’t… not now. If I let myself, I’ll hurt you. I can’t risk it.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightens. Anger, fear, and unspoken desire collide in his eyes. He leans even closer, so close she can feel the heat from his body, the thrum of his heartbeat echoing against her own. “If you hurt me—fine. But I’m not letting anyone else take you from me. Not ever. You’re not doing this alone.”

Her breath catches. The words cut straight to something buried deep inside her, something she’s tried to bury since childhood: the need to be held, to be home. Her lips part instinctively, searching for the words, searching for a way to reach him without breaking the mission.

Bakugou’s hands move — gentle this time — brushing strands of hair from her face, cupping her cheek. His gaze softens but remains fierce. “Look at me, Elara. You don’t have to fight this by yourself.”

The world narrows to them: the faint smell of smoke from the outside, the soft flicker of lantern light, the sound of their shallow, matching breaths.

Her knees threaten to give way. Every muscle in her body wants to lean in, to collapse into him, to let herself feel. But before she can act, the door creaks.

Aizawa steps in first, eyes scanning quickly, and behind him, Recovery Girl’s face appears, serious, insistent. The moment shatters.

“Bakugou. Step back.” Aizawa’s voice is calm but final.

“Recovery Girl insists she needs medical attention,” he adds. “Now.”

Bakugou’s hands twitch, wanting to grab her again, to pull her close and stay, but Aizawa’s steady gaze stops him. His jaw tightens, the warmth and fury in his eyes mingling with helplessness.

Elara swallows, heart pounding, fighting the fire in her chest that wants nothing more than to collapse into him. She steps back, letting Aizawa guide her toward the cot, and Bakugou reluctantly follows a pace behind her, hands clenched into fists, eyes never leaving her.

Inside, Recovery Girl begins her assessment, but the silence between Elara and Bakugou lingers — heavy, charged, almost unbearable. Each of them acutely aware of what’s left unsaid, what desires are burning beneath the surface, and what they can’t act on… yet.

Todoroki’s shadow from the doorway catches Elara’s peripheral vision. His eyes are unreadable, but his tension is palpable. Even he feels the weight of the moment, the way Bakugou hovers protectively, the way Elara’s presence electrifies the room.

She lies back, forcing her mask back into place, but inside, every emotion is screaming — fear, love, guilt, longing. And Bakugou, sitting just outside the cot’s perimeter, refuses to leave her side, even if he can’t touch her.

The room is still, quiet, and heavy — a perfect storm of unspoken feelings, simmering tension, and the fragile thread of trust that Bakugou has fought tooth and nail to rebuild.

And as Recovery Girl moves to treat her, Bakugou mutters under his breath, just loud enough for no one else to hear:

“You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

Elara’s heart hammers, and for a single, fleeting second, she wishes she could believe him without fear.

~~~~~

The cot creaked softly under Elara’s weight as she shifted, staring up at the wooden ceiling beams. Every muscle in her body still buzzed — fear, adrenaline, guilt — always guilt. Recovery Girl’s orders for rest came with a bitter aftertaste: silence left her alone with the thoughts she couldn’t outrun.

Bakugou’s scent — smoke and determination — still lingered in the air from where he stood guard minutes before. He hadn’t wanted to leave. His voice had cracked in a rare moment of desperation:

“I’m not leaving her alone—”

Aizawa shut it down with calm authority.

“She needs quiet. She needs to breathe.”

Reluctance burned in Bakugou’s eyes before he finally gave in, backing out of the room slowly… only when Elara forced a faint smile his direction.

Now the room was too still.

Too quiet.

Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Every shadow reminded her of Shigaraki’s hand hovering over her throat. Every flicker of lantern light looked like Dabi’s flame licking at the forest floor. And her chest… ached. A dull, hollow ache for a boy she shouldn’t care for.

Her breaths were unsteady.

No tears. No weakness. Not now.

Then—she heard soft footsteps, hesitant but purposeful.

The door creaked.

Todoroki slipped in, his dual-toned hair catching the dim light. His eyes — calm but layered with anxiety he didn’t show the others — scanned her quickly, looking for injuries Recovery Girl might’ve missed.

“Elara…?” His voice was quiet, controlled — but there was an edge there. Fear. Disbelief. Relief.

She sat up a little too fast, wincing. “Hey, Shoto.”

He approached her bedside, posture stiff like he was holding himself together with invisible thread.

“I’m… glad you’re alive,” he said — like the words had weight, like they took effort to speak. “Bakugou looked ready to tear the mountains apart looking for you.”

Her lips twitched. “He does that.”

Silence lingered — heavy but not uncomfortable. Todoroki shifted, eyes softening.

“Do you need anything? Water? Someone to talk to?” His jaw worked as he added, “Or I can sit with you… silently.”

She surprised herself:

“No. No silence tonight.”
Her voice was brittle but honest.
“Tell me something. Something about you.”

Todoroki’s eyes widened slightly — her request a rare crack in her armor.

He sat beside her cot, thoughtful.

“I like cold soba.” He started simple, familiar. “I hate how Endeavor cooks — everything is always… too intense.” His lips pulled into the faintest smirk. “Izuku says I’m ‘bad at humor.’”

She let out a half-laugh — unexpected and small, but real.

He continued, the facts turning more vulnerable:

“I used to say I’d be a hero without using my flames — because they reminded me of him.” He paused, glancing at his left side, the burn scar faintly visible in the low light. “But during the Sports Festival… someone reminded me I’m more than my past.”

Elara’s brows furrowed. “Midoriya.”

“Yes,” Todoroki nodded. But his gaze held hers now, unblinking.
“But… you too.”

Her breath stilled.

“You showed me we don’t get to choose where we come from… but we can choose where we go.”
His voice softened, raw truth bleeding through.

He slid a hand to rest near her own — close enough that their fingers almost touched. Her heart stuttered.

“Elara…” He exhaled like he’d been holding the words in for months.
“You look for reasons not to be loved.”

Her breath shattered.

“I know what that feels like,” he added, steady and gentle.

She turned her face toward him — eyes widening, walls crumbling.

“You think love is a liability. A risk. A weakness…”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“But love is what made me choose my own path.”

Heat flushed her cheeks — not embarrassment, but fear of how deeply he saw her.

His fingers hovered, waiting for permission he wasn’t sure he had.

“If it weren’t for me falling in love with you,” he confessed, heart in his throat, “I wouldn’t have been able to put my hate for my father aside. I wouldn’t have used my flames.”

Her lips parted — but no sound came out.

“I know you care about Bakugou.”
His eyes held no accusation — only truth.
“And I know you care about me.”

Elara’s heartbeat stung against her ribs.

“I don’t want to compete,” he murmured, voice cracking just slightly.
“But my feelings exist regardless.”

A tear slipped — she didn’t realize she’d let it go until it hit the blanket.

“Shoto…”

His expression softened — a mixture of longing and understanding.

“When you choose your future…” His fingers finally brushed hers — a single, fragile touch.
“I hope I’m someone in it.”

Before she could speak — before she could crumble into him — Todoroki stood. The moment stretched like a held breath.

He stepped back, gaze lingering on her face like he might never see it again.

Then he turned and walked away, quiet and composed…

…leaving Elara trembling in the dark, with a heart that suddenly felt too full and too empty all at once.

~~~~~

The night air bit at Todoroki’s skin as he stood beneath the towering trees, moonlight cutting silver edges along his figure. The faint glow of the distant lodge flickered through the forest like a reminder of everything he’d just risked.

His confession hung heavy in the cold.

Why did I say that?
He pressed a trembling hand over his heart — half expecting the frantic pace to slow, but it didn’t.

He had fought dozens of battles.
He had faced villains with bloodlust in their eyes.
But nothing had ever terrified him like telling her the truth.

“Elara…” he whispered to no one.

Her name alone was enough to turn the wildfire inside him into something unstoppable.

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“What if I made things worse for her…?” he muttered into the dark.
“What if I only added to her pain?”

His breath fogged in the air — a perfect metaphor for him: a constant battle of fire and ice. Of fear and hope.

“I won’t regret loving her…”
“…only hurting her with it.”

⸻

Inside, Elara sat trembling on the edge of the infirmary cot, fingers pressed to her lips where Todoroki’s almost-kiss lingered like heat.

Her heartbeat pounded unevenly.

Shoto… loves me.

The realization lodged like a meteor in her chest — dangerous, bright, impossible to ignore.

She loved Bakugou.
She knew she did.
His fire matched her fire — fierce, terrifying, consuming.

But what Todoroki gave her was something different…
Something that terrified her in a new way.

Safety.
Patience.
Hope.

Two futures.
Two boys.
And she was being forced to choose a path she wasn’t even sure she’d survive long enough to walk.

Her breaths quickened.

What if I never get another chance?
What if the League takes me again?
What if Shigaraki forces my hand?
What if I die before I get to feel…
what this could be?

Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

Bare feet hit the cool wooden floor.
Her hand pushed the door open.
She ran.

Heart first. Logic abandoned.

⸻

Todoroki heard her before he saw her — the hurried patter of footsteps across dirt and pine needles.

Todoroki!”

Her desperate cry cut through the quiet like a cracked bell.

“Elara—?” he turned, shock flickering across his face as she stumbled to a stop in front of him, breathless and wide-eyed.

She stumbled to a halt in front of him, breath heaving, hair wild, eyes shining with panic and something dangerously close to hope.

“Elara— what—?”

Her hands balled at her sides — a girl preparing to hurt herself with the truth.

Her voice trembled.

“Shoto…”
She swallowed hard, courage scraping itself together with trembling fingers.

“Can you do me a favor?”

Todoroki stepped closer, panic and tenderness unfolding between soft breaths.

“Anything,” he said, voice low, sure.

She swallowed hard — like the words were made of blades.

She stepped closer — dangerously close — until he could feel her breath against his lips.

“Can you…”
Her voice broke, eyes shining in the moonlight.

“Can you kiss me?”

Todoroki’s eyes widened — breath catching.

“Elara…”

Her hand fisted in his shirt — desperate, pleading:

“I just… want to know how it feels.”
A tear escaped down her cheek.
“In case I never get the chance to again.”

Time fractured.

“Elara…”
His voice broke with her name — like holding back everything he felt took the last of his strength.

She stepped closer — like gravity itself was pulling her into him.

“If I die…”
“If they take me away…”
“If I lose control…”

Her voice shrank with each possibility.

“I want to remember something that was mine.”

Todoroki’s breath shook.

“Elara… you’ll survive. You’ll come back. You’ll—”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered.
“You can’t promise that.”

Silence. Cold and cruel.

He lifted a hand and, with the gentlest touch she had ever felt, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered at her jaw — reverent, scared to break her.

“I don’t want to be a moment you cling to out of fear.”

She shook her head fiercely.

“This isn’t fear,” she lied with shaking lips.
“This is me choosing something real — even if it’s only once.”

Her honesty hit him harder than any battle ever had.
He leaned in, forehead resting gently against hers — a silent promise, a shared breath suspended in time.

His thumb brushed away her tear.

“You’ll get many chances,” Todoroki murmured — but his resolve melted as she leaned into him, trusting him with her heart in a moment of unbearable vulnerability.

