The sun rose—not just over the mountains or the skyline of a shattered Tokyo,but over a broken world finding its first breath of peace.
A sun not of heat or flame, but of hope.
Its light poured through the clouds, kissing the twisted steel, the fractured glass, and the wounded earth of U.A. High School. The rays stretched like warm arms across battered buildings, casting long shadows that no longer whispered dread but endurance.
Three days had passed since the final blow was struck—Since Radahn, erased the terror of All For One from the fabric of reality.
Now, the world stood bruised but unbroken.And U.A., its beating heart, began to pulse anew.
Cranes rumbled. Sparks flew from welding torches. Concrete was being poured in thick Gray rivers. Beams the size of trees groaned as they were lifted into position.
Reinforced with support tech from Hatsume and the support department, it promised to become a monument of resistance and rebirth.
In the central courtyard, an old tree stood untouched. Scorched, but upright. Its roots cracked the pavement. Around it, new flowers were being planted.
Students milled about, some still in bandages, others in protective gear helping with the repairs.
Jirou leaned against a temporary pillar, sweat glistening on her brow as she drank from a water bottle."This... this place is still standing," she whispered.
"Damn right it is."
Beside her, Kaminari lifted a stack of metal rods with his quirk-enhanced gauntlets.He winced.
"My muscles still feel like they're made of jelly."
Mineta, now surprisingly quiet, stared up at the half-finished dormitory wing."…We almost died."
His voice was hollow, but there was awe in it too.
Jirou elbowed him lightly. "But we didn't."
Further ahead, Kendo directed a group of students from Class 1-B, helping lay reinforced foundation tiles.
"Careful with that edge, Yosetsu! That stabilizer tech isn't light!"She turned to Kaminari. "1-A or not, you guys better not slack off."
Crimson Riot, now with a freshly wrapped arm, sat on a crate, giving water to a dehydrated rescue dog.
"Heroes come in all sizes, little guy. Even four-legged ones."The dog barked, tail wagging.
Tokoyami stood atop a scaffold, silent, watching the horizon. His cloak fluttered in the wind.Dark Shadow peeked out.
"It's quieter now…"
"Yes-" Tokoyami replied, voice deep with reflection.
The rain had come softly.Not the kind that shattered rooftops or clawed at windows—but the kind that whispered.It painted the glass in silver threads and left behind the scent of fresh earth and old memories.
Midoriya sat in his room at his mother's apartment, bundled in a hoodie, a steaming mug of tea between his palms.His bandages were fewer now. The machines were gone. The war was over.And for the first time in years, his heart wasn't racing.
He stared out the window, watching a pair of birds pick at crumbs on the balcony rail.
"We Won-"
He spoke it aloud, the words tasting foreign on his tongue—yet warm.
His mother, Inko, hummed gently in the kitchen, preparing breakfast like she used to. Occasionally she'd peek in, eyes teary but smiling, unable to stop looking at her son—alive, whole, home.
The television played softly behind him. News anchors praised the recovery efforts, the people's resilience, and honoured the unnamed "golden figure" who had appeared only once before vanishing like a ghost of myth.
Midoriya didn't need to guess. He knew who they meant.Enrai.
He closed his eyes.
----------------------------------
The evening sun filtered through the glass panels of U.A.'s rebuilt main office, golden light spilling over the floor like a promise. The air was warm, but still—still in the way that followed a storm.
All Might sat in his chair across from Principal Nezu, a cup of tea cooling in his hand. His eyes were calmer now, less weighed by desperation and pain. Yet, there was a quiet edge in his voice that Nezu didn't miss.
"You should've told me sooner."
Nezu's ear twitched.
"That Enrai… was Radahn."
There was no accusation, no anger—but a deep, heartfelt weight.
All Might leaned forward slightly, one elbow resting on the desk.
"He healed me. He healed Torino. He… restored life which was at the brink of death. And yet—he never once claimed credit."
Nezu placed his tiny paws together. His face was thoughtful, regretful even.
"I didn't know for certain… not at first. When I first met Enrai, he was a man consumed with silence. He hid his presence like a wounded beast hides from the world. I only knew what he allowed me to glimpse."
