Chapter Text
Todoroki’s breaths came in short puffs of mist, the air around him frigid with lingering frost. Shards of ice still stood like a jagged monuments behind him, dozens of villains frozen mid-lunge or sealed to the ground by thick permafrost.
His right side ached, not from use—he hadn’t touched his flames once—but from restraint. He was still cautious, even now, with his fire. It wasn’t the time for doubt. Not when he could see blood on the pavement. Aizawa.
He darted forward through the carnage, vaulting over rubble and collapsing catwalks, focused only on one thing: finding his teacher.
Smoke and grit clogged the ruined entrance of the USJ. Todoroki caught sight of him—Aizawa—barely standing, and bloodied mess of tangled hair and shredded fabric.
He was in the middle of a brutal hand-to-hand brawl with one of the villains. No, not just a villain. Todoroki squinted as he slid to a halt.
It was him again.
That small, lithe figure, cloaked in a dark forest green hood with elongated bunny-like ears. His mask bore a twisted, sinister grin, and red-tinted goggles made his eyes unreadable.
There was something too fluid, too practiced about the way he moved—like a blade dancing on the edge of air. That wasn’t some random thug. Whoever this was, he was dangerous.
A flash of silver caught Todoroki’s eye—knives. Multiple, gleaming, balanced one, lining a utility belt across the villains hips.
Todoroki’s fingers twitched with instinct, reaching toward his side, ready to summon ice, but then froze again as he watched the villain pivot gracefully, narrowly dodging Aizawa’s capture cloth.
The villain spun low, faster than any student Todoroki had seen, and used the handle of one knife to jab into Aizawa’s side before flipping backward and landing in a low crouch, blades now fully drawn.
The moves wasn’t just tactical—it was meant to impress. But who?
Todoroki’s gaze flicked up toward the edge of the plaza and spotted two figures watching like shadows.
Kurogiri.
And the man with the grotesque hands.
Tomura Shigaraki.
He could hear their voices, even over the chaos.
“He’s holding back again.” Tomura muttered with a scratchy laugh, his fingers twitching near his neck. “He’s so soft for that boy.”
“The boy is precious to him, let him have his fun.” Kurogiri spoke, his dark fog pulsing.
The villain with the grin— Usagi, Todoroki had overheard on the of the villains call him—moved again, lunging with vicious precision, a slash grazing Aizawa’s arm. The teacher growled, tried to trap him again, but Usagi was too fast. Each move was choreographed like he was performing for an audience. For them.
Or was it for someone else?
A sharp pang surged in Todoroki’s chest, unexpected and unwelcome. He didn’t know this villain, and yet……his movements. His height. Even something about the way his hood fell. It all felt…..familiar.
He couldn’t think about that now. He threw out his arm.
A jagged wall of ice exploded in front of him as he charged forward, freezing the terrain between Usagi and Aizawa, trying to buy time. A barrier, at the very least. “Mr. Aizawa!” Todoroki yelled. “Get back!”
Aizawa stumbled behind the ice wall, panting heavily, eyes still locked on Usagi. The villain didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head and stared straight at Todoroki.
The air tightened between them. Something like recognition passed the red goggles.
Then the villain rushed him.
Todoroki grit his teeth and dropped his stance, letting ice skate beneath his shoes as he lunged back. He raised a wall, but Usagi twisted mid-air, rebounding off the slick surface with impossible agility, a blade aimed low toward Todoroki’s side.
Todoroki barely parried with a frozen spoke from his palm, feeling the shock of contact reverberate up in his arm.
It was fast. Too fast. Whoever this was, he’d been trained to fight professionals.
But he wasn’t going for the kill shots.
The slashes were close, calculated—every cut designed to test, not maim. Almost like…..restraint.
Todoroki responded in kind, letting his ice build with every pivot and dodge. “Who are you?” He finally demanded, voice sharp. “Why are you holding back?”
Usagi didn’t answer. His voice—when it came—was warped by the mechanical growl of a voice changer. “You’re not my target.”
