Echoes of Power

by HerraKutoja

Summary:

Three new students enter U.A. High with a secret: they remember a life before this one. As they settle into their roles as hero trainees, they’ll have to balance school, quirks, and the quiet knowledge that this isn’t their first beginning.

Chapter 1: Prologue - The Journal Entry

The Journal Entry

 

Since regaining my memories, I’ve wanted to start a journal to better understand this world. This is my attempt to put my thoughts into words.

The world as we know it wasn’t always like this. Two hundred years ago, everything was normal, until one random kid in China started glowing. “Bioluminescent,” they called the baby. Since then, more and more people with supernatural forms or powers have appeared, making the exceptional the new normal. We call these abilities “quirks.”

As quirks emerged, humanity slowed its technological progress and turned its focus to studying them. From this research, a few key things were discovered:

Quirks aren’t static. They can be trained and strengthened, much like muscles. Likewise, if neglected, they weaken.

Quirks can evolve. This usually happens under extreme stress, but it’s rare.

Most mysteriously, quirks seem to reflect something deeper. Possibly the culmination of a past life. We don’t know how or why, but I believe that everyone with a quirk is a reincarnation of someone who came before.

The problem is, no one remembers their past life… Well, most people don’t. Scientists scoff at the idea. There’s no hard evidence, just the testimony of those who claim to remember. And those people? They’re usually dismissed as delusional. After all, who would believe in a world where monsters roam freely and twelve-year-olds try to catch them in pocket-dimension balls? Or a world where a pink puffball eats everything in sight and gains its powers? One guy even claimed he was eaten by that puffball.

It sounds crazy to most people. But not to me.

I believe it for two reasons.

First, when we gain our quirks, we instinctively know how to use them. Each quirk is unique. Sure, some are similar - especially those passed down from parent to child - but no two are exactly the same. So how does someone instinctively know how to use something they’ve never encountered before? Scientists call it evolution. I call it memory. I think it’s our past lives guiding us.

Second, I remember my past life. When my quirk awakened, the memories came flooding back; first in dreams, then in waking moments. And they stayed. The strangest part? I have the same name I did before: Peter Parker.

When I watch the news, I recognize names. It is not because they’re famous here, like All Might, but because they were heroes, villains, and celebrities in my old world. It hurts that none of them remember me. I’ve tried reaching out, hoping someone else remembers. But they either ignore me or treat me like a stranger.

I guess that’s just the Parker luck.

My quirk is also eerily similar to the abilities I had before. There are differences, sure, but it’s close enough that using it feels like second nature. I used these powers to help people once. I think I can do it again.

I’ve decided I want to become a hero, again. I have the strength to help others, and as Uncle Ben once told me, “With great power comes great responsibility.”

Vigilantism is still illegal, just like it was before. But most police and heroes treat it as a minor offense. The real issue is “illegal quirk usage.” Most people don’t have the control that licensed heroes do. So realistically, it’s smarter to get a license than to have every hero in the area chasing me down.

The first step is enrolling in one of the many hero schools. I know I’m only ten, so high school’s still a ways off, unless I skip a few grades, which I don’t plan to. I’ll figure it out when the time comes.

And when I do, the world will meet the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man once again.

- Peter Parker, a.k.a. The Amazing Spider-Man

Chapter 2: New Beginnings

Notes:

This is my first time writing a fan fic, so bare with me as I stumble through this. I have never been the biggest fan of writing, but I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so I figured, if I have to hear my thoughts, so will the rest of the world - assuming they read this, lol.

This story will primarily follow three different characters for now, each of which can remember their past life after being reborn in this world. Those will be Peter Parker (Spider-man), Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist), and Hinata Hyuga (Naruto) You shouldn’t need too much background knowledge of these three, as I will make sure to explain it as I go (or leave you in the dark momentarily then explain). I will feature characters from all over the place, whether it be marvel/dc, anime, video games etc, though most of them will have no memory of their previous lives (Like if Naruto showed up, he will not remember being a Konoha Ninja but Hinata will remember Naruto as the 7th Hokage). I have a list of a select few people other than the main three who will remember, all of which will be introduced little by little throughout the story.

I also plan to make UA be a bit more of an international school, seeing as it is the leading school in heroics, and has the sports festival which is apparently more popular to the world than even the Olympics. That last part is weird to me, as the festival always seemed a little underwhelming. So, with me having said that, you will notice that I am going to make some changes, most noticeably, with the characters in classes 1A and 1B. I will remove some of my less favorite characters, and replace them. If I happened to remove one of your favorite characters, I apologize in advance, but I am not really sorry.

Anyways, hopefully this isn’t too hard for you all to read. I would love to hear your thoughts about it, like if you have suggestions for characters to appear or respectful critics about the story.

New beginnings

 

There it is, UA High School. The top school in the world for heroics. Only the best of the best graduate from UA, and most of the world’s top heroes are alumni: Superman in the U.S., Super Mario in Italy, and of course, All Might; Japan’s Symbol of Peace.

The school that could take someone with a mediocre quirk and turn them into a world-class hero stood tall and proud before him. Today was the day Edward Elric would take the entrance exam.

If, no, once he got accepted, Ed would be one step closer to his goal.

Fifteen years ago, Ed was reborn into this world. When his quirk awakened at age four, the memories came rushing back. But one thing was painfully clear: Alphonse wasn’t here.

In this life, Ed was an only child. No brothers. No sisters. No Al.

Since realizing that, Ed had asked himself the same question every day: What would Al do?

Alphonse had been the kindest soul Ed had ever known. Sure, maybe he was biased, Al was his little brother and best friend, but Al had always been gentle. He’d rather feed stray kittens than fight. He wanted to help people, even those who didn’t deserve it.

Al was a hero in every sense of the word.

It was ironic, really. The boy who wanted to protect everyone ended up trapped in a hulking suit of armor. And whose fault was that?

Ed’s.

When their mother died, Ed had tried to bring her back using alchemy. The result? He lost his left leg. Al lost his entire body. Ed only managed to bind Al’s soul to a suit of armor by sacrificing his right arm.

Eventually, they got Al’s body back. It took years. But they did it.

Years later, Ed got married, grew old, and - presumably - died. He doesn’t remember that part clearly. But when he woke up in this world, Al was gone.

Winry, though… she was here. His wife from the old world was now his childhood best friend and next-door neighbor (Again). She doesn’t remember their past life, but Ed was just glad she existed in this one.

If Winry made it here, why didn’t Al?

That question haunted him. So Ed made a promise: if Al couldn’t be here to become a hero, then Ed would do it for him.

Now, standing at the gates of UA, Ed took a deep breath. Around him, signs pointed students toward different exam halls: “Hero Course Entrance Exam,” “Support Course Entrance Exam,” and others.

As he scanned the signs, he felt a tug on his sleeve. Winry stood beside him, smiling.

“Alright, Ed,” she said, “looks like we’re splitting up here. I’ll see you after the exam. Good luck, and don’t break your arm again. I’m not fixing it this time.”

Winry was the reason Ed had applied to UA in the first place. She was determined to join the Support Course. In their old world, she’d been a genius automail mechanic. In this one, her quirk let her fuse mechanical objects to organic material. Basically, she was born to build prosthetics.

Ed chuckled. “Tch. You act like I plan on getting it busted. I’ll be fine, Gearhead. Go ace your exam, alright?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she walked off.

—

The written portion of the entrance exam was boring, and way too easy. Some kid kept mumbling the entire time, which was distracting, but Ed still finished early.

As instructed, he made his way to the auditorium. The kid who’d finished the exam even faster than Ed was already there, sitting in the back corner.

He didn’t look like much. Tousled brown hair, brown eyes, a little taller than Ed (not that Ed was short, thank you very much). He looked… normal. No obvious quirk. Not Japanese, either. Maybe European?

Ed narrowed his eyes. Anyone who finished that fast was either brilliant or bluffing. As he stared, the kid looked up and gave him a faint smile.

Timid, Ed thought. But sharp.

He found a seat.

—

Peter Parker sat quietly in the auditorium, trying not to overthink the practical exam. He’d finished the written part quickly (maybe too quickly) but it had felt like middle school math compared to what he used to deal with.

He felt someone watching him and glanced up. A kid with long, braided blond hair was staring at him. He wore gloves and long sleeves, which was… interesting. It is the middle of summer. Isn’t he hot? Pushing that thought away, Peter offered a polite smile and looked away.

He’d overheard the kid talking to a girl earlier; in German, if Peter wasn’t mistaken. He could catch a few words, but they were speaking too fast for him to follow. Maybe he’d try to talk to them later. His Japanese was solid now, but it had definitely pushed out most of the other languages he used to know, like German.

Suddenly, a series of sharp pops echoed through the room.

Peter turned toward the entrance. A kid with spiky blond hair stormed in, fists clenched and crackling with light. The popping was coming from him - tiny explosions. His quirk was obvious.

Behind him came a girl with long, dark blue hair and pale eyes. She looked nervous. Maybe it was the exam. Or maybe it was the human grenade walking in front of her.

Peter watched as they took their seats, The exploding boy in the back, the girl closer to the front.

The room filled quickly. Soon, a tall, lanky, energetic man with sunglasses and a wild blond ponytail bounded onto the stage.

Peter recognized him instantly: Present Mic, the pro hero with a voice quirk and a teacher at UA

“WELCOME TO TODAY’S LIVE PERFORMANCE! EVERYBODY SAY ‘HEY’!”

Silence.

“WELL, THAT’S COOL, MY EXAMINEE LISTENERS! I AM HERE TO PRESENT THE GUIDELINES OF YOUR PRACTICAL! ARE YOU READY?!”

Still nothing.

Peter winced. Tough crowd.

Present Mic launched into the rules. Four types of robots. Each worth 1 to 3 points, except the Zero Pointer. That one was massive, dangerous, and worth nothing. The goal: rack up as many points as possible.

As he spoke, the mumbling kid from earlier started up again. It was distracting, that was until a tall student with engines on his calves stood up and scolded him for being rude.

Peter didn’t love the tone, but at least it shut the kid up.

He leaned back in his seat, heart starting to race. This was it. The practical exam.

Time to show the world what Spider-Man could do.

—

The examinees were divided into groups and herded toward different testing zones; massive, city-like arenas designed to simulate urban chaos. Edward and Peter were placed in separate sections, each with their own batch of competitors and robotic threats.

—

The gates to Zone C creaked open, revealing a sprawling mock city with cracked pavement, shattered glass, and the distant whir of robotic limbs. Edward Elric rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, eyes sharp.

“Alright, Al,” he muttered. “Let’s see if I still remember how to break things.”

The countdown blared overhead:
3… 2… 1… BEGIN!

The moment the buzzer sounded, students surged forward. Ed didn’t sprint, he launched himself with a transmuted platform, vaulting over the crowd and landing on a rooftop.

A one-pointer burst from an alley below. Ed clapped his hands and slammed them into the roof. A spike of stone erupted from the ground, skewering the robot mid-charge.

“Too slow.”

He leapt down, landing in a crouch. A two-pointer rolled toward him, its arms spinning like saw blades. Ed dodged left, clapped, and transmuted the pavement into a wall. The robot crashed into it; and Ed turned the wall into a massive stone fist that crushed the bot in one blow.

He moved fast, dismantling robots with a mix of martial arts and transmuted weapons. His quirk, officially labeled “Transmutation”, lets him reshape the environment with surgical precision. It wasn’t flashy, but it was devastating.

As he rounded a corner, he spotted a student with metallic-looking hair trying to pin a three-pointer’s limbs to a nearby car using some kind of fusion ability. It wasn’t going well.

The robot broke free and raised a clawed arm to strike.

Ed didn’t hesitate. He clapped, slammed his hands into the ground, and sent a wave of jagged stone erupting beneath the robot. It flipped backward and crashed into a wall.

The other student blinked. “Uh… thanks?”

Ed shrugged. “You were in the way.”

He turned and walked off before they could respond.

A few minutes later, Ed spotted another examinee; this one with a strange, rock-like face, cornered by two one-pointers. The student was trying to command a flock of birds to distract the bots, but they weren’t cooperating.

Ed sighed. “Seriously?”

Honestly, those tiny birds weren’t going to do anything to the larger metal robots.

He clapped and transmuted a nearby lamppost into a whip of metal, lashing it through both robots in one clean arc.

The student gave him a grateful nod. Ed just waved him off.

He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to prove something.

—

Zone E was chaos.

Peter launched himself into the air the moment the gates opened, flipping over the crowd and landing on the side of a building. His fingers stuck effortlessly to the concrete.

“Alright, let’s see what this exam’s got.”

A one-pointer rolled into view. Peter leapt, twisted midair, and landed feet-first on its head. It crumpled beneath him.

He didn’t stop moving.

His quirk, Arachnid Physiology, was firing on all cylinders. Enhanced reflexes, wall-crawling, super strength, and now, organic webbing. He fired a strand from his wrist, swung around a lamppost, and launched himself into the next street.

A two-pointer charged a group of students. Peter landed between them and the bot, webbed its legs, and yanked. It toppled like a domino.

One of the students, a girl with long, vine-like hair, glared at him. “That was mine!”

Peter grinned. “You’re welcome.”

He swung off before she could retort.

Further down the block, he spotted a hulking student mid-transformation - fur sprouting, muscles bulging - grappling with a three-pointer. The robot was winning.

Peter landed behind it, webbed its joints, and yanked hard. The robot staggered, giving the beastly student the opening to rip it apart.

The student growled. “I had that.”

Peter shrugged. “Sure you did, big guy.”

He turned and sprinted up the side of a building, flipping onto the roof.

From above, he scanned the battlefield. He could see students struggling, others thriving. One girl in particular caught his eye. Long, dark blue hair, pale eyes that didn’t blink. Peter remembered her as the nervous looking one in the auditorium. Now she seemed like a much different person. More confident. She moved with eerie precision, striking the weak points on a robot’s limbs and disabling it without breaking a sweat.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Okay… she’s scary.”

He swung off again, heart pounding. He was in his element.

—

High above the testing zones, a dozen monitors flickered with live feeds from each arena. Teachers and pro heroes stood or sat around the room, some scribbling notes, others silently watching. The atmosphere was focused, clinical-like surgeons observing a high-stakes operation.

Aizawa stood near the center, arms crossed, eyes scanning the screens with practiced detachment.

“Initial dispersal looks clean,” said Cementoss, tapping a tablet. “No bottlenecks at the gates this year.”

Midnight nodded. “They’re adapting faster than last year’s batch. Less panic, more strategy.”

Power Loader leaned forward, squinting at Zone B. “That one’s already racked up over forty points.”

Aizawa followed his gaze. “The kid with the spikey blonde hair and scowl all over his face?”

“Yeah. Explosive quirk. Brutal, but efficient.”

“He’s got raw power and instinct, but no restraint. We’ll need to see if he can work with others.”

“Zone E’s got something interesting too,” said Snipe, pointing to another screen. “That girl with the pale eyes. She’s not using any flashy moves, but she’s disabling bots with surgical precision.”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “I remember seeing her application. Her quirk enhances her visual perception; Byakugan, I think she called it. It looks like she’s using those eyes to strike structural weak points. I believe her name was Hinata Hyuga”

Midnight raised an eyebrow. “That’s rare at this level. Most kids just swing until something breaks.”

“She’s not guessing,” Aizawa said. “She’s calculating.”

A few moments passed in silence as the teachers continued watching. Then one of the screens caught Vlad King’s attention.

“Zone C. That kid just turned a parking lot into a trap field.”

They all looked.

Edward Elric stood in the center of a cratered street, transmuting the pavement into jagged spikes and shifting walls. Robots lunged at him, only to be crushed, impaled, or redirected into each other.

“Earth manipulation?” Midnight asked.

“Not quite,” Aizawa said. “It’s more refined than that. He’s not just moving terrain, he’s reshaping it with intent. Like he’s designing the battlefield in real time.”

“That’s not something you see every day”, a teacher muttered.

“And he’s not wasting energy,” Aizawa added. “Every move has purpose.”

Another screen flickered back to Zone E again, but this time trained onto someone else.

“Who’s that?” Snipe asked, pointing to a figure swinging between buildings.

Peter Parker landed on a rooftop, fired a web at a three-pointer, and yanked it into a wall. He moved with fluidity, sticking to surfaces, flipping through the air, and disabling bots with precision strikes.

“Are those webs?” Midnight asked.

“Looks like it,” said Vlad King. “Arachnid-type quirk. Enhanced agility, reflexes, strength. But it’s the way he’s using the environment that stands out.”

“He’s thinking vertically,” Aizawa said. “Most students stay on the ground. He’s treating the arena like a jungle gym.”

“And he’s not just fighting… he’s protecting,” Cementoss noted. “He intercepted three bots that were targeting other students.”

Aizawa nodded slowly. “Keep an eye on him and the kid in C. They’re not just strong, they’re experienced.”

—

The exam had been running for nearly thirty minutes. Most students had racked up their points. Some were flagging. Others were still scrambling for every last opportunity.

Principal Nezu sipped his tea calmly, perched atop a stack of books beside the main console. “I think it’s time we introduced a little chaos.”

Aizawa glanced over. “You’re releasing the Zero Pointers?”

Nezu smiled. “Of course. We need to see how they react to something they can’t beat. It’s not about power, it’s about judgment.”

He pressed a button.

Across the zones, warning sirens began to blare.

—

The sirens echoed through the mock city like a war horn. Ed froze mid-step, eyes narrowing.

“What now?”

The ground trembled beneath his boots. A low, mechanical groan rolled through the air, followed by the thunderous crash of concrete being pulverized.

Then he saw it.

The Zero Pointer.

It was massive, easily ten stories tall, with a single glowing red eye and limbs like construction cranes. It tore through a building at the far end of the zone, sending debris flying like confetti.

Ed’s breath caught in his throat.

That thing’s not a robot, it’s a walking natural disaster.

Around him, students screamed and scattered. Some ran for cover. Others froze in place, paralyzed by the sheer scale of the machine.

Ed didn’t move.

He was already calculating.

It’s too big to take down with brute force. I’d need to collapse the ground beneath it, maybe trap it in a pit… but I don’t have the time or the reach. And even if I did…

A scream cut through his thoughts.

He turned.

A girl was pinned beneath a fallen support beam, her leg trapped. The Zero Pointer’s shadow loomed over her, its foot rising like a guillotine.

Ed’s instincts kicked in.

He sprinted toward her, clapping his hands mid-run. Blue lightning sparked between his palms. He dove to the ground, slammed his hands into the pavement, and transmuted the concrete into a rising pillar that shoved the beam off her.

“Move!” he shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her free.

They tumbled behind a pile of rubble just as the Zero Pointer’s foot came crashing down, obliterating the street where she’d been.

The girl was shaking, eyes wide. “T-thank you…”

Ed stood, panting. His automail arm ached from the impact. He looked up at the machine.

He could fight it. He wanted to.

But he didn’t need to.

The buzzer blared.

“EXAM OVER.”

The Zero Pointer froze, its systems powering down with a hiss of steam.

Ed exhaled slowly, watching the red eye dim.

He hadn’t destroyed it, but he’d made the right call.

That’s what Al would’ve done.

—

The sirens started with a low, eerie, rising wail that echoed through the mock city like a warning from the sky.

Peter landed on a rooftop and crouched low, scanning the horizon. “That’s new.”

Then the tremor hit.

He felt it through the soles of his feet before he saw it. A deep, rhythmic pounding. Metal grinding. Concrete cracking.

And then it appeared.

The Zero Pointer.

It tore through a row of buildings like they were made of cardboard, its massive frame blotting out the sun. Its red eye swept across the battlefield, indifferent to the chaos it caused.

Peter’s jaw tightened. “Okay. That’s a quite lot of robot.”

He was about to reposition when he heard shouting below.

A group of students, maybe five or six, were charging straight at the thing. One had a quirk that let him launch fireballs. Another was growing spikes from his arms. A third was screaming something about “glory.”

Peter blinked. “Are you serious right now?”

The Zero Pointer didn’t even slow down. One of its arms swung wide, smashing into a building and sending debris flying. The students scattered, but one of them, a girl with a propulsion quirk, got clipped midair and slammed into a wall.

Peter didn’t hesitate.

He leapt from the rooftop, fired a webline, and swung low. “Why is it always the overconfident ones?”

He landed between the students and the Zero Pointer, just as another one of them tripped over a chunk of rubble.

“Everyone back!” Peter shouted. “You’re not gonna win this one!”

The students hesitated just long enough for the Zero Pointer to raise its foot.

Peter’s instincts screamed.

He fired two weblines, yanked himself forward, and tackled the nearest student out of the blast zone. The others scrambled after him as the robot’s foot came down with a thunderous crash, flattening the street.

Peter rolled to his feet, panting. “Okay. New rule. If it’s taller than your apartment building, maybe don’t try punching it. ”

The students stared at him, wide-eyed. One of them, the fireball guy, muttered, “We thought we could slow it down…”

Peter gave him a look. “You slowed it down the same way a mosquito slows down a truck.”

The Zero Pointer turned, its eye sweeping toward them again.

Peter’s mind raced. I could try to blind it. Or web the joints. Maybe collapse a building onto it…

But then the buzzer blared.

“EXAM OVER.”

The Zero Pointer froze mid-step, its systems powering down with a hiss of steam.

Peter exhaled and dropped to one knee, sweat dripping from his brow.

He hadn’t taken it down. But he’d kept those kids from getting themselves killed.

And that, in his book, was a win.

—

The Zero Pointers powered down across the testing zones, their red eyes dimming as the final buzzer echoed through the speakers. A quiet settled over the observation room as the teachers absorbed what they’d just seen.

Principal Nezu set his teacup down with a soft clink. “Well, that was illuminating.”

Midnight leaned forward, tapping her screen. “That green-haired boy in Zone A - Midoriya, I believe - he didn’t use his quirk the entire exam. Then suddenly, he launches himself into the air and smashes the Zero Pointer’s head in. Broke multiple limbs doing it.”

Aizawa exhaled through his nose. “Reckless. But undeniably brave. He saw someone in danger and didn’t hesitate.”

“I’ve already sent Recovery Girl to meet him at the gate,” Nezu added. “He’ll need immediate treatment if he wants to walk tomorrow.”

Vlad King gestured to another monitor. “The kid in Zone C, Edward Elric, didn’t engage the Zero Pointer directly, but he made a clean rescue. Lifted a support beam with his quirk, shielded the student from debris, and got her out of the blast zone. It was fast, efficient, and controlled.”

“He had the power to fight,” Aizawa said, “but he chose not to. That’s judgment. He understood the point wasn’t to win, it was to protect.”

Snipe nodded toward a different screen. “Then there’s Parker in Zone E. That one stood out. A group of students rushed the Zero Pointer like they were invincible. He saw what was about to happen and stepped in before it turned into a disaster.”

“He didn’t just pull one kid out of danger,” Midnight said. “He got the whole group to back off.”

“And he never tried to fight the robot,” Cementoss added. “He could’ve. But he didn’t waste time. He focused on saving lives.”

Aizawa crossed his arms. “Both Elric and Parker made the same call: protect, not perform. That’s the kind of instinct we need.”

Nezu’s eyes sparkled. “Then perhaps they’re not just promising students… They're already thinking like heroes.”

Chapter 3: Welcome to UA

Welcome to UA

 

It had been a couple of weeks since Edward and Winry took the entrance exam. As soon as it was over, they flew back home to Germany to wait for the results.

Winry’s letter came first, about a week ago, and of course, she aced it. Second place among all the Support Course applicants. Some girl named Mei Hatsume had taken first, but according to Winry, that was a given. Apparently, Mei spent the entire exam shouting about her “babies” and nearly blew up half the testing zone with her inventions.

Still, Power Loader - the Support Course instructor - had told Winry in her acceptance letter that he was impressed with how she used her quirk while building. He hadn’t realized she already had years of experience. After all, she was the one who built Ed’s arm and leg.

Ed had been born with a congenital defect; missing his left leg and right arm. The same limbs he’d lost in his previous life during the Human Transmutation that cost him everything. Until he was about five, he just got by with help from his parents.

But then Winry’s quirk awakened.

She was five too, and immediately insisted on trying it out (under strict adult supervision, of course). The first prototype was a disaster. The second wasn’t much better. But she kept at it. Year after year, she refined the design, adjusting the fit, and improving the mechanics. By the time Ed was seven, he could walk on his own and run. By eight, he was using his quirk with full mobility. And by nine, his arm and leg looked and felt just like the automail he used to wear. 

So yeah, of course UA accepted her. They’d have to be idiots not to.

Not that he’d ever say that to her face. She’d never let him live it down.

—

That night, the Rockbells were over for dinner. The table was full. There were roast pork, potatoes, and warm rolls enough to feed a small army. Ed’s parents sat at one end, chatting with Yuriy and Sarah Rockbell about work. Den, the rockbells dog, lay curled near the fireplace, tail thumping lazily.

Ed was halfway through his second helping when the mail slot clinked open in the front hall.

Den barked once and lifted his head.

“I’ll get it!” Winry said, already pushing back from the table.

Ed didn’t look up. He stabbed a potato with more force than necessary.

A moment later, her voice rang out from the hall. “Ed.”

He froze.

She returned with a small stack of envelopes, but one stood out; sleek, white, and stamped with the gold crest of UA High.

“It’s here,” she said, holding it up like a trophy.

Ed blinked. “What?”

Winry grinned and dropped it in front of him. “Yep. And you’re opening it. Right now.”

“I can just wait until after dinner,” he muttered, suddenly very interested in his potatoes.

“Nope,” she said, sliding his plate aside with a smirk. “You’re not dodging this. We’ve all been waiting to see if you got in.”

Sarah Rockbell smiled warmly. “We don’t mind waiting for dessert if it means hearing good news.”

Yuriy raised his glass. “And if it’s bad news, we’ll toast to the next school you try.”

Ed’s mother reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Whatever it says, we’re proud of you.”

His father nodded. “You’ve come a long way.”

Winry leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes gleaming. “And if it’s a rejection, I’ll build you a mechanical punching bag to take it out on.”

Ed sighed, glaring at the envelope like it had personally insulted him. “You’re all relentless.”

“You love it,” Winry said sweetly.

He muttered something under his breath, but his fingers were already breaking the seal.

Ed peeled open the envelope, careful not to tear the seal. Inside was a single, thin disc; sleek and metallic, with a faint UA insignia etched into the surface.

Winry leaned over and squinted. “Oh, hey, that’s the same kind of disc I got.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you blow yours up?”

She grinned. “Just press it.”

Ed set the disc on the table and tapped the center. It hummed softly, then projected a glowing blue hologram into the air above the table. The image flickered for a moment before resolving into a tall man in a crisp, dark blue coat with silver trim. His gloves were white with red circular symbols on the back. His posture, straight-backed and composed. The blue, silver and gold uniform was unmistakably military-like in cut. It was clean, formal, and commanding, but it bore no medals or insignia.

His voice was calm, clipped, and unmistakably authoritative.

“Greetings, applicant. I am the Flame Commander, UA’s newest faculty member and a pro hero specializing in pyrokinesis. I’ll be delivering your results today.”

Ed’s fork slipped from his hand and clattered onto his plate.

That voice.

That coat.

That face.

He knew it.

He hadn’t seen it in years; not since the Promised Day. Not since everything had ended.

Mustang…?

The man on the projection continued, but for a moment, his eyes lingered on the camera. Just a second too long. And when he said Ed’s name, there was the faintest pause.

“Edward… Elric.”

It wasn’t hesitation. It was recognition.