“Please…”

Her plea shattered him.

Todoroki stepped closer.
One breath apart.
His forehead met hers — soft, grounding.

“I’ll give you anything you ask,” he breathed.
“But I will never let you go.”

And then — he kissed her.

Slow at first.
Unsure.
Like he was learning her.

Her hands rose instinctively to his shoulders — not pulling him closer, but holding on like the world was collapsing beneath her feet.

Heat unfurled from his left side — a warm flame blooming against her frozen heart.

Her fingers slid into his hair — a soft gasp caught between them as the kiss deepened, turning from question to answer. From hesitation to certainty.

She kissed back with years of suppressed longing.
Desperate.
Grateful.
Alive.

He broke away only enough to breathe against her lips.

Her chest trembled — hope and fear warring in every beat.

“Todoroki…”

He pressed his forehead to hers again — tethering her to the moment.

“Whether you choose me or not… I will always protect you.”

Her heart ached with the weight of everything she wasn’t allowed to say.

For now… she just let herself feel his warmth.

Chapter Text

Midnight draped UA in cold silver — too quiet, too calm, as if the whole world was holding its breath.

Elara stood alone on the campus rooftop.
The cool wind combed through her hair, brushing past Regalia Carapace, which flickered across her skin like broken moonlight. Ember Lash curled around her wrists, restless — reacting to her pulse, to her spiraling dread.

She took a shaky breath, tasting metal in the back of her throat.

Two days locked inside her dorm.
Two days of nightmares, hallucinations of Shigaraki’s hands reaching—
Two days replaying Todoroki’s lips pressed to hers.

And through all of it, one sickening truth:

All For One still owned a part of her.

The door creaked open behind her.

“Elara.”

She closed her eyes.
No escape from this conversation.

Aizawa approached, shoulders carved from discipline and sleepless nights.
Slow, steady.
Like he feared startling a wounded animal.

Just behind him walked All Might — thin and frail in the quiet glow, but his presence still immense, still hope.

“You slipped out of your room,” Aizawa murmured, tone reprimanding but soft. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I needed air,” she replied, voice barely carrying. “Walls were getting… too close.”

All Might stepped forward, posture open — concerned but careful.

“Aizawa tells me you anticipate a difficult talk with us,” he said. “About… your origins. And about One For All.”

Her chest cinched tight.
The words tasted like iron and fear.

She forced her gaze on the moon.
“I’m not some misunderstood kid you can save. I was made for a purpose. One that ends with me ripping One For All out of Midoriya’s chest and delivering it to…” Her voice cracked. “…him.”

Aizawa’s gaze dropped to the trembling in her fingers she thought she’d concealed.

All Might stepped forward, posture a blend of anxious mentor and concerned guardian.

“Being strong isn’t the same as never relying on others,” he said gently.
“We’re worried about you.”

Her chest constricted — because worry meant attachment.
Attachment meant vulnerability.
Vulnerability meant targets.

You’ve been told your destiny,” he said gently, “but you are still free to choose.”

She shook her head violently.

“You don’t get it. When Shigaraki dragged me back, when he touched my neck—”
Her breath stuttered.
“I felt my body wanting to obey. Even when my mind screamed no. He can trigger what All For One built inside me. Override me.”

Aizawa’s expression hardened — not with judgment, but fury on her behalf.

“Elara,” he said quietly, “you are not the same girl who was conditioned to serve him. You fought back. You protected your classmates. You saved Bakugou.”

Her heart clenched.
Saved him… yes.
But the price of saving him might be losing everyone else in the long run.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “He’ll always pull me back.”

Aizawa took a step closer — close enough for shadows to overlap.

“Strength is not locking everyone out,” he said.
“Strength is letting yourself have something to lose.”

Her breath caught — because those were Bakugou’s exact words in the woods before she collapsed.

“I told you,” she muttered, looking away. “I can’t… afford that. Not with him still—”

Her voice cracked.
Once.
Just once.
Like the fault line of an earthquake.

Aizawa didn’t flinch.
“That fear you’re feeling? That’s not weakness,” he told her. “It’s humanity.”

Her eyes burned.

All Might came closer, lowering himself so he was level with her — searching her expression like he was trying to see what pain she was trying to bury.

“Elara,” he said softly, “you are not a weapon.”

She laughed — humorless, choked.
“You don’t know what he built into me.”

“We know enough,” Aizawa countered. “We know who you choose to be.”

Something inside her faltered.

Do I even know who that is?

A rustle of gravel.
A sharp, familiar voice.

“Tch. You look like hell.”

Elara’s heart jolted.

He stood at the staircase — Bakugou, arms crossed, hair wild from running, sweatpants and a shirt thrown on in a panic.
Eyes blazing with something too raw to hide.

He had come searching.
For her.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone?”
The snap in his tone barely masked the tremor underneath.

She swallowed hard, chest tightening.
He took a few hard steps closer.

“You look like you’re about to jump,” he muttered.
Too honest.
Too close to the truth.

“I’m fine,” she managed.

His jaw flexed — disbelief burning in his stare.

“That’s bullshit.”

All Might’s voice floated behind her — gentle, urging:

“You don’t have to fight this alone, Elara. No one wants you to.”

She felt heat rise under her ribs, Ember Lash glowing faintly in response — like her quirk wanted to reach toward Bakugou.
Wanted comfort.
Wanted him.

Aizawa nodded.
“You don’t have to face this alone.”

Alone.

That was how All For One wanted her.
A solitary weapon.
No ties.
No love.

But here… in the cold glow of moonlight… she wasn’t alone at all.

Bakugou’s voice broke through softer than she had ever heard:

“If you’re gonna fall apart… at least let someone catch you.”

Her heart stuttered.
Heat curled through her chest like sunlight trying to melt ice.

Maybe Todoroki’s kiss had opened a door she couldn’t close.
Maybe Bakugou’s concern had built a foundation she desperately needed.

Maybe… she didn’t have to belong to the darkness.

Her eyes flickered emerald and gold, Ember Lash tightening around her wrists like a vow forming.

Aizawa stepped back, letting her breathe.
All Might placed a hand on her shoulder — solid, warm, steady.

“You belong here, young lady,” he told her.
“Not to him.”

For the first time in years… she considered believing it.

Bakugou remained close — just close enough that if she wavered, he’d be there.

Not rescuing her.
Not protecting a mission.

Protecting her.