He lunged again, but Todoroki grabbed a thick spire and shattered it into a cold mist to obscure the next strike.
When the fog lifted, the villain had retreated a few paces, panting softly.
Their eyes met.
And then….something shifted.
A new presence surged through the USJ.
Wind.
Sound.
A thunderous boom cracked across the building, like a blue-and-red blur torn through the sky dome above.
“All Might!” Todoroki’s heart stuttered in his chest.
The symbol of peace landed hard, sending shockwaves through the earth. His eyes were locked on Tomura.
“I AM HERE!”
Tomura recoiled, fingers clenching. “I told you.” He hissed, voice like glass scraping wood. “I hate him.”
Usagi tensed beside him, fists curling around his knives.
Todoroki narrowed his gaze. Something had changed.
Gone was the showmanship. Gone was the playful spin of blades.
In its place was raw, burning hatred. Directed not at Todoroki.
But at All Might.
“He ruins everything.” Usagi muttered low, too quiet for Todoroki to hear. His voice was no longer disguised. “I hate him.”
Tomura extended a hand. “Nomu.” He snapped, and pointed.
Todoroki turned just in time to see the hulking monster roar to life behind them.
The Nomu burst forward like a train derailed, charging All Might with seismic force.
And behind it, standing tall with knives drawn, a cloak billowing behind him and red goggles glinting like a beast unmasked.
Usagi clicked his tongue, standing next to Tomura, refusing to fight head on with the number one hero.
***
The Nomu’s scream tore through the USJ as it collided with All Might. The impact sent out a shockwave, shattering glass, cracking the earth. Dust filled the air like smoke on a battlefield, and Izuku— Usagi— stood above it all, the blood-red lenses of his mask catching the flickering emergency lights.
Beside him, Tomura twitched violently. “He’s not going down— why isn’t he going down?!”
The Nomu swung again, fist like a boulder, but All Might met it midair, blocking with a forearm that had cracked mountains. Muscles bulged, steam hissed from his body, and his face—grim, determined—twisted into something almost bestial.
And for a moment, Izuku felt it again.
That childhood awe. The sense that All Might could not lose.
His heart pounded.
But this time, he wasn’t the big watching from a television screen, eating microwaved soba alone in the dark.
No—he was Usagi now. Watching from above, from the League’s side.
And this time, he wanted All Might to die.
Nomu bellowed again and charged, but All Might met him halfway. Their fists collided like meteors—Nomu’s reinforced musculature cracking, snapping—yet still, it fought. But Izuku saw the tide turning.
Too fast. He gritted his teeth behind the voice modulator.
All Might was adapting.
He was winning.
“Not enough. He’s too strong….” Tomura was muttering. “It’s not fair.”
Izuku’s fingers twitched at his sides. He should’ve felt excited, watching the chaos unfold. Students in fear. Heroes too late. A symbol falling.
But watching the Nomu get pummeled—bones breaking, flesh caving—he didn’t feel victory.
He felt frustration.
“He’s wearing it down.” Izuku spoke through the mask. “Nomu’s regeneration isn’t keeping up.”
Tomura scratched harder, fingernails digging into his neck. “Kurogiri—prepare extraction. I’m not letting that bastard smile and walk away from this.”
But the storm wasn’t over.
With a hiss and flash of light, the emergency doors exploded open, and more figures rushed into the USJ like floodwater.
“STAY CLEAR OF THE CENTRAL ZONE!” Came a booming voice.
Pro heroes.
Thirteen, Cementoss, Midnight, Ectoplasm—some Izuku recognized from years of obsessive notebooks and grainy livestreams.
And then……
A voice like home.
“YEAHHHH! What’s up, disaster zone?! PRESENT MIC IN THE HOUSE!!”
That voice—loud, bright, unapologetic— cut through everything.
Izuku froze.
His heart lurched in a way it hadn’t in years.