But the Flame Commander didn’t acknowledge it. His expression remained perfectly composed.

“You performed admirably in the practical exam. You earned fifty-three villain points for your efficient takedowns and strategic use of your quirk. But that’s not the full measure of your performance.”

He folded his hands behind his back.

“There was a hidden scoring system in place, rescue points. Because at UA, we believe that true heroism isn’t just about defeating villains. It’s about protecting others, even when it costs you the win.”

Ed leaned forward, breath caught in his throat.

“You earned forty-two rescue points,” the Flame Commander continued. “During the Zero Pointer event, you noticed a student pinned beneath debris. You transmuted the ground to lift the wreckage and carried her to safety, shielding her from the impact. That kind of instinct is rare. And it matters.”

Winry beamed. “I knew it.”

“That brings your total to ninety-five points,” he said. “Which places you second overall in the entrance exam.”

The projection shifted, displaying a glowing leaderboard with the top ten applicants:

UA Entrance Exam – Top 10 Scores

1. Peter Parker – 62 Villain Points / 47 Rescue Points = 109
2. Edward Elric – 53 Villain Points / 42 Rescue Points = 95
3. Katsuki Bakugo – 77 Villain Points / 0 Rescue Points = 77
4. Eijiro Kirishima – 39 Villain Points / 35 Rescue Points = 74
5. Ochaco Uraraka – 28 Villain Points / 45 Rescue Points = 73
6. Hinata Hyuga – 51 Villain Points / 20 Rescue Points = 71
7. Ibara Shiozaki – 36 Villain Points / 32 Rescue Points = 68
8. Itsuka Kendo – 20 Villain Points / 45 Rescue Points = 65
9. Garfield Logan – 22 Villain Points / 40 Rescue Points = 60
10. Toph Beifong – 48 Villain Points / 6 Rescue Points = 54

Ed barely registered the names, except one.

Peter Parker…

The kid who finished the written exam first. Quiet. Unassuming. And apparently, a powerhouse.

The Flame Commander’s voice returned. “Welcome to UA, Edward Elric. We look forward to seeing what you’ll become.”

The projection flickered, then faded.

A small red light blinked on the disc.

Winry’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. You’ve got about fifteen seconds before that thing…”

The disc popped with a soft fzzzt , releasing a puff of harmless smoke and a faint spark.

Ed blinked, still staring at the empty space where the projection had been.

Roy Mustang… here?

He didn’t say anything. Not yet. But the gears in his mind were already turning.

The room was silent for a beat, then erupted into cheers.

“You did it!” Winry shouted, grabbing his arm. “Second place! That’s amazing!”

Yuriy clapped him on the back. “Well done, Edward.”

His mother wiped a tear from her eye. “We’re so proud of you.”

Ed just stared at the empty space where the projection had been, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Second place, huh?

He could live with that.

For now.

—

“...and that’s why we say, PLUS ULTRA!”

The hologram of Present Mic struck a dramatic pose, his voice echoing through Peter’s small bedroom in Queens just before the projection began to fade.

Peter blinked, still staring at the glowing leaderboard hovering above the disc on his desk. His name sat at the top.

Peter Parker – 109 points. First place.

He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just sat there, cross-legged on his bed, hands resting on his knees, trying to process it.

First place…

He let the words settle in his mind, but it didn’t feel real. Or comfortable.

I wasn’t trying to win anything. I just… helped where I could.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning the names below his own.

Edward Elric. Second place. That was the kid with the braid, right? He stared at me during the written exam. Looked sharp. Focused. Definitely not someone to underestimate.

Third place… that guy with the spiky blond hair. Explosion quirk, if I remember right. No rescue points. Just raw aggression. He looked like he was ready to fight the exam itself.

Hinata Hyuga… sixth place. Pale eyes, moved like she could see through walls. Quiet, but precise. She didn’t draw attention to herself, but she didn’t need to. She was efficient. Dangerous in a calm, calculating way.

Peter’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked at the rest of the list.

The others? No clue. Didn’t see them during the exam. Didn’t notice them during the written portion either. Maybe they were in different zones. Or maybe I just wasn’t paying enough attention.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

So that’s the competition. And I’m the one they’re all going to be looking at now.

He didn’t like that thought. Not because he didn’t want to do well, but because being first meant being expected to lead. To never mess up. To always have the answer.

And he knew better than anyone how easy it was to fall short of that.

Just as he leaned back against the wall, a sharp tingle crawled up the back of his neck.

His spider-sense flared.

“What the…?”

The disc on his desk blinked red.

Then it popped with a soft fzzzt , releasing a puff of smoke and a faint spark that made him flinch and instinctively roll off the bed.

He peeked over the edge, eyes wide. “Seriously? It explodes?!”

He waved the smoke away, coughing once. “You’d think a school like UA could afford a less dramatic self-destruct.”

He sat back against the wall, staring at the empty space where the projection had been.

First place. Great. Now I just have to prove I deserve it.

—

The morning sun cast long shadows across the UA campus, its golden light catching on the sleek glass of the main buildings and the freshly trimmed hedges lining the walkways. It was early - too early for most students - but not for Peter Parker.

He stepped out of his apartment, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn that turned into a groan halfway through. His hair was still damp from the shower, and his uniform blazer hung loosely over one shoulder.

“First day,” he muttered to himself. “No pressure.”

The apartment complex was modest but modern; clean lines, wide windows, and a quiet courtyard in the center. It had been built to house UA’s foreign exchange students, those who couldn’t exactly commute from halfway across the world. There were upperclassmen, support course kids, and even a few general studies students scattered throughout the building.

But the ones Peter saw most often, the ones he would soon be sharing classes and training with, were the other first-year Hero Course exchange students

Peter’s room was on the second floor, overlooking the quad.

He glanced back at the door behind him, then down the walkway. A few other doors were still closed, but he could hear the faint clatter of someone moving around inside the unit next to his.

That would be Edward.

Peter hadn’t talked to him much yet. Just a few polite nods in passing, but he recognized the name. Second place on the entrance exam. The kid with the braid and the sharp eyes. There was something intense about him, like he was always thinking three steps ahead.

Across the hall was Toph Beifong, the Chinese student who had somehow aced the practical exam without ever opening her eyes. Peter still wasn’t sure how that worked, but he’d seen her casually crush a soda can with her foot without even looking. He wasn’t about to ask.

Downstairs lived Garfield Logan; green hair and skin, louder than necessary, and apparently able to turn into animals. Peter had seen him fly past the window as a parrot once. He still wasn’t sure if that was a dream.

And then there was Pony Tsunotori. Half-Japanese, born and raised in the U.S., and technically a foreign exchange student like the rest of them. Her Japanese wasn’t great (she’d admitted that with a sheepish grin) but she made up for it with relentless positivity and a habit of leaving motivational sticky notes on everyone’s doors.

Peter glanced at his own door. Sure enough, there was one now.

"You’ve got this! – Pony"

Next to the writing was drawn a small horse head.

He smiled faintly and tucked it into his pocket.

The courtyard was quiet, the air still cool with the last traces of morning dew. In a few hours, the campus would be buzzing with students, teachers, and the start of a new school year. But for now, it was just him, the rising sun, and the weight of everything ahead.

New country. New school. New expectations.

Peter adjusted his bag on his shoulder and started walking, the soles of his shoes tapping softly against the stone path that led from the dorms toward the main UA campus. The morning air was crisp, the sky a soft blue streaked with gold, and the towering silhouette of UA’s main building loomed ahead like a promise.

He passed a few other students along the way; some chatting in Japanese, others yawning into their coffee cups. A few glanced at him curiously, probably wondering if he was one of the new foreign kids. He offered a polite nod and kept walking.

Then, just ahead, he spotted someone moving a little too fast for their own good.

A green-haired boy in a blazer and backpack was jogging toward the main gate, eyes glued to a small notebook in his hands. He was muttering to himself, completely absorbed, and completely unaware of the uneven patch of pavement in front of him.

Peter’s spider-sense flared.

Trouble.

The kid’s foot caught the edge of the curb, and he pitched forward with a startled yelp.

Peter didn’t hesitate. He dropped low, fired a webline at the ground ahead, and yanked hard. His body slingshotting forward in a blur of motion. He zipped across the path, arm outstretched, ready to catch the falling student…

But just as he reached out, a hand shot in from the side.

A girl with short brown hair and a determined expression slapped her palm against the boy’s chest. The moment her fingers made contact, his fall slowed unnaturally, like gravity had suddenly taken a coffee break. He hovered just above the ground, blinking in confusion.

She gently guided him upright, her hand still on his blazer.

“There,” she said, brushing a bit of dust off his shoulder. “You okay?”

“S-sorry!” the boy stammered, clutching his notebook to his chest. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, I was just reviewing some notes and…”

Peter landed lightly a few feet away, his momentum already fading. He straightened, brushing off his sleeves like he hadn’t just launched himself across the walkway.

The girl looked over at him, blinking in surprise. “Whoa. Were you about to catch him too?”

Peter gave a sheepish shrug. “Reflex.”

The boy bowed quickly. “Th-thank you! Both of you!”

Peter offered a small wave and stepped aside to let them pass. As they walked on, he heard the girl whisper, “That was kind of cool,” and the boy mumbled something that sounded like, “He was flying…”

Peter smiled faintly and kept moving.

Okay. So maybe I’m not the only one with good instincts around here.

—

Peter followed the flow of students through the main building, his steps light but deliberate. The halls of UA were sleek and modern, but there was a quiet pressure in the air, as if the walls themselves expected greatness.

He checked the room number again: 1-A.

Here we go.

He slid the door open and stepped inside.

The classroom was already half full. Desks were arranged in neat rows, sunlight streaming through tall windows that overlooked the campus. A few students were chatting quietly, others sitting in silence, sizing each other up.

Peter’s eyes scanned the room instinctively.

Near the back, a girl with long dark hair and pale lavender eyes sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked like she was trying to disappear into her seat, her gaze flicking nervously between the other students. Hinata, Peter thought. He remembered her from the leaderboard, sixth place. Quiet. Precise. But clearly not comfortable in the spotlight.

Closer to the front, a blond student sat with his arms crossed and a scowl carved deep into his face. His eyes locked onto Peter the moment he stepped through the door. They were sharp, hostile, and burning with something just short of fury.

Peter didn’t need to guess.

Bakugo.

The guy didn’t say a word, but the message was loud and clear: You’re the reason I’m not at the top.

Peter held his gaze for a second, then looked away and made his way to an empty seat near the window.

The girl from earlier, the one who had caught the green-haired boy mid-fall, gave him a small wave. He returned it with a polite nod. The green-haired boy was seated beside her, scribbling furiously in his notebook, completely absorbed.

Peter set his bag down and exhaled slowly.

So this is it. Class 1-A.

The door slid open again.

Peter glanced up just in time to see Edward Elric step into the room.

He looked calm and composed, but Peter didn’t miss the way his eyes swept the room like someone used to walking into unpredictable situations. His gaze lingered on a few faces - Bakugo’s included - before he made his way to a seat a few rows back.

Peter could feel Bakugo’s glare shift behind him, now aimed squarely at Ed.

Guess he’s not thrilled about second place either.

The room buzzed quietly with tension and curiosity. No teacher yet. Not all the students had arrived. But the air was thick with the sense that something was about to begin.

And Peter could feel it in his bones.

—

Edward Elric stepped through the door of Class 1-A, his boots clicking softly against the tile floor.

He didn’t stop walking, but his eyes swept the room in a single, practiced motion; counting faces, noting posture, gauging energy. A habit he hadn’t shaken, even in this new world.

The classroom was nearly full now. His gaze caught on a blond student near the front. His arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Ed with a look that could’ve melted steel.

Okay, Ed thought, someone’s got a chip on their shoulder.

He didn’t recognize the guy, but the glare was unmistakable: pure, unfiltered resentment. Ed held the stare for half a second, then moved on.

Near the window, he spotted the boy who’d taken first.

Peter Parker.

He looked relaxed, but Ed could tell he was watching everything. Not just looking but watching. Calculating. There was something familiar in that. Something that made Ed’s instincts twitch.

His jaw tightened slightly, but he forced himself to breathe.

Focus. You’re not here to compete. You’re here to learn. To grow.

And yet, beneath that thought, something else gnawed at him.

Mustang is here.

The Flame Commander. The same voice. The same face. The same uniform, minus the medals, but unmistakably Amestrian military dress.

And when he’d said Ed’s name in the results hologram, he’d hesitated. Just for a second. But Ed had seen it.

He remembers. Or… he might.

Ed didn’t know why Mustang was here at UA. He didn’t care. What mattered now was finding out if the man remembered their past world. If he was the same Roy Mustang who had once been his commanding officer. His rival. His friend.

But not yet.

He pushed the thought down and slid into an empty seat near the middle of the room, setting his bag beside him and exhaling slowly.

Just breathe. You’ve got this.

“Yo!”

Ed looked up.

A blond kid with a jagged fringe and a bright, easy grin had wandered over to his desk. He looked like the kind of guy who made friends with vending machines.

“I’m Denki Kaminari,” the boy said, offering a hand. “First day, huh? Wild already.”

Ed blinked, then shook his hand. “Edward,” he said, his Japanese tinged with a faint but noticeable accent.

Denki tilted his head. “Whoa, you’re not from around here, huh?”

Ed gave a small shrug. “Not exactly.”

“Cool, cool. That’s awesome. I mean, UA pulling in students from all over? Kinda makes you wonder who else we’ve got in here.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Anyway, if you ever need help figuring out where stuff is, I’ve got a pretty decent sense of direction. Unless I’m hungry. Then I just follow the smell of fried food.”

Ed gave a faint smirk despite himself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before Denki could say more, the classroom door slid open with a soft shhhk .

Everyone turned.

No one was there.

Just… a sleeping bag?

No, something inside it. A lump. A vaguely human-shaped lump.

The lump stirred.

Then, slowly, it rose.

A man with messy black hair and tired eyes emerged from the cocoon of fabric like a disgruntled caterpillar. He looked around the room with the dead-eyed stare of someone who hadn’t had coffee in a week.

“Get to your seats,” he said flatly. “And be quiet.”

The room fell silent.

“I’m Shota Aizawa. Your homeroom teacher.”

He rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand.

“Orientation’s a waste of time. If you want to be heroes, you don’t need a warm welcome. You need to show me what you can do.”

He pulled a small device from his pocket and tapped the screen.

“We’re doing a quirk assessment. Now.”

A few students exchanged confused glances.

Aizawa didn’t wait for questions.

“Get changed and meet me outside. You’ve got ten minutes.”

Then he turned and walked out, sleeping bag dragging behind him like a ghost of comfort past.

Ed stared after him.

Well. So much for easing into things.

—

The sun was still climbing when Edward and Peter stepped onto the training field, first out, first ready.

They hadn’t planned it. Neither had said a word to the other in the locker room. But both had moved with the same quiet efficiency: in, changed, out. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

Peter adjusted the sleeve of his gym uniform and glanced around the open field. The air was cool, the sky clear, and the silence stretched wide around them.

So this is where it starts, he thought. No desks. No lectures. Just a patch of dirt and a teacher in a sleeping bag.

Ed stood a few paces away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn’t tense, but he wasn’t relaxed either. His mind was still circling the same thought it had been since the results disc.

Mustang’s here. He remembers. I know he does.

He pushed the thought aside. Now wasn’t the time.

More students began to trickle out onto the field, some chatting nervously, others stretching or looking around. Peter spotted the green-haired boy from earlier, still clutching his notebook like it was a life raft. Bakugo stormed out not long after, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes already locked on Peter and Ed with a scowl that could peel paint.

Aizawa stood at the edge of the field, arms tucked into his capture weapon like it was a blanket. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Parker,” he said suddenly, voice flat.

Peter blinked. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re up first. Ball throw.”

Aizawa tossed him a regulation softball. Peter caught it one-handed.

“Tell me your quirkless distance.”

Peter hesitated. “Uh… I don’t have one.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t do a baseline?”

“I’m from the U.S.,” Peter said. “We don’t include ball throws in our physical assessments. At least, not like this.”

Aizawa stared at him for a moment, then gave a slow blink. “Fine. Just throw it as far as you can.”

Peter nodded and walked to the circle.

Ed watched him go, curious despite himself.

Let’s see what first place looks like.

Peter rolled his shoulders once, then took a breath. He didn’t need to show off. Just give them a clean throw. Controlled. Focused.

He wound up, stepped forward, and let it fly.

The ball shot into the sky like a bullet, arcing high and far, so far it vanished into the blue for a moment before the tracker beeped.

1319 meters.

A few students gasped. Even Ed raised an eyebrow.

Peter stepped back, rubbing his shoulder absently.

Could’ve gone farther if I’d really leaned into it, he thought. But no need to break the sound barrier on day one.

Aizawa didn’t react. He just turned to the rest of the class.

“This is what you’re up against,” he said. “Heroics isn’t about smiling for the camera or playing nice with the press. It’s about results.”

He scanned the group, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“You’ll each be doing a full physical assessment. Use your quirks. Push yourselves. And if you come in last…”

He let the silence hang for a beat.

“You’re expelled.”

A ripple of shock moved through the class.

Peter’s brow furrowed slightly. That’s one way to motivate people.

Ed’s eyes narrowed. He’s bluffing. Probably. But I’m not taking chances.

Aizawa turned away, already tapping something into his tablet.

“Line up. Let’s get started.”

 

Chapter 4: First Impressions

Notes:

I'll, be honest, I was able to write the first 3 chapters in basically one day, but this one legit took me a whole week. Something about this chapter just didn't sit right to me, and writing it felt really tedious. I don't really like this section in MHA anyways, but it helps to build things up so I felt I needed to include it, even with how much writing it sucked. I still don't like this section, but due to my ADHD I need to move on and start writing the next part that my brain won't stop hyper-fixating on. I hope y'all enjoy it.

p.s.
For these first few, and probably next couple of chapters, this fic will be following cannon pretty close, but with the addition of the MCs. Once I finish setting things up, I will be able to show off a lot more of the ideas and characters that are floating in the dome I call my mind

p.p.s
Thank y'all so much for the comments and kudos, I honestly was thinking that this idea was stupid and that no one would care or read it. So for those that took the time to show their support, thank you!

First Impressions

Hinata stood near the edge of the training field, her fingers lightly curled at her sides, the fabric of her UA gym uniform soft beneath her touch. The morning air was crisp, the sky wide and cloudless above them, and the field stretched out like a stage she wasn’t sure she belonged on.

She had been one of the first to arrive; just behind the two foreign students.

They hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t expected them to. But she had noticed them.

The taller one, Parker, moved like he was used to watching everything. Not in a suspicious way, but like someone who couldn’t help it. His eyes were always scanning, his posture relaxed but ready. He didn’t seem nervous. If anything, he looked like he was holding back.

The other, Elric, was harder to read. He carried himself like someone older than he looked. Focused. Controlled. There was a tension in his shoulders, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. She recognized that feeling.

Hinata shifted her weight slightly, eyes flicking toward the painted circle where Peter had just thrown the ball. 1319 meters. The number still echoed in her mind.

That’s the kind of strength they expect here.

She took a slow breath, steadying herself. Her heart wasn’t racing, but it wasn’t calm either. She had trained for this. She had earned her place. But standing here, surrounded by strangers and expectations, it was hard not to feel small.

No. Not small, she corrected herself. Just quiet.

She could live with quiet.

Her eyes drifted back to the others as they lined up. Some looked excited. Some looked nervous. A few were already whispering about the distance Peter had thrown.

Hinata didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

She just watched. And waited.

 

—

 

The class had lined up along the track, the white chalk lanes stretching out across the field like a challenge. Aizawa stood off to the side, tablet in hand, calling names and recording times with the same tired indifference he’d shown since the moment he’d emerged from that sleeping bag.

Hinata stood near the middle of the group, quiet, hands folded in front of her. She wasn’t nervous, at least, not in the way she used to be. But her fingers still twitched slightly, brushing against each other as she watched the first pair step up to the line.

Tenya Iida and Tsuyu Asui.

Iida crouched like a sprinter, his engine-calfed legs humming faintly. Tsuyu stood beside him, relaxed but focused.

“Go.”

Iida vanished in a blur of blue and white, engines roaring. Tsuyu launched forward with a powerful leap, her frog-like limbs propelling her smoothly down the track.

Aizawa’s tablet beeped.

“3.04 seconds,” he said for Iida. “5.58 for Asui.”

A few murmurs rippled through the group. Hinata’s eyes widened slightly. So fast…

More students took their turns. Ochako Uraraka ran with determination, arms pumping hard, but her time, 7.15, was met with a quiet sigh. Yuga Aoyama struck a dramatic pose before sprinting, his laser belt flaring briefly. 5.51 seconds.

Then came Mina Ashido.

She bounced to the line with a grin, her stance loose and confident. When Aizawa gave the signal, she launched forward with surprising speed. Her movements were fluid and agile, almost like she was skating across the track.

The tablet beeped.

Aizawa called out her time, but Hinata didn’t quite catch the number. Still, the reaction from a few nearby students said enough… Mina was fast. Faster than she looked.

Then came Bakugo.

He didn’t wait for the signal. The moment Aizawa said “Go,” he exploded forward, literally, blasting down the track in a trail of smoke and heat.

“4.13 seconds,” Aizawa said, barely glancing up.

Hinata flinched slightly at the sound of the blast, but her eyes stayed locked on him. So aggressive… but controlled. He knows exactly how much force to use.

Then Aizawa called, “Parker. Elric.”

Hinata’s gaze shifted immediately.

Peter stepped up to the line, relaxed but alert. His stance wasn’t textbook. It was more like someone who’d learned to move in alleys and rooftops, not tracks. Ed stood beside him, arms loose at his sides, golden eyes narrowed slightly.

“Go.”

Peter didn’t run. He flicked his wrist, and a thin web shot forward, anchoring to a pole near the far end of the track. In a blink, he zipped forward, body low and streamlined, the web snapping free just before he landed in a smooth crouch at the finish.

Ed clapped his hands together and slammed them to the ground. A ripple of transmutation surged beneath his feet, and a stone ramp burst upward, launching him forward in a controlled arc. He landed hard but steady, skidding to a stop just past the line.

The tablet beeped.

“3.11 seconds. 4.25.”

Hinata felt her breath catch. They’re both incredible.

Peter stood and brushed dust from his sleeves. Ed straightened, his expression unreadable. Peter offered him a small nod. Ed didn’t return it, but he didn’t ignore it either.

Hinata’s name was called next.

She stepped forward, heart steady, feet light. She didn’t look at the others. She didn’t need to.

“Go.”

She moved.

Not the fastest. Not the slowest. Her body surged forward, legs driving hard, her form clean and efficient. No tricks. Just training, discipline, and the quiet determination that had carried her this far.

The beep came.

“5.32 seconds.”

She exhaled softly, stepping aside.

Not bad. Not great. But enough.

She glanced back at the others. Peter, stretching absently; Ed, arms crossed again, eyes scanning the field. Neither of them looked winded.

They’re not just strong, she thought. They’re used to this.

And for the first time that morning, Hinata felt something stir beneath her nerves.

Not fear.

Curiosity.

Hinata stepped off the track, her breathing steady, her pulse just beginning to settle. She folded her hands in front of her again, slipping back into the quiet space she was most comfortable in.

She didn’t expect anyone to say anything.

So when someone jogged up beside her, she blinked in surprise.

“Hey!” said a cheerful voice. “That was seriously impressive!”

Hinata turned slightly. It was Mina Ashido; bright eyes, pink skin, and a grin that looked like it had never known hesitation.

“You’re really fast,” Mina continued, hands on her hips. “And it didn’t even look like you used your quirk. Did you?”

Hinata hesitated, then shook her head gently. “N-No. I didn’t.”

Mina tilted her head. “So that was just… you?”

Hinata nodded, a little more firmly this time. “I’ve trained a lot. Running drills. Agility. I… I used to do a lot of sparring, too.”

Mina’s grin widened. “That’s awesome! You’ve got great form. Like, really smooth. You ever do track or something?”

Hinata blinked. “No… not exactly.”

“Well, whatever you did, it worked. I was watching you and thinking, ‘Dang, she’s gliding.’” She gave a playful nudge to Hinata’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be tough to beat.”

Hinata felt her cheeks warm slightly. Not from embarrassment. Just the unfamiliar sensation of someone being openly friendly without expecting anything in return.

“Th-Thank you,” she said softly.

Mina gave her a wink. “We should train together sometime. I bet we’d make a great tag team.”

And just like that, she was off again, bouncing back toward the group with the same energy she’d dashed with.

Hinata watched her go, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

 

—

 

The class moved to the next station: the standing long jump.

A wide sandbox stretched out in front of them, the edges marked with distance lines. The goal was simple. Just jump as far as you could from a standing position. No running start. Just power, control, and whatever your quirk could offer.

Hinata stood near the middle of the group again, watching quietly as the first few students took their turns.

Bakugo stepped up, arms loose at his sides, palms already crackling with heat.

“Go.”

He blasted himself forward in a controlled explosion, clearing the entire sandbox with ease and landing in a crouch on the far side. A few students clapped. Bakugo didn’t acknowledge them.

Explosive, but efficient, Hinata thought. He’s not wasting energy.

Yuga Aoyama followed, striking a dramatic pose before launching himself with a burst from his belt. He cleared the box too, barely, but made sure to land with flair.

Then came Midoriya.

He crouched, focused, and jumped.

His feet landed squarely in the middle of the sandbox with a soft thud. Not bad. But not enough to stand out.

Hinata’s name was called next.

She stepped forward, took a breath, and bent her knees. No tricks. Just her own strength and balance.

She jumped.

Her feet hit the sand near the far edge of the box. Just short of clearing it, but well past where Midoriya had landed.

She stepped out quietly, brushing sand from her shoes. Not perfect. But better than average.

Then came Ochako.

She smiled nervously, then tapped her fingers together, activating her quirk just before she jumped. She floated forward, light as air, and landed cleanly beyond the box.

A few students clapped again. She looked surprised by her own success.

Then Aizawa called, “Parker. Elric.”

Hinata’s eyes sharpened.

Peter stepped forward first. He crouched low, aimed his wrist, and fired a web at the ground just beyond the sandbox. The line stuck instantly. With a smooth, practiced motion, he yanked himself forward, slingshotting across the box and landing in a low crouch well past the edge.

It looked effortless.

He makes it look easy, Hinata thought. Too easy.

She couldn’t say for sure, but something about the way he moved. The calm, the control, it made her wonder if he was holding back. Not to deceive, just… out of habit.

Ed followed without hesitation. He clapped his hands together and touched the ground. A stone ramp burst upward beneath his feet, launching him forward in a clean arc. He landed just past Peter, boots skidding slightly in the dirt.

It wasn’t flashy, but it was effective. Direct. Intentional.

He’s not holding back, Hinata thought. He’s just not being challenged.

As the two returned to the group, Hinata noticed another student, Kirishima, approach Peter with a wide grin and an easygoing energy. She couldn’t hear what was said, but Peter responded with a small smile and a nod.

Good, she thought. They’re not isolating themselves.

She turned her attention back to the sandbox as the next names were called, her mind still turning over what she’d seen.

 

—

 

The class moved to the third station: grip strength.

Aizawa stood beside a row of digital dynamometers, tablet in hand, calling students up one by one. The machine was simple, squeeze the handle, and the screen displayed your result in kilograms. No flash. No explosions. Just raw, measurable force.

Hinata stepped up when her name was called. She took the device in both hands, adjusted her grip, and exhaled slowly.

Just like training. Focus. Breathe.