Elara inhaled slowly, the cold night air filling lungs that suddenly felt less constricted.

~~~~~

(Rare Elara POV) :)

The rooftop is quiet — too quiet.
Only the distant hum of the city, only the wind brushing against my skin like it knows I’m unraveling.

UA glows below us like a sanctuary I still don’t believe I deserve.

Bakugou sits beside me, silent.
Not tense — just still.
And that alone terrifies me more than any villain could.

His fingers curl against the cement — restless.
Like every bone in him is screaming to move, to fight, to explode—
but he’s holding himself together with sheer will.

His breathing is wrong.
Shaky.
Uneven.
And every shaky inhale feels like it might be the one that breaks him.

I stare out at the horizon, counting stars like I can breathe again if I reach a specific number. But I don’t even know what I’m counting toward. Or away from.

The silence stretches into something sharp — something that hurts.

Then—

“Elara.”
Soft, but edged in a million unsaid things.

I turn — afraid to meet his eyes.
Afraid to see what’s in them.
Afraid to see myself.

He stands suddenly, like the feeling inside him is too violent to sit with.
He steps in front of me — close enough that the air around us ignites.

“Look at me.”

Not a command.
A plea.
A confession.

Slowly — terrified — I lift my eyes.

And Katsuki Bakugou breaks.

“I can’t fucking watch you destroy yourself anymore!”

His voice cracks — like glass under too much pressure.

My heart stops.

“You keep throwing yourself in front of me — in front of Deku — in front of EVERYONE.”
His chest heaves, breath unsteady.
“Like you don’t give a damn if you make it out alive.”

His words hit where I’m weakest.
Where I keep every wound.

“And I hate it.”
He swallows hard — fighting the burn in his throat.
“I hate that it terrifies me.”

He grabs his hair — furious, desperate, helpless.

“I care about you.”
The words tear out of him like they’ve been buried too long.
“More than I’ve ever cared about anything in my entire life.”

The world tilts.
I can’t breathe.
I never knew confession could feel like a punch to the chest.

“And you keep acting like you don’t matter.”

His voice softens — too soft — like touching that truth hurts him.

“Katsuki…”
His name feels like a prayer and a warning.

“Katsuki… I can’t—”
If I love him…
All For One will use that love as a blade.

Before I can escape from myself — he grabs my hands.
Big, warm, trembling.

“I’m not asking you to love me back…”
His brows pull together — vulnerability raw and exposed.
“…just let me love you.”

The wind stops.
The whole world stills.
My heart begs yes—
but fear screams louder.

“I don’t deserve you.”
My voice splinters, barely sound.
“I’m a danger to you. To everyone I care for.”

Shigaraki’s hand around my throat flashes in my mind—
I will make you kill him yourself.

Bakugou’s grip tightens — defiant and grounding.

“You deserve everything.”

Something inside me cracks — splits open under the weight of his belief.

My father’s voice tries to suffocate me—

Love is weakness.
Love is leverage.
Love is a leash.

But Bakugou’s voice is louder.

He leans down, forehead nearly touching mine.
His breath mixes with mine.
He’s too close.
He’s the safest thing I’ve ever known — and the most dangerous.

“You don’t get to disappear,” he whispers.
“Not from me.”

My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt — clinging like I’ll drown without him.

The words rip from me before I can stop them:

“I’m scared.”

He closes his eyes — just for a second — like the truth hurts.

“Me too.”
His voice is barely there.
“But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

His lips brush mine — not fully, just the promise of it.
Like he’s asking for permission and staking a claim all at once.

That’s it.
That’s the moment I fall.

My voice trembles against his mouth:

“I love you, Kacchan.”

He exhales — like he’s been holding his breath his entire life and finally learned how to breathe again.

His mouth crashes into mine.

The kiss is hunger.
Panic.
Salvation.
A lifetime of unsaid words igniting in a single spark.

His hand slides up the back of my neck — protective.
Possessive.
His other hand stays locked with mine, anchoring me to this moment so I don’t disappear into fear.

I kiss him back with every ounce of the life he just reminded me I have.
We stumble closer — too close — not close enough.

Everything burns.

When we finally break apart — gasping — he stays pressed against my forehead.
His thumb strokes my cheek, gentle where the world has never been.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispers, breath hot against my lips.

“And I’m not fucking sorry for loving you.”

My heart stutters — then finally beats without chains.

For the first time…
I think I might be allowed to want something for myself.

But the night holds its breath — like fate is listening.
Like time is counting down.

Because loving Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t just give me something to live for—

It gives All For One something to destroy.

And he never leaves anything I love untouched.

Chapter Text

The halls of UA were silent, moonlight cutting pale lines across the floor. Elara walked close beside Bakugou, their hands clasped tight — like their fingers were afraid of losing each other. His warmth radiated through her palm, steadying every piece of her that was still trembling.

Bakugou didn’t speak — not because he was holding back anger or sarcasm, but because if he opened his mouth, he feared everything inside him might spill out at once. Instead, he brushed his thumb over her knuckles again… and again… confirming she was still there.

Elara kept her eyes forward, but her heart was still on the rooftop — tasting him, feeling him, wanting him. She had glued herself shut emotionally her whole life… and tonight he split her right down the middle.

They pushed open the common room door.

And immediately stopped.

Todoroki sat in the dark — alone, completely still — elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging between them. The low lamp beside him cast a soft glow across his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes… and something far deeper.

Pain.

His gaze slid downward to their hands — entwined. His breath stuttered. A crackline of fire rippled along his left side, barely contained.

He stood slowly.
Controlled.
But his hurt screamed through every restrained movement.

Bakugou stepped protectively in front of Elara — instinctive, territorial.
A warning.

Elara tried to speak. “Shoto—”

Todoroki cut her off — quietly, but with a tremor.

“So that’s your answer.”

No accusation.
Just confirmation of his worst fear.

Bakugou scoffed through his nose. “What, you thought she’d pick you—”

Todoroki snapped.

A wave of heat erupted beneath his skin.

His fist ignited.

And before Elara could scream his name—

CRACK

His burning knuckles slammed across Bakugou’s jaw, the impact echoing through the dorm like a gunshot.

Bakugou staggered — more from shock than pain — then turned back with a grin that was anything but amused.

“You wanna fucking go?”

He launched forward, tackling Todoroki to the ground.

They slammed into the TV stand — splintering wood, shaking the walls.

“Todoroki, STOP!” Elara cried.

But the boys were past words.

Todoroki shoved Bakugou off with a surge of ice that crawled up his legs like jagged, hungry vines. Bakugou answered with an explosion so close it scorched Todoroki’s uniform, sending sparks raining like fireflies.

“You think you’re some kind of hero?!” Bakugou roared, ducking a blast of flames. “Heroes don’t run away — or confess then BAIL!”

“You have no idea what I feel!” Todoroki shot back — flames and frost colliding around his fists. “You don’t know what it’s like to love someone and be terrified you’re not enough to save them!”

Bakugou’s movement faltered —

Love.

The word punched harder than any hit tonight.

He exploded forward again, fury and fear intertwined, slamming Todoroki against the wall, fingers clutching the collar of his shirt.

“You think you can protect her better than me?” Bakugou snarled. “You can’t even protect yourself from your own damn family!”

Todoroki’s eyes widened — that wound cut deep.

—Too deep.

A growl vibrated in Bakugou’s chest as he lifted his fist for another blow.

Elara threw herself between them.

Bakugou’s fist hit her shoulder — and the world stopped.

Both boys froze.

Bakugou’s breathing came sharp, broken — the realization hitting him like ice water.

“Elara—shit—”

She ignored the pain blistering through her arm and grabbed Todoroki by the shoulders, forcing his wild breathing to sync with hers.

“Shoto… look at me.”

His eyes lifted, glassy with unshed tears and disbelief.

“You are important,” she whispered, voice cracking as her thumbs brushed frost from his cheek. “You always will be.”

Todoroki’s lips trembled — the softest crumble of his walls.

“But just because I’m not choosing to be with you,” she continued, tone aching with sincerity, “that doesn’t mean you’re not in my future.”

His eyes squeezed shut — relief and heartbreak warring inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked — voice wrecked.

Elara shook her head and stepped aside, gently guiding his gaze toward Bakugou.

“Don’t apologize to me.”

Bakugou stood stiff — torn between pride and guilt — smoke still curling faintly from his palms.

Todoroki drew in a shaky breath.

“…I’m sorry, Bakugou.”

The words tasted like swallowing fire.

Bakugou stared — then spat out a breath and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Next time, use your words. Not your damn fire.”

A peace offering — Bakugou style.

Todoroki nodded once. It was all he could handle.

He walked past them.
Past the broken furniture.
Past the remnants of his hope.

But at the door, he paused — just long enough for his voice to break on one last confession:

“I only wanted her to feel loved.”

And then — he was gone.

The silence left behind was deafening.

Bakugou looked down at their joined hands — the bruise already blooming beneath his knuckles where he’d struck her instead of Todoroki.

His voice was rough. Low.
Afraid.

“I told you I’d protect you.”
His head lowered.
“And I still hurt you…”

Elara stepped into him, resting her forehead against his, breathing him in.

“You saved me tonight,” she whispered. “You chose me. I chose you.”

Bakugou stood still for a long moment — chest rising and falling with the fading adrenaline.

Then, without a word, he stepped behind Elara and wrapped his arms around her waist — like claiming the right he had just fought for.

His forehead rested against her shoulder, breath warming her skin.

“He’s not gonna quit just because you said he’s in your future,” he muttered, voice low, raw with unfiltered emotion.

Her hands covered his where they held her — grounding him back.

“I know,” she whispered.

His grip tightened — terrified and certain all at once.

In that quiet aftermath, surrounded by scorched walls and melting ice, something unbreakable settled between them:

Love chosen.
Love fought for.
Love that would be tested — violently, and soon.

But for this moment…
Bakugou held her like she was the only thing in the world he refused to lose.

~~~~~

Elara lay in her dorm bed, curled under the covers. The faint light from the streetlamps filtered through the blinds, casting silver stripes across the room. Her body ached from the last night’s chaos — the battle, the League, the endless adrenaline — but it wasn’t just physical exhaustion. Her mind refused rest, replaying everything over and over: Bakugou’s bloodied form, the villains’ smirks, the fire in her own eyes.

She exhaled shakily, trying to steady the Ember Lash flickering weakly around her wrists, when the room shifted. The shadows thickened, pressing in, and the temperature dropped.

A voice — cold, serpentine, consuming — slithered into her mind.

“You care for the explosive boy. Kill him to prove your loyalty.”

Her stomach dropped. Her chest tightened. She vomited violently, the metallic taste of panic burning in her throat. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to ground herself, but the voice didn’t relent.

“Love does not exist in your life. The life I gave you. You are mine. Mine alone.”

Elara’s hands shook. Ember Lash coiled and uncoiled as if sensing her terror. She tried to breathe, tried to fight, but AFO’s grip on her mind was like iron chains tightening with every heartbeat. She wanted to scream, to run, to tear him apart with her quirk—but she couldn’t.

Then, the illusion appeared. Tall, commanding, impossibly present. Even the faint light from the window couldn’t compete with the shadow he radiated. His eyes were black voids, and yet she could feel them piercing through her soul.

“Do it,” he whispered, every word slicing into her mind. “Show me your loyalty. Kill him.”

Her chest heaved. Panic surged in sharp, jagged waves. She pressed a hand to her forehead, fighting against the compulsion, the pull, the whispering chains. No. I won’t. I can’t.

Her mind raced. He’ll take him. He’ll take everyone. If I hesitate… if I fail… The thought sent her stomach twisting. Her fingers twitched. Her quirk responded — Ember Lash flaring along her arms, molten and dangerous, as if it could sense the collision of fear and control within her.

Her hand rose automatically, trembling, poised to obey commands she had always hated herself for following. Her thoughts screamed NO! — every fiber of her being rebelling.

And then — a familiar presence.

Bakugou.

He stepped into the room silently, the faint scuff of his boots on the floor the only warning. Crimson eyes met hers, scanning, unflinching, steady. He didn’t yell. He didn’t try to fight her quirk. He just stood there, solid, real, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

“If you’re gonna kill me…” Bakugou’s voice was low, ragged — the kind of raw that only comes from fear he refuses to admit. His fists were trembling at his sides. “At least look like you want to.”

The words didn’t just hit her — they detonated inside her.

Her breath hitched.

AFO’s mental grip constricted her skull like barbed wire. Psychebound Dominion surged behind her eyes, burning black-purple, twisting her thoughts into blades meant for him.

Elara’s fingers snapped upward against her will, Ember Lash igniting violently — coils of molten energy lashing out behind her like serpents ready to strike. The heat shimmer cracked the air. Her knees buckled under the pressure.

“Stop,” she gasped, voice breaking. “Please — just… stop—”

But the commands weren’t hers.

AFO’s voice boomed inside her head — ugly, venomous, echoing in every bone:

“Prove your loyalty. Kill the explosive boy.”

Her stomach lurched. Tears spilled down her cheeks without warning as a scream stayed trapped in her throat.

“I… I don’t want to do this,” she choked.

Bakugou stepped forward — slowly — fearless.

“Then don’t.”

Ember Lash cracked like a whip dangerously close to his throat. Sparks exploded against his skin. He didn’t even blink.

“You think I’m scared of you?” he growled, gaze burning straight through her. “You think I’d ever run from you?”

His voice dropped — softer, but somehow stronger:

“I know who the hell you are. And you’re not his weapon.”

The mental chains tightened in punishment. Psychebound Dominion surged, twisting her vision. Her father’s voice thundered again:

“Love does NOT exist in your life. I made you a weapon — remember that.”

She gagged, falling to her knees as vomit hit the concrete. Her body shook violently — Ember Lash writhing out of control, heat rising like she was about to combust.

“I can’t fight him,” she sobbed, clutching her head. “He’s in me — he’s controlling me — I can’t—”

Bakugou crouched down to her level. Close enough for the sparks to burn him. Close enough for her to hurt him if she twitched.

“If you’re gonna kill me…” he repeated — voice a trembling whisper now, eyes never leaving hers.
“…then kill me. Not for him. For you.”

Her world shattered.

Elara’s heart slammed against her ribs — a war cry against the chains crushing her.

Bakugou wasn’t scared of her.
He was scared for her.

That was worse.
That was dangerous.

Because it made her want to live.

The Ember Lash flicker softened — trembling like it knew her choice before she did.

“I can’t let you die,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Not because of him. Not because of me.”

Bakugou reached out — not to restrain, not to fight — just gently touching her wrist, grounding her.

His touch silenced the chaos.
His presence made her feel like she wasn’t poison.

He nodded slowly.
“Then stay. Stay with me.”

Elara’s entire body convulsed with grief.

“I can’t,” she whispered, barely audible.

A thought slithered in — terrifying but seductive:

If I run… he can’t use me to hurt you.

If I run… maybe this will stop.

Hope, thin and desperate, spiraled into a single choice:

Run.
Before you destroy the one person who loves you.

Her Ember Lash retracted sharply — flames hissing out like a dying star. Psychebound Dominion flickered violently, then steadied as she rose to shaky feet.

Bakugou stood with her — inches apart. “Don’t you dare—”

But the decision had already clicked like a trigger.

Elara stepped back.

One last look.

One silent apology.

And then—

She turned.

