The secluded area was a forgotten corner of the city, a narrow alleyway tucked between two crumbling buildings that seemed to lean toward each other as if sharing a secret. Gran Torino stood a few feet away, his small frame silhouetted against the faint glow of a flickering streetlight. His arms were crossed, his expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his presence that made the space feel smaller.
I leaned against the wall, my hands in my pockets, the cool brick pressing into my back. Gran Torino broke the silence first.
"Thanks for the intel on Bakugou," he said, his tone carrying a rare note of gratitude. "It helped. We got him back."
I nodded, a simple, mechanical motion. "Good."
There wasn't much else to say. Bakugou's rescue was their victory. Nothing to me, maybe a slight inconvenience to the League. The wold kept spinning, the gears of fate grinding forward, and I was just another cog in that machine. Gran Torino's eyes weirdly lingered on me for a moment. He sighed before he looked away.
"Nothing much on my end," I said, filling the silence. "Just the same chatter about the League still in their planning phases of attacks they want done. They want to rile up you heroes before Hero's Eve."
Gran Torino didn't respond immediately. His gaze distant, his expression softening in a way that made him look older, more worn. He was quiet for so long that I almost thought he hadn't heard me. But then he spoke, his voice carrying a weight that made the air feel heavier.
"You know," he began, his tone thoughtful, "you've got heroic spirit. I see it in you. The way you carry yourself, the way you keep pushing forward, no matter what. It reminds me of someone I used to know."
I didn't respond. We weren't here to reminisce on the past. His words were like stones dropped in a pond, ripples spreading outward, but I refused to let them touch me. Heroic Spirit? That wasn't me. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't anything. Just a shadow moving through the world.
Gran Torino didn't seem to mind my silence. He kept talking, his voice steady and almost nostalgic. "Her name was Nana Shimura. She was a hero, one of the best I've ever known. Strong, selfless, always putting others before herself. She faced every challenge head-on, no matter how impossible it seemed. She never backed down, never gave up."
"So what, you gonna tell me I remind you of her?" I asked.
"Yeah, you kind of do."
That was funny, being compared to some dead hero. A paragon of virtue. I doubt that I am like her. I wasn't like anyone I have met. I'm just me. Or is that me being arrogant.
Gran Torino's gaze shifted back to me. "You have a fire in you. I just hope that it does not come to bite those of us on this side on the backside, cause it definitely is there."
I looked away.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and unyielding. Gran Torino didn't push, didn't press. He just stood there, his presence a quiet anchor in the storm of my thoughts. And then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice was softer, more hesitant.
"We went to see your mother and sister the other day."
My heart stopped. Just for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, the moment he said that I already knew what it was he was going to carry on to say. The reason why he was there.
Gran Torino's voice was steady, but there was a gentleness to it that made my skin crawl. "We told them about the Eden Project. About what happened."
I felt it then, a surge of something raw and hot, rage. It burned through me, searing my veins, clawing at the edges of my mind. My heart was pounding now, a frantic rhythm that echoed in my ears. My head felt like it was expanding and was ready to burst.
So I stayed still, my expression had gone blank. I wouldn't give any signifying factor showing me break. I wouldn't give anyone that.
Gran Torino kept talking, his voice was low. "You mother... she didn't know. She thought she was sending you somewhere that would help you. A behavioural facility, nothing more."
I cut him off, my voice cold and sharp, like a blade slicing through the air. "It doesn't matter."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, it doesn't matter," I repeated, my tone flat, emotionless. "Any parent who packs up their kid and sends them off to some unknown place without doing their research, without knowing what they're getting into... they didn't care enough. They didn't care enough to make sure it was safe. They didn't care enough to protect me."
The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I forced them out anyway. I didn't want to talk about this. I didn't want to think about it. It was over. It was done. It was a bad memory, nothing more.
Gran Torino's expression softened, his gaze filled with something that looked like pity. "Kobe..."
