Hisoka’s Apartment, 7:14 AM.

Monday, 11th 2149.

Sunday had passed almost without notice; my mind was stuck in a spiral whose resolution was always just around the next corner. I stepped outside of my apartment, solidifying in the stairwell before moving out onto the street.

U.A was once more safe to attend, so far as the staff was concerned—All Might’s public reassurances had done most of the heavy lifting there. Japan had endless faith in the man who had done so much for them, and given the number of people he had actually saved during his career, I could see why his influence was so great.

It would be little consolation to those who Koji and Koda had left behind. I had more than enough experience with that to know that pain would linger, waiting for the right trigger to reveal itself once more.

I couldn’t help but notice the increased police presence at the train station, and when I stepped inside, I found a group of passengers surrounding an incredibly rotund man who I recognised as one of the top pro heroes, Fat Gum. I wasn’t sure his exact ranking, but it was within the top hundred at least.

His presence on the train that most likely held the largest percentage of U.A students was no mystery. One of the many measures they’d put in place to help protect us from a repeat occurrence of what had happened at the USJ.

More security had supposedly been brought to U.A itself, in the form of both hero and non-hero staff to help shore up as many weak points as they could manage and develop an effective counter to any further attacks.

It was a show of force and a deterrent, but It was also more akin to the thinnest of veils than anything approaching a substantive shield. The reality was, the villains who had escaped capture could simple reenter U.A or anywhere else in the city within seconds, and there was nothing anyone could do to mitigate that fact.

Unless the one who’d brought all those villains into the USJ came forward with a detailed explanation as to how his quirk functioned, there could be no targeted defence put in place to halt it. A widespread attempt to block teleportation quirks generally would either fail on that scale or deprive a portion of the student body of the chance to learn to use their own quirks properly.

If they couldn’t prevent the villain’s teleportation quirk, and a general patchwork would be too intrusive, then it was likely that the safety precautions put in place would instead revolve around rapid response and increased manpower.

I opened my eyes as the train arrived, ready to pick us up; I followed the other passengers as they stepped inside the carriage. There would likely be some kind of discussion or training exercise organised for the students.

If a second attack occurred, then having a standard operating procedure known in advance would help alleviate some of the fear and confusion that had been present. Knowing whether we should attempt evasion, prioritise defensive maneuvers, or switch to an outright offence if the situation called for it. To know that if our lives were genuinely threatened, we should act without restraint or instead follow the rules to our demise.

Hanta, Fumikage, Ochako, Mashirao and I, had been lucky enough to have had the guidance of Thirteen, and the hero had been swift to provide concise instructions on how to act. None of the others in our class had that opportunity; they had been dumped into a hostile location where villains were actively attempting to kill them.

They’d been taught all their lives to avoid using quirk’s against others without a license and had likely never been in a situation this grave before. They’d had no pro-hero to guide them, no teacher to instruct them on how to act, and no prepared strategy to deal with that situation.

Two students had died because of it, and I would forever be surprised that it hadn’t been worse than that—A familiar voice said my name as I stepped off of the carriage onto the platform.

“Eijiro,” I said, stepping outside of the general flow and waiting for him. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Eijiro said, stepping out of the flow of people with a bright smile. “Glad you ended up coming back, man—I hope the others are here too; I haven’t really spoken to anyone since Saturday.”

I nodded.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone either,” I admitted, “Did you see the hero on the train? I believe it’s part of the increased security.”

“Yeah!” Eijiro said, turning to look back at the carriage as if he might be able to see the man from their position outside. “Fat Gum, right? I’ve seen some videos of him before—he’d supposed to be really strong.”

“I’ve heard as much,” I agreed.

“Man, you look super tired,” Eijiro said when he finally gave up and turned back around. “You’ve got bags under your eyes and everything.”

“I usually have some difficulty sleeping,” I said, “But after everything that’s happened recently, it’s been somewhat worse.”

I’d worded it carefully so that he would associate it with the USJ incident, but it was probably unneeded because he would most likely have drawn that conclusion on his own.

“I hear you. I had the worst nightmare Friday night; it took me forever to get to sleep.” Eijiro sighed before jabbing me lightly on the arm. “We’ll get through it, man; we just gotta keep on moving forward, yeah?”

I found his attempt at reassurance surprisingly endearing. Eijiro, with his good nature and real empathy, was much better suited to comforting others than I ever would be, and it would likely serve him well in the future when dealing with people on their darkest days.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling just a fraction lighter. “The only way is forward.”