She squeezed.

The machine beeped.

65 kg.

Not amazing. But solid. She stepped back quietly, content with the result. She wasn’t built for brute strength; but she wasn’t weak either.

A few students went after her. Midoriya’s hands trembled slightly as he gripped the device. His result, 55 kg, earned a quiet frown from Aizawa, though he didn’t say anything.

Then came Shoji.

The tall, multi-armed student wrapped one of his massive hands around the device and squeezed. The machine let out a strained beep.

540 kg.

A few students gasped. Even Aizawa raised an eyebrow.

Hinata blinked. That’s… more than six times mine.

Then Aizawa called, “Parker.”

Peter stepped up, casually rolling his shoulders. He took the device in one hand, gave it a quick glance, and squeezed.

The machine beeped.

548 kg.

There was a pause; just long enough for a few heads to turn.

Peter didn’t react. He just set the device down and stepped back, rubbing his hand like it had been a warm-up.

Hinata’s eyes narrowed slightly. He doesn’t look that strong…

Then Aizawa called, “Elric.”

Ed stepped forward, sleeves reaching to his wrists - unlike the rest of the class, who wore the standard short-sleeved uniform. Both of his hands were gloved in white, the fabric clean and precise against the pale blue of his shirt.

Why the gloves? Hinata wondered. And the long sleeves?

She activated her Byakugan.

The world shifted. Her vision expanding, her perception sharpening. She could see the bones and muscle beneath skin, the flow of energy through limbs, the structure of the building behind them.

And Ed’s right arm.

Metal. Not prosthetic in the medical sense. Something more intricate. Mechanical. Dense. It gleamed beneath the fabric, a lattice of plates and joints that moved like a real limb.

His left leg was the same.

Hinata’s breath caught, but only for a moment. Her expression didn’t change.

That’s not a quirk, she thought. That’s something else entirely.

She let her gaze drift, just for a moment, and caught two more surprises.

Toru Hagakure stood near the back of the group, chatting with another student. To everyone else, she was invisible. But to Hinata’s eyes, she was visible… What Hinata would assume is the quirk equivalent of her chakra network outlined her form clearly, and even her facial features were faintly discernible.

So that’s what she looks like…

And then, just beyond the edge of the building, she saw him.

All Might.

Pressed against the far wall, half-hidden behind a corner, peeking around like a child trying to spy on a surprise party.

What is he doing here? Hinata wondered. Why is he watching us?

She deactivated her Byakugan as Ed took the device in his right hand and squeezed.

253 kg.

No reaction. No comment. He handed the device back and returned to the line, silent as ever.

Hinata watched him go, her brow faintly furrowed. Why are two of his limbs metal?

The test continued, numbers rising and falling, but Hinata’s thoughts lingered on the two boys who didn’t look like powerhouses, but clearly were.

They’re not just fast, she thought. They’re strong. And careful about what they show.

 

— 

 

The rest of the assessment moved quickly after the grip test.

Hinata stayed quiet, observant, her thoughts still lingering on what she’d seen with her Byakugan. But the tests didn’t wait for reflection. One by one, the class cycled through the remaining events - repeating side steps, sit-ups, the seated toe touch, and finally the distance run.

Peter moved through them all with the same quiet ease he’d shown since the start. He didn’t push himself to the limit. He never did, not unless he had to, but he still outpaced nearly everyone. His balance and reflexes made the side steps feel like a rhythm drill. Sit-ups were effortless. And when it came to the seated toe touch, he leaned forward with the kind of flexibility that made it look easy, like his body had no resistance to the motion at all.

The distance run was more of the same. He kept a steady pace, light on his feet, weaving around the track like it was second nature. Ed kept a stride behind him the whole way, no flash, no wasted motion, just raw, grounded power. While not quite as fast as Peter, he could run.The two of them had quietly dominated the assessment without ever needing to say a word.

Peter wiped a bit of sweat from his brow as the last students crossed the finish line. He glanced around the group, watching how everyone carried themselves now that the pressure was easing. Some looked exhausted. Some looked frustrated. A few were already comparing scores.

And a few… still didn’t quite add up.

“Hey, um, Parker, right?”

Peter turned. Midoriya stood a few feet away, fidgeting slightly, his notebook tucked under one arm. His expression was earnest, if a little nervous.

“Yeah,” Peter said, smiling. “Peter’s fine.”

Midoriya nodded quickly. “I-I just wanted to say, your performance today was amazing. Especially the grip strength and the dash. Your quirk must be really versatile.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. It’s kind of a weird one, honestly. Its called Arachnid Physiology. Basically, I have the abilities of a spider.  I’ve got enhanced strength, reflexes, balance, and I can stick to walls. Oh, and I can shoot webs.”

Midoriya’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I noticed those webs… do they only come out of your wrists, or can they come out of, like… other places too?”

Peter laughed. “Just the wrists, I promise.”

Midoriya looked like he was about to ask five more questions, but Peter cut in gently.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

Midoriya blinked. “Uh, sure?”

Peter glanced past him, then gestured for someone nearby. “Hinata, hey, come here a sec?”

She approached quietly, her expression neutral but attentive.

Peter looked between the two of them. “I’ve been watching everyone today. And I noticed something. A few people haven’t really used their quirks during the tests - like Hagakure or Jiro - but that makes sense. Their quirks don’t really help with raw physical stuff.”

He paused, then tilted his head slightly.

“But you two… I haven’t seen either of you use your quirks. Not once.”

Hinata didn’t flinch. Midoriya looked like he’d been caught holding a secret in both hands.

Peter raised his palms. “I’m not judging. I’m just curious. Is there a reason you’re holding back?”

Hinata didn’t hesitate.

“My quirk is the Byakugan,” she said softly. “It enhances my vision. I can see through objects, track movement, and detect energy flow. But it doesn’t give me any physical advantages.”

Peter nodded, genuinely intrigued. “That’s pretty cool. So kind of like X-ray vision, but more detailed?”

Hinata gave a small nod. “Something like that.”

Peter smiled. “Still, you did great. You’re fast.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice even.

Peter turned back to Midoriya. “And you? I mean, I’ve heard you mumbling really intriguing analyses of your classmates' quirks, but I haven’t seen your quirk in action.”

Midoriya opened his mouth, clearly caught between honesty and hesitation.

Then a voice cut through the air like a grenade going off.

“That’s because he doesn’t have one.”

Bakugo.

He stalked toward them, arms crossed, eyes sharp with fury.

“He’s fuckin’ quirkless.”

Midoriya flinched, just barely. Hinata’s gaze shifted toward Bakugo, her expression unreadable.

Peter blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Bakugo scoffed, stepping closer. “Yeah. Seriously. And somehow that useless bastard still got into the Hero Course. Can you believe that shit?”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Well, he did fine today. Better than some.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Bakugo snapped. “You don’t know him. Deku’s been chasing this dumbass dream since we were kids, trying to play hero without a quirk, like he’s some kind of damn underdog in a comic book.”

Midoriya looked down, fists clenched at his sides.

“And you,” Bakugo snarled, turning on Peter, “what the hell’s your problem? You think this is funny?”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“You’re holding back. Everyone can see it. You breeze through every test like you’re just stretching your legs. Like this whole thing’s beneath you.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t holding back.”

Bakugo scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Peter shrugged, casual. “Guess I’m just built different.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, fists twitching. “You smug little-”

“I-It looked like full effort to me,” Midoriya said suddenly, voice quiet but firm.

Bakugo turned on him like a stormcloud.

Midoriya didn’t back down. “He was fast. Strong. Controlled. If that’s him holding back, then… I don’t think it matters. He earned his spot.”

Peter glanced at him, surprised. Then gave a small nod.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything else. He just turned and stalked off, muttering curses under his breath.

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Then Aizawa’s voice cut through it, dry and direct as ever.

“All right. Ball throw. Line up. If you haven’t gone yet, you’re up now.”

Students began to shuffle toward the designated area. A few groaned, others stretched their arms. Aizawa didn’t bother repeating himself.

Peter stayed where he was.

He’d already gone.

He watched as the others moved, eyes drifting toward the circle where he’d thrown the ball earlier that morning. It went over thirteen hundred meters. He wondered if anyone would come close to it. 

 

—

 

Ed walked across the training field, boots scuffing against the dirt as he approached the circle for the next test. He stopped just short of the white boundary, eyes scanning the setup with quiet calculation.

He didn’t step inside yet. Just waited.

Aizawa called out the first name. “Bakugo.”

The explosive blonde stalked forward with a grin that looked like it could scorch concrete. He took the ball, wound back, and launched it with an eruption that shook the air.

“DIE!”

The ball screamed through the sky in a smoky arc, disappearing against the clouds.

Aizawa’s tablet beeped.

705.2 meters.

Bakugo hissed through his teeth, kicking at the ground. “Tch… damn it.”

Ed tilted his head slightly. Guess he was aiming to beat Parker.

Names continued to roll by. A few solid throws, a few disappointing ones. Then Aizawa called, “Elric.”

Ed stepped into the ring.

He knelt quickly, palm to the ground, and transmuted a bat from the earth. Simple, clean, solid. He stood, took his stance, tossed the ball once to gauge weight, then tapped his foot and swung.

The impact cracked across the field as the ball soared forward, spinning fast and low before vanishing near the treeline.

651 meters.

Not bad. Not Peter’s number. But strong. Clean. Satisfying.

He dismissed the bat and stepped aside just as Momo Yaoyorozu made her way up. She knelt beside the circle and created a cannon that rested on the ground, its base steady and angled for maximum trajectory. With practiced efficiency, she loaded the ball and launched it in a high arc.

Ed raised an eyebrow.

Why didn’t I do that?

Aizawa barely glanced at the score before waving the next student forward.

Then came Ochako Uraraka.

She touched the ball delicately, activated her quirk, and let it drift skyward, weightless and unbound.

Infinity

The crowd shifted. A mix of murmurs and awe. A few groans of disbelief.

Ed smirked slightly. Smart move.

Then Aizawa’s voice called, “Midoriya.”

Ed turned, watching as the nervous green-haired student stepped toward the throwing circle. 

He was to be the last to try the Ball Throw test.

He hadn’t used his quirk at all during these tests. If Bakugo is to be believed, then he doesn’t have one. 

But there was something about Midoria that seemed to say “Pay attention to me” despite the fact that he radiated of nerves.

For the first time that morning, Ed felt himself lean forward, just a little.

 

—

 

Midoriya stepped into the throwing circle, shoulders squared and eyes locked onto the ball in his hand. His fingers curled around it slowly, feeling out its weight, tracing the seam with a kind of reverence.

Peter watched from a few yards away, brows gently raised. Guy looks like he’s holding a relic, not a piece of gear.

Hinata, standing off to the side, noted the subtle tremble in Midoriya’s grip. Not nerves exactly. More like pressure building beneath the surface, tension straining to remain unnoticed.

Midoriya inhaled.

He stepped, pivoted, wound up his arm…

And then it hit.

A flash - not light, not sound, but sensation. Like the atmosphere warped, like something massive was pressing outward from inside a container that couldn’t hold it.

Peter jerked back instinctively, heels scraping against the dirt. “Whoa…” What was that?

Hinata’s posture snapped rigid, eyes wide, but not in fear. In recognition. It felt like Naruto at his strongest. Just straight power.

Ed didn’t hesitate. He snapped forward into a low guard stance, gloved hands ready, shoulder angled. That wasn’t normal.

Aizawa’s hair lifted slightly in response as his eyes flared and locked on Midoriya.

The surge collapsed mid-motion.

Midoriya threw the ball, but the momentum died before it left his hand.

It skidded through the air and hit the ground with a soft, awkward bounce.

15.3 meters.

The silence was loud.

Midoriya’s shoulders sank. Aizawa didn’t say a word.

Ed’s eyes didn’t leave Midoriya.

He stepped forward, boots grinding against the dirt, jaw tight.

“What the hell was that?” he said, not loud, but sharp. Not furious. Just… deeply unsettled.

A few students glanced over, confused. Not at the throw - even though it was a horrible throw,  but at Ed’s tone. And Peter, standing a few steps back, still hadn’t moved back forward. His sudden recoil hadn’t gone unnoticed either.

Hinata took a quick look around the pitch. It seems most of the students didn’t even notice the surge of power that came from Midoria.

Midoriya tensed under their attention. He opened his mouth, tried to speak, but the words tangled in his throat.

“I-I tried to use my quirk, it just…”

Aizawa cut him off.

“If the only thing your quirk does is destroy your body the moment you use it, then it’s not just unreliable, it’s dangerous. Not to your enemies, but to you.”

Midoria froze.

“If you collapse after one move, you’re not a fighter, you’re a liability. In the field, when seconds matter and lives are on the line, there’s no room for someone who breaks themselves trying to help. That kind of recklessness doesn’t make you brave. It makes you a risk. A risk to yourself, your teammates, and the civilians you're supposed to protect.”

The words didn’t need to be cruel. They were clear enough.

Midoriya’s head dipped. His fingers trembled around the ball still in his palm.

But then he raised his chin again.

“I-I understand,” he said quietly. “Can I… try again?”

Aizawa stared at him for a long second.

Then gave a single nod.

The ball landed in Midoriya’s hands again with a dull thunk . He stood in the circle again, same stance, same grip. But this time, something in his posture had shifted.

He wasn’t nervous. Not entirely. He looked… determined.

Hinata watched him carefully. Her gaze sharpened, and without a word, she activated the Byakugan.

The shift hit instantly.

His body blazed with energy, violent, dense, and barely contained. It pulsed through him in wild surges, like a dam struggling to hold back a flood. She focused on the motion of it, and saw it all rushing toward one point.

His right hand.

No. His index finger.

Hinata’s brow twitched.

He’s channeling everything… into one finger?

Peter felt the pressure again, but this time it was measured. Calibrated. Not really controlled, but guided. The chaos from before was gone, replaced by something sharp and purposeful.

Ed remained still, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

Midoriya lifted the ball, wound up, braced his feet just right.

Then he threw it. 

Just one finger channeled with power.

The ball tore through the sky like a comet.

Aizawa’s tablet blinked once.

705.3 meters.

Peter’s eyes widened slightly. He beat Bakugo.

Only by a hair. But it counted.

Midoriya turned toward Aizawa, his hand raised, one finger outstretched, red and trembling, but intact.

“I can still fight,” he said, voice steady.

Aizawa’s mouth twitched into a grin.

Just for a moment.

There was a beat of silence after the throw.

Then Uraraka lit up with a grin. “I knew you could do it, Midoriya!”

Ida adjusted his glasses, visibly impressed. “So that is the strength that Uraraka was talking about. I was wondering how you beat that zero pointer.”

Midoriya flushed but smiled, his finger still trembling, yet held high with stubborn pride.

Across the field, Bakugo hadn’t moved.

His jaw was open. Eyes wide. Muscles taut, like someone had pulled the rug out from under his worldview.

705.3 meters.

He blinked once.

And then he snapped.

“You lying piece of shit ! You said you didn’t have a quirk!” he screamed, voice laced with venom. “You’ve been faking it! Playing weak! Just to show me up! Is that it, Deku?! That is your plan?! Make me look like a damn idiot?!”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, the cheerful glint gone from his expression. 

Midoriya took a step back, visibly trembling. “I-I didn’t…”

Bakugo kept coming. “You always wanted to be better than me, huh?! You couldn’t beat me, so you cheated ! You let me carry you all those years while you sat on this - this damn secret! ”

His palms crackled. Sparks flared.

And then he swung.

“GET OVER HERE!”

The explosion didn’t land.

Ed’s arm was already up, gloved fingers clamped around Bakugo’s wrist like a vice.

Peter’s web stretched from the same spot on Bakugo’s wrist, taut and pulsing, anchored to the dirt behind them, but it hadn’t been needed. Ed’s reflexes were faster.

Bakugo winced. The sting hit instantly.

It wasn’t the kind of pain he expected, not the sharp burn of backlash from his own quirk or the usual jarring impact of a blocked strike. It was deeper, denser. Like punching something unyielding.

He glanced at Ed’s grip, seeing only fabric, fingers, and an unreadable stare.

“What the hell...?”

His hand sparked once, then sputtered.

No detonation.

He looked up.

Aizawa was watching him.

Hair floating. Eyes glowing.

The air around Bakugo flattened, pressure folding inward like someone had turned off the volume on reality.

Then Midoriya blinked, eyes shifting from Bakugo’s frozen arm to Aizawa standing a few paces behind.

The floating hair. The piercing stare. The silence.

“You… You’re Eraserhead?” Midoriya asked, voice barely more than a breath.

Aizawa didn’t respond immediately. His eyes stayed locked on Bakugo.

“Stand down.”

Bakugo gritted his teeth, sparks trying, and failing, to build again in his palm.

“I won’t say it twice,” Aizawa continued. “You throw another swing like that, and there will be consequences."

Bakugo snarled but didn’t argue. He yanked his arm back, first from Ed’s grasp.

Aizawa’s hair settled, eyes dimming as the pressure around them faded.

Aizawa lifted his tablet again, thumb brushing the corner to activate the final summary screen. A soft beep followed as the rankings appeared. Each student’s name and overall score calculated from every event.

He turned the screen toward the class.

“Here are your results,” he said flatly.

Eyes narrowed. Bodies leaned in. A few students whispered as numbers sorted themselves across the top and bottom halves of the display.

Peter spotted his name immediately, right at the top. No surprise. His grip strength, sprint time, flexibility, and endurance had carried him with barely a slip.

Ed’s name sat comfortably just beneath it. His precision, raw physicality, and creative transmutation had kept him solid across the board.

At the very bottom, Midoriya’s name glowed like a bruise.

Last place.

No ceremony. No explanation. Just facts.

The earlier throw wasn’t enough to erase everything that came before.

Midoriya stared at the list, jaw tight. He didn’t speak.

Peter didn’t either. He just glanced at Ed, then at Hinata, watching how each of them read the moment differently.

Aizawa’s eyes swept across the crowd.

“What I said earlier, about the last place getting expelled, was a lie. A simple ruse to get you all to try your hardest," he said, as though reading a few minds at once. “Consider that a gift. Don’t make me regret it.”

And just like that, the test was over.

As the class began to scatter, most students still digesting the score reveal, Peter made his way toward Ed with an easy stride. The tension from earlier hadn’t quite lifted, but the air felt thinner now, more reflective than charged.

“You moved fast back there,” Peter said, nodding toward the spot where Bakugo’s punch had stalled mid-air. “I didn’t expect anyone to step in like that.”

Ed didn’t smile. He didn’t even look up right away. He just kept his arms loosely crossed and let out a low scoff.

“And what, you thought I’d just stand there and let him blow the kid’s head off?”

Peter shrugged, half a grin forming. “Not exactly. But I had a web ready. You beat it.”

Ed finally glanced at him, his tone dry. “Of course someone training to be a hero would do a heroic thing. I didn’t do it for applause.”

Peter’s grin faded into something more thoughtful. “I didn’t say you did. It was instinct. That says more than any test score.”

Ed looked away again, silent for a beat. His eyes tracked across the field, where the dust had barely settled.

Midoriya approached, his hand still wrapped around the ball he’d thrown with a single finger. That hand was trembling, but his expression wasn’t. He stood between them, unsure if he was interrupting but too driven to care.

“Um… thank you,” he said, voice soft. “For what you did.”

Peter tilted his head. “No problem.”

Ed gave a small grunt of acknowledgment.

Midoriya continued, his voice a little stronger now. “But… if something like that ever happens again, I’ll handle it myself. Kaachan’s… he’s an old friend.”

That made Ed snort. “Some friend you got. He nearly took your head off.”

Midoriya looked down briefly, then back up. “He’s angry. I get it. I wasn’t supposed to have a quirk, and now I do. It’s complicated.”

Peter watched him quietly, studying the way he stood; hurt, shaken, but resolute.

And Ed? He didn’t say anything else. But his gaze lingered just a little longer than before.

 

Chapter 5: Let the Battles Begin

Notes:

So, this chapter will be Elric heavy, and probably the next couple as well. Basically, I have spread out how I will focus on the different MCs, so I can make sure I don't miss anything, so while you will see Peter and Hinata's POVs in these next few chapters, a lot of it will prioritize Ed and his Backstory, so if you are wanting to learn more abut hinata and peter, you will have to be patient.

Also, I started writing this chapter and realizing it was going to be too long, so instead of shortening it like a logical person, I just split it in two. Welcome to Part 1 of the Hero V Villain battles.

Let the Battles Begin

 

The last class had been another lecture.

One teacher talked about syllabus objectives. Another outlined hero conduct and reporting procedures. Some mentioned fitness schedules. Others just droned.

Ed tuned most of it out.

He wasn’t here for motivational speeches or empty promises. He was here to train. To fight. To build something that mattered.

The only part of the day that hadn’t made his brain itch from boredom was the quirk assessment, and even that ended with Peter knocking him into second place again.

He tugged on his backpack and stepped into the open courtyard, boots hitting concrete with a dull thud . Students were spilling out in packs; laughing, talking, dragging their feet toward the campus gates.

Ed didn’t join any group.

He angled toward the side path near the tech wing, moving quickly. He didn’t need company.

“Ed!”

The voice cracked through the bustle, bright and familiar.

He turned, and Winry was already bounding toward him, practically vibrating with excitement. When they were one-on-one, they always spoke German, and the switch was instinctive.

“You won’t believe it!” she said. “Powerloader let me sit in on his lab today! Just fifteen minutes, but he looked at my blueprints! My blueprints!”

Ed blinked. “Seriously?”

“He said my detail work is better than half the third-years. I almost screamed.”

Ed gave a crooked smirk. “Sounds like you’ll be famous before you even install your first bolt.”

She rolled her eyes, still glowing. The kind of glow that came from schematics and soldering irons.

They were mid-laugh when someone cut in.

“Yo!” Kirishima called, jogging over with his usual blast of energy. “Sorry to interrupt, just had to ask. Are you two, like... a couple?”

Both Ed and Winry froze.

Ed’s eyes widened.

Winry blinked twice, face suddenly hot.

“What… no, I mean, wait…” she stammered, not quite answering.

Ed looked sideways at her, then back at Kirishima, shoulders stiff. “I-uh…”

Kirishima tilted his head, clearly amused at their mutual short-circuit. “Hey, no judgment! You just seemed like you’ve been glued at the hip since orientation.”

Winry laughed awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve known each other forever. We came here together from abroad.”

Ed nodded. “She was aiming for UA I figured... why not.”

“Oh! That’s awesome,” Kirishima said.

Kirishima shifted the conversation smoothly, tilting his head with curiosity. “Hey, just wondering, do you live close by? Or are you guys commuting from across town or something?”

Ed shook his head. “Nah. I’m in the dorms on campus.”

“Oh, seriously? That’s awesome,” Kirishima said. “Didn’t know UA had set up housing for international students already.”

Winry jumped in before Ed could answer further. “They set it up recently, probably just barely in time for us. It’s a little barebones, but better than hunting for an apartment mid-semester.”

“Plus,” Ed added dryly, “I get ten fewer distractions and a straight shot to a gym.”

Kirishima grinned. “Efficiency. Respect.”

They walked together across campus, catching up in quiet patches as the crowd thinned. Kirishima eventually waved them off at the split near the train station, flashing his usual grin.

“Catch you tomorrow!” he called.

Winry waved back. “See ya!”

Ed didn’t say anything, but he nodded, at least.

The rest of the walk was calm, soft conversation humming under the sky. Winry talked about gear ratios Powerloader mentioned. Ed mostly grunted replies or offered counterpoints on torque and material stress. They were different rhythms, but they worked.

Their dorm sat tucked behind the west wing. It was quiet and tucked away from everything else.

Reaching their rooms, they split for the evening.

“Later,” Ed said.

Winry smirked. “Try not to rip anything apart while you sleep.”

“Can’t promise that.”

—

 

The morning air was crisp. Too clean for Ed’s liking, if he was being honest. It doesn’t feel like the bustling Japan he was expecting. He stepped out from the dorm courtyard with his sleeves rolled up and expression already locked in that familiar scowl.

 

He walked with quiet purpose, the paved path winding back toward the main academic building.

Someone called out from across the way.

“Hey, Edward, right?”

Ed slowed. Peter jogged up beside him, bag slung half-carelessly over one shoulder, posture relaxed.

“You heading to class?” Peter asked.

Ed nodded. “Yeah.”

Peter fell in step beside him, not exactly invited, but not shooed off either.

“I figured, since we’re stuck in the same class for the next three years, maybe it’s worth getting on good terms.” He gave a crooked grin. “No pressure or anything. Just… y’know. Pavement politics.”

Ed glanced at him sideways, eyes narrowed just enough to hint amusement. “If this is your idea of diplomacy, you need to work on your pitch.”

Peter grinned, undeterred. “Hey, I’ve made worse first impressions.”

Ed rolled his eyes and kept walking. “Lucky me.”

—

The day dragged.

Math was fine. Ed ran laps around the material. And English? That was practically a nap session. He was fluent. So was Peter, who sat a few seats away and looked equally unimpressed. While the teacher explained grammar basics to the rest of the class, Peter leaned on one elbow and doodled diagrams of possible villain quirk mutations, occasionally tapping his pencil like he was scoring a battle theme in his head.

Neither of them were challenged.

Ed fought the urge to nap.

Peter debated whether drawing biological reactions to corrosive quirks would count as homework.

Then, after lunch, came Hero Basic Training; and the door didn't open.

It exploded .

“I HAVE COME THROUGH THE DOOR, LIKE NORMAL!!” boomed All Might, his arms raised in full dramatic glory.

The class erupted .

Chairs scraped. Voices jumped.

“That’s the real All Might, he’s really teaching us?!”

“Wait, is this for a demonstration, or does he run a whole course?”

Even Peter’s eyes lit up. His foot stopped bouncing. His whole posture leaned forward like a fanboy on caffeine.

Ed blinked.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t see a pro hero.

He saw Major Armstrong.

The cape. The shine. The absolute theatrics .

All Might radiated that same bizarre combination of overwhelming power and unshakable heart. A man who could flatten buildings one moment and cry over friendship the next.

Ed muttered under his breath, “Great. Another one who sparkles when he moves.”

Peter glanced sideways. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I'm not cleaning glitter out of my hair if it comes to that.”

All Might’s cape settled behind him like thunderclouds furling into rest. He posed with a grin that could light streetlamps.

“I WILL BE YOUR INSTRUCTOR FOR TODAY’S HERO BASIC TRAINING!”

The class buzzed instantly.

“He’s wearing his Silver Age costume!”

“He actually teaches?! I thought he was just a spokesperson now!”

“His muscles have muscles.”

Peter leaned forward, eyes wide. Ed stayed in his seat, one brow raised. He could already tell there was more performance than pedagogy here, but at least it wasn’t another grammar lecture.

Then the door opened the normal way; that was, quietly.

A figure stepped through, gloved hands in his pockets, expression unreadable beneath sharp eyes and jet-black hair.

“I trust the theatrics served some purpose?” Roy Mustang said, voice calm but edged like a well-pressed uniform. He didn’t look at the students; he looked directly at All Might, as if they’d had this conversation twice already and it never got any less ridiculous.

All Might laughed heartily. “My apologies, Flame Commander! I do enjoy a dramatic moment.”

Ed’s stomach did a backflip.

He already knew Roy was affiliated with UA, he’d found out months ago. But seeing him here, in uniform, at the front of his classroom?

That was something else.

The words left his mouth unplanned, slipping past instinct in a low, startled breath.

He said it in Amestrian. reflexive, familiar, and loud enough to be heard.