All Might's jaw clenched.
"Still… someone like him, hiding right under our noses."
Nezu nodded.
"Not hiding. Waiting."
A beat of silence passed.
The former Symbol of Peace leaned back, staring at the soft shadows stretching across the office floor.
"Do you know where he is now?"
Nezu hesitated.
"No."
All Might raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"He vanished. I don't know where he went. But he left something-he said 'Plant it somewhere safe' "
All Might's expression sharpened.
"Oh And-"
"Those people—Watanabe and his dogs—they won't stop until they find him. They've labelled him a world-level threat."
Nezu closed his eyes.
"And yet… the Younglings call him sensei. Enrai. The silent protector who never asked for anything."
All Might stood, walking toward the window.
"He obliterated a monster we all couldn't stop. He saved my life. And then… he vanished like a shadow cast by the rising sun."
He looked down at the training field far below, where students had begun sparring again. Normalcy was returning.
"But the world's not done with him yet."
Nezu's voice was low, but firm.
"You're right. And when the world comes knocking again, I only hope they remember who stood for it when everything fell."
All Might turned, his eyes filled with both hope and worry.
"If he returns… I'll be ready."
"To fight him?" Nezu asked softly.
All Might smiled. Shook his head.
"No… to stand with him again."
---------------------------------------
Beyond the city, standing like a fortress etched from ash and light, stood a prison of chrome walls and digital locks—Phoenix Cage.
Its purpose: not to break villains, but to rebuild the lost.
Inside, a long corridor hummed with energy.
Endeavor walked with slow, burdened steps. His body still wrapped in recovery mesh, arms stiff, face tired.
He entered the visitation cell.
Dabi sat behind the transparent security wall. Shackled. Still.
Eyes aflame with a storm of unresolved grief.
"Toya…"
His son didn't reply.
"I've said so much before. But what's left now… I'll say plainly."
He looked him in the eyes.
"Come home."
Toya's laughter was bitter. Broken.
"Home? After all these years?"
"It was never a home. You turned it into a forge. And I was the first blade you tried to meld."
Endeavor didn't flinch.
"I know. And I don't expect forgiveness. But I spoke to the board. You haven't committed any mortal crimes. No deaths by your hand. Just arson, destruction…"
He placed a paper through the drop slot.
"There's a doctor here who wants to help you. Not study you. Help you."
Toya narrowed his eyes.
"We'll begin medical and psychological evaluation tomorrow. After a week… you might be discharged."
He stood to leave. And then, with quiet, burned sincerity:
"I'm sorry."
------------------------------
A breeze swept through the streets of Musutafu, whispering tales of war and victory alike.
In the heart of the city, people gathered—not out of fear or flight—but to help.
"Makoto, hand me that hammer!""Coming, grandma!" a teen boy replied as he jogged across a pile of debris, a wooden plank in one hand and a half-built fence in the other.
An elderly woman, Fujiko Sato, chuckled as she set down a bag of nails beside him. "I never thought I'd see peace again. But look at us—rebuilding with our own hands."
At a nearby tent, two siblings, Nana and Ryusei Hirota, handed out rice balls to construction workers and volunteers. Their mother had been rescued from the edge of a crumbled bridge by an unknown hero. They didn't know who. But that didn't matter.
"They saved my mom," Nana said with teary eyes. "I'll never forget that."
On a massive monitor overlooking the plaza, the familiar jingle of NHN (Nippon Hero Network) played. The screen flickered to life, revealing the always composed but now visibly emotional anchor, Reika Morimoto.
"Good morning, Japan. This is Reika Morimoto reporting from NHN headquarters. It has been three days since our victory over the unprecedented threat that brought our nation to its knees…"
The broadcast cut to aerial shots of decimated districts, then to images of heroes escorting civilians, bandaged but standing tall. There were pictures of Fat Gum carrying children through smoke, of Edgeshot shielding civilians with his cloth form, of the final moment All Might raised his fist toward the camera in farewell.
"Though many lives were tragically lost—including beloved Pro Hero Kamui Woods, who perished in battle against the villain known as Nine—thousands more were saved thanks to the efforts of our heroes. Heroes… and citizens alike."