She ran.

~~~~~

Elara tore through the dimly lit corridors of U.A., heart pounding like a war drum in her chest. The moonlight spilling through the narrow windows cast long shadows across the hallway, and every step echoed like a warning. Her Ember Lash coiled tightly at her wrists, quivering with anticipation, as if it knew she was running from more than just the dorm — she was running from the weight of her own emotions, the constant tug between Bakugou and Todoroki, and the fear that her choices could hurt the ones she loved most.

Behind her, the faint vibration of a phone buzzed urgently. Katsuki’s name glowed on the screen. She ignored it, even as a pang of guilt shot through her chest. But instinct and terror pushed her onward — toward the gate, toward freedom, toward a decision she wasn’t ready to make.

Meanwhile, Bakugou’s voice had already torn through the dorm:

“ELARA! STOP!”

It was raw, desperate, laced with fear and frustration. She didn’t turn. Her heart twisted, knowing he was right there, feeling his presence like a magnetic pull, even as her mind screamed that she needed to run.

Katsuki had acted rashly, as he always did when his emotions overpowered his reason. He sent a single terse message to Todoroki:

“Stand at the U.A. gates. Stop her. NOW.”

Then, fueled by desperation, he sprinted after her, shouting her name, his voice cracking in places she didn’t want to hear.

By the time she skidded to a stop at the gates, Todoroki was already waiting. He leaned lightly against the stone archway, fire flickering faintly on one side, ice glimmering on the other, his calm presence a striking contrast to the chaos swirling inside her.

“You’re planning on running,” he said, his voice low, measured, and almost hypnotic.

Elara froze. Her chest heaved. Her Ember Lash hissed faintly as if sensing her panic. “I… I need to,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t… I can’t risk hurting anyone anymore. I… I can’t—”

Todoroki stepped closer, the duality of his quirk painting him in ethereal light. “Why do you think your life is worth less than ours?”

Her eyes filled with tears, her throat tightening painfully. “Because… my life comes with a monster attached. Everything I touch… everyone I care about… it all gets destroyed. I can’t… I can’t risk it, not you, not Bakugou… not anyone!”

A faint tremor ran through his jaw as he regarded her, reading the fear, the despair, and the love she tried to bury. “Then let us fight the monster with you,” he said, placing a hand lightly over her chest, right above her heart. His touch was warm, grounding, and yet it sent shivers of fire through her veins. “You are not what he made you. You’re what you choose to be.”

Her hands clenched at her sides, Ember Lash flaring, tiny sparks dancing along its coils. Soul Divination threads reached out subconsciously, brushing against Todoroki, feeling his calm steadiness and his unspoken understanding of her turmoil.

She swallowed hard, voice breaking. “And if I choose wrong…? If I… if I let this get out of control…?”

“Then we’ll choose again. Together.” His voice softened, almost a whisper now, but the weight behind it pressed against her like gravity.

Her eyes, glimmering gold and green from her quirk, met his. For a heartbeat, the world fell away. She could feel the warmth of Bakugou in her memories — his fiery protectiveness, his stubbornness, his relentless love — colliding with Todoroki’s calm assurance and perceptive intensity. Her chest tightened painfully, a storm of longing and guilt raging inside.

“I… I can’t,” she whispered, taking a step back. “I… I—”

Todoroki tilted his head slightly, calm but piercing. “Elara… you’re scared. I get it. But running will not make the choices easier. Running will not save anyone.”

Her Ember Lash flared, coiling tightly as though reflecting the storm of her emotions. “I… I love him, Todoroki,” she breathed, almost against her will. “Bakugou… I love him, and… and I… I don’t know what to do—”

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her cheek. “I know,” he murmured. “I know that heart. That fire in you. You care too much. You push everyone away because it scares you… because love feels like a liability. But you are not alone. Not with me. Not with him. Not with anyone who truly wants to be by your side.”

Her throat tightened. Soul Divination threads flickered desperately, a silent plea, as if trying to tether her to some semblance of reason. Her Ember Lash flared again, molten fire licking the stone beneath her feet. She could feel the tension in her body, the way her heart straddled two impossible choices, and the fear that one wrong move could destroy everything.

“What if I never get the chance… what if the League… what if—” Her words choked off in a sob.

Todoroki’s hand rested firmly over her heart again. “Then we fight it together. We face it. You do not have to carry this burden alone.”

Her knees shook, and her body trembled with conflicting desire and fear. Bakugou’s memory was a furnace in her chest — that raw, relentless fire, the way he made her feel alive, untouchable, cherished. Todoroki’s presence was a river of calm, perceptive, understanding, a mirror to her vulnerability.

And in that storm of fire and ice, love and fear, she made a rash, impulsive decision. She took a shaky breath, voice quivering: “Can you… can you do me a favor?”

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed, cautious, waiting.

She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper: “Can you… just hold me? I just… I want to feel safe… in case… in case I never get the chance to again.”

Todoroki’s eyes softened, fire flickering faintly on one side, ice shimmering on the other. He didn’t move immediately, taking in the tremor in her hands, the way her Ember Lash coiled with tension, the faint pulse of Divination threads vibrating around her. Every ounce of her fear, longing, and unspoken desire reflected in her gaze.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. The world seemed to shrink to the two of them — her small, trembling frame pressed against his chest, and his steady warmth grounding her like the anchor she hadn’t realized she needed.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders instinctively, clutching at him as if holding on could keep the chaos at bay. Ember Lash hissed softly at her wrists, but she ignored it, letting herself sink into the security of his embrace. Divination threads pulsed gently, intertwining with his aura as though recognizing the fragile peace between them.

Todoroki’s chin rested lightly atop her head, his hands tightening subtly, as if to silently say, I’m here. I won’t let go. She trembled against him, tears slipping freely, her breath hitching with the weight of everything she had been holding in — the fear, the guilt, the love she didn’t fully understand, the ache for Bakugou.

The hug lasted long enough to feel like a reprieve from the world, but short enough to leave a bittersweet ache lingering in her chest. When she finally stepped back, gasping, her hands slowly releasing his shoulders, she felt the warmth of him still radiating, and his gaze lingered on her, heavy with understanding and unspoken words, a quiet promise in the storm of her emotions.

“I… I didn’t—” she whispered, voice breaking.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I understand. But you will always have a choice, Elara. And I will always be here, whether you take it or not.”

Her chest heaved, and she glanced toward the gate — knowing Bakugou would arrive any second, his fire, his stubborn love, his relentless devotion. And just like that, the tension of the triangle tightened again, impossibly, unbearably, leaving her breathless, trembling, and painfully aware that her heart was already split between two impossible loves.

Elara barely had time to catch her breath when the distant sound of boots echoed across the courtyard. Her chest tightened — and she knew before she even looked that it was him. Katsuki.

He rounded the corner, eyes blazing crimson, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. His gaze locked on her instantly, and her stomach sank. Even in her exhausted, raw state, he radiated that familiar, impossible combination of fury and protectiveness.

“Elara!” His voice tore through the quiet night like a shout against glass. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Her heart jumped, guilt and longing twisting in her chest. She’d wanted space, but seeing him now, standing there as if the world itself would crumble without her, made every nerve in her body ache.

“I… I needed to…” she stammered, her voice barely audible, faltering under the weight of her racing emotions.

“Needed to what? Run away? Leave me? Leave us?” His voice cracked, raw, a tremor of desperation threading through his anger.

She flinched at the tone, the intensity, but didn’t answer. Ember Lash curled slightly at her wrists, sensing her tension, Soul Divination threads thrumming faintly — almost like a heartbeat calling out for him.

Katsuki’s fists unclenched slightly, his breathing ragged, and he took a hesitant step closer. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice lower now, trembling but resolute.

She met his gaze, and her chest constricted. Every thought of Todoroki — his gentle warmth, his quiet understanding, the hug that had just grounded her — clashed violently with the fiery, protective pull she felt toward Katsuki.

“You think you can just walk away?” he continued, voice rough but laced with something deeper than anger — fear, heartbreak, desperate love. “You think I’ll let you just… disappear?”

Elara’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Katsuki, I… I can’t—”

He cut her off, grabbing her wrists gently but firmly, grounding her. “I’m not asking you to explain. Not now. I just… I can’t lose you like that.”

Her gaze flicked down, and she felt a wave of shame and desire clash violently inside her. The memory of Todoroki’s hug still lingered, the warmth, the comfort, the bittersweet ache of what she had allowed herself for just a moment. And now Katsuki’s presence — raw, unyielding, real — made her pulse race in a way that was undeniable.

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

He shook his head, leaning closer, almost brushing his forehead against hers. “You’re not hurting me. You’re just… you. And I’ve spent too long pretending I could survive without you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he brushed it away roughly, tenderly. “Stop hiding from me. Stop hiding from yourself. I don’t care what the world says. I don’t care what’s chasing you. I don’t care about anything but this — you and me. Here. Now.”

Her chest tightened, a storm of emotions she had tried to cage roaring free. Todoroki’s hug, the quiet understanding of his presence, still pulled at her heart, but the raw, burning insistence in Katsuki’s eyes anchored her to the present.

“I…” she faltered, her hands trembling as she gripped his arms. “I love you… I do.”

Katsuki’s eyes softened, the fire in them not extinguished but tempered with relief and something dangerously close to reverence. He pulled her into a tight embrace, one that shook with the force of his heart and the intensity of his fear of losing her.

For a long moment, they just held each other. No words, just the press of skin and heat, the pulse of two hearts beating frantically in the quiet night.

And yet, even in that closeness, Elara’s mind flickered with guilt and longing — Todoroki, the quiet, gentle presence who had held her when the night had been too heavy. She felt herself torn between two forces — one fierce and protective, the other soft and understanding.

Katsuki sensed it, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, but he whispered against her hair, almost as if speaking to himself as much as to her: “I don’t care who else sees. I don’t care who else you feel for. I’m not letting you go. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Her tears fell freely now, and for the first time, she let herself be held completely. Ember Lash relaxed, coiling around her wrists with a faint hiss, Psychebound Dominion threads weaving subtly, resonating with the intensity of the emotions between them.

Somewhere in the shadows, the night waited, quiet but ominous. But in that embrace, for that fleeting moment, Elara allowed herself to be human — to love, to be loved, and to exist without the crushing weight of the world pressing her down.

Chapter Text

Two days had passed since Elara’s attempted escape.

Two days since Bakugou had stormed into the common room, slammed his palms into the table, and told Class 1-A everything.

Not the mushy emotional parts — he’d sooner explode than admit those out loud — but enough:

Elara’s father.
The threats.
The relapse into terror.
Her bolting into the night.

Enough that the class understood:
She wasn’t trying to abandon them.
She was trying to protect them.

And that was unacceptable.

So… they created a plan.

Operation: Keep-Elara-Alive-and-Loved
(Actual name courtesy of Mina. Bakugou hates it.)

Every night after curfew, they secretly gather in Gym Gamma. Training harder than ever, together — no teachers, no rules — so Elara knows she’s not alone in the fight.

Tonight, after an hour of drills, muscles shaking and sweat dripping, they collapse in a messy circle on the mats.

Mina threw herself dramatically onto the turf.
“Okay, okay — we need a game. If we keep training, I’m gonna die for real.”

Kirishima snorted. “So what’d you have in mind? Arm wrestling? Punch Bakugou?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Try it and die.”

“Nope!” Mina grinned wickedly, sitting forward. “We’re playing… NEVER HAVE I EVER.”
She wiggled her fingers like demon claws. “Five fingers up. Prepare your secrets.”

Elara blinked, uncertain — but when the class shifted to make space for her, she hesitantly joined the circle. Bakugou sat beside her like a guard dog with a heartbeat.

Mina cracked her knuckles.
“Never have I ever… stalked the girls’ dorm bathrooms!”

All eyes swung to Mineta.

Mineta sighed, defeated, putting one finger down.
“I regret nothing.”

“Oh you regret something,” Jirou deadpanned.

Mineta sulked. “Fine! My turn— Never have I ever cried over everything!”

Midoriya’s hand shot down instantly. A beat later, Uraraka put one down too.

“They targeted us,” Uraraka muttered with a tiny smile. “Rude.”

Kaminari raised his hand next. “Never have I ever… gotten lost in my own thoughts so bad I walked into a wall.”

Iida’s finger went down. So did Elara’s — reluctantly.

Kirishima clapped his hands together.
“My turn! Never have I ever… fallen for the new girl.”

Three fingers dropped at once:

Midoriya drops a finger — quietly, pink-cheeked.
Todoroki drops his — no hesitation, eyes steady on Elara.
Bakugou… grunts, scowling, and slams one finger down like the mat insulted him.

Everyone stares between the three boys.

Mina mouths dramatically:
“Spicy.”

Elara’s heart lurches, heat flooding her cheeks.

Her world briefly narrowed to three sets of eyes staring at the grass.

Mina squealed into her hands. “HELLO??? That was extremely revealing!”

Bakugou snarled. “Shut it.”

Elara’s heart rampaged in her ribs.
She didn’t know where to look.

Finally, timidly, she spoke:
“…Never have I ever brought the best out in someone.”

But no one moved.

Silence spread — thick, reverent.

She blinks. Nervous laugh.

“I guess… that was stupid. Sorry—”

Todoroki’s voice broke it, soft but unwavering:
“Elara… you should put your finger down.”

Her brows pinched. “What? No—”

“You’ve brought out the best in us.”
Todoroki leaned forward slightly, fire light flickering in his eyes.
“Especially me.”

Her breath caught — because the moment he mentioned…

The stadium roars like a living beast.

Ice surges across the arena — a glacier large enough to swallow a city street.
Todoroki’s expression: clenched, strained, burning without fire.

Elara stands firm.
Eyes sharp.
No fear.

Soul Divination threads flare — gold and red, pulsing from her fingertips.

She raises her arm —

CRACK—!!!

The glacier shatters into a million glimmering shards, suspended for a heartbeat in telekinetic awe before collapsing like winter itself giving up.

Todoroki’s rage spikes — raw trauma spilling out.

She sees it:
Flame threads tangled with chains.
Fear wrapped around his heart.
Endeavor’s shadow gripping his soul.

Her eyes glow brighter — luminous molten gold.

She steps forward, voice barely a breath:

“Your fire was never his.
Burn for yourself.”

Her quirk slices through the fear-thread.
Just a flicker — a moment of freedom.

But it’s enough.

FWOOOOM—!!!
A catastrophic flame erupts from his left side, hotter and truer than anything he’s ever allowed himself.

The crowd explodes in awe.

Aizawa stands — eyes wide behind his scarf —

A single girl just changed a future.

Elara smiles — serene, accepting.

She bows her head.

“I forfeit.”

Shock ripples through the stadium.

Todoroki’s flame sputters into soft glow — eyes wide, vulnerable — then he bows deeply back.

“Thank you.”

Elara blinked back to the present, overwhelmed.

Everyone is staring — with awe instead of fear.

Ochaco scoots closer, voice soft.

“You make us stronger just by being here.”

Midoriya nods fervently.
“You saved Todoroki… and honestly, you save people every day and don’t even realize it.”

Kirishima grins big and bright.

“You have no idea how manly that is!”

Even Bakugou — sitting stiffly beside her — nudges her knee with his own.
Not gentle.
But grounding.

“Dumbass,” he mutters, looking away, ears pink.
“You make everyone better. It’s annoying.”

Kirishima nodded, warm and unflinching.
“You’re one of us. Whether you like it or not!”

Bakugou nudged her knee gently — his version of tenderness.
“Put the damn finger down.”

She did.
Slowly.
Shyly.

Warmth blooms in her chest — overwhelming but good.

Sero claps his hands.

“All right, enough wholesome feels! Someone else go before I start crying like Deku!”

“HEY!!”

Laughter breaks the tension. The game picks back up.

Iida: “Never have I ever broken more than five school rules this month.”
Half the class lowers a finger — including himself.

Tsuyu: “Never have I ever been kidnapped.”
Elara drops a finger.
Everyone looks guilty as hell.

Kaminari: “Never have I ever blown up my own room.”
Bakugou drops a finger.
Again — no explanation necessary.

The game spiraled into chaotic laughter —
Iida admitting he once tripped over his own glasses,
Jirou confessing she listens at doors on purpose,
Tokoyami claiming he is “always drenched in darkness” like that counts as a finger

Eventually —
Fingers run out.
Mina declares Todoroki the surprising winner.
Mineta claims second place by technicality and is immediately ignored.

They lie back on the mats, exhausted and full of quiet laughter.

Elara looks up at the ceiling — feeling, for the first time in days…

Safe.
Seen.
Loved.

Elara found herself laughing — truly laughing —
like she hadn’t in years.

The students of Class 1-A weren’t just classmates anymore.
They weren’t just guards keeping her from disappearing.

They were family.
Her first real family.

And for a moment…

All For One’s shadow
seemed small.

Bakugou reaches for her hand under the pretense of “stretching.”

She lets him.

Her fingers curl into his just as his flame-hearted rival watches from the corner of his eye…

And the night settles into peace.

A fragile, beautiful peace —
just for now.