“Colonel Mustang…”

Roy’s gaze flicked to Ed instantly, recognizing the language as much as the voice. No change in expression. But he had heard it.

Ed didn’t speak. He didn’t move. Just sat there, quiet, caught between memory and reality. 

If any of the other students heard Ed say Colonel Mustang, he didn't notice. All of his attention was on the Flame Commander

Roy gave a small sigh, then turned to address the class with that usual Mustang crispness. “All Might and I will be alternating instruction for Heroics. Every other day, unless schedule adjustments are made. Major activities,” he cast a pointed glance at the still-fractured classroom doorframe, “will be handled jointly.”

“Excuse me,” Momo said clearly from the second row, her posture perfect as always, “I thought the Flame Commander typically operated out of Europe. What brings you to UA?”

Roy turned his gaze toward her.

“I’m usually stationed in Europe, yes. But here at UA, you can simply call me Mustang.” His tone was crisp, cool, and carried the faintest hint of formality, like he hadn’t lost the habit of command, even in a classroom.

He paused just long enough to scan the room.

“I graduated from UA years ago,” he continued. “Same class as Eraserhead and Present Mic, actually.”

That earned a few surprised glances.

Roy folded his arms casually, but the way he stood commanded attention.

“Principal Nezu contacted me directly. Requested I assist with instruction this term. There are…” Mustang glances towards All Might, “circumstances that call for deeper guidance than usual.”

“But that's not important right now," the Flame Commander continued. 

All Might stood at the front of the room like a monument to dramatics, cape catching the light as he raised one gleaming hand.

“Anyways… WELCOME, CLASS 1-A!” he bellowed. “Today begins your official introduction... to Hero Basic Training!”

All Might smiled, impossibly wide. “This is no lecture! Today, we prepare you for combat, hero style!”

He spun toward the control panel beside the wall and slammed his palm onto a red button with no hesitation.

With a satisfying WHIRR-CLUNK, a vertical section of the wall split open, revealing twenty matte-black suitcases sliding forward from hidden compartments.

Each case was stamped with the student’s name and ID number. Some shimmered slightly with reinforced plating. Others had odd latches, compartments, or embedded vents. It was instantly clear, these weren’t school uniforms.

“These,” All Might declared, “are your hero costumes, customized to fit your submitted designs. Functionality, aesthetics, support gear. It’s all accounted for!”

Students leapt from their seats.

Kirishima practically vibrated with excitement. “Let’s goooo!”

Peter stood slowly, gaze flicking toward his case, heart skipping a beat.

Ed didn’t move right away. He just stared, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. Not nervous; just bracing.

All Might’s voice rang one last time as students surged forward.

“Meet us at Training Ground Beta in twenty minutes. You’ll suit up, and prepare for your first real challenge!”

Having said that, All Might turned and left the classroom promptly. Roy was left standing there, watching as each of the students found their suitcase, and left the classroom.

The classroom had emptied out in a blur of chatter and excitement, twenty suitcases trailing twenty students toward Training Ground Beta.

But Ed lingered - half because he was bracing for the exercise, half because Roy Mustang was still in the room.

Roy didn’t move from his place near the front. He just watched Ed as the door slid closed behind the last student.

“That was Amestrian you spoke earlier, wasn't it?” he asked, voice calm and deliberate.

Ed turned his head, just slightly. “You remember.”

Roy nodded once. “Of course I do. I may operate in Europe now, but Amestris leaves its mark.”

Ed looked away, fingers twitching at his side.

Roy stepped closer, not imposing, just present. “I saw your name on the roster several weeks back. Noticed Winry’s application first, actually.”

A small pause. Just enough breath between sentences.

“She’s thriving, by the way. Powerloader’s been impressed.”

Ed gave a small grunt in response.

Roy tilted his head. “I assumed Alphonse would be nearby too. He’s younger, so not at UA, I take it?”

Ed flinched, barely.

He didn’t turn toward Roy, but his voice dropped low and tight. “Al’s not here.”

Roy’s eyes sharpened. “Not in Japan?”

“I don't know where he is.” Ed's jaw clenched. “There is no Alphonse. Not in this world.”

The silence that followed didn’t press, but settled.

Roy didn’t pry.

He just nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful. “I see.”

Roy’s gaze lingered for a moment, thoughtful but steady.

Then he nodded toward the corridor. “Well, let’s not keep the class waiting. We can catch up during tomorrow's lunch.”

Ed snorted, grabbing the handle of his suitcase. “Only if you're buying. I don’t sit through lectures for free.”

Roy allowed the faintest upward twitch of a smile. “Still allergic to gratitude, I see.”

“Still allergic to subtlety,” Ed shot back over his shoulder.

And with that, he walked out. His boots heavy, steps certain, suitcase swinging at his side.

—

The walk to Ground Beta wasn’t long, but Peter liked to arrive early. Old habits. Queens didn't give you second chances if you showed up late to danger.

Hinata was already ahead, her stride quiet and precise. She didn’t walk so much as glide, back straight, eyes calm, like she belonged anywhere she decided to stand.

Peter matched pace easily, casually rolling his shoulders as the training field came into view. All Might was already center-stage, arms folded triumphantly like he'd just launched a fireworks show in his own honor. Mustang stood just off-center, more composed, gazing over the field like he was assessing a tactical layout.

Peter slowed to take it all in.

Wide concrete zones. Towering mock buildings. Open streets. Broken terrain. It looked like somewhere Spider-Man would end up mid-swing during a rooftop chase.

That thought made him smile.

The gear he wore felt natural. The suit was red and blue, tight-woven and padded just enough to handle impact without restricting movement. The eyes were sharp - white lenses with expressive angles - and the web motif traced from wrist to chest in elegant arcs. Classic.

He could’ve made it himself, usually did, back in his own world, he'd built suit after suit from scraps, polymer, old lab kits, whatever Stark threw out.

But UA offered, and for once? He let them. Easier. Cleaner. No dumpster diving for Kevlar.

Hinata stepped beside him in her own gear, black tactical pants, steel-toed boots, and a dark grey flak vest with subtle violet trim along the collar and shoulders. Her gloves were fitted for grip and defense, reinforced across the knuckles with flexible plating. The style was distinctly shinobi-inspired: sleek, minimal, quietly calculated.

No frills. No mysticism.

Just gear designed for precision and quiet control.

She said nothing, but her posture told him she was ready.

The other students started pouring in, laughter, excitement, light competition in their steps. Kirishima was almost bouncing out of his boots. Momo adjusted her wrist display mid-walk. Bakugo didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Peter watched them all, but mostly kept an eye on the edge of the field.

It took a few more minutes before Ed showed up.

His outfit wasn’t subtle.

A deep red coat with gold trim, edges swaying dramatically with each step. Black pants tucked into sturdy boots. Underneath, a high-collared black shirt layered with a silver-edged waist guard and belted accents. It looked formal. Military. Historic. And somehow, him.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Well. That’s definitely a statement.”

Ed didn’t respond.

He just stepped forward onto the field, coat flaring slightly in the wind.

The Flame Alchemist then started in a loud voice, “Now that you are suited up... welcome to your first hero combat exercise!”

Roy glanced toward All Might, one brow lifting with practiced restraint. “You were eager to introduce the event, I believe.”

All Might lit up like a spotlight. “Ah! YES!”

He stepped forward, posture straightening, and with grand flair, retrieved a stack of laminated note cards from seemingly nowhere.

Roy sighed. Audibly.

Peter couldn’t help but smirk. Kirishima snorted behind his gloves. Even Hinata’s lips twitched.

“All right, Class 1-A!” All Might bellowed, holding the note cards like they were sacred scrolls. “Today begins your formal combat training with the foundational exercise… Hero vs. Villain Battles!”

He flipped the top card, dramatically.

“In this simulation, one team will play the role of heroes attempting to retrieve a target, while the other team plays villains guarding it. You’ll operate in pairs. Your strategy, communication, and improvisation are key!”

A small ripple of murmurs passed through the class. Bakugo cracked his knuckles. Momo nodded sharply. Peter bounced slightly on his toes.

Roy stepped up beside All Might, holding a matte-black box at his side. “Teams will be randomized. Draw a card. It will list your role and your teammate. No switches. No trades.”

He extended the box forward without fanfare.

All Might beamed behind him. “Justice must thrive under any pairing!”

The students began stepping forward one by one, reaching into the box.

Ed watched silently, arms folded. Peter eyed the cards like they might bite back. Hinata waited patiently, letting the rush pass first.

After everyone took a card, All Might stood tall in the center of Ground Beta, his grin wide and shoulders squared like he could hold up the skyline himself.

“THE MATCHUPS HAVE BEEN DRAWN!” he announced, voice booming like stadium speakers.

Roy Mustang, holding the box of team cards, stepped forward with his usual cool efficiency. “Listen carefully. This isn’t a free-for-all. Strategy matters.”

All Might nodded firmly. “Each battle will consist of two hero students facing two villain students in a controlled urban scenario. The objective for the heroes is to retrieve a weapon stored deep within a simulated villain stronghold. The villains must protect the weapon, and capture the heroes if they can.”

Mustang added, “You’ll be judged on teamwork, communication, adaptability, and control. Brute strength won’t carry you alone.”

Peter watched intently, hands flexing at his sides. Hinata’s gaze never wavered.

All Might flicked to the first card with dramatic precision. “Our first battle will feature... Midoriya and Uraraka as our heroes versus Bakugo and Iida as villains!”

Kirishima leaned toward Peter. “That’s gonna be intense.”

Mustang gestured toward the far gate. “Those four, report to staging. The rest of you, observe quietly and take notes. You’ll be next.”

Bakugo was already stomping toward the prep zone.

Uraraka whispered something excited to Midoria, who looked like he might pass out from sheer pressure.

Iida adjusted his gloves with pristine precision.

And Training Ground Beta was officially active.

—

The monitor room buzzed with tension, not chaotic, just tightly coiled. Sixteen students lined the upper seats and walkways in UA’s training observatory, eyes fixed on the wall of screens displaying Ground Beta’s interior.

Four camera feeds showed critical zones: exterior approach, main stairwell, second floor hallways, and the uppermost floor where the target was stashed.

Iida stood by the weapon like a sentinel, polished and straight-backed.

Bakugo prowled floor three with explosive intent. His movements weren’t cautious. They were predatory.

Peter leaned forward, arms crossed over the railing. “Bakugo’s definitely hunting. Like, specifically hunting . That’s not a patrol pattern.”

Kirishima nodded beside him. “Yeah, guy looks like he’s been chewing nails. You think Midoriya set him off?”

Ed didn’t look up from the screen. “If he didn’t, he will. They’ve got history.”

Roy Mustang stood at the back of the room, arms crossed and gaze steady on the monitors. He checked the stopwatch in his palm and let it buzz.

All Might sprang into action like a cannon blast. “GO!”

The room stirred immediately. Eyes snapped to the outside feed as Midoria and Ochako pushed through the main doors of the mock building.

They weren’t sprinting, they moved carefully, side by side, scanning walls and corners.

“They’re slow,” Jiro murmured.

“They’re methodical,” Ed corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Peter added, “Makes sense. They don’t know where Bakugo is yet. Rushing in blind gives him first strike advantage.”

All Might grinned at that, arms folded like he approved of every syllable.

On screen, Midoriya gestured upward - clearly tracking the layout - and Uraraka nodded, whispering something back.

Momo leaned forward from the front row. “Bakugo’s already circling toward the stairs. He’s going to intercept.”

“No,” Ed replied, eyes narrowing at the layout. “If you think about it - even without seeing these monitors - the heroes are most likely to go up that stairwell. He’s aiming for a collision. He’s not waiting. ”

Mustang spoke with his usual precision. “Aggression is only an advantage if it’s tempered. Otherwise, it’s just noise.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, but sometimes noise hurts.” 

The monitor flickered to show Bakugo slamming through a side hallway, meters away from the first staircase.

He was fast. Arms primed, gauntlets gleaming.

Uraraka and Midoriya paused just inside the stairwell, whispering rapidly.

“They’re doing better than I expected,” Kirishima said. “Midoriya looks kind of nervous, though.”

“He always looks nervous,” Peter replied. “What matters is whether he turns it into action.”

Hinata’s voice was calm. “They won’t win with power. They’ll win with pressure and movement. He’s watching the ceiling as he climbs, it means he knows the risk.”

Roy nodded approvingly. “Smart. Very few look up when they enter combat zones.”

The feed crackled, and Bakugo exploded into view from a side corridor, barreling toward the stairwell like a cannonball. He launched himself midair, gauntlet drawn back and primed.

Mina jolted forward. “Whoa! That’s fast!”

Ojiro muttered, “Did anyone see him coming?”

Peter blinked, watching the monitors. “He came from the blind spot. Smart ambush.”

Bakugo twisted, right fist already in motion but Midoriya moved just in time.

Without hesitation, Midoria grabbed Uraraka’s arm and pulled her sideways behind a concrete beam, mere seconds before the blast erupted.

The camera shook from the force. A cloud of dust swallowed the hallway.

“Did-did he dodge that?” Kirishima leaned closer, eyes wide.

Ed narrowed his eyes. “Barely.”

Hinata exhaled softly. “He saw it coming... somehow.”

Roy Mustang folded his arms. “Good instincts. Good timing.”

All Might laughed, practically vibrating. “YES! Excellent reaction speed, Midoriya! That’s how you MOVE!”

The monitor room was tense, but alive.

Students leaned forward across consoles and rails, glued to the multi-angle feeds as Bakugo launched into a second assault.

He didn’t hesitate.

The feed showed him swinging in fast from the right again, same trajectory, same explosive momentum.

But this time?

Midoriya didn’t flinch.

He caught Bakugo’s punch mid-stride, two hands locking around the gauntlet, then twisted and threw him over his shoulder. Bakugo hit the floor in a crash of limbs and fury.

“Whoa!” Denki shouted, eyes wide. “Did he just throw bakugo?”

Peter let out a low whistle. “I didn’t know Midoria had that in him.”

“Bakugo didn’t even glance at Uraraka,” Ed added. “Not once.”

Tsuyu tilted her head. “You think he forgot she’s part of the match?”

“No,” Momo said, arms folded. “He’s ignoring her on purpose. Bakugo’s tunnel-locked on Midoriya.”

The screen flickered as Bakugo rolled to his feet, face twisted in sheer frustration. His mouth moved furiously, lips sharp, eyes wild.

Hinata squinted at the corner panel closest to Bakugo’s angle. “He said… ‘It pisses me off.’”

Peter turned toward her. “You can read lips?”

Hinata gave the faintest nod. “Well enough.”

Mina leaned sideways between monitors. “Wait, wait, they don’t know where the weapon is, right?”

Roy’s expression didn’t shift. “Correct. Their team entered without scouting. They’re at a disadvantage.”

“Then why isn’t Uraraka searching?” Denki asked.

“She is now,” Hinata replied, pointing to one of the feeds.

Sure enough, Uraraka darted into the hallway, moving fast and quiet, leaving the two boys clashing behind her.

Bakugo pushed forward again.

The next few moments unfolded like a blur, Midoriya sidestepping, diving, snapping capture tape toward Bakugo’s arm.

The tape wrapped tight for half a breath, then Bakugo’s gauntlet flared white-hot and blasted straight through it.

Peter winced. “That would’ve worked on anyone but him.”

Ed exhaled. “Midoriya’s fighting uphill.”

Tsuyu murmured, “He’s retreating.”

Sure enough, Midoriya ducked behind an overhead beam and rolled through a doorway; eyes searching, body clearly on the back foot.

Momo turned slightly toward the others. “If Uraraka finds the weapon and avoids Iida... they could still win.”

“Midoriya just has to not explode,” Peter added, half under his breath.

“Tall order,” Ed said dryly.

The camera angles flickered again. Bakugo already storming after him.

A couple floors above, Uraraka crept quietly up the final stairwell. The fourth floor was dim, shadow pooling behind overturned filing cabinets and scattered mock debris. The weapon sat near the center of the room, bold and unmistakable.

Iida stood beside it. His eyes scanning methodically, posture squared, but completely unaware.

Peter tilted his head. “Okay... he's guarding it, but he's not looking in her direction.”

“She might actually reach it,” Momo said, arms folded.

Ed leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “If she stays quiet, she’s got it.”

Then suddenly Iida snapped to attention, spinning toward Uraraka’s position.

The room watching jolted.

“What happened?” Mina asked, startled. “Did he sense her?”

“Maybe she made a sound?” Denki guessed.

Hinata didn’t speak. She just watched closely, eyes flicking from corner feed to corner feed.

But none of them had caught what triggered the shift.

Uraraka stepped fully into frame, hand raised slightly, eyes wide but resolved.

Downstairs, tension coiled tighter.

Bakugo stalked down the hallway like a controlled blaze, boots crunching broken concrete as he rounded the corner where Midoriya had been hiding.

He stopped.

He squared his stance.

Raised his gauntlet.

Midoriya crouched low behind a fractured beam, breath held.

There was no sound in the monitor room, only the faint buzz of feed lines.

Then they heard All Might, sharp and crackling over the speakers:

“Bakugo. Stop it now, kid.”

A beat later came Mustang’s restrained fury, cracking through the speaker feed:

“What!?! Are you trying to kill him ?!”

Peter jerked upright. “Wait, what did he do?”

On the nearest screen, Bakugo extended one gauntlet, right arm cocked and trembling as the pressure chamber locked in place.

The students watched, breath held.

Bakugo growled something into his mic, voice unreadable on the monitors, but filled with venom on Mustang’s feed.

The pin dropped.

The chamber hissed.

Midoria dove sideways just as the gauntlet flared white-hot and discharged, blasting a searing arc across the hallway and obliterating part of the fourth-floor wall.

The screen trembled. Cameras shook. Chunks of debris rained down from the ceiling.

Momo gasped. “That's too much.”

Tsuyu’s eyes narrowed. “He could’ve crushed him.”

Mustang turned to All Might, voice edged like flint:

“We need to stop this. Now .”

All Might didn’t turn. He pressed the mic button, tone quiet but deadly serious:

“Bakugo. Use that move one more time... and I will forcibly end the match. You will lose.”

Roy’s jaw clenched. “We can’t wait for another blast. Someone’s going to end up really hurt.”

Ed didn’t speak.

Peter’s fingers curled around the railing, lenses narrowing.

Hinata tilted her head just slightly. “Midoriya’s still alive.”

“Barely,” Ed muttered.

Mina swallowed. “Is this normal ? For hero training?”

Denki answered without looking away. “Feels like we skipped about five levels.”

On-screen, Midoriya crawled to his feet again, limbs shaking but eyes locked forward.

Bakugo surged forward again, boots slamming against concrete, gauntlet low. Deku braced himself, hands shifting into a grappler’s stance, trying to redirect the incoming weight.

But Bakugo didn’t commit.

He detonated.

A sharp BOOM! cracked from his palm and propelled him upward, his body flipping over Midoriya mid-motion. He landed behind him in a crouch, then fired another blast directly into Midoriya’s back.

Peter flinched. “He’s moving like a pressure mine. Every angle’s lethal.”

“Midoriya’s losing ground,” Ed muttered. “That was a full hit.”

Before Midoriya could even turn, Bakugo twisted and threw a right hook. Explosive recoil flaring from his gauntlet mid-swing. It connected , hard, launching Deku sideways into a pile of rubble with bone-jarring force.

Roy’s voice rang sharp behind them:

“This is enough ! End the match!”

All Might didn’t answer.

Deku groaned, pushing himself upright again, wobbling, but not breaking.

He staggered forward.

Bakugo charged again, teeth bared, gauntlet raised, crackling with furious energy. The compressed charge within his palm hissed as it primed, pressure building like a living grenade.

Across from him, Midoriya activated One for All . Electricity snapped down his arm in golden streaks, and his left foot braced as he coiled for a punch with his entire body behind it.

It wasn’t a clash.

It was a collision course , two finishing moves, arcing toward each other like meteor trails.

In the monitor room, tension hit a wall.

Even All Might leaned forward toward the microphone, voice sharp and rising, “Both of you STOP TH…!”

But he didn’t finish.

Because Midoriya’s fist changed direction mid-swing.

Instead of aiming for Bakugo, his arm twisted upward , punching through layers of fractured ceiling. The explosive energy of One for All blew through the fourth floor like a cannon, sending concrete, steel, and light fixtures skyward.

At the same time, Bakugo’s explosion flared from his gauntlet, striking Midoriya across the face, a blast of heat and smoke that threw him backwards.

The screen whited out. Debris showered down like a broken starfield.

Top-floor cameras flickered, showing chunks of rubble falling into Uraraka’s zone.

She reacted instantly.

Her fingers flared, and fragments lifted around her, swirling. She threw them at Iida with tactical precision. He stumbled, off-balance.

She darted forward.

Touched the weapon.

The buzzer rang loud and definitive.

“Hero Team wins!” All Might announced, voice booming across the training field.

In the monitor room, Peter exhaled. “That… was insane.”

Ed muttered, “Midoriya cracked the ceiling. Bought her the win.”

Silence held for half a breath.

Then Mustang turned sharply toward All Might, eyes blazing, not uncontrolled, but biting.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you end the match?!”

All Might raised one brow, not bothered in the slightest.

“It looked like they had it under control to me,” he said casually. “And I wanted to see what would happen.”

Mustang’s jaw clenched. He reached for the mic with a swift, deliberate motion.

“Then it’s up to me from now on. Needless recklessness will not be tolerated.”

He pressed the broadcast channel.

“Uraraka, get Midoriya to Recovery Girl. That arm’s no good in its current state.”

—

 

The monitor room had quieted, though tension still clung to the air like dust.

Bakugo stormed in first, boots heavy, face tight with unspent heat. Iida followed a few paces behind, composed but clearly rattled by the final seconds of the match. Both boys moved toward the back of the room where the class had gathered, eyes scanning the screens now frozen on the aftermath.

Midoriya hadn’t returned yet. Uraraka was still escorting him to Recovery Girl.

All Might clapped his hands once. “Excellent first match!”

Kirishima gave a half-laugh. “That was something .”

Jiro leaned slightly on one foot, still watching Bakugo carefully.

All Might raised a single card from his note stack, voice booming: “And the V.I.P. of the battle... is Iida!”

Asui blinked. “Wait, really? Not Midoriya or Uraraka? They won , didn’t they?”

All Might smiled wide. “An excellent question! Can anyone tell me why that is?”

Silence ticked.

Then Momo cleared her throat gently, stepping forward with quiet authority.

“Iida adapted most effectively to the assigned role,” she said. “His focus was on guarding the weapon, and he held position without distraction. Bakugo, while powerful, pursued Midoriya with tunnel vision and ignored both his teammate and the match objective.”

Bakugo’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t speak.

Momo continued smoothly. “Midoriya injured himself to create the opening, an action that, while brave, is a tactical liability. He also separated from Uraraka, which left both of them vulnerable. Uraraka succeeded in reaching the objective, but she launched debris near the weapon itself. In a real-world scenario, that would be dangerous.”

The room nodded, slowly absorbing the breakdown.

Roy Mustang leaned against the rail, arms folded as his gaze settled on Momo.

“You’re correct,” he said plainly. “Good analysis. Keep thinking like that, it’s the difference between fieldwork and flailing.”

Momo dipped her head respectfully.

Bakugo folded his arms, eyes on the blank monitor.

Ed tilted his chin, watching Mustang. “Guess the matches are just getting started.”

All Might’s grin never wavered. “Indeed they are! But learning from each one is key.”

Chapter 6: Fight on

Notes:

Here is Part 2 of the Heroes Vs Villain battles. This chapter was by far the most fun to write, from what I already have. I hope y'all enjoy it!

P.S. I know I just released a chapter yesterday. This chapter was supposed to be with the last one, but it got too long, so I split it in half. Other than this odd exception, I am going to try to be consistent with a chapter releasing each week, but I am coming into the new school year again, and will get a bit busier. I am crossing my fingers that I will still have time to write a chapter each week. Don't worry, if I do get busier, I won't forget this fic, but it will probably be a chapter every other week instead.

Fight on

The monitor room had cooled, but only slightly. The tension from Bakugo’s outburst and Midoriya’s explosive counter lingered in the air like static.

Up to bat was Todoroki and Shoji as the heroes facing off against the villains, Ojiro and Hagakure. 

The battle started - and ended - almost immediately.

Todoroki opened with a massive ice surge, encasing the building’s lower levels in thick, crystalline sheets. Within seconds, the structure became a frozen labyrinth, the temperature dropping by dozens of degrees.

Ojiro and Hagakure were caught in place mid-run; feet completely frozen into the floor before they could make a full advance.

With the villains immobilized and no means of counterattack, Todoroki and Shoji calmly retrieved the weapon.

The following match took longer and unfolded with tighter unpredictability.

As the Flame Commander told the heroes - Tokoyami and Asui - to start, they rushed through a window towards the villains, Aoyama and Ashido.

Fumikage unleashed Dark Shadow early, using it to disorient Mina while Tsuyu bounded high across walls and ceilings, acting as the team’s eyes. Her amphibious mobility let her thread through obstacles and chase energy readings, steadily closing the gap toward the objective.

Yuga launched several full-powered laser blasts into tight hallways, overwhelming Dark Shadow with blinding heat and light. Mina followed up with acid patches across key choke points, forcing Fumikage to retreat momentarily.

But Tsuyu’s coordination kept the heroes balanced. She looped around and reached the weapon while Dark Shadow re-engaged Mina in containment. The final moment came when Yuga misfired - his navel laser sputtering from overuse - which left him vulnerable.

Tsuyu landed beside the objective with precise timing, touching it cleanly.

Both of these matches were interesting to watch. Peter learned quite a bit about his classmates' quirks (less so in the second match due to Todoroki’s overwhelming start) but the match wasn’t near as interesting as the first. 

Midoria and Bakugo had such a captivating battle that it seemed to overshadow the others.

Peter leaned forward, elbows against the railing as All Might’s voice called across the speaker system with practiced thunder.

“Now entering the arena: Hinata Hyuga, Momo Yaoyorozu, Denki Kaminari, and Kyoka Jiro!”

Peter’s lenses narrowed slightly as his gaze snapped to the new feeds showing the four contestants gathering near Ground Beta’s staging zone.

Okay... this should be interesting.

He didn’t know much about Momo, just that she’d dissected the first match like a military analyst when All Might asked about the MVP. She was sharp, no doubt. But it was Hinata who caught Peter’s attention.

She’d been ice-calm during the entrance exam. No wasted movements. No flinching. Just deliberate precision. Peter had watched her down three combat bots with barely a sound, like she’d choreographed the whole thing in advance. Her movements felt... intentional. Measured.

The display refreshed, showing the building once more. 

Hinata stepped into the corridor first, with Momo following closely behind, as they went to prepare the hidden weapon. 

—

The fourth floor was quiet.

Dust lingered on tile edges and exposed ductwork, the soft hum of the overhead floodlight washing the training ground in pale artificial light.

Hinata walked the perimeter carefully while Momo followed, weapon cube balanced in her arms as they searched for a viable holding space. They had ten minutes to set their terms. No room for delay.

They chose the eastern storage room. It was broad enough to hold the mock weapon, boxed in by only one clear entry point. Hinata gestured toward the back wall. “Set it here. Less lines of sight from the hall.”

Momo moved to place it gently, then summoned a gleaming short sword and a rounded shield from her side holster. Silver and blue-toned, cleanly built.

As Hinata scanned the hallway’s breadth again, Momo glanced her direction.

“Hyuga,” she said, voice quiet but curious, “are you… connected to Hyuga Security?”