The camera panned to public footage of civilians forming human chains to pull each other from rubble. Firefighters, off-duty police, and even retired heroes had returned to the field.
A second anchor, Takeshi Hanada, added solemnly:
"The nation mourns. Our infrastructure has suffered damage amounting to over 1.8 trillion yen. Entire districts are still without power or water. But the spirit of Japan—of humanity—has never been stronger."
Footage showed lanterns lit in memory of the fallen. Names scrolled on the screen:Hoshino Blaze. Iron Draft. Cryo Lynx. Sanguine. Kamui Woods. Pink Panther. SpooderManEach a name. Each a legacy.
"These Pro Heroes gave their lives… not for glory, but for us. Let us never forget them."
Across the country, televisions played these reels on repeat. People in Sendai cried together in shelters. Children in Kyoto saluted the screens in silence. A street artist in Osaka spray-painted a mural of a giant hand catching a falling city.
Back in Musutafu, a civilian named Kenta Hoshikawa looked toward U.A., which was slowly being rebuilt—its spires rising again like phoenix wings.
"We didn't just survive," he said to the reporter interviewing him.
"We rose. And we'll rise again."
The city was wounded—but alive.
-----------A Day Later--------------
A sky cloaked in soft Gray. Clouds hung low, not in mourning, but in reverence.
Today was a day for remembrance.
The gardens near U.A.'s newly-rebuilt memorial grounds were lined with white Sakura trees, their petals drifting gently over rows of obelisks etched with names—heroes, civilians, students—every soul lost in the Final War.
Massive screens projected their faces, their hero names, and their final known acts. Beneath each stood flickering candles, flowers, and personal mementos—helmets, scarves, photos, favourite books.
The national anthem played softly in the background, accompanied by a lone violin.
In the center, a grand stage overlooked the sea of mourners—heroes, families, civilians, and students in their school uniforms. The air was solemn but dignified.
A podium stood at the front. Nezu, clad in a formal black jacket, stepped up first.
"We gather here not just to grieve, but to honor. For those who gave their lives did so not in despair—but in defiance. Defiance against evil. Defiance against hopelessness."
Behind him, the screen displayed:
Kamui Woods, vines coiled protectively around civilians.
Iron Draft, shielding rescue workers.
Cryo Lynx, frozen mid-battle against a Nomu horde.
Hoshino Blaze, extinguished but never forgotten.
Sanguine, her final smile beaming through a cracked visor.
As Nezu stepped down, a young girl, the daughter of Kamui Woods, stepped forward with trembling hands. She held her father's broken mask and addressed the crowd.
"My dad always said being a hero means smiling even when it hurts. So… I'm gonna smile now. Because I know he's still watching."
Her words shattered the silence. Soft sobs rippled through the audience.
Then, the Pro Heroes began to speak.
Endeavor, bandaged but proud, stepped forward.
"We failed to protect everyone. But we protected something. The dream. The future. We carry their will now."
Mirko, one leg in a brace, thumped her fist on the podium.
"They were heroes. The real kind. The kind who don't hesitate. Let their courage be our fuel."
Aizawa stood silently. When he spoke, his voice was cracked but steady.
"Some of them were my students once. Some of them were my colleagues. I won't forget them. None of us will."
Then came All Might. The crowd held their breath as he walked slowly to the podium, supported slightly by a cane.
"This may be the last time I address all of you like this. Not as the Symbol of Peace—but as a fellow citizen of this country, mourning those who gave their all."
"They were light in the darkness. And though the darkness nearly consumed us… they won."
He raised a hand toward the memorials.
"We're still here. Because of them."
The audience erupted into applause and tears.
Petals from white Sakura trees floated down like soft snow. Beneath their branches stood the memorial garden—newly rebuilt, pristine, and sacred. A sanctuary carved from pain, turned into something beautiful. Rows of black obelisks shimmered with engraved names. Candles flickered. A quiet wind stirred.
No uniforms today.
The students of U.A. stood together in silence, each clad in ceremonial black.Tailored coats, modest dresses, black gloves, and formal shoes. No colours. No symbols. Only mourning, and the weight of loss.
Each face was mature—too mature for their age.