~~~~~

The laughter of the class still echoed faintly behind them as Bakugou and Elara slipped out into the quiet hallway. Midnight curfew had painted the dorm corridors in gold and shadow, the only sound the soft hum of lights overhead.

Bakugou walked beside her — not too close, but close enough that their shoulders brushed whenever she drifted even slightly off balance from exhaustion. Every time they touched, his fists clenched and unclenched like he was fighting his own instinct.

Elara hugged her arms to her chest, still reeling from the game…
from the flashback…
from Todoroki’s voice praising her like she held galaxies.

Bakugou noticed the silence first.

“You okay?”
His voice low… rough… too gentle for someone like him.

“I’m just tired,” she lied with a brittle smile.

He made a frustrated noise.

“Oi. Don’t give me that fake-ass smile. You don’t gotta pretend with me.”

Her breath hitched.
Because she wasn’t used to someone noticing.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully.
The hallway behind them stretched empty — a tunnel of quiet.

“Kirishima’s dumb game…”
He looked away for a second — jaw tight — then back at her.

“When you said you’ve never brought the best out in anyone?”
His voice cracked with anger he didn’t know how to tame.
“That’s bullshit.”

Her eyes widened, stunned.

Bakugou stepped closer — close enough her heartbeat stuttered.

“You changed me.”
A whisper, fierce with truth.
“I wanna be better because of you.”

She opened her mouth — nothing came out.
Words felt too small.

When her knees wobbled, he instinctively reached for her hand.
Their fingers linked.

A quiet click in the universe.

She stared down at their hands, overwhelmed —
hope too dangerous to name simmering in her chest.

Bakugou cleared his throat, trying and failing to seem unaffected.

“I’m walking you to your damn dorm,” he muttered.

But she heard what he meant:
I don’t want to let you go.

At her door, they lingered — too close, too hesitant, too aware.

“G’night,” he said, softer than anyone had ever heard from him.

“Tomorrow, I’ll be right here.”

Elara whispered back,
“Goodnight, Katsuki.”

He froze — eyes wide — throat working.
Her heart fluttered.