Hinata didn’t look away from the doorway. “My father runs it.”

“Ah. I thought so. My family’s contracted them a few times for events or private transport. Tactical support.”

Hinata nodded once. “He wanted me to take over. Start managing things once I finished school.”

“And you chose UA”

A pause. Then:

“Yes.”

The words carried no drama, just clarity.

Hinata stepped back from the threshold, adjusting her gloves with practiced ease. “I’ll run the outer corridor. If they come up close, stay in position and use a flash bang. Don’t give chase.”

“I understand,” Momo said, slipping the pouch into her belt. “You sure you’ll be okay alone?”

“I’ll be fine.”

They didn’t speak again.

Above them, Mustang’s voice rang through the field:

“Villain team setup complete. The match begins now.”

Hinata closed her eyes just once.

Then activated her Byakugan.

From her perch beside the stairwell, Hyuga’s gaze sharpened as her sight unfolded around the building in layered concentric clarity.

Three floors below, she tracked subtle movement. Two silhouettes advancing slowly through the central hallway. Denki’s steps were relaxed, almost meandering, while Jiro walked with deliberate caution. Her arms moved close to her sides.

Then, her hands shifted.

One plugged into the wall, the jack-like extension of her quirk sliding fluidly into the plaster.

Hyuga focused harder.

She watched Jiro stand still for several seconds, her head tilting slightly; listening.

Then came the point.

Jiro raised her arm and gestured upward, fingertip toward the eastern wing of the fourth floor.

Right toward the weapon.

So she’s sensing vibrations, Hyuga thought. Tracking movement through sound.

Her own sensory field was visual, penetrating, anatomical. Jiro’s was auditory, subtle and stretched across structural seams. Different language, same reach.

It wouldn’t be hard for them to find the weapon now.

Hyuga pressed one palm to the ground beside her and considered the distances. If she sprinted now, intercepted halfway, she’d have to draw out the fight. Her strength wasn’t in stalling; it was in the finish. And Jiro already had directional intel.

Approaching would change nothing.

She exhaled.

Then I wait.

The stairwell structure wrapped their approach like a funnel, straight, narrow, impossible to misinterpret. Hyuga stayed close to the edge of the fourth-floor corridor, pressed low behind the structural beam, her Byakugan tracking every movement.

Jiro was first up the stairs, eyes scanning; not toward the corners or doorways, but toward the ceiling beyond. Her hand moved subtly, jacks flicking from her wrist to the concrete wall.

Hyuga noted the shift immediately.

Jiro paused. Adjusted. Pointed up the eastern corridor toward the objective.

The signal was quick. Precise.

Denki broke forward on command, skipping the stairwell landing entirely and heading straight for the eastern room, straight for Momo.

Hyuga narrowed her eyes. Jiro hadn’t missed her presence. She had read the terrain and deliberately chosen the weapon over confrontation.

Not good enough.

Hyuga moved.

She dashed out from cover without hesitation. One fluid strike of motion cutting across the hallway. Jiro turned just enough to register movement before Hyuga’s hand met the side of her thigh.

Then her hip.

Then her calf.

Three rapid touches, no wasted motion.

Jiro buckled instantly.

Her legs gave out, muscles refusing their commands as she collapsed against the floor with a startled gasp. Hyuga didn’t pause. She slipped the capture tape from her belt and tied it around Jiro’s arms and torso in clean loops, securing her with practiced speed.

Then she turned.

Denki was almost in the room.

Hyuga dashed forward again; quiet, fast, full stride.

Her focus narrowed.

The objective was seconds from becoming compromised.

Denki rounded the last corner, boots skidding slightly as momentum carried him toward the eastern room.

Momo stood firm, shield raised just slightly, sword tilted downward - but she didn’t swing. Her fingers closed around a compact canister at her hip, and she tossed it into the hallway.

A hissing pop echoed. Smoke flooded the corridor, thick and fast.

Denki froze.

“Where…?” he muttered, arms raised, eyes flicking side to side. The fog swallowed everything. No light. No footing. No sound but his own breath.

Then sparks started to build across his fingers; a wild charge, panicked and reflexive.

He didn’t see her coming.

Hyuga ghosted through the smoke without hesitation, vision cutting the space in layered outline. His body was clear. The path was direct.

Her hand struck his shoulder first.

Then his lower ribs.

Then his arm, nerve clusters collapsing in rapid succession.

Denki gasped, legs buckling, torso twisting uncontrollably.

He crumpled.

Hyuga rolled him into a side grip, pulling capture tape from her belt and binding him with three clean wraps.

She stood slowly as the smoke thinned, gaze steady.

A pulse of static fizzled from his fingertips, but it was directionless. Harmless.

Behind her, Momo’s voice broke softly from the doorway. “Is he down?”

Hyuga nodded once. “Yes.”

The buzzer rang sharp.

“Villain Team wins,” Mustang confirmed, voice clipped through the building intercom.

Hyuga stepped back into the hallway, glancing once toward the corridor below.

Then she turned toward the weapon.

Still untouched. Match complete.

—

The monitor room buzzed with activity again as the door opened, and the four students from Match Four filtered in, still catching their breath.

Jiro moved stiffly, rubbing the side of her leg with a pained expression. “Ugh… I don’t know what kind of martial art that was, but it feels like I sat on a lightning pole.”

Kaminari trailed behind her, one hand braced against his shoulder, wincing with every step. “Same. She didn’t even hit that hard, but everything just… stopped working. My arm still feels like it’s lost connection.”

Most of the class turned to look as Hinata entered, posture composed, eyes low.

Then, Mina launched across the room like a glitter cannon of curiosity.

“Oh my gosh Hyuga , that was SO COOL!” she fired off, talking at light speed. “How did you do that?! You like touched them - like three times - and they just dropped like rag dolls! You didn’t even throw a punch! That’s like a pressure point thing , right?! Are you secretly in, like, a private spy agency? Wait, is your quirk psychic acupressure?! ”

Hinata blinked, clearly startled.

“I-I… it’s not…”

Mina didn’t stop.

“No, no, wait, your eyes were glowing like ka-ping! and Jiro just sat down mid-air . I swear you didn’t even blink. Your whole vibe was assassin princess . I need a tutorial! How many spots do people even have like that? Is there a diagram?”

Hinata opened her mouth, closed it again, and gave the faintest flustered nod.

Mina kept vibrating with curiosity, Jiro sat down near the back with a thump , and Kaminari sank onto a bench like a short-circuited appliance.

Across the room, All Might clapped his hands once with signature thunder.

“Next combatants! Sato, Kirishima, Parker, and Edward Elric, your time has arrived!”

Four heads lifted.

Peter straightened instinctively, cracking his knuckles. Kirishima bounced once on his heels. Sato gave a quiet nod. Edward was already walking toward the prep area like he meant to wrestle gravity itself.

The rest of the class leaned forward again, some stretching, others rechecking the match list.

And Mina finally leaned sideways next to Hinata and whispered, still too loud:

“Seriously though, teach me ! You didn’t even have to kick anyone. You just blinked and boom, instant KO. You’re my new combat goals.”

Hinata’s ears burned slightly, but she didn’t correct her.

—

Peter tapped one boot against the pavement, watching the multi-tiered façade of Ground Beta stretch upward in clean symmetry. Their final match was moments from kicking off, and the afternoon sun hit everything with the glare of a spotlight.

Beside him, Kirishima buzzed with restless energy, shadowboxing the air while flexing his forearms. “Man, this one’s got me hyped,” he said, teeth flashing. “I’m thinking I square off with Sato, his muscles versus my skin. See who cracks first.”

Peter shook his head slowly, eyes still locked on the building’s entry points. “Actually,” he said, “let’s take Sato out together.”

Kirishima blinked, surprised but not thrown. “Double up?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “If we split and you go for Sato alone, we risk burning too much time and steam. And between you and me...” His voice lowered slightly. “Ed's the bigger problem. He’ll twist the field out from under us if we don’t stay ahead of him.”

Kirishima’s grin sharpened into a knowing edge. “Alright. Smart. Two on one, then we deal with Elric.”

Peter flexed his fingers, micro-adjusting the web shooters beneath his gloves. “If we’re fast enough, we’ll force him to play defense instead of setting traps.”

The building loomed quietly ahead.

From inside, the villains were already setting the weapon.

—

The interior of Ground Beta was nothing but raw concrete; walls, floors, beams. Stubborn, structural, and perfect.

Edward pressed his palm to the cool surface of the hallway floor and released a sharp pulse. A low vibration rippled outward, and the concrete reshaped itself with a crunch. The walls folding inward like puzzle pieces, sealing off the junction behind him.

A dead end. That made seventeen.

“Just a couple more and they’ll be stuck crawling through half the building or punching walls until someone hears it,” he muttered.

“Not bad,” Sato said behind him, carrying the mock weapon with easy swings of his arms. “Though I doubt they’ll get lost for long.”

“They don’t have to,” Ed replied. “Parker’s confident, quick, and bendy, like he’s made of rubber and caffeine. At the assessment, he cleared each of the speed/movement trials like they were nothing” He stood up, brushing concrete dust from his sleeves. “He’ll try the acrobat route. He doesn’t need straight lines, just momentum.”

“What about Kirishima?”

Ed considered. “Hardening. Not just strength, it’s density. He’ll dig in and absorb blows, push forward like a tank, but only if you give him a straight line.”

Sato nodded as they reached the fourth floor, where the central room sat wide and flat - reinforced from years of mock battles. He set the weapon down, the bulk of it thudding softly against the floor.

Ed glanced toward the stairwell. “I can set up here. I’ll be able to transmute fast, control the field if they push in.”

Sato turned and looked him up and down. “I think I should hold the front. You’re super small, so you can hang back and support.”

Edward stared.

Blinking once.

Then twice.

And then his voice rose three octaves:

“ WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THAT HE COULD HIDE INSIDE A COFFEE CAN?! ”

Sato blinked. “I just meant you’re compact, er, nimble…"

“ Compact?! I could punch a hole through the wall faster than you can finish that sentence!”

“You literally just said Parker was bendy…”

“ That’s not the same thing! ”

Edward’s gloved fist was already sparking.

Sato sighed and turned toward the weapon like nothing happened.

“I’ll take the middle hall,” he said casually. “You yell if anyone gets clever.”

Ed grumbled something dark and stompy, transmuting the base of the entrance wall into an angled barricade. His scowl looked capable of melting paint.

Then the overhead speaker buzzed to life:

“Ten minutes are up, the heroes may begin!”

Ed exhaled, gloves snapping tight against his fists.

Downstairs, the heroes stepped inside.

And the match was on.

—

The overhead feed cast a blue glow across Mustang’s jacket sleeve. His eyes stayed locked on one corner of the monitor, concrete reshaping under sharp gloves, limbs braced with purpose. Edward Elric stood mid-transmutation, sealing off corridors, weaving dead ends across Ground Beta like it was second nature. Which, it was. Mustang knew first hand how good he was with transmutation.

Edward had a familiar look in his eyes. It told Roy that the fire hadn’t dimmed.

It sparked in his hands just as it had in that small, cluttered house all those years ago, where Roy first met the Elric brothers. The mess from their failed transmutation still clung to the walls. The remains of an innocence they tried to resurrect. Alphonse was a voice inside armor, Edward a boy missing limbs but burning with certainty. He hadn’t asked for sympathy. He asked for a way forward.

Later, the candidate file came across Roy’s desk. State Alchemist Exam. A formality, really. Edward didn’t wait for ceremony. He crafted a spear out of thin air and charged straight for the Führer; blade leveled, fire in his eyes. But just before impact, he stopped. Clean. Controlled. No panic. The Führer called that part of the exam complete. Everyone else saw a prodigy. Roy saw focus, fury, and grief folded into discipline. When the title was assigned, it was with ceremony: Fullmetal. It stuck immediately.

At the Military Festival, Edward had thrown down a gauntlet of his own. To Roy . Not out of arrogance, but purpose. Their duel sparked across stone and flame. Ed attacking from angles Roy hadn’t seen before, Roy countering with sharp bursts of fire. The crowd watched like it was theater. But the end? A draw. Equal power. Equal grit. It was the only fight Roy had ever enjoyed losing half of.

And then came the Promised Day.

Roy had been in Central when the sky cracked open, when the Homunculi made their move. Everyone was scrambling - panic, infiltration, collapse. But Edward was there in the thick of it, surrounded by carnage and truth and no way out. He made one last choice: gave up his alchemy. All of it. Traded away the craft that defined him to get his brother back.

No regrets. Just conviction.

That’s what Roy saw on the monitor now; not just a sharp strategist shaping the battlefield, but a culmination. A boy once defined by failure, now built from every moment he chose to stand up again.

Footsteps approached quietly.

All Might stopped beside him, arms crossed, voice low.

“I heard from Nezu you’ve had an eye on the young Elric,” he said. “Let’s see how he does here.”

Roy didn’t look away from the screen.

“He’ll do fine,” he replied. “He’s already proven more than most ever will.”

—

Ground Beta was quiet when they stepped inside.

Too quiet.

The floor plans had been gutted; hallways sealed off with seamless concrete folds, dead ends stacked like puzzle traps. Edward had transformed the interior into a calculated maze. Efficient. Annoying.

Peter scanned the space quickly. Figures. If it were just him, he’d scale the outside wall in thirty seconds and swing through a window, but that meant leaving Kirishima behind.

He shook the thought off.

“Okay,” Peter said, planting a palm against one of the sealed walls. “This maze is gonna cost us time.”

Kirishima peered around, narrowing his eyes. “Pretty sure they did this on purpose.”

Peter flexed his hand and balled it into a fist. “Yeah. Which means we either play their game or we break it.”

Kirishima lit up instantly. “You thinking we smash through?”

Peter threw a small jab into the concrete - clean, focused - and a chunk of the wall fractured instantly. “Exactly. I punch, you clear debris.”

“Way more manly ,” Kirishima said, grinning.

They moved fast. Peter’s punches cracked through barriers like drywall; controlled bursts of strength leaving clean holes without strain. Kirishima hardened his arms and cleared edges as they advanced, climbing through exposed beams and angled flooring as they scaled up.

On the third floor, the scent hit - sugar.

Peter paused as they turned the last bend.

There stood Sato, crouched near the weapon room doorway, emptying the final contents of a massive sugar pouch. His frame expanded visibly; muscles tightening, stance solidifying.

Then he charged.

Fast. Surprisingly fast.

Peter dove up and to the right, sticking to the wall in one fluid arc.

Kirishima stepped forward, body hardening fully, arms up in defense as Sato collided into him like a battering ram.

Concrete splintered beneath their feet.

Impact echoed through the floor.

The collision sounded like a cement truck rear-ending a battleship.

Kirishima went flying, not far, but enough to skid backward on the cracked floor, digging in with hardened elbows to stop just short of the wall. Dust kicked up. The ground dipped slightly beneath the force.

Peter blinked from his perch and whistled. “Okay, wow. Someone’s been eating their Wheaties. And their sugar. And possibly the building.”

Sato didn’t respond. He turned toward Peter immediately, boots grinding against loose concrete. There was no finesse in his motion, just momentum.

“Bad move,” Peter said softly, and lunged.

He landed behind Sato in a blur of motion. Peter’s webs flicked toward both knees, pulling taut, while his right fist slammed into Sato’s lower back with a quick, compressed punch. The blow staggered the bigger student slightly, just enough to buy time.

Kirishima surged back into the fray with zero hesitation. His arms were fully hardened now, forearms gleaming like chiseled stone. “Let’s go, Parker!”

“Already ahead of you,” Peter muttered, ducking beneath a wide swing and tagging Sato’s ankle with a quick snap kick.

They worked like a rhythm section; Kirishima taking the brunt, absorbing every wild charge, while Peter darted in with strikes and adhesive misdirection. One web to the shoulder. One jab to the thigh. One duck-and-roll beneath a spinning fist.

Sato was strong - brutal, even - but he was burning fast.

Kirishima caught him on a shoulder lunge and held for a beat.

Peter zipped a line to the far wall, launched forward and slammed two loops of capture tape around Sato’s arms and chest.

“Delivery,” Peter said, tugging the final knot. “One large, mildly overcaffeinated villain. Gift-wrapped.”

Sato groaned, slumping just slightly under the restraint.

Peter nodded to Kirishima. “One down. Let’s go see what tricks Elric packed upstairs.”

Kirishima cracked his knuckles. “Bring it on.”

—

The static hissed through the comm, then quiet.

Sato was down.

Ed didn’t flinch. He just exhaled and muttered, “Overconfident meathead. That’s what happens when you call your tactical partner tiny and expect the sugar to do all the work.”

The walls groaned faintly, impact vibrations growing stronger. Peter and Kirishima were nearing. Ed crouched, fingers brushing against the concrete seam in front of him, ready to respond.

Then the wall in front of him exploded inward.

Concrete dust bloomed in the air, and standing in the wreckage, too casual for how much force they'd just used, were Peter Parker and Eijiro Kirishima.

Peter flicked his wrists, web spools already primed. “Okay, this isn’t exactly feng shui. You’ve built a lot of walls, but no room for style points.”

Ed dusted off his jacket and raised an eyebrow. “Glad you brought your ego. Must’ve needed both arms to carry it.”

Peter tilted his head. “It’s flexible. I stretch.”

Kirishima didn't wait for banter.

He charged, direct, bold, dependable.

Ed clapped his hands.

The floor launched upward like a catapult. An angled slab of concrete rising under Kirishima's boots and flinging him sideways toward the wall of windows.

Peter fired a web mid-air, snagging Kirishima's shoulder and yanking him back with a clean, elastic arc.

Ed’s eyes narrowed. “Of course he can fly and catch things. This just gets better.”

Peter landed lightly, web still humming with tension. “Sorry. We operate on a full rescue package.”

Ed cracked his knuckles. “Then let’s see if either of you survive the warranty.”

The first thing Ed did was seal the weapon.

A swift clap, flash of light, and concrete surged upward behind him, wrapping the payload in a jagged cocoon of reinforced slab and alchemic bracing. No one was walking out of here with a win by shortcut.

“You want it?” Ed muttered. “You’re going through me.”

Kirishima didn’t waste time.

He came in hard , feet pounding across the floor as he launched straight at Ed. His arms hardened to full density, a solid wall of forward momentum. Ed’s right arm shot up, bracing against the impact with a clang of reinforced alloy. The first strike rang like steel on stone.

Ed stepped back and caught the second punch, blocking low, the metal arm flexing under the pressure.

That’s when part of his cloak tore away.

It fluttered mid-spin, caught on the edge of Kirishima’s elbow, and peeled back to reveal the full gleaming prosthetic; clean chrome plating, jointed fingers, reinforced elbow.

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Wait, is that…?”

Peter, still circling wide, blurted, “Okay, cool robot arm! Ten out of ten! Not what I expected, but I mean, honestly, who built that, Tony Stark’s cooler twin?”

Ed gritted his teeth. “Not Stark. My friend built it.”

He pushed forward, sidestepping Kirishima’s next strike and pivoting toward Peter, who flipped into the air and landed just behind him. Ed clapped and slammed one palm to the floor, spikes of concrete burst upward, forcing Peter to vault sideways and roll clear.

Two on one. Pressure mounting.

Peter swung around and shot a pair of webs at Ed’s arm. Ed jerked back, severing the lines with a transmuted blade and returning fire with a sliding floor shift. He collapsed a nearby pillar into loose debris, funneling dust toward their vision.

Kirishima recovered and charged again.

Ed blocked. Again. But they were pushing hard now, tag-teaming, flowing like a sparring unit. Peter’s strikes were fast, unpredictable. Kirishima's were solid, punishing.

Ed bent, pressed his hands to the ground and surged the floor upward again.

This time, the angle was clean. Kirishima couldn’t counter mid-stride.

The column flung him with force, straight through the window .

Glass shattered. Kirishima disappeared.

Peter stopped mid-swing, webline faltering.

Ed turned toward him, brushing dust off his forehead. “Relax. He’s a walking boulder. He’ll land hard, but he won’t break.”

Peter narrowed his eyes beneath the lenses. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who just chucked my teammate through a wall.”

Ed cracked his knuckles. “Then come earn yours.”

Debris clung to the air like fog.

Peter was airborne again, spinning off a fractured ceiling beam with the ease of someone who’d never heard of gravity. Edward ground his boots into the stone and transmuted another wall brace into a spiraling column, trying to catch him mid-arc.

Missed.

Peter twisted sideways and landed lightly. “Nice pillar. Did you sculpt that for me or is it part of your rugged charm?”

Ed didn’t answer.

He struck.

A jagged seam in the floor split open under Peter’s boots, but Peter flipped back before the slab fully gave way. He was fast. Too fast. Like he didn’t react , he anticipated . Every trap Ed laid, Peter danced one move ahead.

“Are you clairvoyant,” Ed hissed, “or just too bendy for physics?”

“I stretch the truth,” Peter replied, dodging a flying shard with a gymnast’s slide. “Also, the legs. They do a lot of work.”

Ed spun and raised both arms, transmuting spikes from three directions; left, right, back. Peter leapt again, flipping up and clutching the ceiling like a determined cat.

Ed narrowed his eyes. “You’re afraid to get close.”

Peter’s voice echoed softly, still half upside-down: “Not afraid. Just considerate. You look busy wrecking your own building.”

Their fight didn’t pause.

It surged.

Peter dropped like a falcon, webbing the floor mid-fall to snap back with rotational force. Ed clapped and raised a barricade to block, but Peter bounced wide again, heels skimming the wall, flipping back into range and forcing Ed to transmute with one hand, one foot planted against the bracing.

Both of them were breathing harder now.

Neither stopped.

Slabs broke. Weblines snapped. The floor was a patchwork of craters and stress marks. Peter couldn’t gain clean ground to strike. Ed couldn’t land a hit, no matter how intricate the angle.

Time was draining.

A beat.

Another.

Then, over the comm:

“Time’s expired. Heroes failed to secure the objective. Villain Team, match victory.”

Neither moved right away.

Peter’s next flip stopped mid-launch, boots skidding along the edge of a fractured wall beam. Ed lowered his arm from mid-transmutation.

Peter cocked his head. “So... we done?”

Ed exhaled, hand still raised. “Guess we are.”

He looked over the room. Broken. Reworked. Held.

The weapon remained untouched.

Peter dropped to the floor, landed smoothly, and straightened. “You know... for a guy with one arm and a really bad attitude, you’re not half bad.”

Ed gave a wry smile. “I could say the same. You fight like a spider and talk like a flea.”

Peter grinned. “That’s new. I’ll take it.”

—

The final buzzer rang out across Ground Beta.

Outside the building, Kirishima stood with his arms folded and a scuff mark on his knee the size of a textbook. As Peter and Edward stepped out into the light, Kirishima pointed at them with a huff.

“Okay, seriously, I got launched out a window, twice . ”

Peter raised both hands with mock innocence. “Hey, I caught you the first time!”

In the monitor room, the class filtered in: sore, sweaty, and thoroughly tested.

All Might addressed the group first, arms stretched in pure enthusiasm. “WELL DONE EVERYONE! No serious injuries, apart from Midoriya’s! Great teamwork though!! You all did splendidly, considering this was your first training exercise!”

A few students chuckled. Uraraka sighed in relief. Todoroki crossed his arms. Bakugo just scowled deeper.

Roy Mustang, standing off to the side with his usual crisp posture, gave All Might a glare that could sandblast cement.

He cleared his throat deliberately.

“I was impressed by the level of strategy some of you brought to the battles,” he said, voice level and calm. “A few of you showed excellent battlefield control. But too many of you let pride dictate your choices. Ego leads to overextension. And overextension...” His gaze dragged across the room. “Is the fastest way to get someone hurt.”

Silence.

Sharp. Still.

Then All Might clapped again. “Right! I’ll go give Midoriya his evaluation. The rest of you, get out of those costumes and back to the classroom!”

He turned and bolted - literally - leaving a whirling dust trail behind him like a comic panel come to life.

The class stared.

Mustang didn't.

“You heard him,” Roy said with a dry edge. “Let’s get a move on.”

As students headed for the locker area, a small knot peeled off from the stream and made a beeline for Edward.

Iida stepped in first, adjusting his glasses like they were battle gear. “Elric, during your skirmish we observed a metallic prosthetic beneath your cloak, was that a combat enhancement? Is it support tech? Or a personalized mobility device? And how does it sync with your nervous system?”

Kaminari was right behind him, eyes wide. “Dude, it sparked when you blocked Kirishima. It looks like it weighs a ton! How do you not fall over when you swing it?”

Hagakure bounced closer, visible only by her floating uniform. “I noticed it when you flipped over Peter’s web trap! Do you have, like, secret compartments in it? Can you hide snacks? I mean, not that you should, but like, is it possible?”

Momo lingered back, eyes attentive. “Forgive my curiosity,” she said gently. “But the arm, it’s beautifully built. Whoever designed it clearly understood both anatomical and mechanical synergy. May I ask where it came from?”

Ed blinked.

Once.

Then rubbed the back of his neck.

“I-uh,” he started. “It’s called automail. Sort of a... full prosthetic. Steel chassis, carbon tendon cores. Direct neural interface.” He flexed the fingers absently. “I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

He hesitated.

“My friend specializes in making it.”

Momo tilted her head. “But it moved like natural muscle, your balance didn’t shift once during combat.”

“I’ve trained with it. Got used to it.” His voice was quiet now. “You stop thinking about the weight after a while.”

Kaminari leaned forward, wide-eyed. “Can I throw a punch with it?”

“No.”

Hagakure chimed in: “Can I high-five it?”

Ed sighed. “...Maybe.”

Iida's eyes gleamed. “Would you allow a diagnostics scan with my family’s support devices? Strictly for educational comparison!”

“No,” Ed muttered. “I think I’ve hit my quota on robotic attention for the day.”

They started to laugh, Kaminari pretending to throw a slow-motion jab, Hagakure pretending to catch it.

Ed looked down at his arm, bare now, glinting slightly in the hallway light.

He flexed the fingers once.

And quietly smiled.

—

The room was dim.

Cracked wood counters, low neon lights, and a single fan rotating overhead with the rhythm of a bored heartbeat. Bottles lined the shelves, most empty, some dusty. The air held the scent of varnish and metal.

In one corner, a grotesque creature slumped in silence, sinew and muscle layered like a butcher’s diagram, limbs twitching even while motionless. It exhaled in pulses, heavy and uneven. A leather strap held it still.

The man seated at the bar hunched over a faded newspaper, fingers curled loosely across the page. Pale skin. Fractured expressions. His hair shadowed his face like static.

He tapped the paper once.

A grainy photo of All Might took up most of the front cover; smiling, posed, behind a class of uniformed teens.

“You see this?” he said. His voice cracked in his throat like ice. “He’s a teacher now...”

Beside him, another figure adjusted the rim of a glass, his outline blurred, smoke drifting from his collar in faint spirals.

“Hmm,” was all he said.

Behind them, someone else laughed quietly. A third figure stood hunched over the creature in the corner, hands gloved, movements delicate. Snake-like. His skin was pale and smooth, his hair long and sleek, dark as ink. His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but surgical.

He wore sleek medical attire, reinforced and pristine. His face was sharp, symmetrical - inhumanly so - and when he smiled, it was never kind.

A slender syringe hovered in his hand as he inspected a tendon along the creature’s arm. His fingers glided like fangs across muscle seams

The laugh rose again, soft, breathy.

The man at the bar didn’t look back.

He kept his finger on the paper and tilted his head slightly.