From across the shattered plaza, President Mic landed in a crouch. Blonde hair glowing in the artificial lights, shades glinting like fire.
He was barking orders through his quirk, shattering villain illusions, guiding evac routes, rallying students.
“Move toward the back! Heroes incoming, stay low and stay behind me—“
Izuku’s throat tightened.
He hadn’t meant to freeze.
But he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
President Mic. HIzashi Yamada. The one teacher never sneered when he raised his hand. Who asked if he wanted to eat lunch together. Who gave him his first compliment about his homework, about his smarts, about him.
He was everything a hero should be.
And Izuku—no, Usagi— was standing on the other side of the line now.
His knives remained sheathed.
His body trembled.
Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t look. Don’t you dare hurt him.
Tomura didn’t notice. “He’s ruining everything!” He shouted. “Nomu—KILL HIM! KILL ALL MIGHT!”
Izuku didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
But someone else noticed him.
Someone who didn’t freeze.
BOOM.
An explosion lit up the corridor behind him, searing heat licking across his back. The metal walkway bent under impact, and Izuku dove off the side just in time, flipping through the smoke and landing in a crouch on the ground below.
His head snapped up—red lenses scanning.
“Found you, freak.”
The voice was unmistakable,
Katsuki Bakugou stood on the fractured concrete like a vengeful god, swear igniting off his palms in hissing bursts. His crimson eyes locked on Usagi with pure hatred.
“I don’t know who the hell you are.” He growled. “But you’re gonna regret coming here.”
Izuku said nothing.
Not a word.
He couldn’t risk it.
But inside—something cracked.
Because Katsuki’s face hadn’t changed at all. Still smug. Still cruel. Still acting like he owned the world and everyone in it.
Flash
A hand grabbing his collar. “Why’re still breathing, Deku?”
Flash
A notebook scorched, pages flaking apart. “Pathetic.”
Flash
Laughter. Silence. Pain.
The tremble in Izuku’s hands vanished.
He stood slowly.
And he attacked.
It was not the hesitant flailing of a powerless boy. It was swift, sharp, practiced violence. The dagger in his hand gleamed as he struck low—non lethal, but dangerous.
Katsuki just barely dodged, boots skidding as he retaliated with a wild blast.
“Fast—!” Katsuki cursed. “Tch….you think you’re better than me huh?!”
Izuku struck again. And again. The twin daggers danced in the air like silver tongues, slicing through Katsuki’s gauntlets, cutting shallow lines across his arm, his side. It wasn’t enough to drop him—but it was enough to hurt.
To remind him.
Katsuki responded with a roar and launched forward, palms detonating point-blank.
Izuku raised his arm, his armor taking the brunt, but the blast still sent him sliding back across the rubble.
“You’re not so tough without your toys, villain!” Katsuki snarled. “Come on! Take the mask off and fight like a really villain!”
But Izuku didn’t answer.
He let the silence haunt him.
Then he charged.
Their fight turned primal—raw speed versus explosive power. Every time Katsuki moved, Izuku moved faster. His footwork was brutal and clean, honed from hours of knife drills and sparring with Tomura. Each clash echoed through the air like gunshots.
But the worst part?
Katsuki still didn’t know.
He didn’t recognize the person beneath the hood.
Izuku wanted to scream. To rip off the mask. To make him see.
But he didn’t.
Couldn’t.
So instead, he let the knives do the talking.
He dodged another blast, spun, and drove the pommel of his dagger into Katsuki’s ribs with a vicious grunt. The blonde stumbled, wheezing—but before Izuku could strike again, a wall of concrete shot up between them.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!”
Cementoss. Mic. More heroes moving in.
“Usagi, retreat—NOW!” Tomura barked from behind.
Kurogiri’s portal swirled open in the corner of Izuku’s vision.
“Next time.” Katsuki spat, wiping blood from his mouth. “I’ll blast that damn mask off your face.”
Izuku stated at him for a heartbeat longer.
Silent.
Then he turned—and vanished into the shadows.