Koji Koda’s empty seat, which lay directly in front of my own, continued to draw my gaze, some kind of vision-based magnetism forcing me to stare at where his back should have been.

“Can you move back?” Jiro sighed. “You’re sitting on my desk.”

Eijiro slipped off her desk quickly, sidestepping into the gap between the front of Midoriya’s desk and the back of Katsuki’s chair. Katsuki grunted in annoyance when his chair was jarred during the movement.

“Don’t hit my chair, idiot,” Katsuki demanded before crossing his arms. “You’re wrong as well. Have you even seen what the top ten are capable of?”

“Sorry, Kyoka,” Eijiro said sheepishly before stepping back around into Katsuki’s line of sight. “I’ve seen most of them. I’m just saying, Crimson Riot should be up there—he’s an absolute beast, right Midoriya?”

Izuku went from a slumped posture of someone who was trying to hide to a straight-backed tense in less than a second as Katsuki twisted around on his chair to glare at him.

“He has an incredibly high amount of successful captures and even more rescues—an phenomenal amount for his rank,” Izuku said, panicked, “But I’m not sure his combat potential is at the same level as some of the other top ten!”

“Don’t agree with me, you shitty nerd!” Katsuki said outraged.

“Of course!” Izuku cried, looking alarmed.

“Aww, come on!” Eijiro complained, “Did you see his battle last week? He fought that Meatsmasher guy—totally beat him up.”

“That guy was a damn extra,” Katsuki denied, crossing his arms. “Pick any of the top ten, and put them against Crimson Riot, and they’d wreck his shit—tell him Deku.”

Deku looked entirely trapped, unsure whether he should agree with him because he demanded it or deny him because of his prior request.

“It depends on how the fight is structured and how much information either of the sides has on each other; I think the closest match within the top ten would be Crust because their quirks share a similar purpose—to protect from damage. Crimson Riot has shown to be able to use advanced tactics to take down superior physical villains before, and if he knew that he would be fighting someone like Crust, he would most likely develop a strategy in advance that takes into account his strengths and weaknesses,” Izuku said, hands clenched in his hair. “Crust, however, has shown a wide array of techniques using his shields, either as close-range defence, or even long-range offence—we know that because of how sharp he can make the edges, and with how hard he can throw them, that Crimson Riot would most likely be on the defensive if he couldn’t close the distance within the first few moments of the fight. Unlike Crust, Crimson Riot doesn’t have any natural range options that he can take advantage of here, so he would be forced to either bring in additional equipment prior to the event or to focus on staying close enough that range wouldn’t be an option in the first place—”

“Shut up already!” Katsuki raged, “Keep it to one sentence or less!”

Izuku covered his head with his arms, seeking to hide from his tormentor before all of them were distracted by Tenya entering the room.

“Alright!” Tenya said passionately, projecting his voice. “It’s our first day back, and it’s time for our homeroom period; please find your seats!”

“We are in our seats?” Hanta said, amused. “Aren’t you the only one who’s still standing?”

“False!” Tenya said, “Kirishima is still standing!”

Eijiro slinked back to his chair to avoid getting further caught up in Tenya’s goodnatured tyranny. I lifted my own gaze from the desk in front of me and towards the door, where Shota was currently standing outside.

The man seemed to be waiting there for something, but whatever it was, I couldn’t discern, and after a moment, he slid the door open, revealing his presence to the rest of the class. Shota’s head was entirely covered in bandages, barely a sliver remained level with his eyes, where he was presumedly looking out of, but it was too shadowed to discern. The energy level’s of the room dropped in an instant, the bandages a reminder of everything that had happened only days before.

“Teacher?” Mina said hesitantly. “Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?”

Shota grunted at the comment, ambling towards the front of the class and dismissing Tenya with a laconic wave of his hand.

“I’m well enough for this,” Shota mumbled, voice barely audible. “Don’t be concerned for my health; it’s none of your business.”

Mina slumped back in her chair, looking sullen at the chastisement, and Shota finally made it to his desk, where he sat on the edge, facing them. He remained quiet for almost a minute, in which the room grew increasingly concerned.

“Koji Koda and Rikido Sato won’t be returning to class, for obvious reasons,” Shota said quietly, “Discussions with the family has revealed that private funerals will be taking place for both of them, and no invitations have been sent out to those outside of their immediate families to my knowledge.”

I closed my eyes, unwilling to look through Koda’s empty chair to watch Aizawa. I didn’t need to look to feel the change in the air at the words; the little spark of cheer that had been trying to grow had been squashed beneath the weight of the words.