“Now what would happen,” he said, “if villains killed the symbol of peace?”

The one working on the creature didn’t glance up. He pressed a needle into the creature’s arm and watched it twitch.

“I wonder...” he said.

Then he laughed again.

Chapter 7: Breach Protocol

Notes:

This will be a smaller chapter, but hopefully it is just as good as the previous few. This should be the last of the FMA heavy chapters (for now), then it should balance out a bit more between the MCs.

Breach Protocal

 

 

The hallway was quiet. Soft light from the courtyard slipping through the dorm windows as Edward stepped out of his room, boots clicking softly against polished floor tile. His uniform was mostly straight, cloak folded over one arm, the metal limb under his sleeve stiff but familiar.

He moved with routine. Thoughts still halfway tangled in yesterday’s match.

As he turned toward the staircase, a voice caught up behind him.

“Morning, Tinman,” Peter said, boots bouncing against the floor as he jogged a few steps to match pace. “Headed to homeroom?”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Peter grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. You’re basically my new favorite sparring opponent-slash-badminton wall. That metal arm’s got range.”

“You bounce too much,” Ed muttered. “Like a caffeinated raccoon in gym shorts.”

“That’s a compliment in some cultures.”

“What cultures”

Peter doesn't respond to the question, but just laughs instead

They exited the dorm and crossed into the main path, the breeze tugging lightly at their sleeves. The building loomed ahead, which held their class, just a few minutes off.

Then Peter stopped mid-step.

His head tilted.

“Whoa. Over at the front gate...” He paused, brow furrowing, lenses narrowing slightly. “Reporters. Like... a lot.”

Edward followed his gaze, just beyond the dorm fence and hedging trees, a mass of cameras and microphones bobbed like kelp in a current. Dozens of them. Bright jackets, tripods, voice recorders. A swarm at the threshold.

Peter’s expression turned a shade more serious. “They’re asking about All Might. Trying to get inside for interviews.”

Ed snorted.

“Waste of breath,” he said. “Security won’t let them near the steps, let alone the classrooms.”

“They’re persistent,” Peter offered, as one reporter leaned over the barrier yelling something vaguely about ‘mentorship legacy.’

“They’re vultures,” Ed muttered. “Let them squawk. They’ll be shouting through steel before the day’s out.”

Peter chuckled quietly. “Not gonna lie... kind of wild to have a top hero teaching heroics upstairs.”

Ed didn’t answer. He just walked forward.

They turned the corner, cut across the last patch of courtyard, and entered the classroom hallway.

Inside, the hum of morning voices awaited.

The classroom was already half full when Ed stepped inside. Peter drifted in behind him, still chatting with Kirishima about the window toss. Ed didn’t engage. He just leaned back and listened to the undercurrent; the thrum of post-training chatter still bouncing around the room.

The door hissed open again.

Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka entered in a tight little trio, voices low but animated.

“There were so many reporters,” Uraraka said as she stepped in, eyebrows raised. “They’re practically pressed against the front gates.”

Iida nodded with the intensity of a parade commander. “Mr. Aizawa explicitly instructed them not to interfere with the student body. They’ve been advised to remain outside school grounds!”

Midoriya added, “They were trying to get quotes about All Might… one of them almost asked me something, but I hid behind a bush.”

Ed rolled his eyes.

Peter leaned over and stage-whispered, “Bush defense: nature’s press-repellent.”

Ed muttered, “What are they even hoping to get? A heroic soundbite through chain-link fencing?”

Then the classroom shifted - just slightly - as Aizawa entered, dragging his signature cloud of exhaustion behind him. He dropped a thick stack of paper on the desk with a mechanical thud and stared down the rows like he was trying to remember why he was here.

“Good work with yesterday’s battle training,” he said flatly. “I’ve looked over your grades and evaluations from All Might and Mustang.”

He picked up the first page, squinted without changing expression.

“Bakugo. Grow up already. Stop wasting your talent.”

From across the room, Bakugo muttered, “Got it.”

Next page.

“…And it looks like Midoriya ended up with another broken arm. Again.”

Midoriya shrank half an inch in his seat.

“You’ve got potential. But you need to figure out how to stop shattering your limbs every time you breathe. I hate repeating myself.”

“Okay…” squeaked Midoriya.

Another page.

A pause.

Then: “And Elric…”

Ed braced for it.

Aizawa sighed quietly and said, “Please refrain from throwing any of my students out the fourth-floor window.”

He set the paper down and added under his breath:

“I didn’t think I’d have to tell anyone that.”

The class lost it, half laughing, half wheezing, even Todoroki gave a half-smile. Peter snorted aloud and clapped his desk.

Ed grumbled, “He landed fine.”

Kirishima leaned over, still grinning. “You launched me.”

Ed sank further into his seat and muttered, “I should’ve launched both of you.”

Aizawa then announced, “Next on the agenda, class president selection.”

Ed barely shifted in his seat before the room exploded.

“ME!”

“I’ll do it!”

“I’ve got natural leadership instincts!”

“I’ve organized three summer events, pick me!”

“I’m great under pressure and I own a whiteboard!”

Voices overlapped in a chaotic flood of self-nomination; arms raised, chairs squeaking, whole rows vibrating with sudden ambition. Even the quiet ones like Shoji and Jiro added their names to the verbal pile.

Ed blinked, unimpressed.

Peter leaned sideways in his seat. “This is going well.”

Ed snorted.

Midoriya shrank into his desk, clearly unwilling. Hinata was already half-hidden behind a raised textbook. Peter raised both hands and gave a slow shrug that said, nope. Ed didn’t bother joining the shouting contest. He had no interest in wrangling classmates like livestock.

Then Iida stood.

Like a podium had manifested beneath him.

“Class! Please, order!”

The room faltered.

A few students sat back. The yelling dulled from riot to murmur.

“I suggest we proceed with dignity,” Iida said, adjusting his glasses with intense precision. “We should cast votes, and let the numbers decide.”

From across the room, Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “A vote? We barely know each other, won’t everyone just vote for themselves?”

Tsuyu nodded slightly. “Ribbit. That does sound kind of flawed.”

Iida folded his arms. “Exactly why the vote matters. If someone receives multiple votes, despite limited familiarity, that speaks to their impact, presence, or trustworthiness.”

The logic seemed to land.

A few heads nodded. The class calmed.

Aizawa didn’t look up. He was halfway into his sleeping bag before he muttered:

“I don’t care how you do it. Just make it fast.”

The bag zipped halfway closed.

The selection chaos reignited, now slightly more organized.

Ed leaned on his metal elbow and sighed.

—

Sheets of notebook paper passed hand to hand, scribbled ballots stacked up beside Iida, who tallied them with crisp, agonized diligence. His posture grew stiffer with each mark.

“Final count…” Iida said, voice tight. “Midoriya: four votes. Elric: three.”

Ed barely raised a brow.

Three votes? Didn’t see that coming.

Iida straightened, swallowing hard. “Well… there you have it. Midoriya is the class president, and Elric is the vice president.”

His smile barely concealed the sting.

Ed raised a hand, casual, dismissive. “No thanks. Give it to the next person down.”

Iida froze. “You… don’t accept?”

“Nope,” Ed said. “I lead fine when I have to. This isn’t one of those times.”

There was a pause. A few heads turned.

Then Iida nodded, slowly and mechanically. “Okay… then Momo Yaoyorozu is vice president.”

Momo blinked once, then gave a diplomatic nod.

Midoriya stared ahead, jaw slightly parted.

As if Iida’s words finally clicked in Midoriya’s head, he sputtered, “Huh? I-I’m the…?”

His whole frame slouched in real time, the weight of sudden responsibility folding him like a card tower. You could practically see the mental bullet journal forming behind his eyes.

From behind him, Bakugo let out a low, venomous hiss.

“What the…!! Who the hell voted for Deku?!”

No one answered. A few shuffled in their chairs. Ed leaned on his elbow, not particularly surprised.

Aizawa’s voice cut through from behind his cocoon.

“Well, that settles it. Your class presidents have been chosen.”

Zipper: ziiiiiip.

—

“…I’ve seen a lot of familiar faces here,” Roy said, his voice low over the rim of a chipped tea mug. “Marco. Scar. Even…” He paused, the breath hitching faintly. “...Hawkeye.”

Ed looked up from his sandwich, the air in the room tensing.

“They’re here?”

Roy nodded, staring out through the blinds like the glass might replay memories if stared at long enough. “None of them remember the old world. I’ve checked. Marco teaches pharmacology in New York. Scar runs a small clinic in Italy; doesn’t go by that name anymore.”

He let the silence settle before adding, quieter still, “Riza sells flowers. Liverpool. Still goes by Hawkeye.”

Ed leaned forward, resting his elbows against the desk.

“You ever go in?”

Roy shook his head slowly. “Watched her place for a few hours. Couldn’t do it. Felt like I’d be... interrupting something delicate.”

Another pause.

“I was lucky,” Ed muttered, eyes narrowing just a little. “Growing up with the Rockbells. I had Winry. Her folks. Even with everything that went wrong, they gave me something steady. They rebuilt me after I fell.”

Roy glanced at him, listening.

“But Al..." Ed continued, quieter now. "He’s not here. I’ve looked. I’ve asked. It’s like he never came through.”

Roy’s expression shifted just slightly, softened around the edges.

“So I figured,” Ed said, eyes locking with his, “if he’s not here to do it, I’ll do it for him. Be a hero. Not just some loud-mouthed alchemist with tricks. Someone who helps people. Someone he’d be proud of.”

Roy’s smirk emerged, slow and weathered. “You’re still the idealist.”

Roy looked at Ed and chuckled. “You haven’t grown a centimeter, have you?”

Steam curled from Ed’s untouched tea. His sandwich froze midair.

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE’S A QUANTUM PARTICLE?!”

Roy didn’t flinch. Just took another sip.

“Still easy to rile up.”

Ed slammed his hands on the desk. “I will reforge the laws of matter just to flatten this office! Don’t tempt me.”

Roy gestured to the window, smiling faintly. “Then you’d have to file the repair paperwork. That’s part of the heroic package, isn’t it?”

Ed groaned, flopping back into his chair like physics owed him a refund.

Roy set his mug down and leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening through the steam. “So... why do you have the automail again?”

Ed glanced at his arm - just barely visible under the sleeve cuff - and tapped the metal knuckle against the edge of the desk.

“I was born like this,” he said. “Missing the same arm and leg I lost before.”

Roy blinked. “But… you got your arm back. After Alphonse’s body was restored, after you gave up your alchemy. I remember that day as clearly as the rain.”

“Yeah,” Ed said quietly. “So do I.”

He looked out the window, not really seeing the breeze tugging at the leaves outside.

“I don’t know what happened, Roy,” he continued. “It’s like the rules shifted. I came into this world already missing them. No gate. No exchange. Just… born this way.”

Roy didn’t speak for a moment. His expression settled into that thoughtful quiet, the kind he reserved for puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fit.

Ed gave a small shrug. “Thankfully, Winry’s just as good with automail here as she was back then. Better, maybe. She didn’t hesitate. Picked up her tools like she’d been waiting.”

Roy’s voice was low. “But she doesn’t remember?”

“Nope.”

“That’s rough.”

Ed exhaled. “It’s reality. And I’m lucky. I could’ve ended up with mismatched parts and a plumber’s wrench duct-taped to my elbow.”

Roy snorted once. “Would’ve suited your combat style.”

“Watch it.”

Roy tapped the rim of his cup thoughtfully, watching the way Ed’s gaze drifted past the windows again, like he was measuring something intangible against the skyline.

“You’re the expert in human transmutation,” Roy said. “Do you think Al could’ve come here too? Just… without his body. Like how you’re missing your limbs.”

The question landed harder than Roy meant it to. Ed froze, then turned his eyes toward the dark metal fingers curled on his knee. For a moment, he looked impossibly small.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice soft but steady. “There’s no good way for me to tell.”

Roy leaned back, the weight of that answer settling across the desk like fog.

Ed continued, eyes still fixed on his automail. “Alphonse never crossed any threshold alone. Not without me. If he’s here, he’s hidden. Silent. Or maybe I’m the only one who crossed. Maybe I left him behind.”

“You don’t think he’s st-”

“I don’t know,” Ed repeated, a little sharper this time. “This world doesn’t make sense. Not in a way I can diagram or break down. I’ve tried.”

The silence hung for a beat too long. Then Ed cleared his throat and forced a thin smile. “Besides, if Al were here, he’d have shown up by now. Probably with a stack of books and a lecture on metaphysics.”

Roy glanced sideways at Ed as if debating something, then finally spoke, low and deliberate.

“So… a couple months back, I met a girl in Finland who you’d find interesting. Her quirk lets her communicate with…”

An alarm shrieked through the office walls, followed by a robotic voice overhead:

“SECURITY LEVEL THREE HAS BEEN BREACHED. ALL STUDENTS, PLEASE EVACUATE IN AN ORDERLY FASHION.”

Roy was on his feet before the message finished, reaching for the ignition gloves tucked under the desk drawer.

“Move.”

Ed didn’t argue. He was already on his feet, automail boot clanging against the tile as he followed Roy toward the corridor.

Out in the hallway, red strobes flashed against polished linoleum. Students scattered past them, faculty barked orders, but Roy’s focus was razor-sharp, eyes scanning past each corner like he already had a map in his head.

Ed kept pace. “What the hell’s a Level Three breach?”

Roy answered without breaking stride. “Usually? Something that shouldn’t be able to enter the grounds. Which means whoever - or whatever - it is, knows what it’s doing.”

Ed’s jaw tightened. “Great. That’s never ominous.”

—

UA's front corridor lit up with emergency strobes, pulsing against the concrete in time with Mustang’s boots as he stormed toward the entrance. Elric kept pace, tension riding his shoulders as they rounded the final corner.

The front wall was obliterated; not melted, not blasted, but crumbled, as if it had forgotten it was supposed to be a gate. Broken stone curled outward like dead petals, and flecks of dust still drifted in the air.

The breach was chaos.

A flood of reporters had pushed through, voices overlapping in pursuit of images and questions, tripods stabbing into the courtyard like they were staking territory. Aizawa stood dead center, scarf already half-unraveled, eyes glowing faintly beneath heavy lids.

“You are trespassing,” he said. “You will exit immediately.”

The crowd didn’t move.

At his side, Present Mic was already throwing verbal punches.

“YO YO YO! MEDIA WILDCARD STATUS DENIED! Did you all miss the part where it is illegal to trespass?"

His voice echoed through the stone remains. Still, no one retreated.

Nezu stood ahead of them, unshaken as ever, watching the scene like a curious spectator at a chessboard mid-collapse.

“I suppose Cementoss will have to work overtime,” he murmured, flicking his gaze toward the fractured debris. “Curious breakage.”

Then he turned, and his ears twitched.

“Oh! Well isn’t that interesting.”

Roy Mustang had stepped into view, and beside him… Elric.

“Wasn’t expecting the eastern contingent to drop in,” Nezu added warmly.

Roy gave a curt nod. “Level three breach warranted a look.”

Nezu’s smile held. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Elric drifted toward the collapsed edge, crouching low. His fingers brushed over the cracked stone, tracing the splintered collapse lines. He didn’t speak, just examined the pattern.

The break looked…familiar. Like something he’d seen before. Transmutation, abrupt and violent. The matter wasn’t restructured, it was broken. Reduced to its weakest bonds and then left to rot.

It was reminiscent of Scar’s work.

But Scar was in Italy. Roy had told him just minutes ago. So, this wasn’t Scar.

But the resemblance lingered.

Behind him, the volume spiked again.

Present Mic was practically dancing in place now, hands wide like he was conducting noise. “Anyone who doesn’t leave in the next thirty seconds is getting an official escort, and you don’t want it coming from Eraser Head!”

Aizawa cracked his scarf.

The crowd began to shift. Reluctantly. Grumbling. But they moved.

Once the last tripod clattered out of sight, Elric stood up, brushing dust from his palm.

“I can fix the wall,” he said.

Nezu’s eyes lit up. “Really? That would be most helpful.”

Roy stepped aside with a small gesture. “Do your thing.”

Elric pulled back his sleeve, exposing the smooth arc of automail. He clapped his hands.

Light surged across the pavement—pulling matter from the debris, reshaping the fractured remains into clean structure. Not new, but whole.

Present Mic peered at the finished curve of stone. “Okay that’s slick. Someone should tell Cementoss he’s been officially outperformed.”

Aizawa didn’t blink. “Don’t.”

Nezu smiled. “Efficient. Very efficient.”

Elric dusted off his hands. The wall was whole again, but his thoughts weren’t.

Something wasn’t right about the way it had broken.

Not Scar. Not alchemy. But definitely something.

—

The classroom had mostly settled, desks filled, the earlier buzz of the gate incident fading into background hum. Elric leaned back in his seat, automail arm resting across his notebook, not really writing. Just listening.

At the front of the room, Midoriya stood beside Yaoyorozu, shuffling his notes as though each sheet weighed more than it should.

“Before we start talking about other class roles,” Midoriya began, voice steady but tight, “I just wanted to say something first.”

Momo gave him a small nod of encouragement.

Midoriya straightened.

“I want to step down from being class president.”

A few students blinked.

“Iida was the one who helped calm everyone down during the breach,” Midoriya continued. “He kept us focused. Organized. That’s real leadership, and I think he should take the role.”

There was a pause.

Then Iida, halfway between stunned and conflicted, rose slowly from his desk.

“I… I am honored. Truly,” he said, hands trembling with contained formality. “If the class accepts Midoriya’s request, I humbly accept the position.”

Momo smiled and turned toward the chalkboard, jotting names down in clean script.

From the back row, Peter leaned toward Elric, chin lowered just enough that the whisper didn’t carry.

“Hey. I saw you with the teachers earlier, when the reporters broke in. What was that about?”

Ed didn’t look up from the desk.

“I fixed the gate.”

Peter blinked. “Oh. Cool. Very chill.”

Elric shrugged.

—

The breach site had been cleared. Cameras removed. Reporters escorted. The courtyard was quiet again, repaired, but not forgotten.

Nezu stood beside the reconstituted wall, paw resting under his chin as he surveyed the patchwork with deliberate calm.

Recovery Girl hovered nearby, her cane tapping lightly against the paved ground. She eyed the perimeter with no shortage of skepticism.

“No ordinary reporter could’ve done this,” she said, voice clipped. “The structural failure… it wasn’t brute force. It was internal. Like something tore the material apart from the inside.”

Nezu nodded slowly. “Agreed. That crowd was too coordinated. Someone instigated the whole affair.”

Behind them, Roy Mustang approached with arms folded, gaze level.

“There’s a quirk I know of,” he said. “Not common. Molecular disassembly. Breaks things down at their base structure.” He paused. “Reminds me of a man I knew once. Used to go by Scar.”

Recovery Girl’s eyes narrowed. “Here?”

“No. He’s in Italy now. Healing people, not hurting them.” Roy crouched near the wall. “But the resemblance is there. Whoever did this, it’s someone with a quirk in the same category. Maybe not refined. Maybe unstable.”

Nezu didn’t look away from the wall.

“Did some evildoers manage to slip in?” he mused aloud. “Or do they intend to wage something far greater than a press stunt?”

The breeze stirred around them.

Mustang glanced sideways. “Either way, it’s not over.”

Nezu’s tail flicked once.

“No,” he agreed softly. “It’s just beginning.”

—

The bus cruised through Tokyo’s outskirts, the vehicle humming with momentum and quiet chatter. Edward sat near the window, automail arm resting against the cool glass, metal leg stretched out discreetly beneath his seat.

Across the aisle, Tsuyu turned slightly toward Midoriya, her gaze as still as her voice.

“Midoriya, your quirk kind of reminds me of All Might’s,” she said. “Same explosive strength and rapid movement.”

Midoriya blinked. “Y-you think so? I mean… yeah, I guess I did model it after him…”

Kirishima leaned over from behind, chin resting on the seatback. “Except All Might doesn't wreck his body every time he throws a punch. Yours looks powerful, but wild. Needs more control.”

Midoriya’s laugh came sheepish. “Still working on that part…”

Kirishima gave a friendly shrug, then turned toward Tsuyu. “That was sharp, Asui.”

Tsuyu’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Call me Tsuyu.”

“Right, sorry!” Kirishima offered an apologetic grin.

Ed tapped his automail fingers against the seat’s edge, eyes narrowed just slightly at the boy casually perched across from him.

“You dodged every single strike I threw at you during training,” he said, voice low but direct. “How?”

Peter didn’t miss a beat. He gave a half-smile and tapped the side of his head.

“Spider sense. It's like a sixth sense that warns me when something’s about to go wrong.”

Ed gave a short, impressed nod. “That’d explain the way you moved, like you knew what I was going to do before I did it.”

“Kind of did,” Peter said with a shrug. “Not the details, just enough to not get clobbered.”

Ed leaned back slightly, arm resting again on the cool glass. “Useful. Maybe next time I aim to mislead it.”

Peter chuckled. “Now that’d be interesting.”

From a couple seats back, Mina Ashido leaned forward, curiosity clear on her face. “Hey, does it hurt, your arm, I mean? The metal?”

Ed glanced down. “The arm and leg are automail. Usually no pain. Its only if my mechanic needs to do a tune-up. Things get out of sync sometimes.”

“Whoa. You have a mechanic?”

“Yeah. Sharp as hell. Keeps me moving.”

She nodded, thoughtful.

Not far behind, Ojiro shifted, eyes settling on Hinata. “You move like a trained martial artist. Where’d you learn it?”

Hinata’s tone was soft, but certain. “My father taught me. Our clan focuses on pressure points, because of our eyes, we can see the body’s network. It’s less about brute force, more about precision.”

Ojiro looked intrigued. “Sounds like you could paralyze someone with a well-placed tap.”

“Only if I intend to.”

The bus curved around a final bend, and Aizawa’s low voice drifted from the front.

“We’re here.”

Outside the windows loomed USJ. The Unforeseen Simulation Joint. Gleaming structures, twisted terrain zones, and artificial disaster sites stretched in all directions beneath a glass dome.

 

 

Chapter 8: Attack on USJ

The hiss of the bus doors cut through the still morning as students began to file out. Hinata stepped down with practiced quiet, her posture upright, eyes gently scanning the massive dome ahead.

USJ towered before them, a simulated ruin framed in steel. Flood zones glinted under protective glass. Collapsed highways folded in on themselves like dead serpents. Controlled devastation waiting to test them.

Peter followed, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Oh wow, someone really went all-in on disaster aesthetics. This place gives me... storm-chaser meets end-times chic.”

Edward clanked down the steps behind him, unimpressed. His eyes mapped the terrain with the precision of someone already prepping contingency plans.

Hinata stayed silent, absorbing the layout, not through any ability. Just sheer awareness. Everything about this place whispered risk. Challenge. Opportunity.

At the facility’s gate stood Roy Mustang, relaxed and unreadable. Beside him, the sleek, sealed suit of Thirteen, visor gleaming with reflected light.

“Welcome,” Thirteen said, voice smooth and metallic. “To the Unforeseen Simulation Joint. Home to every disaster and accident imaginable.”

A squeal of delight erupted. Uraraka practically bounced out of her skin.
“Thirteen?! No way, you’re really here!”

Thirteen tilted his helmet in acknowledgment. Hinata watched quietly. Not starstruck, but respectfully intrigued.

Aizawa stepped forward, gaze already suspicious. “Where’s All Might?”

Roy shrugged casually. “It looks like he lost track of time doing hero work on his way here.”

Aizawa nodded. 

Thirteen turned to address the whole class.

“You may know my quirk: Black Hole. It has the ability to consume and tear apart anything.”

Midoriya spoke before anyone else. “And you used it to rescue people during disasters. You saved lives.”

Thirteen nodded. “Yes. But it is also a power that could kill. Instantly.”

Silence fell. Peter’s shoulders tensed slightly. Edward tilted his head, studying.

Hinata’s gaze remained steady. She didn't need to activate anything to understand the stakes. She’d lived in a world where control wasn't just trained. It was demanded. Where killing was a mission, not a mistake. That world praised precision, not compassion.

But this world was different and she understood the weight of change.

Thirteen continued, “I have no doubt some of you have quirks just as dangerous. This training exists to help you control that danger. Because one wrong move, one unchecked instinct, and lives are lost.”

Hinata’s hands curled slightly in front of her. A memory tugged, distant and muted. Not guilt. Just recognition. Here, restraint was not weaponry. It was responsibility.

Thirteen bowed.

“As heroes, your powers are not meant to harm. They are meant to help. Thank you.”

“Great. First off…” Aizawa’s voice cut through the last whispers of silence, but it didn’t last.

He stopped. Mid-sentence. His eyes fixed on the center of the USJ dome.

Peter’s hand jerked slightly. A spike of sensation clawed at the base of his spine. His spider-sense lit up like wildfire.

Ed’s gaze followed Aizawa’s instinct, jaw tightening.

Hinata felt it before she saw it. Not with her quirk. Just a tension that pressed at the air. A shift. Subtle. Wrong.

At the far end of the dome, space shimmered.

A glowless portal twisted into being. Dark edges flickering like torn cloth caught in wind. The ground groaned as something heavy pushed through it.

Roy muttered, barely audible.
“A portal?”

Out stepped a cluster of figures.

The first, pale, unsteady, dragging fingertips along the air as if each breeze offended him. His presence sent a wave of unease rippling out.
Beside him, something massive. Hulking. Arms swollen with unnatural power, its posture already coiled to crush.

Then came the rest; ragged villains, mismatched gear and sneers, some armed with blades, others crouched like feral dogs. A dozen, maybe more.

Chaos waiting.

Aizawa turned in an instant. “Students! Huddle up! No one moves!”

Hinata shifted to the side, instinctively flanking Ed and Peter. Peter had already gone rigid, eyes sweeping the perimeter.

Thirteen stepped forward, body centered.

“Protect the students,” Aizawa ordered.

Thirteen nodded. “Understood.”

Aizawa pulled his goggles over his eyes. His voice sharpened to a blade.

“Don’t move. Those are villains!!”

Snap. Mustang’s glove discharged with ruthless precision; a spark snapping through the air. In less than a breath, flame barreled toward the villains.

But before it could hit, a portal peeled open. Silent. Deliberate. The fire vanished into void.

The villain behind the warp stepped forward calmly, surveying the line of heroes.
“Thirteen… the Flame Alchemist… and Eraser Head, is it? According to the staff schedule I received the other day, All Might is supposed to be here…”

Mustang scoffed. Aizawa’s response cut clean and understanding: “Of course. The incident with the reporters was a diversion.”

Then came the low, rasping voice. Like gravel dragged across skin.

The pale figure moved closer, posture twitching, fingertips grazing his own neck.
His smile was not an expression, it was an exposed nerve.

“Where is he? We’ve come all this way… and brought so many playmates. All Might… the symbol of peace...” His hand twitched. “I wonder if some dead kids will bring him here.”

Hinata shifted position instinctively, placing herself besides Peter and Ed, forming an unconscious triangle of defense in front of the other students.

Mustang's next snap sparked against his palm, held but not released. Aizawa’s goggles flashed.

“You will do no such thing,” he said, voice sharp, hands at the ready to create more sparks.

Shigaraki tilted his head, as if the concept amused him. “Juvia,” he muttered. “Do your job.”

The effect was immediate.

Above them, the dome darkened.

Rainclouds burst to life. Thick, unnatural, roiling layers, summoned from thin air like emotion turned elemental. The first drops slapped against the glass stairwell. Then the downpour came; soaking, cold, total.

Hinata’s hair clung to her cheeks in seconds.