He forced himself to step back slowly…
like leaving her was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Only when her door shut did he allow his shoulders to collapse slightly,
and he stayed there for a long moment…
guarding her door like a silent vow.

~~~~~

Sleep didn’t come.

Elara paced her dark room, Bakugou’s warmth still ghosting her palm.
Tension coiled in her chest — memories spinning too fast.

Needing air, she cracked open her balcony door.

A gust of cool night wind brushed her skin,
lifting strands of her hair as moonlight poured over her.

She wasn’t alone.

Todoroki leaned against the balcony railing,
arms crossed, eyes on the stars —
as if trying to calm an internal storm.

He turned when he sensed her.

“Elara,” he breathed — relief ghosting his features.

She stepped out quietly beside him.
Their shoulders didn’t touch…
but she could feel his warmth radiating.

“It’s peaceful out here,” she said softly.

“It is,” he answered… though his voice sounded anything but peaceful.

Silence settled — not awkward… but heavy.

Todoroki finally broke it:

“You’re important to us — to this class.”
His eyes glimmered silver-blue in the moonlight.
“To me.”

Her breath snagged in her throat.

He looked down, searching her face with painful honesty.

“That night at the festival… when you said my fire was mine…”
His hand closed into a fist over his heart.
“You changed everything. You saved me from myself.”

“It was your strength,” she whispered.

“It was you who made me believe I had any.”

Her heart pressed hard against her ribs — guilt and longing twisted together.

“Elara…”
He hesitated — rare for him.
“…I want to be someone who makes your life lighter. Someone you could choose.”

Her eyes burned — because she knew what he was asking.

“I care about you,” she confessed — every word trembling.
“But my heart…” Bakugou’s eyes flashed in her mind — furious and soft.
“I think it already made a choice.”

Todoroki’s breath caught — but he didn’t look away.
There was hurt — sharp and real — but he swallowed it with grace.

“I figured,” he murmured, voice like frost melting.
“I saw the way you looked at him tonight.”

She blinked — surprised.

“It was the same way I look at you.”

That shattered her.

He stepped closer — gently — giving her space to pull away.

“I won’t fight him for you,” he said.
“But I’ll fight with him for you.”

Her chest tightened, tears rising.

When she looked like she might crumble,
Todoroki cupped her elbow —
steady, supportive, no pressure… just presence.

“You don’t have to choose between love and a future,” he whispered.
“You deserve both.”

Elara leaned into him — just a breath —
and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

Not claiming.
Comforting.

A quiet promise that he would stay,
even if she didn’t pick him.

When they pulled apart, his eyes softened.

“Goodnight, Elara.”

“Goodnight… Shoto.”

He slipped back inside,
leaving her on the balcony with a heart torn open…
yet more held than ever before.

Elara slipped back into her room, limbs trembling, chest tight with the weight of Todoroki’s words lingering like smoke in her mind. She pressed the balcony door shut and let her forehead rest against the cool glass, closing her eyes. Her heart thudded painfully, a storm raging inside her — part longing, part guilt, part fear.

She didn’t hear him approach at first.

A quiet, low voice, rough and hesitant, cut through the night:
“You and Half-and-Half sure got close out there.”

Her breath caught.

Bakugou stood in the doorway, one palm braced against the frame, his silhouette framed by moonlight. He looked like a storm held at bay, trembling with something unspoken — something raw and vulnerable beneath the usual fury.

“How long were you—?” she began.

“Long enough,” he interrupted, voice low, almost pained.

His jaw flexed. The familiar sharpness in his eyes was tempered now by fear. Something deeper. Something desperate.

“He touched you,” he muttered, gravelly.
“And you let him.”

“It wasn’t like that! That’s not—” she started, but he stepped closer, cutting her off before the words could fully form.

“I know he likes you,” Bakugou admitted, voice cracking just slightly, raw.
“I know he’d treat you like you hung the damn moon.”

Elara’s chest constricted.

“I… I can’t—” she whispered, barely audible.

“You think I don’t see it?” His tone softened, almost ragged, as if he had been holding it in for far too long.
“I notice everything about you.”

Her eyes snapped up. He was inches away now — so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“When you laugh,” he breathed, voice fierce yet trembling.
“When you’re scared but try to hide it.”
“When someone else gets your attention, and it feels like my chest is collapsing—”

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a heartbeat too long.

“I don’t want him to be the one you choose.”

Elara’s heart thudded, loud enough she feared he could hear it.

“Katsuki…” Her own whisper escaped before she could stop it, raw and unguarded.

He lifted a hand slowly, hesitant, like she was a fragile flame he didn’t want to snuff out. His fingers brushed her cheek, and it felt like lightning arcing straight through her ribs.

“And that scares the hell outta me,” he murmured, voice low, almost broken.

Her hands twitched, wanting to reach for him, wanting to close the last inch between them, but fear and habit held her back.

For a heartbeat, everything was suspended — the night, the tension, the pull between them — their lips only a breath apart.

He froze, and the sharp edge of his vulnerability softened into something achingly human.

“…Goodnight.” His voice was forced, weak, like he was expending all his will just to step back.

He retreated, slowly, one step, then another, refusing to break eye contact until the glass door shut between them.

Elara crumpled against it, tears threatening to spill, a shiver running through her.

On the other side, Bakugou’s fists shook, knuckles whitening, jaw tight.
Both wide awake. Both burning. Both left aching with unsaid words, a longing that could not be contained.

The night held them in its silence, yet every heartbeat screamed: this was far from over.

The morning light spilled into the common room, intrusive and harsh, cutting through the remnants of night and illuminating every unspoken truth. Elara felt it like a spotlight on her chest, making it impossible to hide the fluttering storm inside her.

She stepped in cautiously, shoulders tight, and immediately felt two intense pairs of eyes lock onto her.

Bakugou was on the couch, arms crossed like a fortress, one leg bouncing with barely-contained agitation. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark, glaring at the floor as if it had personally insulted him. Every muscle screamed tension, a storm barely restrained.

Todoroki stood by the window, body rigid yet calm, gaze fixed on her the moment she entered. His eyes were soft but piercing, observant in a way that felt like he was tracing her thoughts, reading the truths she hadn’t dared voice. Protective, careful—but dangerous in the way he could be, like ice ready to snap.

Kirishima blinked between them, utterly bewildered.
“Uh… did I miss something?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Bakugou’s knee jerked violently. “Shut up.” His voice was sharp, low, and threatening in a way that made Elara flinch.

Mina leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
“Ohhhhhh, the love triangle vibes this morning are insane.”

Elara froze, heat rushing to her cheeks.
“It’s not—there isn’t—nothing happened!” she stammered, but the words sounded fragile even to her ears.

Bakugou’s knee kicked again, faster this time. Tension radiated off him like flames licking at the edges of her sanity.

Todoroki’s eyebrow arched, faint amusement hidden beneath calm scrutiny.
Mina smirked knowingly. “It’s literally written all over your face.”

Elara’s throat went dry, and she struggled to formulate a response. Before she could, Iida clapped his hands sharply, the sound cutting through the tension like a whip.
“Team exercise on Training Grounds Beta in five minutes! Everyone prepare!”

A chorus of groans filled the room, breaking the bubble of romantic chaos for a brief moment.

Elara turned to join the group, and that’s when it happened: both Bakugou and Todoroki stepped toward her at the same time.

Her heart stuttered. Their movement mirrored, almost like a challenge, almost like a duel.

Todoroki spoke first, calm, measured, yet undeniably bold:
“I can be your partner today.”

Bakugou snapped his head toward him, a look sharp enough to level buildings.
“Like hell you will. She’s with me.”

Elara’s chest squeezed painfully. Her pulse surged, her mind a tangle of ice and fire. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came.

The class collectively leaned in, subtle gasps and whispers filling the room.

Ochako whispered to Midoriya, eyes wide with mischief:
“They’re going to fight over her.”

Midoriya wiped sweat from his brow, muttering under his breath:
“This is… a lot.”

Elara wanted to melt into the floor. Her panic rose like a tide. Why did everyone have to watch this?

And then, of course, Aizawa chose this exact moment to appear, emerging from the shadows like a specter.
“Great. Bakugou and Elara are partnered.” His tone was neutral, flat—but the timing was perfect chaos.
He paused, glancing at Todoroki and Kaminari. “Don’t fry each other.”

Bakugou’s smirk widened, triumphant. Victory, raw and hot, radiated off him.

Todoroki’s jaw tightened, subtle, almost imperceptible, but sharp enough for Elara to notice.

As the group filed toward the exit, Bakugou slowed his pace deliberately so she could walk beside him. His eyes remained forward, but his voice, low and rough, cut through the morning air.
“You’re mine today.”

A promise. A warning. A plea.

Elara’s heart stuttered. She swallowed hard, aware of the heat radiating from him, the unspoken words pressed into every syllable.

Fire and frost. Her thoughts swirled as she glanced at Todoroki, whose eyes lingered on her just a beat too long, soft but intense, like ice wrapping around a flame—unforgiving, yet captivating.

Her mind spun with possibilities, choices, guilt, and desire. She felt the weight of both of them—Bakugou’s raw, desperate heat, Todoroki’s quiet, cutting intensity. Which burn do I want more? she wondered, chest tight, knowing she couldn’t answer just yet.

The sun rose brighter, but the tension between the three of them was hotter than anything outside. Every step toward the training grounds was a heartbeat of longing, fear, and unspoken words.

Elara clenched her fists, Ember Lash coiling faintly at her wrists, Soul Divination threads flickering in response, as if her quirk could sense the emotional storm that followed her. She felt caught between two worlds—one of fire, one of ice—and the weight of a choice she wasn’t ready to make.

Chapter Text

The sun climbed higher as the students of Class 1‑A spread out across Training Grounds Beta. Bakugou was practically vibrating beside Elara, his fists clenching and unclenching like he was about to combust at any moment, while Todoroki trailed slightly behind, his eyes flicking to her every few steps, calm but impossibly observant. The rest of the class took their positions, unaware of the silent tension crackling like lightning between the three of them.

“Alright, everyone, let’s warm up with basic combat drills,” Aizawa’s monotone bark cut through the air, and the group immediately shifted into action.

Elara’s mind, however, wasn’t on the drills. It was on Bakugou, his hand brushing hers accidentally as they ran side by side, sending sparks straight to her chest. She felt Todoroki’s presence too, a subtle pressure at the edges of her awareness, his fire and ice quirks humming quietly as if mirroring the turbulence inside her.

Midoriya shouted encouragements to the others, but she barely registered him; her heartbeat was a drum louder than any voice. Bakugou’s growled corrections, the way he leaned toward her slightly as they ran maneuvers, the sharp edge of his concern—it all wove into a tangible fabric around her. Todoroki’s cool, deliberate movements, the way he adjusted his path to keep an eye on her, the way his eyes softened when she glanced at him—they all collided inside her chest, chaotic and exhilarating.

They ran through quirk coordination drills, obstacle courses, and sparring rotations. Bakugou barked orders to her and Midoriya, pushing them relentlessly, yet he was careful, protective—always just close enough to react if something went wrong. Todoroki’s approach was the opposite: subtle, perceptive, correcting her timing or warning her quietly, almost as if he were trying to read her soul rather than her fighting stance.

At one point, during a high-speed evasion drill, she misstepped and nearly collided with a moving platform. Bakugou’s hand shot out instinctively, gripping her wrist, steadying her. “Watch your damn footing!” he snapped—but there was a tremor in his voice, a thread of fear she caught instantly.

Todoroki’s eyes flickered to the near-miss, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing, only extending his ice slightly to stabilize the platform’s movement, ensuring she wouldn’t get hurt. She couldn’t help but notice the contrast: one, fire and heat, raw emotion barely contained; the other, ice and control, quiet but unwavering.

By the end of the rotational exercises, the class was exhausted. Sweat plastered hair to foreheads, muscles ached, and hearts were racing—not only from exertion but from the undercurrent of tension she had felt all morning. The students collapsed in the grass, laughing and groaning in relief.

Mina collapsed beside Elara, nudging her shoulder playfully.
“You two seriously need a room already,” she whispered with a grin, glancing at Bakugou and Todoroki, who were standing not far off, both looking at her with vastly different intensities.

Jirou, sprawled on her back, added, “No kidding. The way you walk into the air like that, Elara… you’re glowing.” She wiggled her fingers, accentuating her point.

Bakugou scowled, fists on his hips, but there was a faint softness in his eyes.
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” he muttered. “She’s mine, okay?”

Todoroki’s expression didn’t shift outwardly, but the slight narrowing of his eyes spoke volumes. His gaze lingered on Elara, thoughtful and heavy, before he stepped back, his stance softening.

Aizawa finally raised his hand, voice cutting through the post-training chatter.
“That’s enough for today! Now, tomorrow is the 8th. I have some things I need to do with All Might regarding safety and security measures, so you will have the day off.”

He didn’t elaborate and walked off, leaving the students blinking in confusion, as if they had been left dangling mid-sentence for an entire five-hour debate.

Elara’s chest tightened. She hadn’t realized the date. She muttered softly, barely above a whisper:
“The 8th… I didn’t even realize.”

Bakugou’s eyes immediately snapped toward her, Todoroki’s gaze following instinctively, and even Tokoyama perked up, tilting his head.
“What’s wrong? Is that date impor—” Tokoyama began.

“The 8th is her birthday, birdbrain,” Bakugou cut him off, seething the words like he was declaring something the world should already know.

Mina clapped her hands together, excited.
“Ooh! Birthday party! We have to throw her a party at midnight!”

Jirou’s ears twitched, matching Mina’s enthusiasm.
“Count me in! We’ll decorate the common room and get music going!”

Midoriya, adjusting his glasses nervously, looked at Elara, trying not to betray how flustered he was.
“T-tonight? We… we can make it really special for her.”

Elara’s face flamed. She buried her hands in her sleeves, heart hammering in her chest, overwhelmed by the sheer thoughtfulness—and the warmth she felt from them all.

Bakugou, still standing close, crossed his arms but muttered under his breath:
“No one’s touching my present.”

Todoroki’s eyes lingered on her, expression calm but unreadable. There was a softness in the way he observed her, and yet she could feel the silent storm of unspoken feelings swirling in his chest.

Elara blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. Her throat tightened with emotion she didn’t entirely understand. She wanted to protest, wanted to demur—but a small, genuine smile broke through. For the first time in a long time, she felt something close to normal, close to warmth, close to home.

The class erupted into a flurry of chatter, plotting decorations, party games, and the ultimate surprise for her. Ember Lash twitched faintly at her wrists, Psychebound Dominion threads flickering softly, as if sensing her joy. Elara stayed quiet for a moment, letting it wash over her, letting herself feel.

Bakugou’s voice cut through the noise, low and possessive:
“Midnight’s mine too. Don’t forget that.”

Todoroki’s gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly narrowing, before he looked back at her, the faint glimmer of fire and ice playing across his irises. She felt the pull of both of them—one a burning heat, the other a measured, piercing chill—but for now, surrounded by friends, she could simply breathe.

And that was enough… for tonight.