"I don't care," I said again, cutting him off again. My voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a crack in the armour I'd built around myself. "I don't need her remorse. And I don't need her guilt. It's over. It's just a bad dream, and one day, it'll fade. One day, it'll just be a blip, something I barely remember. And then it'll be gone."
The silence that followed was deafening. Gran Torino didn't respond, didn't argue He just stood there, his eyes fixed on me, his expression unreadable. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the pressure of his silence, but I refused to look at him. I refused to let him see the cracks, the features, the parts of me that were still broken.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. "Memories are important Kobe."
I didn't react. I didn't even look to him. I had no need for some old man's wisdom, some tired lecture about the past. But Gran Torino just kept talking, his voice steady and his words carried a weight that was hard to ignore.
"They're the backbone of who we are," he said. "The good ones, the bad ones... they all matter. The bad ones remind us of what we've survived, what we've endured. They show us how strong we are, how much we've overcome. And the good ones... they keep the people we love close to us, even when they're gone. They teach us who we are, what we value, what we're fighting for."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I don't like thinking on what I've endured, what I had to endure. I just wanted to keep moving, keep fighting until there was nothing left of me.
But Gran Torino's voice was like a magnet forcing me to face the things I'd been running from. "You can't run from memories, child. They're a part of you. They've shaped you, made you who you are. And that's not a bad thing. There's beauty in endurance, in survival. There's strength in remembering."
I felt like I was falling. Suffocating, while someone was choking me. The weight of everything I'd been carrying was pulling me under, dragging me down to that same dark place.
Slowly, I turned away. I didn't want to look at him anymore. He was a kind man, and in some ways I did appreciate this. But in the moment, I couldn't see the aid in any of what he was saying.
"I'm fine." I told him, my voice was so low I would be surprised if he heard me when I first spoke. "I don't need your help."
I left the elderly man, there was nothing left to be informed of.
***
The gates of UA loomed before Midoriya like a fortress reborn. The once familiar entrance had been transformed, its sleek, modern design now fortified with layers of security that made it feel more like a military compound than a school. The towering gates were reinforced with thick steel, their surfaces gleaming under the morning sun.
Above them, a network of cameras swiveled silently, their lenses scanning every inch of the perimeter. Midoriya could see the faint glow of laser grids crisscrossing the air, invisible to the naked eye but deadly to anyone foolish enough to breach them.
His mother stood beside him, her hands clutching the straps of her purse tightly. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with worry as she looked at the imposing structure. "Are you sure about this, Izuku?" she asked, her voice trembling. "After everything that's happened... I just don't think this is a safe option anymore."
Midoriya turned to her, his expression soft but resolute. "I have to do this, Mom." he said gently. "This is where I belong. This is where I can become the her I want to be."
She hesitated, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't argue. She knew better than anyone how stubborn her son could be when it came to his dream of being a hero. With a sigh, she reached out and adjusted the collar of his uniform, her fingers trembling slightly. "Just... be careful, please. Promise me you will at least try to fight for yourself first."
It was hard for Midoriya to even think that. He had told her he would, he had told her that he would act better and listen to his teachers more. But he struggled to even believe that those words came out of his mouth.
"I promise," Midoriya said. He gave her a small smile, hoping to ease her fears, but the weight of her concern lingered in the air between them. She didn't know about One For All, about the power he carried and the responsibility that came with it. He didn't need to tell her. Not yet.
As she drove away, Midoriya turned back to the school, his heart pounding in his chest. The new security measures were impossible to ignore. Armed guards patrolled the grounds, their uniforms crisp and professional, their eyes sharp and alert.
They moved with precision, their movements were synchronized as they scanned the area for any signs of danger. Midoriya could see the faint glint of their weapons, holstering at their sides but ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.
The school itself had been rebuilt from the ground up, its design both practical and innovative. The walls were reinforced with a special alloy that could withstand even a superpowered hit from All Might, obviously he could still break through it if he wanted to... he was All Might.