Ed swore, turning toward Mustang. “Your gloves!”

Mustang glanced down. The flames he could control had no grip in water. Wet leather, soaked sigils, ruined ignition.

Aizawa growled, low and direct. “Mustang, you’re useless when you’re wet. I’ll handle the villains. Help Thirteen evacuate the students. Try calling the school. Get us backup.”

“Sensei!” Midoriya shouted, eyes wide. “You can’t fight them alone! There’s too many, even you can’t nullify every quirk!”

Aizawa didn’t blink. “No good hero is a one-trick pony.” He turned his head. “Thirteen, Mustang, take care of them.”

Roy stepped toward the group, ignoring the rain that slicked through his hair. “I’m more useful in the fight. See if you can turn off the rain.”

Aizawa gave a quick nod. Then he pulled up his scarf, adjusted his goggles, and without another word, leapt down the stairs into the chaos.

The fight had begun.

—

The surveillance chamber did not buzz. It pulsed. A gentle thrum circulated through walls and floor, a frequency closer to breath than electricity. Twelve monitors arched outward from the central chair, casting flickers of rain and distortion across the room’s dark architecture.

The seated figure remained statue-like, armor layered and cable-bound, his presence woven into the system itself. Fluid from ports pulsed once, then again. Thought and machine were not distinct.

Behind him stood the pale man in robes, hands hidden within the drape of long sleeves. His eyes - serpent-gold, luminant - scanned the screens without blinking. He did not lean or gesture. The room tasted his curiosity in silence.

On the screens: chaos with pattern.

Eraserhead was moving through mist like a blade cut from bone. His motion was unforgiving, surgical, reactive only when necessity sparked. The teacher’s rhythm was building, dangerously tight, dangerously fast.

“He’s a fool,” the seated figure noted. “No hero will be able to go up against a crowd of that size, unless they have power relative to All Might’s. He is only hastening his death.”

One monitor flickered, highlighting the rescue hero Thirteen, still active, kinetic. Water soaked her suit, but she moved with clarity, pulling students from flooded access points toward the central platform. She barked orders, hands ready.

“We’ll see, he does have quite the unique quirk,” added the robed figure. “Either way, including him, there are only two heroes left. The Flame Commander has been dealt with”

“Not for long, Shigarki had a plan for thirteen as well. Soon it will be just the students.”

A soft pulse ticked through the systems. One monitor shifted its feed, a wider view. Three students separated from the others.

They weren’t panicked. They were analyzing.

The first crouched near the earth, running gloved fingers along concrete in practiced arcs. Something transmuted beneath him, stone shaped into cover. The second rode momentum across the sidewall, stringing near-translucent webs between metal beams as anchors. He seemed ready to jump into action at the slightest movements. The third stood perfectly still. She didn’t move with fear or hesitation, she observed.

Dark hair. Pale eyes. Clear vision.

The armored figure leaned forward slightly.

“That one,” he said. “With pale eyes. Is that a Hyuga?”

The cloaked man narrowed his gaze.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Hinata Hyūga. I remember her.” His tone was half-wistful, half intrigued. “While we never interacted much, she was renowned for her ingenuity and the strength of her eyes.

“She watches like a commander.”

“She always did.”

The scene unfolded. The three students shifted subtly into formation. Hinata gave no verbal orders, but her quiet repositioning created clarity. A glance redirected the transmuter’s approach. A hand steadied the spider-like boy’s balance. She didn’t command, she coordinated.

None of the students wore hero licenses. Yet these three executed pattern-response tactics that defied protocol. They responded to threat with internal calculus, not hesitation.

The large figure in the throne remained silent. Then his voice filled the room again.

“They are not ordinary.”

The warp gate opened at the facility’s edge, mist curling upward as Kurogiri stepped into view. Within seconds, the black hole user was gone, consumed in fog. Mustang followed, pulled into distortion.

The chaos began.

Students scattered. The trio did not.

The alchemist built walls. The spider-boy repositioned and extracted two students before they could be claimed. Hinata stepped forward, spine aligned, vision locked. Her hand slid to intercept a falling body mid-motion. Her voice was low, but present now.

“Stay behind me.”

“Well, would you look at that,” said the cloaked one, as his eyes gleam with realization. “Those three know how to adapt. That’s not something a student just knows. They’re survivors.”

More warp gates opened. The alchemist disappeared first. Then Hinata. The rest blinked out, fragments of violet distortion swallowing one after another.

The spider-boy clung to his wall alone, watching.

The room fell quiet.

The armored figure studied the screens.

The cloaked man stepped closer to the primary display.

“In behavior, they resemble veterans. Not prodigies. Instinct aligned with memory.” He hesitated, then said it. “Realized.”

The word echoed against the walls.

“They shouldn’t be grouped,” said the one in the chair.

“No. And yet they are.”

“Coincidence?”

“Perhaps.”

“They move as if memory preceded them.”

“I believe it did.”

The seated figure leaned back into the hum of the throne. The tubes connected to him pulsed faintly.

“If there are three,” he said, “it’ll be difficult to extract them from UA without garnering unwanted attention.”

“Then lets start with one, perhaps the one with the spider quirk? I have been wanting another good subject for making more Nomus.”

“In time, that can be granted.”

The main monitor flickered.

Rain deepened. Thunder rolled outside the dome. Inside, the simulation spiraled toward chaos.

And somewhere beneath the screens - beneath the analysis and design - the hunt had begun.

—

The plunge was sudden. One breath, one moment of swirling violet light, and then water.

Cold. Hard.

Hinata surfaced, eyes stinging from the artificial salt, arms sweeping quietly as she turned. The water tugged at her uniform, heavy, dragging. Steel beams rose crookedly around her; shattered ships, broken docks, drowned cargo. The Flood Zone.

Two shadows moved beneath the waterline, slow and deliberate.

Villains.

She shifted instinctively, legs slicing a wide arc, her gaze calm but racing. One of them surfaced, sharp fins bracketing his jaw, eyes already locking on her.

A tongue lashed out fast.

Hinata felt a sudden jolt as her shoulder was yanked back sharply, body flung sideways in an arcing splash. Not an attack. A rescue.

She landed against cold, slick metal deck plating.

Beside her, Midoriya rolled up, coughing hard.

“Thanks, Asui!”

The frog-like girl braced herself beside them, water slipping off her uniform like it couldn’t cling.

“Call me Tsuyu,” she said simply. Then glanced across the water. “But we seem to be in trouble.”

Hinata sat up slowly, heartbeat now steady. Her fingers clenched lightly on the deck. Beyond the ruins, ripples curved in outward patterns. At least six disturbances. Each circling. Closing.

Midoriya was staring hard at the dome’s horizon, fists clenched.

“Why would they come here?” he muttered. “This isn’t a robbery. This isn’t some random chaos. They’re targeting teachers. They knew our schedule.”

Hinata nodded quietly. “Aizawa confirmed that,” she said. “He said they orchestrated the media breach.”

Tsuyu’s eyes narrowed, scanning the waters.

“They had someone controlling the storm. They neutralized Mustang, bypassed Thirteen, scattered students. That’s not just strategy. That’s confidence.” Her voice dipped. “They think they can beat All Might.”

The words lingered.

Hinata’s breath stilled. The possibility was foreign, but not impossible. If they truly believed they could take out the symbol of peace, then collateral damage - students - would be part of the plan.

“They said they’d kill us,” Tsuyu added. “Not scare. Not capture. Kill.”

Midoriya rose slowly. His shoulders were trembling, but his eyes weren’t.

“If there’s even a chance they can beat All Might,” he said, voice low but building, “then we have a job to do. And a fight to win.”

Hinata watched him. That shift. The moment when fear curled inward and became something fiery. Familiar.

He reminded her of someone.

A boy who once refused to back down, even when standing alone.

Naruto.

Her posture adjusted, feet planted firmly now.

“We’re surrounded,” she said, voice steady. “They’re circling. Waiting for panic.”

Tsuyu looked down into the water, then up toward the scattered debris near the opposite bank.

“There’s driftwood, buoyancy zones stacked near that tower. It’s risky, but if we can shift the boat fast enough, we could reach cover.”

Midoriya glanced at the engine controls. Dead. Battery soaked.

“I can give us some push,” he said, rolling his arm slowly. “Not high impact. Just directional force.”

Hinata surveyed the water again. Timing would be everything.

“I’ll track their movements,” she said. “If we wait for a break, we can ride the gap without drawing pursuit.”

Tsuyu crouched at the edge, muscles already tensed.

“I’ll steer.”

A pause.

Then Midoriya smiled, just faintly.

“Let’s make them regret underestimating first-years.”

Hinata nodded.

The rain fell harder.

And the boat began to shift.

—

The moment the portal snapped closed behind them, a wall of shrieking wind slammed into Ed’s side like a freight train. His boots caught loose gravel, then slipped, and he skidded downhill on one knee, automail arm crunching rock, cloak snapping like a flag behind him.

Tokoyami landed harder.

Ed twisted, reaching out just as the other boy nearly rolled off a shallow ledge. He grabbed Tokoyami’s wrist and hauled him up, both of them crouching low against a jagged outcrop that broke the worst of the blast.

“Hey!” Ed shouted, scrambling over. He shielded his face with one arm, blinking against the grit. “You good?”

Tokoyami stirred, dragging himself onto hands and knees. His head jerked upward just as another gust slammed into them from the side, nearly lifting him off the ground.

“Windstorm,” he muttered, coughing. “They dropped us in the worst spot.”

“No kidding,” Ed said, squinting down the slope.

Ed scanned the slope. A narrow hillside littered with broken fencing, turbine debris, and scattered panels. Beyond it, at the bottom, partially obscured by a swirl of dust and bramble, Aizawa was fighting.

Not stalling. Not protecting.

Fighting.

Even from this distance, Ed could see him moving like a shadow’s edge; striking, countering, dodging half a dozen opponents at once. Wind blasts raked the terrain, but Aizawa ducked and spun between them like wire.

“We need to reach him,” Tokoyami said.

“Not before they reach us,” Ed muttered.

A flash, barely a flicker of warped air to the west.

Ed shoved Tokoyami sideways, hard.

A compressed wind arc detonated right where they’d stood, sending slate shards into the sky like knives. Ed landed on his elbow, rolled, and came up into a crouch.

They weren’t alone.

Four figures emerged from the murk. One descended slowly, riding a pressurized draft like a lift. Another strolled forward as though immune to gravity, her curls bouncing undisturbed. Two others followed, one lean and blade-jointed, the other heavyset, frame like a tank, boots cracking stone.

“Well, well,” the brute said, cracking his neck. “What’s this? A demon bird and a tiny brat?”

Ed’s eye twitched violently.

Tokoyami tensed. “He didn’t mean…”

“No,” Ed growled. “He meant exactly what he said.”

The wind began to churn harder around him, but it wasn’t natural. Ed’s transmutation circle was already glowing faintly at his boots.

Before anyone could react, he clapped his hands and slammed them to the ground.

A ridge of jagged stone launched upward beneath the brute’s feet, knocking him back. But even as Ed lunged for a follow-up strike, the support-type flier looped overhead and flung a scattering spiral of grit and powdered rust into Ed’s eyes.

Blind.

The ranged gust user launched a concussive wave sideways, knocking Ed mid-leap into a wall of turbine wreckage with a metallic shriek.

“Flank the brat!” shouted the flier.

Tokoyami moved.

Dark Shadow surged outward like a blade’s scream, slashing at the ranged villain from below. The man ducked - barely - then spun and hurled a focused wind bullet into the shadows.

He pivoted, crouching behind a collapsed panel while Dark Shadow covered Ed.

Ed recovered fast, vision blurred but adjusting. He felt heat in his cheeks.

“Call me tiny again,” he muttered. “I dare you.”

The brute did not oblige, but he charged.

Ed braced, transmuted a slick incline beneath him and slid sideways, automail carving a low arc, then reversed the slope with a sharp pulse that launched him directly behind the attacker.

His fist caught armor and ricocheted.

So Ed transmuted the boot plate instead, warping the villain’s stance mid-charge, then slammed his elbow into the back of the man’s knee, forcing a buckle.

As the brute fell, Ed wrapped both arms around his torso, transmuted a spike from the ground behind them, and suplexed the villain into it.

“You wanna talk about size?” Ed spat. “Say it with your teeth intact.”

A gust hit him from the side but Tokoyami was already intercepting.

Dark Shadow ballooned, flattening the trajectory with sudden force and snapping the burst outward. Then the lithe villain dove, trying for a blade arc across Tokoyami’s chest - missed - and twisted mid-air, ready to recover, until Ed redirected a shockwave through the ground, buckling the terrain into a sharp jut and clipping her feet.

She landed wrong.

Tokoyami moved swiftly then. He grabbed her wrist, twisting it sharply with the edge of his cloak, and dropping her with a precision slam.

The flier cursed and backed off. “Shigaraki said they would just be stupid-ass students, the damn liar.”

The gust shooter turned toward the slope, readying another blast.

“Enough!” he shouted. “We push now!”

But Ed was already grinning.

Transmutation rings spun underfoot. Rock lifted. Dust choked upward into a stinging mist.

“You came to throw wind?” Ed said. “I came to break earth.”

—

Half the class was gone.

One moment, Mustang was snapping orders and Hinata was scanning enemy formations. Then the mist rolled in - thick, violet, unnaturally silent - and they were gone. Just like that. Swallowed by space itself.

Peter stood on the staircase landing, fists clenched. His spider-sense thrummed like a live wire, not pointing to any one threat, but humming like a tuning fork hit by the universe itself.

Then, movement.

Kurogiri reformed mid-platform, mist coiling back into that tailored figure. His posture didn’t radiate aggression. It radiated intention. Calculated. Knowing.

His glowing white slit of a face turned toward one target: Iida.

The speedster was already inching back, hesitation etched in every line of his body.

“Run!” Thirteen bellowed across the chaos. “Get to campus! Warn the teachers, call for help!”

“I-I can’t just leave everyone…!”

“You’re our only chance!” she snapped. “You’re faster than anyone here. They haven’t killed you because they need you distracted. Move!”

Peter caught the shift, Kurogiri was rotating mid-space, mist arm extended.

A gate bloomed beneath Iida’s feet.

Peter gasped. He recognized the move, the same tactic that had swallowed Hinata whole.

Thirteen didn’t hesitate.

She pivoted, her palm flaring with gravitational force. Her black hole spiraled to life, its edges glowing with compressed spatial pressure. She didn’t target Kurogiri directly. She aimed between him and Iida. A disruption. A well-placed vector burst to collapse the warp gate's stability.

The air screamed.

Kurogiri’s mist twisted unnaturally, pulled outward as the spatial field distorted. The gate underneath Iida flickered, sputtered, and collapsed.

Iida burst forward, legs pumping, eyes wide.

He vanished through the main entrance, the hallway behind him still untouched.

Too late.

Thirteen had succeeded.

But it came at a cost.

Kurogiri rotated again, his frame realigning mid-mist. This time behind Thirteen.

Peter saw it too late.

The villain raised both arms and opened a gate directly behind her vortex. A spatial mirror. His quirk turning her own black hole against her.

Peter shouted,“No!”, but the pull had already begun.

The gravitational force snapped inward. Thirteen’s limbs jolted, pulled backwards into her own spatial distortion. She fought it, but Kurogiri timed the angle perfectly. The implosion hit, warping air and dust in a razor-thin spiral.

Thirteen collapsed.

Her body slammed against the ground with brutal force, limbs folded awkwardly. Her helmet cracked. Mist swept around her, then dissipated.

Shoji and Uraraka rushed forward, urgency in every step.

Peter didn’t wait.

He leapt, flipped, webs fired in midair.

“Hey, cloud boy!” he yelled. “You ever heard of personal space? Or are you just naturally this clingy?”

No answer.

One web vanished in mist. The other latched onto the mask.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. That was it. That sleek metal collar and mask, the only real thing in the whole smoky mess.

He yanked, sliding forward.

Kurogiri rotated again, mist-arm sweeping toward him.

Peter dodged, flipped overhead. “Did you seriously accessorize for this? What are you, a haunted humidifier with fashion sense?”

Another blast of webs - six this time - fanned out in an attempt to confuse the spatial dimensions.

Kurogiri absorbed half of them, but Peter kept moving, low and fast.

Then, he saw his window.

Mid-spin, Peter launched a heel kick, aiming straight for the mask. “Heads up, foggy! Special delivery: one knuckle sandwich, extra toe!”

Crack.

His boot collided against the left cheek of the collar, and for the first time, the mask dented.

Kurogiri faltered.

Mist twisted erratically around his form.

Peter landed in a crouch, breathing hard.

He raised a hand like a game show host. “Come on, you gotta give me something. A growl? A grunt? Evil villain monologue? Don’t leave me hanging here, Casper.”

No reply.

Kurogiri folded inward. A gate shimmered behind him.

“Wow. Tough crowd,” Peter muttered, watching the mist pull back. “Was it the humidifier line? I can do better. I had a vacuum joke locked and loaded.”

Then, poof. Gone.

Behind him, Shoji cradled Thirteen’s battered form. Uraraka crouched beside her, two fingers pressed gently to the pulse point on her neck.

“She’s breathing… but barely,” Uraraka whispered.

Peter nodded, legs aching, mind spinning.

But then his eyes drifted down, past the platform.

He froze.

Far below, Eraserhead moved like a dancer made of knives, each twist near lethal, each throw calculated. Two villains dropped under his scarf, tangled and stunned.

But Peter saw it.

The tell.

Eraserhead’s elbow lagged between blocks. His sidesteps were slower. The rhythm was off.

Then Peter saw it.

A thing, hunched in the fog beyond the fight. Massive. Unmoving.

It hadn’t done anything. Not yet.

Now, it began to rise.

Peter squinted. No face. No gear. Just muscle. Dense, compact, black and rippling like thunderclouds trying to wear skin.

The thing lifted its head.

And then it charged.

Aizawa turned, just barely in time.

The creature struck.

Peter felt the impact from three floors up. Aizawa flew backward, crashing through concrete and steel like a rag doll thrown by gravity itself.

Peter staggered a step. His mouth went dry.

No one was coming.

He looked behind him.

Shoji was stabilizing Thirteen.

Uraraka wiped blood from her lip, still focused.

Iida was gone, hopefully reaching help.

Peter stood alone on the edge, between levels.

One teacher down.

A monster uncontained.

No backup.

Peter took one last look at the devastation behind him.

Uraraka knelt over Thirteen, trying to stabilize her breathing. Shoji’s massive frame shielded them both, scanning the mist for any more threats.

Peter stepped toward them, voice low but firm. “You two keep her safe. Whatever happens next, don’t let anyone touch her.”

Shoji nodded. Uraraka looked up, her expression resolute.

Peter added, softer, “I’m counting on you.”

Then he turned toward the railing.

“Alright, time to drop in and ruin someone’s villainous day.”

With a running start, he launched himself over the edge - arms tucked, legs coiled - and dove toward the chaos below.

—

The boat had barely begun to shift beneath her feet when the sound came, a seismic pop that rang deeper than wood or water.

Then came the split.

Hinata spun toward the source just as the deck cracked violently beneath them. A scaled villain had rammed the hull from underneath, sending splinters flying and the vessel tilting sideways like a broken jaw unhinged.

“Move!” Tsuyu shouted, tongue lashing out.

Hinata reached, grabbing Midoriya’s sleeve just as Tsuyu’s tongue coiled around his waist. Together, they launched backward, the boat groaning its last breath before sinking under the swirling rain-soaked waves.

No time to plan.

Midoriya twisted midair and raised two trembling fingers. His gaze flitted over the waterline. Rain obscured everything, but he fired anyway. A sonic flick detonated against the surface, creating a shockwave wide enough to shove the tide back and give them a foothold.

“Hyuga! Tsuyu!” he called out. His voice was raw, but tight with clarity.

They leapt.

Hinata snatched onto Izuku’s shoulder as Tsuyu’s tongue re-anchored around his ribs, and Midoriya released a second flick mid-jump, the pressure wave slingshotting the trio through the air.

They landed hard - on wet concrete - just shy of the plaza’s edge.

Hinata rolled with the impact, shoulder-first, absorbing the landing like a seasoned gymnast. Midoriya dropped beside her, blinking, drenched. Tsuyu’s tongue snapped back into her mouth as she scanned their perimeter.

Midoriya was already muttering, rapid-fire and half-panicked.

“If that sonar villain hadn’t flinched… if the timing had shifted… there was no exit vector unless…”

Hinata placed a palm gently on his arm.

“Don’t dissect it now,” she said softly. “We’re here.”

Tsuyu nodded grimly. “Avoid the plaza. Too open. We’ll get flanked.”

Midoriya nodded, rising to a half-crouch.

Hinata turned toward the city center, eyes narrowed. Rain sheeted down, warping visibility into a foggy dreamscape.

Then she saw it.

Beyond the fight, beyond the cracked streets and rubble-strewn intersections, a shape moved. A thing.

At first it didn’t seem alive. It stood hunched and still.

Massive. Silent.

Hinata froze.

That’s not a person, she thought.

Dark flesh, skin stretched over thunderstorm muscle. No gear. No eyes. Just compact density forged from pure kinetic intent.

It lifted its head.

Then, charged.

Aizawa turned just as it moved. Barely fast enough.

The thing struck.

The sound of impact was a living thing, like two tectonic plates colliding. Hinata felt her spine rattle. Concrete cracked. Steel twisted. Aizawa was airborne, launched backward like a scarecrow caught in a hurricane.

He slammed through a wall two buildings wide.

Dust bloomed.

Tsuyu whispered, “What… is that?”

Midoriya’s mouth opened, but no words came.

Then…

Peter.

A blur from above.

Webs trailing like comets behind him, suit glinting between flashes of lightning. He didn’t hesitate. Dove headlong into the chaos.

Straight toward the monster.

Hinata snapped into motion, eyes cutting across the skyline.

“That’s not random,” she murmured. “This storm, it’s too targeted.”

Rain poured like engineered suppression.

“Someone’s causing this,” she said. “They’re shaping the terrain. Making sure no one can fight back.”

Midoriya’s face twisted, analysis already unfolding.

“They’re suppressing quirk visibility. Line-of-sight attacks. Not to mention Mustang’s quirk. We need to stop it.”

“Then we need eyes on whoever’s controlling it,” Tsuyu said.

Hinata clenched her fists.

“We find them,” she said. “We stop them. And if that monster keeps moving…”

Her gaze swept toward Peter, now locked in aerial clash with the thing, ”...we get him out.”

—

The wind screamed past him as he sprinted along the rain-slicked path toward the main building. Every muscle in Iida’s legs burned, pistons firing in rapid succession beneath soaked uniform fabric. His glasses were spotted with droplets, visibility narrowing to tunnel vision. The route from USJ to campus blurred, he barely registered the trees, the benches, the distant hum of electricity still crackling unnaturally overhead.

Faster. Faster.

He clenched his fists tighter.

Then, a shape appeared in the distance.

A towering figure, striding steadily toward him with a presence radiated sunlight itself.

All Might.

Iida nearly skidded in place.

“All Might, sir!” he called, voice hoarse and breaking. “USJ is-is, under attack!”

All Might stopped in his tracks. Eyes narrowed instantly.

Iida stumbled forward. He bent at the knees, gasping, one hand pressed to his chest as he tried to regain breath. The words spilled out fast, urgent.

“There are villains, dozens! They’ve breached the facility! Students are inside! We were cut off! Sensei Aizawa is fighting and, and… it’s chaos! we need help!”

All Might reached out and placed a firm, steady hand on Iida’s shoulder.

“You’ve done well, Tenya,” he said, voice quiet but powerful. “You ran. You warned me. And now, others will be warned too.”

Iida blinked, straightening instinctively beneath the encouragement.

“You must finish the message,” All Might continued. “Go. Find the faculty. Tell them everything.”

Then All Might turned, gaze locked toward the fog-smothered dome of the USJ. His body seemed to expand, muscles tensing, boots scraping as he crouched slightly.

A moment of silence. Just the storm and the breath between seconds.

Then, BOOM.

He launched skyward, a shockwave rippling outward from the force of his leap. 

Iida shielded his eyes, watching the figure arc through the clouds.

Then he ran.

Notes:

I know, I know, I add Roy to the USJ incident, just to make him useless and not use him. You will see more of him in the second part. He is just too powerful to have the whole time, but too fun of a character not to bring to USJ. I hope you all understand.

Chapter 9: I AM HERE!

Peter landed in a skid, boots scraping against torn concrete, web-shooters already primed.
Aizawa was down.

The battle below had shifted from chaotic to horrifying in seconds. The hulking thing that hit him, whatever it was, was not human. Its arms rippled with obscene muscle, legs pressing into the ground like industrial pistons. No eyes. No voice. Just motion. Impact.

Peter didn’t wait for it to announce itself. He fired.

Three webs in rapid succession, aiming for the joint lines of the creature’s arm.

One strand hit a wrist, another tangled at the bicep. The third, he tried anchoring it to the ground behind the beast. A basic tripwire setup.

The behemoth turned, almost casually, and snapped forward.

Peter twisted into the air, flipping high, then dropping a kick against the creature’s neck.

It barely moved.

“Oh great,” Peter muttered. “A punching bag that punches back.”

He fired another strand, wrapped it around the brute’s ankle, and yanked hard.

Nothing.

The creature didn’t even stagger. Instead, it launched a fist forward, Peter dodged again, rebounding off a wall with a practiced bounce.

“Okay, can’t web him, can’t trip him. Does he at least come with an off switch?”

A sound behind him, concrete shifting.

Aizawa was on one knee, eyes flaring beneath the goggles. His gaze locked on the monster.

For a moment, Peter saw it; the quirk cancellation. The scarf trembled slightly. Aizawa’s hair lifted.

Nothing changed.

Peter’s stomach sank.

“Wait,” he whispered. “That should’ve worked…”

The creature advanced again, unaffected.

Peter darted forward, punched once, twice.

The hits landed. His enhanced strength was no joke. He’d shattered steel once with these knuckles. He could flip tanks on a good day.

The monster just absorbed it. Like hitting memory foam wrapped in concrete.

Each impact disappeared into dense flesh.

Peter skidded back, breathing fast.

“Oh,” he said. “We’re going to have a problem.”

Then his spider-sense exploded.

Full flare. Danger. Proximity. Intent.

He didn’t think. He dove.

Just as fingers reached for the back of his neck.

He rolled into a crouch and turned, and came face-to-face with a gaunt figure. Pale skin, wide grin, cracked lips. Red eyes gleaming behind a hand already reaching again.

“Whoa,” Peter said, backing up. “Hi. I don’t shake hands on the first date.”

The man paused, cocked his head.

“Canceling out quirks,” he murmured, eyes shifting toward Aizawa. “Pretty cool. But nothing special. Up against crazy strength, you might as well be quirkless, Eraserhead.”

His eyes slid back to Peter.

“And a spider-like strength quirk? Another interesting set of abilities. But nowhere near All Might’s strength.”

Peter tilted his head. “Wow. You’re creepy and condescending. And here I thought I’d hit the villain jackpot.”

The brute shifted again.

Suddenly, he turned from Peter and stomped toward Aizawa, massive hands swinging low.

Aizawa raised his scarf, but the creature didn’t hesitate.

He reached down, grabbed the pro hero’s head with one hand, and slammed it into the concrete.

Peter gasped.

“No…”

He sprinted, closing the gap with a bounce off debris.

A few meters behind the brute now.

He fired webs - fast, tight loops - around both shoulders and the right arm. He planted his feet, leaned back, pulled.