~~~~~

The 1-A dorm common room was unrecognizable.

In place of sterile academy floors and training schedules, the space pulsed with colored lights and life. Fairy lights criss-crossed the ceiling like veins of captured starlight. Pink and teal glow sticks outlined the walls in chaotic zigzags — probably Mina’s doing — while a stage-like platform of stacked cushions had been assembled with the dedication of a civilization preparing for war.

Momo, cheeks lightly flushed from the excitement (and possibly the punch), conjured legitimate professional equipment: microphones with shimmering cords, amplifiers that buzzed with promise, and speakers that looked like they’d survived world tours.

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.
“I hope the volume levels are acceptable—”

“They’re PERFECT!” Mina practically tackled her in a glittery hug. “You’re a goddess.”

Momo blushed scarlet.

Across the room, Sero hung streamers from the ceiling fan while Kaminari tested the speakers by blasting a bass drop that rattled the walls.

Bakugou lost it.
“DUNCE FACE! If you break the dorm, Aizawa will personally bury us alive!”

Kaminari grinned and gave a thumbs-up.
“That’s why we gotta party like it’s our last night alive!”

Punch bowl: Very suspicious. Possibly illegal. Definitely spiked.

Kirishima and Kaminari dragged in a cooler full of clinking bottles — their faces glowing with pure rebellion.

Kirishima puffed out his chest, proudly:
“One night. Just one night to be normal teenagers.”

Kaminari threw a peace sign.
“Yeah! Hero probation tequila baybee!”

Bakugou pointed at the cooler like he was going to explode it on purpose.
“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THAT?!”

Kirishima flexed.
“Underground hero contacts.”

A pause.

Kaminari cracked instantly.
“We stole it from the teacher lounge!”

Bakugou grabbed a drumstick like a weapon.
“You two are so stupid you share a single brain cell— AND IT’S CURRENTLY SOBBING.”

But he didn’t confiscate the alcohol.

Not tonight.

In less than an hour…

Mina was tipsy-dancing on a beanbag chair.
Jirou’s ears perked toward the music like a cat hearing its favorite song.
Hagakure had the hiccups and they were invisible which somehow made them louder.

Mina grabbed Jirou’s shoulders dramatically.
“No listen — LISTEN. Real life ROCK BAND. We ARE the instruments.”

Jirou’s earjacks sparked with excitement.
“Oh my god I can— I can play the bass with my SOUL.”

Hagakure slurred, “I wanna be an entire drum set! Or like…a triangle!”

Elara leaned against the kitchen counter, weak from laughter, cheeks warm and glowing from the drinks and the pure joy. For once — she wasn’t anxious. She wasn’t hunted. She wasn’t running.

She was just a girl at a party with her friends.

Ochaco linked their fingers and giggled,
“Come on! If we’re making a band, you HAVE to be the lead singer! You’re so pretty it’s illegal.”

Elara snorted.
“Pretty doesn’t mean I can sing.”

Midoriya stumbled in with a bass guitar — strap twisted, curls wild.
“I… can try! For, uh— for morale!”
His words collided with each other like bumper cars.

Sero grabbed a mic and struck a dramatic pose.
“I call hype man! I’ll be the chaos!”

Kirishima whooped, running to adjust the stage pillows.
“Rock on, citizens!”

Bakugou sat on the couch, arms crossed, watching them spiral into chaos with the expression of a man witnessing a train wreck.

Then Elara looked at him — hopeful.
And the explosion that was his heart softened instantly.

With a sigh, a grumbled curse, and a muttered “you idiots better not suck,” he stomped over to the drums.

“If you’re all gonna screw it up, someone has to keep time.”

Kirishima yelled like he just witnessed a wedding proposal:
“BAKUBOY ON PERCUSSION!”

Bakugou aimed a drumstick at his forehead.
“Say that again and I’m drumming on your skull.”

But he adjusted the snares. And tightened the cymbals.

He was all in.

He always was — when it came to Elara.

The lights lowered.

A thrumming bass from Jirou’s speakers vibrated the air.

Elara swayed up to the mic — tipsy but glowing, laughter stitched into her voice.
“We, uh… decided to add a little twist to this song.”

Ochaco cracked her knuckles over the piano keys like she was about to battle the spirits of Mozart and Cardi B simultaneously.

Kaminari tuned his guitar and struck a heroic pose.
“Let’s ROCK!”

Music began — soft at first, then pulsing. The class leaned forward, excited.

Elara inhaled to sing—

Someone else beat her.

Midoriya stepped forward and belted:

“Every inch the fire gets closer
It’s in my blood — it’s never over…”

Time stopped.

Every jaw dropped.

Mina dropped her drink so fast it splashed up into her hair.
Jirou’s earjacks literally sparked.
Even Bakugou froze mid-drumstick swing.

He stared like his entire worldview just imploded.
“DEKU — WHAT THE ACTUAL—?!”

Midoriya kept going — drunk courage fueling every velvet note:

“Temptation, I can’t escape you…
Desire — you’re my forbidden fruit…”

Sero whispered, scandalized:
“Why is Deku… hot?”

Ochaco let out a little squeal.
Elara, blinking fast, nearly forgot she was supposed to breathe — let alone sing.

But the chorus approached — and instinct took over.

She snapped into the mic, voice silk-smooth and dangerously beautiful:

“I’ve had a taste — there’s nothing sweeter
On my lips — I’ve kissed the reaper…”

Her voice warmed into something more primal — hypnotic. Sensual.
It vibrated against every ribcage in the room.

Bakugou’s hands faltered on the drums — breath catching.

Todoroki, sitting front row with a half-finished soda, visibly shivered. His eyes widened in raw awe — and fear.

“Ohhh temptation, I can’t escape you…
Forbidden fruit…”

The note stretched — shimmering.
A soft hum crawled up Elara’s spine.

And the air…

shifted.

Soundwaves glimmered at her feet.
Like visible ribbons of energy swirling around her ankles.

Then—

Silence.

She opened her eyes.

And gasped.

Every single classmate stared ahead, totally still.

Eyes glazed.
Breathing slow.
Poised like puppets without strings.

Frozen.

Except
Midoriya — staring in horror.
Ochaco — trembling next to the piano.
Bakugou — blinking rapidly, jaw clenched like he was holding onto consciousness by sheer ego.

Elara choked on air.
“Um—hello? You can clap now! Or, like… blink??”

No reaction.

Midoriya stumbled shakily to Iida, waving a hand right in his face.
“Iida?? Buddy?? You okay?? We didn’t— accidentally— kill everyone… right??!”

Ochaco squeaked, “Th-this is bad. This is BAD!”

Bakugou rose slowly from the drums — eyes never leaving Elara.

Something unspoken passed through him: concern. Recognition. Fear.

She crawled forward to Todoroki — the closest, his body slack but alive.

“Todoroki? Todoroki — look at me!”
Her voice cracked. Her fingertips trembled against his cheeks.
“Tell me what happened!”

His eyelashes fluttered.

Mismatched irises lifted to hers — filled with confusion.

“I… I don’t know what happened,” he murmured, voice warped like he was waking from a dream underwater.
“I remember Midoriya singing and then… you started…”

He swallowed, breath unsteady.

“That’s when everything just… vanished.”

Elara stumbled back, hand clamped over her mouth.

Her pulse pounded so loud she could barely hear.

Midoriya’s freckles vanished behind a sheet of panic.
“Elara… you—you have a new quirk—!”

Ochaco grabbed Elara’s arm, whispering through fear,
“W-what do we do? They’re all… waiting for something…”

Bakugou stepped in front of Elara instinctively, protective as a guard dog with a short fuse.

His voice was low — a warning, reverent, terrified:

“You just hypnotized the entire room.”

Elara’s breathing stuttered.

Her voice wasn’t just heard.

It was obeyed.

And every person under her spell sat motionless…

Waiting for her next command.

A glass clinked somewhere—slowly tumbling from Sero’s loose grip—and shattered against the floor.

No one reacted.

Except the four who actually should be reacting.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed like a hawk on a threat he couldn’t punch.
Midoriya’s hands trembled around his bass strap.
Ochaco’s breathing hitched as she tried not to cry.
Elara… just stared.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” she stammered.

Bakugou’s reply was sharp. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter!” Elara snapped, voice spiking with panic.

That was a mistake.

Every hypnotized body jerked—heads tilting toward her in perfect, eerie synchronization.

Ochaco screamed and hid behind Midoriya.

Elara slapped her hands over her mouth, terrified. “Oh—oh no—”

“Okay, let’s not panic,” Midoriya whispered with a tremble that betrayed his own panic.
“W-we can fix this! We just need—uh—some kind of reversal technique—!”

Suddenly—

A figure stepped into the doorway.

Scruffy hair.
Tired eyes.

Aizawa.

He blinked once.

Twice.

Took in the scene like he’d walked into the seventh circle of detention.

“…Should I even ask?”

Bakugou exhaled through gritted teeth. “Careful, dumbass—don’t look at her!”

But Aizawa was already assessing, eyes shifting from the glassy stares to Elara’s shaking form.

“Elara,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “Did you activate a quirk?”

Elara’s throat tightened. Shame and terror squeezed her voice into a whisper:

“…I think I broke everyone.”

His capture scarf twitched, ready to restrain if needed.
Aizawa stepped forward—measured, cautious.

“You’re going to fix it,” he said, voice like iron wrapped in cloth.
“But you need to give them a command.”

Elara shook her head violently. “No—what if I make it worse?! What if I—”

Bakugou’s hand landed on her shoulder—firm, grounding, surprising.

His voice dropped to something almost gentle:

“You’ve already got control.
Now use it.”

Elara swallowed.

Stepped forward.

The room held its breath— or would have, if they weren’t already frozen.

She closed her eyes, voice wavering:

“Everyone… wake up.”

Silence.

Nothing.

Ochaco squeezed her arm. “Try… singing it?”

Elara’s pulse hammered against her ribs.

She brushed her lips to the mic—just enough breath to shape the word:

“Awaken.”
Sung soft—like a wish.

Light rippled from her throat again, soft as moonlight on water.

One by one, classmates blinked. Gasped. Sat up straighter.
Confused, but alive.

Mina looked around wildly. “Did I… zone out? What happened?”

Kirishima rubbed his eyes. “Were we just napping? That wasn’t very manly—”

Bakugou growled. “You all got mind-yeeted by a song, idiots.”

Midoriya sagged with relief, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans.

Elara’s knees buckled—overwhelmed—and Bakugou caught her before she could fall.

“You good?” he muttered.

Her voice was tiny.

“…I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

He stared down at her—eyes not angry, but understanding.

“Nobody got hurt,” he said.
“But now we know one thing for sure.”

Elara looked up, terrified to hear it.

Bakugou leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat of his words:

“You’re way more dangerous than we thought.”

And for the first time…

Elara wondered whether her birthday gift was really a curse.

Elara’s breath steadied as consciousness returned to the room.
She looked around — terrified of their reactions.