They stood together, in groups of two or three, away from the podium where the pro heroes and family members gave speeches.
Izuku Midoriya stood beside Ochaco Uraraka and Tenya Iida, hands clenched.
Midoriya, eyes swollen:
"I still hear their voices… during the battle. They didn't hesitate. They just… ran toward danger."
Ochaco, placing a hand on his shoulder:
"They were heroes. They lived how we all want to live… brave, selfless."
Iida, adjusting his black tie stiffly:
"We owe them everything. Their sacrifice carved a future… and we are its guardians now."
Katsuki Bakugo, arms crossed, still wrapped in bandages, leaned quietly on a tree nearby.
Eijiro Kirishima and Denki Kaminari stood beside him.
Kirishima, voice thick:
"Fat Gum would've been proud, man. Of all of us."
Bakugo, with a scoff but red eyes:
"Don't say that like he's gone. He's still breathing."
Kaminari, sniffling:
"Yeah but… Shindo didn't make it. He was always trying to outshine me."He forced a chuckle.
"He actually did it in the end."
Bakugo, after a pause:
"…Tch. Idiot went out like a real hero."
Shoto Todoroki stood away from the crowd, looking toward the screen showing his father's fellow comrades. Momo Yaoyorozu quietly approached him.
Yaoyorozu:
"Thinking about him?"
Todoroki, calm but pained:
"Thinking about all of them. I never realized how heavy silence could feel."
Yaoyorozu:
"Let's carry their weight. Together."
Kyoka Jiro had her arms looped with Tsuyu Asui's and Mina Ashido's, all three standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
Jiro, tears in her eyes:
"We always thought we had time, y'know? For training. For dumb songs. For normal stuff."
Tsuyu, quietly:
"I wanted to save everyone. But I couldn't. Not all of them…"
Ashido, voice breaking:
"They didn't die in vain, right? Please tell me this isn't pointless…"
Jiro:
"It's not. They gave us the chance to live. So we live for them."
Fumikage Tokoyami and Mezo Shoji stood in shadows near the edge of the field.
Tokoyami:
"Darkness has fallen before. But this time… it tried to swallow the world."
Shoji:
"But we pulled it back. Not unscathed… but stronger."
Tokoyami, quietly:
"The sun rose today. That alone is proof we won."
Hanta Sero, Mashirao Ojiro, and Rikido Sato watched from the side.
Sero:
"So many faces on that wall… I knew at least five of them."
Ojiro, softly:
"And every one of them was braver than I'll ever be."
Sato, clenching his fists:
"We train, we fight… but no one tells you how much it hurts after."
Toru Hagakure, though invisible, held onto Koji Koda's arm.
Hagakure:
"I keep smiling. But today… I just can't."
Koda, silently nodding, gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
Minoru Mineta, surprisingly somber, stood alone until Aoyama approached.
Mineta, mumbling:
"Even perverts can cry, huh?"
Yuga Aoyama, placing a hand on his shoulder:
"Even traitors can shine again. We all bleed the same."
The teachers and staff watched from the edge—Present Mic, Power Loader, Snipe, Ectoplasm, Cementoss, and more. Even Eri was there, holding Aizawa's hand, a sunflower tucked into her braid.
As All Might finished his speech, Izuku looked up at the sky, whispering to himself:
"I hope… wherever you are… you're at peace now."
Mirio Togata stood with his usual smile gone, replaced by a quiet, respectful solemnity. His golden hair was neatly combed, his suit modest but perfectly pressed. He gazed out at the rows of memorial stones, fists gently clenched. "They all gave everything… just like heroes should. And I'll carry that forward," he murmured. He gave a small nod toward the crowd—strong, unwavering, but the glint of tears never left his eyes.
Tamaki Amajiki kept to the side, partially hidden by the crowd, hands buried deep in his pockets. His hair fell slightly messier than usual, eyes low, avoiding attention. "They were so brave… braver than I'll ever be," he muttered, barely audible. Even as Nejire gently touched his shoulder for comfort, Tamaki only curled further inward.
"I… I wish I'd done more-" he whispered, voice trembling like a fragile shell in the storm of grief.