The windows were made of shatterproof material that could deflect bullets and explosions. The roof was lined with solar panels, their surfaces gleamed under the sunlight, providing the school with a sustainable source of energy. Midoriya could see that drones, similar to the on-ground robots, had taken to the sky, they were patrolling, only during the day, he remembers so from the emails the school sent out.
As he walked through the gates, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. This was still UA, still the place where he had fought so hard to prove himself, but it felt different now. The air was heavier, the atmosphere more tense. The students he passed were quieter, their faces more serious, and there were less than it naturally was.
His heart sank when he read that Mineta had decided to leave the hero course. He wasn't incredibly close to him, but he felt bad that someone couldn't find solace in their dream anymore and could only leave it as a part of their past. But somehow he felt that it was probably better this way, especially for someone like Mineta.
As he approached the classroom, his mind wandered to Bakugou. He hadn't seen him, hadn't heard from him either obviously but neither have any of his friends. He wondered if Bakugou would be there, if he would even come back after everything he had been through. Or how long he would last.
He pushed the door open to his classroom, the heavy metal frame sliding silently on its hinges. The room was full, every seat occupied, but the atmosphere was anything but lively. The air was thick with a somber silence, the kind that made it hard to breathe.
Midoriya's eyes immediately found Bakugou, sitting by the window, in his normal seat, with his back to the room. His posture was rigid, his shoulders tense, but he didn't turn to look as Midoriya entered.
The rest of the class was quiet, their faces drawn and tired. Midoriya could see the shadows under their eyes, the way their shoulders slumped under the weight of everything they had been through. They looked... different. Broken, in a way that made his chest ache. He took his seat quietly, his eyes scanning the room as he tried to gauge the mood.
Todoroki sat in his usual spot, his expression unreadable, his eyes distant. Uraraka was next to him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her usual smile replaced by a look of seriousness and scrutiny. Iida was sat at the front of the room, his posture was stiff, his glasses reflecting the light in a way that made it hard to see his eyes.
His friends looked miserable.
Even Kirishima was slumped in his seat, exhausted. Kaminari was quiet, resting his head on his hand as he stared blankly forward.
Everyone had been through so much. The events with Proxy, the attack on the school, the kidnapping of Bakugou... its taken its toll. They were still here, fighting, but the light had dimmed. Their world had gotten darker.
He thought about his mother, about the way she had begged him not to come back. He had pleaded with her, had promised her that he would be careful, that he would come home safe each and every time. He wondered how many of his classmates had the same conversations with their families. How many of them had fought to be here, to keep chasing their dreams.
The door slid open again, and Aizawa stepped into the room. His usual tired expression was even more pronounced, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He looked at the class, his gaze sweeping over each of them, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something that looked like pride, or maybe just relief.
"Welcome back," he said, his voice was low. "Its good to see you all here."
The room was silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Midoriya felt a lump in his throat, his chest tightening with emotion. They were here. They were still here.
"Bakugou," Aizawa said in a slightly higher tone, Bakugou turned to him but looked right back out the window only giving short glanced out the corner of his eyes. "I am glad you are back safe and sound. After class please head to the principals office."
It wasn't the tone that said he was in trouble, but then again, in trouble for what. Bakugou nodded and continued to stay silent.
Aizawa continued to speak.
"As you all know some students have decided to leave. One from this class." Not many showed a reaction, Mineta was kind of looked at as a nuisance from some of the class. "There is more though, because of the loss of life and the amount of students who have asked for a resignation from UA, the only courses left in this school are the support course and obviously the hero course."
Midoriya's eyebrows lifted in surprise. That was why there were so few students he could see when walking through the halls earlier. He felt a little sad, but he understood the importance.
"This is a hero school." Aizawa started again. "One that has been targeted over and over. And no matter what we do, it may happen again."
That didn't do much to help the already anxious people in the room.
"But those of you here decided to stick through. Brave. But that isn't all that will be needed for what we are all about to face. We are most certainly not out of the mud yet!"