But instead of fear…

Mina suddenly launched forward, throwing her arms around Elara with zero hesitation.

“GIRL. THAT WAS SO COOL!”

Jirou stepped up next, eyes shining like she’d just found a new favorite artist.
“You literally made sound visible. That’s… incredible. It’s like a sonic-type quirk but way more advanced.”

Kirishima grinned wide — all sharp teeth and enthusiasm.
“And nobody got hurt! That’s totally manly!”

Sero raised his cup. “Honestly? If you’re gonna brainwash me, at least let it be with music. That was sick.”

Ochaco hugged Elara from behind, cheek nuzzling her shoulder.
“We’re not scared, okay? You didn’t hurt us. And we’re supposed to be celebrating you.”

Midoriya nodded earnestly, freckles softening into a warm smile.
“Your quirk is powerful — but so are you. And you controlled it. That’s… amazing, Elara.”

Bakugou remained in front of her, arms crossed — but there was no hostility left.
Just truth.

“You heard ‘em. No one’s running. No one’s scared. So stop overthinking and enjoy your damn birthday.”

Elara’s eyes stung — warmth, relief, and disbelief flooding her chest.

“…You sure?” she whispered.

A chorus of “YES!” echoed through the room.

Aizawa cleared his throat — reminding everyone he still existed.
He stared at them deadpan, exhaustion radiating like a second quirk.

“I don’t care what you do,” he muttered, turning toward the hallway,
“as long as you don’t destroy the dorms. I’m going back to bed.”

He paused just long enough to add under his breath,

“…Happy birthday, Elara.”

And with that, he shuffled away like a grumpy, sleep-deprived guardian cat.

The tension burst like confetti.

Denki cranked the music back up — far too loud.
Mina dragged Elara toward the dance area before she could overthink again.
Sero refilled drinks, announcing, “Hydration AND intoxication — balance!”

Todoroki blinked at the cup in his hand.
“I don’t remember getting this.”
Kirishima cheered, “Bro, that’s the spirit!”

The bass pulsed through the common room, fairy lights flickering like sparks off fireworks.
The party had bounced right back — louder, braver, a little tipsier.

Mina leaped up, raising a cup sky-high.
“THIS NEXT SONG IS FOR OUR BIRTHDAY GODDESS — ELARAAAAA!”

Cheers erupted.
Elara flushed, grinning despite the chaos spinning inside her.

Todoroki stepped onto the little stage beside her — calm, composed… yet the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed how much he wasn’t used to parties like this.

He cleared his throat, voice soft but sure.
“If you’d like… we could sing together.”

Elara blinked. Todoroki Shouto — offering a duet?

Ochaco squealed behind them. “Yes! YES! Power couple vocals!!!”

Bakugou groaned loud enough for the universe to hear.
“Power—who said power couple?!”

But he still marched over to grab a guitar from Denki, who cheered, “KILL IT, KING!” before almost falling over a beanbag.

The music kicked in — slow, sultry, electrifying.

Elara stepped up to the mic, voice smooth velvet:

“Don’t look away…
You’ll miss the way my heart sets fire…”

Todoroki watched her with a gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch — warm left side, chilling right, like he was fighting both sides of himself at once.

He leaned slightly closer — not too bold, but bold for him:

“Every time you breathe,
You pull me closer to that fire…”

The girls swooned.
Sero fist-pumped.
Denki screamed into a pillow.

Bakugou’s eye twitched.

“Are you two trying to flirt us all to death?!” he barked — but his fingers flew across the guitar, playing hotter, harder.

Elara laughed breathlessly, not daring to step back — not wanting to.

Todoroki’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, meant only for her:

“You’re incredible.
You know that, right?”

Elara’s brain malfunctioned.
Her knees threatened mutiny.

Lights shimmered again around her hands — her quirk responding to the heat not from the music… but from him.

Bakugou noticed immediately.

“Control your quirk, Birthday Girl,” he growled as he stepped closer behind her — heat rolling off him in waves of jealousy and adrenaline.
“Can’t have the dorms exploding.”

Elara shivered — too many sensations at once.

Todoroki stepped even closer — lightly brushing her hand as he took the mic stand with her.
His mismatched eyes locked to hers like they were the only two people in the room.

“If I fall…” he sang softly,
“I’ll fall into you.”

The room collectively: OH MY GOD.

Mina clutched Jirou’s arm screaming in silent excitement.
Denki yelled, “KISS ALREADY!”
Ochaco threw a couch pillow at him.

Todoroki didn’t look away — didn’t flinch — his breath warm against Elara’s cheek.

Bakugou stepped into her other side, guitar still slung low, voice low and possessive:

“Try not to forget we’re still on stage.”

The rivalry crackled — intense, electric, full-on tension.

Elara swallowed hard — heart hammering to the beat.
The music dropped into a slow, seductive build.
Her lips brushed the mic again:

“Who says I’m letting either of you go…?”

Chaos.
Screams.
Basically an earthquake powered by teenage hormones.

Bakugou smirked like a challenge had been accepted.
Todoroki’s expression didn’t shift much —
but his eyes darkened with a promise.

Elara didn’t look away from either of them.

Her quirk glittered around their feet — playful, not controlling.

The party surged into full-tilt celebration.
Lights dancing.
Bodies moving.
Laughter pouring into the music.

And Elara — bold, breathtaking, and finally living for herself —
sang her heart into the night…

With two very different fires burning right beside her.

~~~~~

Music thundered through the common room — colorful lights flashing like a tiny concert stage. Glowsticks, fairy lights, and glitter covered everything. Kaminari had somehow turned himself into a human disco-ball, shirt unbuttoned and shining with body glitter.

Elara’s cheeks were flushed from laughing so much — and maybe from the punch Mina had assured her was “super mild, swearrrr.”
(It was not super mild.)

Jirou tapped the mic. “Ahem! Ladies, gents and gender-glitching friends — countdown in 10!”

Mina climbed onto the coffee table like it was a throne.
“THIS IS NOT A DRILL! EVERYONE READY!?”

Class 1-A roared.

Kaminari started yelling random numbers.
“TWELVE! FORTY-NINE! BLUEBERRY!”

Everyone screamed over him.

“THREE!”
“TWO!”
“ONE—!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELARA!!!”

Confetti exploded. Momo’s canon launcher nearly took out the ceiling fan. Kirishima whooped like a sports highlight reel.

Elara’s breath left her.
Her birthday.

The first one she hadn’t planned to pretend didn’t exist.

Mina wrapped her in a crushing hug.
“You are officially the hottest birthday girl in Japan!”

Ochaco pressed cheek-to-cheek with her.
“I’m so glad you’re here with us.”

Tokoyami bowed deeply.
“May fate favor your path.”

Sero translated, “He’s saying he hopes you get everything you want—”

Tokoyami shoved him.
“I said what I meant.”

Laughter bubbled out of Elara — real, bright, alive.

Then—
Her gaze caught onto him.

Bakugou.

Arms crossed. Expression neutral.
But his eyes… molten carnelian locked on her like she was the only light in the room.

He didn’t smile.

But something in him softened, enough that only she could see it.

Todoroki stood just steps away, still and unreadable — yet his gaze held a warmth she’d never noticed until now.

Her heart stuttered.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mina snapped her fingers dramatically.

“We need a song that screams ‘Elara is amazing and two hot guys would kill each other for her’ vibe!”

Bakugou choked. “WHAT—”

Jirou strummed a teasing riff on her guitar.
“Oh that’s easy. I have plenty of inspo.”

Kirishima: “Yeah! Birthday serenade!”

Sero: “Bakugou on drums!!”

Bakugou slammed his sticks onto the snare.
“STOP VOLUNTEERING ME FOR CRAP!”

But he sat down anyway.

He adjusted the kit.
Rolled his shoulders.
Cracked his neck.

…He was trying.

Jirou grinned wickedly and began to sing — eyes flicking straight to Bakugou:

“He pretends he’s made of explosions and steel
But she’s the only thing he ever lets him feel—”

Bakugou MISSED. A. BEAT.

Everyone cheered like they’d won the lottery.

Elara’s face burned.
She hid her smile behind her hands — but Bakugou saw it.
God, he saw it.

And he looked… wrecked.

The song kept going — teasing, flirty, a love letter wrapped in rock ‘n roll.

Todoroki didn’t take his eyes off her.
As if he was memorizing every reaction.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After the big finish, Kirishima handed Elara a sparkling drink.

“Now — birthday wish!” he boomed.

Elara stared at all of them — her found family — and her eyes stung unexpectedly.

“I think… my wish is already coming true.”

Everyone melted.

Except Bakugou — who stared at her like he wanted to drag that sentence somewhere private and finish it.

Mina didn’t give her time to breathe.

“OKAY OKAY NEW TRADITION — BIRTHDAY GIRL’S FIRST DANCE! WITH HER… MYSTERIOUS CRUSH!”

The entire class turned their heads like synchronized owls.

Directly to Bakugou.

His soul left his body.
“WH— NO— I NEVER—”

Elara… stepped forward first.

She lifted her chin, eyes sparkling with dangerous confidence.

“Katsuki. Dance with me?”

The room HOWLED.

Bakugou froze.
His heart was clawing at his chest.

“…Tch. Fine.”

But the moment his hands touched her waist, his whole body betrayed him — leaning into her, protective, almost reverent.

They moved slow.
Matching.
Breathing the same air.

Her fingers trailed up to his shoulder — heat pulsed under her touch.

“Careful,” he muttered.
“I might get the wrong idea.”

She smiled, breath brushing his jaw.
“Maybe I want you to.”

His grip tightened.

The crowd faded.
Lights blurred.
Their foreheads nearly— nearly — touched.

Bakugou whispered, voice raw:

“You look really damn happy.”

“You’re a part of that,” she whispered back.

He blinked — startled — like no one had ever said he made them happy before.

Before he could respond—

“Elara.”

His name on Todoroki’s lips was gentle
… but it cut like ice.

Bakugou’s entire body snapped rigid.

Todoroki stood inches away, expression soft but bold.

“If it’s not too late… may I have the next dance?”

Silence crashed like thunder.

Mina: “OOOOOOH THIS JUST GOT GOOD.”

Sero passed popcorn.

Kirishima whispered, “Bro, your eyes are literally on fire—”

Indeed — sparks flickered from Bakugou’s palms.

Todoroki kept going, voice low enough only they could truly hear:

“You don’t have to choose him every time.”

Bakugou stepped forward — chest to chest — voice dangerous:

“She doesn’t choose you. Ever.”

“That’s not what she told me last night.”

The WORLD. STOPPED.

Elara’s heart flew into her throat.

Bakugou’s pupils shrank — devastation flashing raw before anger swallowed it whole.

Everyone around them gasped. Kaminari even screamed a little.

Bakugou’s voice shook with betrayal he didn’t want to show:

“…The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Todoroki held Elara’s gaze — gentle, aching:

“You told me you felt safe with me.”

Bakugou flinched like he’d been stabbed.

Elara grabbed Bakugou’s wrist immediately — terrified he’d mishear:

“Katsuki— it wasn’t— that’s not—”

His voice broke before he could stop it:

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

Her eyes watered.
She couldn’t breathe.

Crowd: silently screaming inside