Nejire Hado stood in the center of her friends, her usual bubbly energy subdued beneath her long black dress. Her blue hair flowed down her shoulders, undulating like ocean waves in mourning. She held a bundle of white lilies close to her chest.
"So many faces… so many smiles we'll never see again-" she said, her voice softer than usual, tinged with sadness. But she forced a hopeful smile.
"They'd want us to keep going… to protect the light they left behind."
--------------------------------
The first rays of the morning sun barely pierced through the grime-streaked windows of Watanabe's small, cluttered apartment. The stale air hung heavy with the scent of burnt coffee and cold ash, remnants of sleepless nights spent agonizing over the impossible.
The man's once sharp and commanding presence was now a shadow of itself — his frame thinner, his shoulders hunched with exhaustion and stress. His face, usually taut with stubborn determination, was now marred by deep lines, dark circles, and sunken eyes that betrayed endless nights without rest.
Watanabe sat slumped at his battered desk, surrounded by a chaotic mess of scattered files, hastily scribbled notes, and flickering computer screens filled with maps and surveillance photos.
The constant hum of the city outside seemed distant, drowned beneath the storm raging inside his mind.
He rubbed his temples, wincing against the persistent throbbing headache that had settled like a vice around his skull. His fingers trembled as he reached for a cold cup of coffee, drained half of it without even tasting it, then set it down with a dull clatter.
Four days had passed since his last confrontation at U.A., and the fatigue was crushing.
His hair, once thick and dark, was now thinning rapidly; strands fell out by the handful, and patches of scalp glistened under the harsh fluorescent light. He barely recognized himself anymore. The mirror in the bathroom was an enemy, reflecting back a gaunt man whose eyes had become pools of torment and obsession.
Watanabe's job at the Ministry of Heroes had been lost three days ago. His relentless pursuit of Radahn—whom the public now celebrated as a hero—and his refusal to accept the narrative imposed by the top brass had painted a target on his back.
"Troublemaker-" they called him.
"Conspiracy theorist."
He was a pariah, cast aside for speaking inconvenient truths.
Yet, despite the personal cost, Watanabe's resolve burned hotter than ever.
He forced himself upright and stared at the wall, plastered with photos of Radahn, newspaper clippings, and intercepted communications.
The image of the black sword from laboratory haunted him—it had vanished without a trace four days ago, dissolved into shimmering golden particles like dust scattered on the wind. Its disappearance was no coincidence. It was a message. A warning.
Four days ago, Watanabe had marched into U.A. with undeniable proof of Radahn's true identity, expecting to finally expose the truth. Instead, he was met with stone-cold denial.
"That damn mouse said he left-"
"All Might himself told me Radahn wasn't here-" Watanabe growled, voice hoarse and raw. "Refused to even entertain the possibility."
The bitterness dripped from his words like venom.
"And Endeavor—he shut me out. Refused to hear us. Threatened us. Said if we even mentioned arresting Radahn again, he'd 'burn us all to ashes.'"
He shook his head in disbelief.
"The Number One Hero… protecting a monster."
His jaw clenched as memories of that encounter flooded back. The stony silence from the heroes who once stood as pillars of justice now felt like betrayal.
"They call him a hero, hailed by the masses… but I know what he really is—a beast, a monster. He doesn't deserve to walk free. He belongs behind bars. Or worse."
Watanabe slumped back in his chair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping open again. The relentless stress gnawed at his sanity. Sleep was a stranger; every attempt at rest was haunted by nightmares of Radahn's shadow looming over the world.
He wasn't just fighting to reveal a secret. He was fighting to save a society that no longer recognized its true enemy.
A harsh laugh escaped his cracked lips.
Despite his relentless determination and weird sense of justice, Watanabe carried wounds deeper than any political battle.
During the chaotic onslaught that ravaged Japan, he had lost everything that truly mattered—his wife, his young daughter, caught in the crossfire of the endless war.
The memories of that day haunted him relentlessly: the screams, the smoke choking the air, the helplessness as he watched the world around him crumble.
No amount of proof, no amount of fighting could bring them back.
The weight of his grief became unbearable, crushing the very spirit that once burned so brightly. Alone and broken, Watanabe found himself drifting toward despair.