The monster stopped.

Then he turned - slowly.

One massive hand reached up and grabbed the webs.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Uh-oh.”

The creature pulled.

Hard.

Peter was yanked forward like a kite caught in a hurricane. He twisted his body mid-flight, trying to rebound off air, but he didn’t get the chance.

A fist met his face.

Everything went white.

Then nothing.

Then pain.

Peter hit the ground in a tumble, sliding across asphalt, blood dripping from his lip. One lens in his mask cracked at the corner.

“Okay,” he groaned. “New rule. No tug-of-war with mutant tanks.”

The pale villain laughed once, dry and eerie.

—

The ground trembled with the impact.

Hinata’s eyes snapped to the left just in time to see Peter slam into the pavement, hard. One of the monster’s fists had caught him mid-air, yanking him forward and decking him straight in the mask. The force echoed across the ruined training dome like thunder.

Blood streaked Peter’s chin. He tried to get up. Failed once. Then braced on one knee, wobbling.

That creature - the one built like a nightmare - turned away from him, heading back toward the collapsed body of Aizawa.

Hinata’s hands flexed at her sides.

Beside her, Izuku clenched his fists. Tsuyu shifted low, her tongue twitching anxiously across her shoulder.

Their hearts beat in uneven rhythm.

Then…

The shadows behind the pale figure folded like curtains, and a body materialized from smoke and mist.

“Tomura Shigaraki,” the voice intoned.

Hinata didn’t recognize the name. But the air around them shifted. Like the temperature dropped.

Shigaraki kept scratching at his cheek, nails dragging over skin like he wanted to shred it. His blood-red eyes didn’t blink.

“Kurogiri,” he said slowly, “is Thirteen dead?”

Kurogiri’s vaporous form rippled slightly. “He’s incapacitated, but... there were some students I couldn’t warp away. One of them dented this mask. And another escaped.”

Shigaraki tilted his head and scratched harder.

“Oh? Huh… Huhhh …”

The sound was too human to be safe. Not quite laughter, closer to someone unraveling.

“Kurogiri. You…” He paused, neck twitching. “I’d turn you to dust if you weren’t our ticket out of here. We won’t stand a chance against dozens of pros. It’s game over , man. At least for now.”

His gaze snapped toward her, Izuku, and Tsuyu.

“But before that...” His mouth curled. “Let’s leave a few dead kids .”

Hinata shifted her stance instantly.

Peter, still groggy, managed to push halfway upright and his head snapped toward them. His mask was cracked, lens spiderwebbed. Blood seeped along his collar.

“No,” he muttered, voice tightening. “No no no…”

Shigaraki dashed forward, blindingly fast.

Hand outstretched.

Aimed straight for Tsuyu.

“Not today, crypt keeper,” Peter croaked, firing a web, thin and desperate.

It shot true.

For half a second.

Then, as if he was expecting the web, Shigaraki touched the strand. It crumbled into dust mid-air.

Hinata moved.

A blur. A flicker.

She stepped in front of him, twisting low, and her fingers struck his arm.

Precisely. Just above the deltoid insertion. His arm went limp.

“What the…?!” Shigaraki hissed, recoiling.

Hinata didn’t say a word.

Behind them, Aizawa was staring at them weakly, and his gaze locked on Shigaraki.

A subtle wind. His scarf lifted. Quirk canceled.

Shigaraki blinked once.

Then his smile disappeared.

Izuku moved next.

He charged forward with a yell. His fist drawn back, eyes wide with determination and fear.

“SMASH!!!”

A wall of muscle intercepted him.

The monster. Fast as a cannon.

Izuku’s punch landed directly in its chest, and it barely rippled.

The boy stumbled back, eyes wide.

Peter launched to his feet, barely able to stand.

“ Get him out of here! ” he shouted, voice hoarse and raw. “Aizawa’s hurt. Get him somewhere safe, and then get yourselves out!”

He shot two webs forward, rebounded off broken scaffolding, and lunged toward the brute and Shigaraki with everything he had left.

Another mist ripple.

Kurogiri’s form thickened, expanded.

Portals. Escape routes.

Backup.

Peter hit the brute mid-leap, only to be caught mid-air by its hand.

It slammed him against a wall so hard the metal buckled.

Hinata’s breath hitched.

Peter groaned, pushing off the dented steel.

“Wow,” he gasped, shaking his head. “You two really know how to make a guy feel welcome .”

Shigaraki stepped toward him.

Peter pointed a trembling finger.

“You? You’re what happens when a claw machine wins a skeleton.”

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched again.

Peter ducked instinctively, fired another web - just to distract - and barely dodged a swipe that turned a piece of concrete to powder.

“Creepy fingers. Super strength. Cloudy teleport guy,” Peter muttered. “This whole fight feels like a rejected horror movie pitch.”

Hinata stepped forward again, one hand raised, watching every motion.

Rain struck the cracked plaza in steady sheets, pooling around collapsed metal and shattered concrete. Through the downpour, Peter’s voice cut sharp and ragged:

“ Help Aizawa, get him out! ”

Hinata nodded. No hesitation.

Behind her, Izuku had already crouched beside the pro hero, inspecting his arm and shoulder with trembling fingers. Tsuyu positioned herself protectively between them, scanning for warp pulses or approaching threats.

But Izuku wasn’t fully still.

His head kept jerking sideways, toward the center of the battlefield. Toward Peter.

Even as he held Aizawa’s hand, his eyes flicked anxiously, tracking the blur of Parker’s motion against Shigaraki’s unnatural gait. His grip tightened, then loosened. A faint tremble threaded through his legs.

He was torn.

Help. Hold back. Jump in. Stay put.

Hinata turned.

She’d help get Aizawa out. But something else pulled at her, low in her spine, higher in her throat. Her Byakugan flared again.

Visibility sharpened.

Lines of chakra (not chakra exactly, but energetic flow, similar in symmetry) unfolded across the battlefield in fine threads. The rain blurred most movement, but not this.

Behind one of the far-off pillars, shielded in the shadow of collapsed scaffolding and broken floodlights, someone stood still.

A girl.

Alone.

Holding a black umbrella.

She wasn’t engaging. She wasn’t hiding exactly, but she wasn’t part of the fight.

Hinata narrowed her gaze.

The flow of energy within the girl's body surged upward, concentrated through her chest, neck, and the base of her skull. Active quirk signature.

But there were no obvious effects.

No glowing hands. No wind formations. No visible power.

Only…

Rain.

Hinata’s eyes widened slightly. The conduit shape, it was environmental.

This girl wasn’t using a quirk that focused through her limbs.

She was projecting outward . High frequency. Area control.

She’s the one shaping the storm.

Hinata stepped back once, toward Tsuyu and Izuku.

“Stay with him,” she whispered. “I’ll circle back.”

Tsuyu nodded, tongue twitching.

Izuku barely reacted, still caught between instinct and strategy, watching Peter move like a blur against decay itself.

Hinata slipped into motion, barefoot against puddled stone, hands quiet at her sides.

Toward the pillar.

Toward the girl with the umbrella.

The storm-maker.

—

The wind parted like fabric torn at the seam.

Ed crossed the threshold fast, boots skidding on rain-slick stone as he and Tokoyami burst from the collapsed Windstorm Zone. The gusts still hissed behind them, but in front, hell had structure.

The battlefield was chaos, but not random. It had intent.

Three villains conducted the carnage in concert: the massive humanoid, built like a nightmare and regenerating through every blow; Shigaraki, twitch-fingered and glass-eyed, unraveling anything he touched with dispassionate decay; and Kurogiri, the mist-born anchor, opening rifts mid-combat and reshaping space like origami.

And somewhere at the storm's center, Peter Parker bled and dodged and joked through hellfire.

Ed’s eyes flicked perimeter-wide. Tsuyu crouched in defense mode, her tongue arched toward a wounded Aizawa, while Tokoyami slowed, scanning the damage.

But Izuku...

He wasn’t moving. Not toward the villains. Not toward their teammates. Ed saw his fists curled so tightly his forearms trembled. Paralysis. A decision crisis. Not now.

“Tokoyami,” Ed barked, slicing through the hesitation. “Aizawa needs cover. Go.”

Without argument, Tokoyami launched toward the collapsed Eraserhead, his cloak dragging through puddles as Dark Shadow unfurled behind him in a defensive arc.

A flicker snapped near a distant support pillar.

Hinata.

Not injured. Not regrouping. She was sprinting into the rain, chasing something invisible to the rest of them. Ed’s stomach tightened, but there was no time to detour.

He clapped his hands.

Stone shifted beneath him in a rising ramp. He sprinted across it and launched himself into the fight.

Peter somersaulted off a fallen slab as Ed landed beside him. Webbing hissed through the storm, slicing arcs into the dark.

“Appreciate the dramatic entrance,” Peter said between huffs. “Three-on-one wasn’t my best idea.”

“Kurogiri’s manipulating terrain,” Ed snapped, already transmuting the next surface. “Can’t lock him down. But I can mess up his foundation.”

The Nomu turned, a snarl ripping through its distended jaw, and charged.

Ed shifted the floor beneath it, spearing upward jagged stone that battered its knee and ribs, trying to stagger it. Peter zipped over its shoulder, webbing its face.

The Nomu tore through the bind like wet tissue.

“It regenerates and hates boundaries,” Peter muttered. “Good times.”

Shigaraki stepped in with quiet menace. His eyes tracked Peter, his voice dry as chalk.

“You’re noisy. You break well.”

Ed raised his blade-arm. “You talk like you’ve ever actually won.”

Another roar. Another transmutation. Ed bent the earth into a coil trap under the creature’s feet, pinning it momentarily.

Peter slung a steel pipe at Shigaraki, who barely flinched as it disintegrated midair.

Then the space twisted.

Kurogiri pulsed again, opening a portal high above them.

Ed slammed his palm to the nearby wall, rerouting its structure into a curve, redirecting the dimensional rift away from Peter’s exposed flank. The portal shuddered, held, but didn’t collapse.

“They’re too linked,” Ed growled. “Kurogiri keeps giving Shigaraki positional advantage. I can’t isolate him.”

Peter’s breath came in rapid bursts. “Then keep wrecking the floor plan. I’ll take whatever openings you give me.”

Ed transmuted again, conjuring a spike burst behind Shigaraki that tore his cloak but missed flesh.

The villain didn’t even flinch.

“You fight like you believe in something,” Shigaraki said.

“I do,” Ed answered. “I believe in giving you exactly the ending you earned.”

The Nomu lunged again, faster this time.

Peter barely dodged, firing webs at its elbow and trying to redirect its attack. Ed raised a barricade mid-spin, but the Nomu shattered it like glass.

They both landed hard.

Peter groaned as he rolled upright. “Can’t kill it. Can’t disable Shigaraki. And that fog guy’s a walking cheat code.”

“Then we adjust,” Ed said, planting both hands for the next transmutation. “You keep it moving. I’ll break whatever they stand on.”

Peter nodded sharply. “Sounds like a dance I don’t want to miss.”

The Nomu barreled again.

Ed clapped, and they started moving again.

But then,

A detonation thundered from the front of USJ, not elemental, not villainous. It struck like the sky had folded inward.

Every head turned.

Through the fractured storm front, a blur of crimson and gold tore into the battlefield, cape snapping like a wound opening across the air.

There was no smile.

“FEAR NOT, I AM HERE.”

All Might’s voice didn’t boom with bravado, it cut like steel. No warmth. No comfort. Just force.

Shigaraki’s mouth twisted, teeth bare.

“Ah. I’ve been waiting, hero. You’re worthless trash.”

He lifted his hand toward Peter.

All Might didn't let him finish.

He lunged forward, faster than physics should allow, and slammed a fist into Shigaraki’s extended arm, sending dismembered fingers skidding across broken concrete.

Peter flinched.

Ed blinked.

All Might didn’t stop moving. His other arm snatched Peter’s chest, and his cloak swept Ed off his feet in tandem. One leap, one breath, and they landed beside Tsuyu, Tokoyami, Izuku, and Aizawa.

All Might set them down with urgency.

“Everyone, go to the entrance. Hurry.”

Peter was already trying to argue, but All Might’s stare silenced him. Ed adjusted his footing, watching Izuku - still frozen - and Tokoyami shielding Aizawa like a bastion.

Shigaraki twitched.

Fingers curled toward his cheek. Nails raked skin. Then deeper.

“Ahhhh… no good… I'm sorry…! Father… ” His voice broke, then changed. Became sing-song in a fractured way. “Throwing punches to save people… that’s our state-sponsored violence. ”

He laughed, cracked and low. “You’re fast, but not as fast as I expected. Could it be true? That you’re getting weaker!? ”

All Might didn’t answer.

He stepped forward. Thunder peeled off his stride.

The Nomu lurched toward him like a battering ram, arms outstretched.

All Might swung.

A punch landed, a perfect arc. But the Nomu barely blinked. The force dispersed with a low hum, like impact absorbed into a void.

Shigaraki cackled. “Your punches will have no effect. Nomu here’s got Shock Absorption. If you want damage…” He gestured to Ed across the plaza. “Try cutting him apart piece by piece— like the tin man was trying to do. ”

All Might narrowed his eyes. He moved.

A blur again, this time behind the Nomu. Arms wrapped around its core.

He lifted.

And bent backward - shoulder to spine - aiming to slam the Nomu’s skull into the fractured ground.

But before impact, Kurogiri pulsed.

A portal opened behind the Nomu’s head and another beneath All Might’s feet.

Momentum reversed.

All Might’s slam slipped through void and Nomu phased out and in within milliseconds, landing upright, untouched, in front of him.

Shigaraki grinned behind blood-streaked fingers.

“ Perfect timing, Kurogiri. ”

—

Todoroki lands beside Mustang, boots skidding slightly on the slick slope. The downpour hasn’t let up, gray sheets slicing through the air, soaking everything.

He glances sideways, voice flat.

“Can’t believe I’m being taught by a hero who’s useless in the rain.”

Roy scoffs, low and sharp.

“Not the time.”

They move fast, boots crunching through runoff and broken stone. The landslide zone is a mess, fractured ridges, unstable footing, visibility low. But then they noticed movement below.

Hinata.

She’s alone, standing her ground against a woman in a deep blue corset-like top and black skirt, her long, wavy hair plastered to her face by the rain. Her boots are high, her gloves dark and fingerless, and her eyes gleam with something cold and possessive. Water coils around her like living armor, blades forming midair, tendrils lashing out with whip-like precision.

Hinata’s Byakugan is active. Her stance is tight, precise. She’s dodging everything, sidestepping, ducking, pivoting, but she’s pinned. Every dodge keeps her alive. None of them let her strike.

Roy’s eyes narrow.

“She needs a distraction.”

He breaks into a sprint, rain hammering his shoulders. Todoroki follows, already channeling cold through his right side. With a sharp breath, he slams his foot down, ice erupts from the ground, jagged and fast, a wall surging toward the villain.

The woman’s eyes widen. She throws up a shield of water, but the ice crashes through, staggering her.

Hinata doesn’t hesitate.

She lunges in, her fingers striking one, two, three, precise jabs to pressure points. The villain gasps, knees buckling, and collapses. The rain cuts off instantly, like someone flipped a switch.

Steam rises from the shattered ice.

Roy slows to a walk. He reaches under his coat, pulls out a sealed pouch, and slides on a pair of dry ignition gloves. He flexes his fingers once, then snaps.

A spark crackles.

He smirks, glancing at Todoroki.

“Who’d you call useless again?”

Todoroki doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

Roy turns, voice clipped.

“Let’s move. It looks like we are needed”

Hinata nods, catching her breath. Todoroki falls in beside Roy.

“You had dry gloves the whole time?”

Roy doesn’t look back.

“I plan ahead. You should try it sometime.”

They vanish into the mist, boots crunching, the battlefield behind them quiet once more.

—

The storm has gone, but the battlefield is still chaos incarnate. Smoke curls from shattered walls. The ground is torn and cratered, littered with debris and scorched concrete. Rainwater pools in the low spots, reflecting flickers of firelight and the distant glow of emergency lights.

Aizawa lies crumpled near a collapsed pillar, unconscious. His capture weapon is tangled around his limbs, goggles cracked and askew. Blood trickles from a gash above his temple, mixing with the rain.

Nearby, Peter Parker crouches low, one hand braced against the ground. His suit is torn at the shoulder, the left lens of his mask flickering from damage. His breathing is controlled but heavy, he’s been fighting nonstop since the villains arrived. Beside him, Edward Elric stands tall, automail arm raised, his coat tattered and face streaked with grime. His golden eyes scan the battlefield, calculating.

Tokoyami and Tsuyu keep watch from a fractured ledge. Dark Shadow coils protectively around Tokoyami’s shoulders, twitching with anticipation. Tsuyu’s tongue flicks out, testing the air, her wide eyes locked on the center of the chaos.

Midoriya stands apart, frozen in place.

His fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles are white. His eyes are locked on All Might - his mentor, his symbol, his hero - who is bent backward in a grotesque arc, muscles straining. All Might had tried to lift the Nomu and slam it into the ground, but Kurogiri had opened a portal beneath them. The Nomu vanished through it, reappearing behind All Might mid-motion, grabbing him and dragging him through the portal, forcing him into a twisted, vulnerable position.

Midoriya’s breath catches in his throat.

He doesn’t think.

He just moves.

“ALL MIGHT!!!”

His voice cracks through the battlefield like a whip. He bolts forward, boots splashing through the mud, arms pumping, heart pounding.

Mist coils in front of him.

Kurogiri materializes, his voice calm and disdainful.

“Foolish.”

A portal begins to form.

But before it can stabilize…

BOOM.

A concussive blast tears through the mist. Bakugo rockets in from the side, palms blazing, eyes wild.

“Get the hell outta here, Deku!”

He slams into Kurogiri, pinning him down with raw force. The mist scatters violently, the portal destabilizing. Bakugo’s boots grind into the wet ground as he holds Kurogiri in place, his expression fierce.

Peter doesn’t hesitate.

He’s already moving.

No shout. No pause. Just action.

He launches forward, webbing snapping from his wrists, body twisting through the air with practiced precision. He slips past Midoriya and Bakugo in a blur, landing a clean, kinetic strike to the Nomu’s side. The impact is surgical, enough to stagger the creature and loosen its grip.

All Might grits his teeth, muscles flaring. He wrenches himself free, staggering out of the portal, rain steaming off his shoulders. He straightens slowly, battered but unbowed.

“I’m not done yet.”

Then, a hand reaches for Peter.

Shigaraki.

His fingers twitch, decay already spreading through the air.

Peter’s spider-sense flares and he flips backward, narrowly avoiding the touch. His body twists mid-air, landing in a low crouch, eyes locked on Shigaraki.

Snap.

A sharp crack splits the air.

A wave of fire roars toward Shigaraki.

The Nomu steps in front of him, shielding him with its bulk. The flames slam into its chest, bubbling its skin, but it doesn’t flinch.

It snarls, then punches toward Bakugo, air pressure detonates outward like a cannon blast.

Bakugo’s eyes widen.

All Might lunges, grabbing him mid-motion and yanking him aside. The blast tears through the space where Bakugo had stood, pulverizing the ground.

Ed’s voice cuts through the chaos reaching Mustang with clarity.

“Homunculus!”

Roy Mustang’s eyes lock onto the Nomu. He doesn’t hesitate.

Snap.

A fireball slams into the Nomu’s chest.

Snap.

Another. Then another. Flame after flame, relentless, precise. Each one detonating with surgical fury like second nature. It’s not the first time he’s unleashed his flames on an unholy creation. The Nomu staggers, skin bubbling, muscles twitching unnaturally. The scene reminding Roy of his fight with Envy, a creature who deserved every burn, every pain.

Roy’s coat flutters in the heat, his eyes sharp.

“Let’s see what you’re made of.”

But then mist swirls again.

Kurogiri, half-pinned, opens a portal between Roy and the Nomu. The next fireball vanishes into the void, redirected elsewhere.

Roy snarls, snapping again, but the flames are swallowed.

All Might doesn’t wait.

He charges the Nomu, fists clenched.

One punch.

Then another.

Then another.

A barrage, rapid, brutal, each strike echoing like thunder. The Nomu reels, unable to recover, forced back step by step.

“You think you can stop me?!”

“You think this is enough?!”

“I AM-”

His muscles flare, eyes blazing.

“-PLUS ULTRA!!!”

The final punch detonates like a bomb.

The Nomu is sent flying, crashing through rubble and steel, vanishing into the distance.

Silence.

Steam rises.

Shigaraki stares, eyes wide, voice low.

“You cheated…”

Smoke coils around All Might’s silhouette, his chest heaving, arms slack at his sides. The battlefield is quiet for the first time in minutes. The air is thick with steam, scorched ozone, and the distant crackle of fire.

Shigaraki stares, trembling.

His fingers twitch, his lips curl in frustration.

“They lied to me…” he mutters, voice rising. “He’s not weak at all… and the students, those brats, they’re not level one noobs…”

His eyes dart toward Midoriya, Bakugo, Peter, Ed, Tsuyu, Tokoyami, each one bruised, bloodied, but standing. Not broken. Not afraid.

All Might steps forward, his voice booming through the smoke.

“So… do you give up?”

He cracks his knuckles, posture still proud despite the tremble in his limbs.

“Or are you going to bring it on?”

Shigaraki flinches.

Behind him, Hinata’s pale eyes narrow. Her Byakugan has been active the entire time, veins pulsing at her temples. She watches All Might; not his posture, not his voice, but his energy.

And what she sees makes her breath catch.

The quirk energy inside him is unraveling.

It’s leaking out of him in waves, dissipating like steam from a boiling pot. His body is growing frail, the reserves nearly gone. Every movement is a strain. Every breath is forced.

He’s bluffing.

Hinata doesn’t say a word. Her expression remains calm, but her gaze lingers on All Might’s form, watching the facade hold, barely.

Kurogiri materializes beside Shigaraki, voice low and composed.

“I believe the students were holding back. Even now, they’re not fighting at full capacity. If we double-teamed them with everything we have… I still don’t think we’d win.”

Shigaraki snarls, fists clenched.

“We came all this way… and the final boss is standing right here!”

His voice cracks with frustration, but his body is trembling.

Kurogiri places a hand on his shoulder.

“We must retreat.”

Mist swirls around them.

Shigaraki glares one last time at All Might, then vanishes into the fog.

A beat later…

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK.

Gunfire echoes across the battlefield.

Snipe has arrived, rifle raised, picking off the remaining villains still standing. They scatter, some diving for cover, others collapsing. But Shigaraki and Kurogiri are already gone.

Roy Mustang strides across the battlefield, coat billowing. He kneels beside Aizawa, checking his pulse, then lifts him carefully.

“We’re heading back,” he says, voice firm. “Everyone, follow me.”

The students begin to regroup, adrenaline fading into exhaustion. Peter helps Midoriya to his feet. Bakugo mutters something under his breath, but doesn’t argue. Tsuyu hops down from the ledge, and Tokoyami retracts Dark Shadow, his expression unreadable.

All Might remains standing in the smoke.

His silhouette is still tall, still proud, but it’s wavering.

Cementoss approaches quietly, raising his hands. A wall begins to rise - thick, solid, protective - cutting off the students’ view of the smoke.

Behind it, All Might stumbles.

His body shrinks.

The Symbol of Peace fades into a frail, sickly man, coughing into his hand, blood spattering his palm.

Midoriya breaks from the group, running toward the wall.

“All Might!”

He slips past Cementoss before the wall fully seals, disappearing into the smoke.

The rest of the students begin heading back, silent.

Ed walks near the rear, automail arm swinging at his side. His eyes scan the group, always observant.

He notices Hinata.

She’s stopped walking.

She’s staring back toward the wall Cementoss made, her Byakugan still active.

Her expression is startled, just for a moment. A flicker of emotion. Concern. Maybe fear.

Ed narrows his eyes.

“Hinata?” he asks quietly.

She blinks, deactivates her Byakugan, and turns to follow the others.

But Ed keeps watching the wall.

Something’s not right.

—

The door creaks open, letting in a gust of cold wind and the faint scent of smoke. Kurogiri steps through first, his mist trailing like a wounded shadow. Shigaraki follows, his gait uneven, fingers twitching with irritation. The bar is dim and silent, lit only by the flicker of a monitor mounted on the far wall.

Shigaraki slams his hand against the counter, leaving faint decay marks on the wood.

“The Symbol of Peace is in perfect health... you were wrong, Master.”

The monitor crackles. Static. Then a voice, smooth, dry, and laced with amusement, filters through.

“No, he wasn’t wrong. You simply misjudged him. We all did.”

The Doctor’s voice carries a smile beneath the words, but it’s the kind that doesn’t reach the eyes.

“Still... the encounter was far from fruitless. Did you realize you were likely facing seven seasoned combatants?”

Shigaraki scoffs, slumping into a booth.

“Seven? Are you bad at counting, Doctor? There were four. All Might, Eraser Head, Thirteen, and the Flame Commander.”

The air shifts. A second voice joins the feed, low, deliberate, and cold.

“We believe there were seven.”

Shigaraki stiffens. Kurogiri’s mist coils tighter.

“Master?”

“Some of those students fought like professionals. Their coordination, their instincts... they weren’t improvising. They were executing.”

Kurogiri speaks, his voice calm but edged.

“The one with spider-like abilities. He dented my mask. Was he one of these... students?”

“Most likely.”

The Doctor chuckles, rasping, dry, and far too pleased.

“Good thing the mercenaries we hired were cheap. You didn’t really stand a chance.”

Shigaraki’s fingers dig into the table, nails scraping wood.

“We were supposed to crush them.”

“You were supposed to test them.”

A beat of silence.

Then the Doctor speaks again, voice lighter, almost playful.

“That reminds me... what happened to the Nomu?”

Kurogiri answers, his tone clipped.

“All Might sent him flying. We lost track of him.”

“Pity. I was rather fond of that one.”

A soft chuckle.

“No matter. We have others. And now... we know what to build for.”

The screen flickers once.

Then the call cuts out.

Silence.

Shigaraki stares at the monitor, jaw clenched.

Kurogiri remains still, the mist around him curling like smoke.

Outside, thunder rolls faintly in the distance.

Notes:

Soooo, I know I am a week late with this chapter. Life caught up with me. Lets just say I hate moving. Anyways, this chapter made me realize writing fighting scenes is hard. Especially when you have many characters to account for. So, a few of the characters had less "screentime" than I was intending, Juvia being a prime example. That being said, if you were looking forward to seeing Juvia in the story, she will reappear later.

Also, I tend to plan out the future chapters well in advance to writing them (like I am currently thinking like 5 or so chapters in the future). And with this fic, I would love to include characters or references from all over media, whether the media is current or from decades ago, or if the media is from Books, Movies, Tv Shows, Cartoons, Video Games, you name it. A small issue I have ran into, is in order to maintain the diversity in this fic, I am limiting myself to only 3 characters per universe, with some exceptions for the Marvel, Naruto, and FMA. I am currently not feeling all too creative as to who to add to the story. The characters I am thinking of all happen to be from the same universe which would over saturate things, so I have decided to turn to the readers. If there is a character that you would love to see, I welcome suggestions.

Please note that I already have plans for some unspecified characters from Marvel, Naruto, FMA, One Piece, DC, Final Fantasy/Kingdom Hearts, Disney, The Legend of Zelda, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Mario, Fairy Tail, Persona 5, Portal, Star Wars and Percy Jackson. Also understand that if I don't know who the character is or haven't read, watched, or played their media, it is unlikely you will see them in this fic.