“If you would like to offer your condolences to the affected families, I suggest writing a letter, and I will personally deliver them,” Shota continued before adjusting his arm slightly. “I want all of you to know that the teachers, staff and security personnel of U.A failed you all—I failed you all.”

I couldn’t help but remember the way he’d thrown himself against an army of villains to give us time to escape, and that sacrifice alone outweighed any failure to predict a surprise invasion.

“Teacher…” Ochako said quietly but trailed off when Shota shook his head.

“The media was right in that regard, we failed to keep you safe, and two of your classmates are now no longer here because of it,” Shota said, bandaged hand twisting oddly by his side. “So long as you choose to continue your education here, I cannot guarantee something like this won’t happen again because the truth is, the villain responsible for transportation has entirely eluded capture.”

“That purple mist bastard,” Katsuki grunted. “He could bring more villains in at any time.”

“Yes,” Shota said simply, “A rare quirk and an exceptionally problematic one; so, I’m going to give you a suggestion, right now—quit.”

The classroom broke out in mutters at the words, surprised and confused.

“Teacher?” Izuku said fist’s visibly clenched on his desk.

“U.A can not guarantee that another attack won’t occur, and we cannot guarantee that each of you will survive a second assault,” Shota said, “You have a choice ahead of you, one that you should not make lightly—stay at U.A, or leave now.”

“Quit, U.A?” Denki said hesitantly. “You’re joking?”

“I’m not joking—listen to me now; U.A has become a target for a violent group of villains, who have no qualms about killing children,” Shota said, raising his voice. “They could attack at any time, and we can not predict if this is a singular attack or the start of an all-out war.”

I wondered if he’d been told to offer us an out like this or if it had come from his own sense of guilt.

“There’s no way I’m going to leave U.A,” Izuku said, voice strained.

“Midoriya—” Shota said, voice empty.

“The shitty nerd is right,” Katsuki said, slamming his fist against the desk. “I worked myself to the bone for hours every damn day to get here. I didn’t come here for fun; I came here because I’m going to be number one—no matter the cost.”

Shota sat back against the desk again, realising he’d lost control of the situation.

“I’m in complete agreement, Teacher,” Tenya said cooly. “I came here because I want to protect people from villains like these; I couldn’t live with myself if I turned my back after what they’ve done.”

“I won’t quit,” Shoto said, standing up.

“Me either!” Eijiro said, clenching his fist and holding it up. “Sato and Koda wouldn’t have quit if it had been the other way around, and I’m not going to let the villains win after what they did to our friends.”

Slowly, one by one, each and every surviving member of Class 1-A stood up, finding their own reasons to push forward. I stood up with them—I may not have known Koji or Rikido, but I’d played a part in their fate, however small it had been. The villains that had attacked us had forced that weight on my soul, and I’d have to live with my choice to leave them behind for the rest of my life.

It was easier than ever to regulate the ones responsible for their deaths into the same category as those who had taken my own friend away. They’d turned their backs on society and the rules by which we all followed.

Hayami hadn’t been one for rules in the same way that Sajin was, but she did have a few that I was supposed to adhere to. In particular, there was one that she’d told me when I was very young. The golden rule; treat others the way you would like to be treated—but there was another way to apply it, in the inverse.

If you trampled on others, if you killed them without remorse, and if their lives meant nothing to you, then you must contend with the fact that your own life meant nothing in return. The villains who had attacked the USJ had shown a complete disregard for the lives of other people, and I’d have no problem doing the same to them in turn.

“Fine,” Shota said, under the force of a united 1-A. “I get it—shut up and sit down.”

Shota struggled back up off the desk and then rounded it in his shaking amble, snagging a marker off the tray and lifting it up with his less bandaged hand. He scrawled out a message in large messy letters ‘U.A. Sports Festival.’

“The U.A Sports Festival Is approaching,” Shota said flatly, “I’m sure you’ve all seen it before.”

“We’re going to be on the other side,” Tsuyu said, surprised. “Rather than watching from the stands.”

“Precisely.” Shota said, “You’ll all be participating and showcasing yourselves to Japan, and outside of it; that means Heroes, Hero Agencies, Law Enforcement, Support Agencies—this is your first opportunity to draw on the public eye; to help bolster your future prospects.”

“Teacher,” Mezo said, “Given what has just occurred, is this not a prime opportunity for the villains to stage a second attack?”

“It’s a possibility,” Shota said immediately, “But there are a few reasons why this might not be the case; from what we’ve gathered about the recent attack, their goal was to kill All Might.”

There were exclamations and mutters at that, but Shota just continued over the top of them, entirely unphased.