In the quiet darkness of his final night, with only the flickering light of his desk lamp to keep him company, he made a heartbreaking choice—one he saw as an escape from the unbearable pain, not an end to his cause. His last act was not of surrender, but of a man overwhelmed by loss, hoping for peace he could no longer find in a world shattered by war.
Watanabe sat alone in the darkened room,the cold steel of the gun pressing against his lips.
His hands trembled,eyes hollow and sunken,haunted by memories that wouldn't fade.
A single breath.
A whispered apology to the empty air.
Then—
BOOM.
-------------------------------------
Two months had passed since the devastating war, and Japan was slowly but surely stitching itself back together. The morning sun rose gently over the bustling city streets, casting a warm golden glow on the faces of its people — survivors and rebuilders alike.
A middle-aged man in a worn jacket carefully lifted a heavy beam at a construction site, his brow furrowed in concentration. Nearby, a young woman with dirt-smudged hands offered a steadying hand, helping him balance the weight. Their tired smiles were a quiet testament to the nation's resilience.
"Gotcha," she said softly, steadying the beam with practiced strength. "We'll get this place up in no time."
The city hummed with renewed life — cars, footsteps, laughter, and the distant clang of tools against metal.
Not far from the construction site, the familiar gates of U.A. High School stood tall, now freshly painted and bustling with energy once again. The school, symbol of hope and the future, was alive with students eager to reclaim their dreams.
A figure approached the gates with a purposeful stride — Midoriya Izuku. A backpack slung over one shoulder, determination shining bright in his eyes. The hardships and battles of the past months weighed on him, but his resolve remained unbroken.
"Midoriya! Hey, wait up!" called out Kirishima, jogging to catch up.
"Deku, what are you doing over there? Come on, we'll be late for class!"
Bakugo's sharp voice cut through the morning air, a smirk teasing the corners of his lips.
Midoriya turned, offering a confident smile. "Hai! I'm coming!"
Behind him, Jirou and Uraraka exchanged relieved glances, and Kaminari waved energetically.
The friends fell into step together, the camaraderie a comforting reminder that no matter what trials lay ahead, they would face them united.
------------------------------
The classroom was filled with the low murmur of voices as students settled into their seats. The usual clatter of pens, the shifting of chairs, and the faint hum of the city beyond the windows blended into a comforting rhythm. Yet beneath the surface, an unspoken question lingered in the air — one that seemed to weigh heavier than their usual worries.
Midoriya, his gaze steady but searching, finally broke the silence.
"All Might-sensei… where is Enrai-sensei? We haven't seen him in a long time. Is he okay?"
The question echoed quietly through the room. Heads turned, eyes met, and a wave of realization passed over the students. The absence of their mysterious teacher, once a quiet shadow in their lives, now felt like an unmistakable void.
"Yeah…" Jirou's voice was soft but filled with concern.
"Where is he?"
Kaminari shifted in his seat, fidgeting nervously.
"I wonder if he's alright. It's weird not seeing him around."
Mina Mineta, usually boisterous, sat unusually quiet, glancing toward the doorway as if hoping for an answer.
"He's been gone for a while now. I miss seeing him."
All eyes eventually turned to All Might, who stood silently for a moment, the weight of his own memories settling over him like a heavy cloak. The room grew still, the noise fading until the only sound was the distant hum of the city outside.
All Might moved slowly toward the large window, his silhouette framed by the morning sun streaming in. He stared out for a moment, his expression thoughtful and somber.
"He's where he should be-"
All Might said quietly, his voice calm but carrying a depth of meaning that resonated far beyond the simple words.
A hush fell over the room, and the students exchanged uncertain glances. The phrase echoed in their minds, stirring a mixture of hope and melancholy. The silence stretched, heavy but gentle, as if time itself had paused to honor the unspoken truth.
Momo Yaoyorozu broke the silence, her voice tentative yet hopeful.
"Do you think… he'll come back someday?"
All Might turned from the window and faced the class, his eyes shining with quiet conviction.
"I don't know for sure-" he admitted,
"But I have a gut feeling… that he will return. When the time is right."
--------------End Of Vol. 1-------------------