“The Sports Festival is a nationwide event, and one that draws from every hero school in the region,” Shota continued, “The security for such an event is already exceedingly high, and the police presence is phenomenal—Furthermore if an attack were to occur during the Festival, the villains would be surrounded by tens of thousands of heroes, quirk users, law enforcement and more.”

“A fast, targeted attack could be unleashed to cause destruction on a large scale,” Shoto said quietly, hands linked on his desk. “But if their target is All Might, then such an attack on a public venue makes little sense, and the risk to them far outweighs the likelihood that they’d succeed.”

“Correct,” Shota said, “Additionally, we managed to capture one-hundred and fourteen of the villains from the previous attack, along with the one they had brought with them as a counter to All Might—they would be hard-pressed to regain any significant portion of their numbers in such little time.”

“No heavy hitter, significantly fewer numbers, and magnitudes more opposition to contend with,” Fumikage said calmly, “It would be a foolish time for them to attack.”

“It’s a possibility to keep in mind, but your focus right now should be in preparing yourselves for the Festival,” Shota said, tapping the marker against the board. “Tell me, what do you know of the events themselves? Jiro.”

“Um,” Kyoka said, put on the spot. “I know they’ve had a few different obstacle courses—last year, they had that room with the holes in the walls that shot out the sticky balls as well.”

“Evasion Room. Obstacle Course.” Shota spoke, writing each of them down. “Aoyama?”

“Team Battles,” Yuga said. “One on one, and three on three.”

Shota spoke them each aloud, adding them to the list on the board.

“Hagakure?” Shota said.

There was a pause that was long enough that I cracked open my eyes to see if she was actually still in her seat and when she spoke, I found myself looking back at Koji’s chair once more.

“Two years ago, they did a baton pass race, eight people per team,” Toru said, voice quiet. “They also did King of the Hill the year before that, with seven teams of four.”

When Shota had told us all to leave U.A, everyone had stood up in the face of that advice, but two people in the room hadn’t spoken a word. I had been one of them, and the other had been Toru Hagakure. The cheerful energy she’d brought to the classroom prior to the events of the USJ was no longer present.

When I’d carried her across the Desert Zone, she hadn’t been aware enough to realise the magnitude of what had happened, but now she no longer had a concussion to shield her from the knowledge of just how close to death she had come. I wanted to speak with her, although I couldn’t understand why, and if I did, I wasn’t sure exactly what I would say—but the desire persisted regardless.

“Baton Pass. King of the Hill.” Shota murmured, writing them down. “Yaoroyozu?”

“Almost every year has a One vs One, Elimination Tournament as the final event,” Momo said, nodding, “I think there were two times where that wasn’t the case in the last decade—One of those times was Free For All Elimination Round, and the other was a Maze with teams of three and a point system.”

“Good memory,” Shota said simply. “Maze. One vs One Elimination Tournament. Free For All Elimination Tournament.”

Once he’d finished writing each of them out, he turned to watch them.

“Every single one of the Sports Festivals has been recorded in full and broadcasted across Japan,” Shota said, “All of that footage is available online and is easy to find—that’s your homework from me for this week, I want you to watch as much footage as you can, and do a critical analysis of each event, figure out how you would attempt each of the obstacles presented.”

Izuku was already rapidly moving his pencil across his book and muttering beneath his breath as he listed down everything the teacher was saying.

“Homeroom for the next week will consist of breaking down the last decade of Festivals, and I expect you all to know at least enough about each one to recall the events and the stand out strategies that each of the winners used in each event,” Shota said, point the marker at them. “Pay attention to the creative uses of quirks; try and uncover that sense of creativity in yourselves because you’re going to need it very soon.”

“When you all first enrolled here, you were asked to sign a waiver,” Midnight said from upon her desk, one leg crossed over the other. “I’m sure you remember it; it was the first indication that the career you had so enthusiastically chosen for yourself would not always be so sweet.”

I took note of how the collar flared up around her neck and the pattern of red buttons that ran the length of it before it dipped downwards, lining the black seam of her white bodysuit. Red sand against black would be easier enough to do, but the white section held a splash of cream in it and finding that exactly mixture may well be difficult.

“This is the second indication that not all is well within the world of heroes, and it hasn’t been for a very long time,” Midnight said, closing her eyes for a moment. “This is not the first time a student has been killed while enrolled within the U.A curriculum; it is, however, the first time it has occurred on campus.”

The barely off-white actually held a sliver of a gradient that transitioned almost seamlessly to her bare hands, and it was done so well that even after studying it for an entire minute, I couldn’t quite detect the line.

“Heroes aren’t just theatrics, and they aren’t just showmanship—we deal with incredibly real threats almost every day; violence, death, and things that may well exceed both,” Midnight lifted a hand, using her thumb and pinky finger to reseat her red angular glasses back into place and covering her eyes in the process. “This won’t be the last time you experience such things, and though I wish it wasn’t the case, I want to make sure each of you understands exactly what you’ve sighed up for.”

Midnight leaned forward, toes touching the ground and supporting her weight. The belt she wore was less of a functional choice than a stylistic one—a burnt crimson, creamy gold and made from some kind of thick leather, it hung on her hips without seemingly being secured in any way.

“A hero is a shield between the innocent and the evils of the world; we train, study and prepare ourselves as a sacrifice to those who look upon us with hope and expectation,” Midnight said, before smiling somewhat ironically. “Our lives are not our own; we exist as a force to protect those who cannot do so themselves, and if our bodies or our lives are the cost—well, I suppose that’s why it pays as well as it does.”

There were some titters amongst the class at the joke, but the tension hadn’t really gone away.

“I’m sure Aizawa told you most of this already, but I like to have my bases covered,” Midnight said easily, “Now, a little birdy, whose name is definitely not Ashido told me about a few of you going on a trip to Tokyo this weekend and an interesting discussion involving some of my merchandise.”

“Teacher,” Mina flushed, pink skin darkening. “You said you wouldn’t say anything!”

“That’s my line!” Eijiro said, alarmed, “Why’d you tell her about that!?”

Tsuyu croaked in agreement.

“Merchandising isn’t usually covered until later on,” Midnight said, smirk clear as day. “But having a good knowledge of this early on will help alleviate some of the financial issues we heroes are sometimes prone to suffering from.”

“Teacher,” Eijiro said, stumbling over his words. “Didn’t—I thought you said it pays well?”

I appreciated the fact that he was trying to divert the attention away from the incident that had occurred with the Midnight figurine, but I was also highly interested in this facet of the job. Having more resources at your disposal was always preferable to having less than you needed, and I was still not sure just what I might need for my own goals to become a reality.

“Hero works does pay well—if you are a popular hero, if you work for a popular agency, or if your quirk has some kind of ability to work as a profitable side hustle,” Midnight said smugly, folding her arms again. “I was in the second category before I took on the job to teach here at U.A., but I’ve also been blessed enough to have also been in the first—I am quite popular, you know.”

“What about the third category?” Hanta said, smiling a little too wide. “I don’t think many of us fit into that one—Bakugo would have trouble selling explosions, I’m sure, but then again, he seems to like giving them away for free.”

“Huh!?” Katsuki cried in outrage, “What’d you just say, you soy-sauce faced bastard?”

“Settle down,” Midnight snorted, and I could almost hear Katsuki’s teeth grinding together from the back of the class. “The explosions themselves would be a hard sell, sure, but the nitroglycerin he produces would probably be a decent source of income if you found yourself strapped for cash.”

“I believe that is a substance that is regulated quite heavily,” Momo said hesitantly.

“I’m sure it is, but governmental, science, or even military contracts do exist for these types of grey areas,” Midnight said smiling, “My own quirk produces a potent chemical that is quite sought after, and while it also falls under those same laws I’ve been approached on numerous occasions by those with the appropriate licenses—Yaoroyozu, I imagine you contacted immediately upon having your quirk added to the register for that exact reason.”

“Well, yes, I was,” Momo admitted, turning her head away at the sudden attention from the rest of the class. “I currently receive bi-annual visits to ensure I’m not making anything from the banned substances list, and there are quite a few that I have been thoroughly briefed on to never make under any circumstances.”

“There is currently a list of 78 banned materials,” Midnight nodded, “Some of which aren’t even dangerous in the same way as you may be thinking—there are quite a few materials that, if produced in large enough quantities, would destabilise large swathes of the planets economy.”

“Gold,” I said, thinking back to when I’d gone over the list years ago. “Tetrodotoxin. Chlorine trifluoride. Plutonium. Sulfur mustard.”

Momo nodded along with each one, clearly familiar.

“Sulfur Mustard?” Tsuyu said.

“Mustard gas,” Izuku said, pencil tapping against his book. “It’s not actually a gas at all; it’s a liquid in a mist-like form.”

“Indeed,” Midnight said, nodding seriously. “So, that was a good evasion, Kirishima, but let’s return to the subject at hand; Merchandise—let’s start with figurines!”