Chapter 1: Unseen Until Too Late
Chapter Text
It started with the flicker of a shadow outside their apartment.
Izuku had dismissed it at first. Just a trick of the light, he told himself. He had fought worse things than the dark. He had faced villains who wanted nothing less than to shatter him, who came with bloodlust in their eyes and power enough to level cities. He had carried One For All when his body could barely withstand it, had stood on broken legs and screamed through broken ribs because people needed saving.
He was used to danger.
But this wasn’t danger he could fight.
This wasn’t an enemy he could punch until it disappeared.
This was slower. Insidious. The creeping kind of dread that slid beneath the skin and lived there, whispering that something unseen had its eyes on him. It didn’t matter that the doors were locked. That the lights were on. That this was home. The feeling crawled through the walls anyway.
He hadn’t told Katsuki.
He couldn’t.
Not after everything. The war. The blood. The endless stretch of recovery where they sat in the same room, wordless, terrified of silence but unable to break it. Nights when sleep brought nightmares too sharp to bear. Days when even breathing felt like dragging chains.
They had survived. Barely.
And Katsuki—Katsuki was trying so damn hard. Trying to keep both of them afloat. Trying to let them rest.
Izuku couldn’t burden him with this. Not when Katsuki had given everything, over and over again. Not when Katsuki deserved peace.
So he swallowed it. Told himself it was fine. Just nerves. Just shadows. Just a trick of the light.
But tonight… the air itself felt wrong.
He was alone—Katsuki had gone to deliver a mission report to Aizawa. Izuku sat on the couch with his notebook open across his lap, pen tapping against the page. His eyes moved over the words, but they blurred, twisted, refused to stay still. His focus snapped again and again back to the window. To the reflection. To the dark glass that felt like it was watching him.
Nothing there. There’s nothing there.
His mantra. His shield.
Tap.
The sound cracked the silence in two.
Izuku jolted so hard the pen dropped from his hand. His heart punched against his ribs, each beat too fast, too sharp.
Slowly, step by step, he moved to the window. His hands shook as he undid the latch and pulled it open. Cold night air spilled in.
Empty.
He swallowed. Forced a laugh. See? Nothing. Just you, being jumpy. Just shadows. You’re stronger than this.
Then—
“ Midoriya .”
The voice.
His blood ran cold. His lungs locked.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
He spun, too fast, too wild. The apartment was empty. But the voice had already planted itself inside him.
“You left them to die.”
His vision cracked.
The apartment dimmed, colors bleeding out until everything was swallowed by choking shadow. The air grew heavy, thick, pressing against his chest until every breath scraped. His pulse hammered in his ears.
And they were there.
Kacchan—blood gushing from his chest, staining his hands red as he clawed at the wound. Ochako—her limbs bent grotesquely, her eyes wide and glassy. Iida—his voice a hoarse scream, reaching out with trembling fingers.
All dying.
All looking at him.
All blaming him.
Izuku’s chest caved. “No—no, no, no—!”
This isn’t real. It can’t be real. I’m stronger than this. I fought worse, I carried One For All, I survived Shigaraki, I survived All For One. I’m not this weak. I can’t be this weak.
But the smell of blood was sharp in his nose. The sound of their screams filled his ears.
His body trembled violently, nails digging into his palms until his skin broke.
Heroes don’t fall apart like this. Heroes don’t break over shadows. I should be stronger. Why can’t I stop this? Why can’t I fight it?
A shadow moved forward, taller than the rest, its face hidden in the dark. But the grin—too sharp, too cruel—cut through like a knife.
“This is your truth, Deku.” The words hissed, low and merciless. “You don’t deserve to live.”
Izuku crumbled. His legs gave way, his sob tearing out, his chest convulsing.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t deserve this peace. Maybe I don’t deserve Kacchan, or anyone. If I was stronger, they wouldn’t have been hurt. If I was stronger, no one would have died. It’s always my fault. It’s always me.
His body lurched on instinct. He stumbled into the bathroom, half-blind, air clawing out of his lungs. His hands searched frantically across the counter until—cold steel. Scissors.
Anything to end it. Anything to wake up. Anything to silence the voices that shredded him from the inside out.
His reflection in the mirror didn’t look like him. His reflection looked broken. Pathetic.
He raised the blade with shaking hands, tears blurring his vision. His voice came out as a broken whisper.
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I can’t—”
The door slammed open.
“DEKU!!”
The roar cracked through his haze like lightning.
And then he was hit—hard—dragged down, the scissors ripped from his grip. His back slammed into the tiles, air knocked out of him. Strong hands pinned him down, unmoving.
Kacchan.
Izuku screamed. He thrashed. His body fought instinctively, wild, desperate. “Let go—Kacchan, they’re dying, I let them die, I let them die—!”
He shouldn’t see me like this. He can’t see me like this. I promised him I’d be better, I promised him I’d be strong enough. But I’m not. I’m nothing but weak, pathetic, broken—
“No, you didn’t!” Bakugo’s voice tore through the air, raw and jagged. His face was pale, his eyes wide, his jaw tight enough to tremble. “It’s not real! It’s not real, damn it! You’re here. You’re alive. I’m alive. LOOK AT ME—LOOK AT ME!”
But Izuku couldn’t. The corpses were everywhere, closing in, accusing. His chest heaved like he was drowning in blood that wasn’t there.
Bakugo’s arms tightened, locking around him with iron force. With his free hand, he fumbled for his phone. His thumb slipped once, twice, before he finally pressed call.
“Aizawa—it’s happening,” Bakugo rasped, his voice breaking, his breath shuddering. He didn’t let go of Izuku for a second. “He’s hallucinating. I need you. Now.”
And as the call connected, as Bakugo pressed Izuku’s shaking body tighter against his chest to keep him from breaking apart—
He thought, just for one fleeting, suffocating second:
Don’t you dare leave me, Deku. Don’t you dare.
The hallway was chaos.
Flashing red lights strobed across the walls, throwing everything into violent color. Shouting voices clashed with the screech of wheels against cracked floor tiles. The world narrowed to a single gurney shoved forward by frantic hands.
Katsuki ran beside it, his lungs burning, his knuckles white around his phone. His entire body screamed to do something —blast something, fight someone, punch through whatever enemy was tearing Izuku apart—but there was no villain here. Just the weight of time dragging too slow. Just Izuku.
Izuku, limp on the stretcher.
His skin was ghostly pale, damp with cold sweat. His lips trembled as he tried to form words, but they came out broken, jagged fragments that cut straight through Katsuki’s chest.
“Kacchan… I’m sorry… blood, I couldn’t… I didn’t mean…”
Bakugo’s throat closed. His feet pounded the tile but his heart stuttered, choked, as if someone had ripped it out of his chest.
No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fold now, damn nerd. You fought gods. You carried that power ‘til it nearly killed you a hundred times over. You’re not allowed to give up on me now.
But Izuku’s head lolled weakly against the stretcher, eyes glassy, unfocused. His breaths came shallow, quick, panicked—like he was drowning in something invisible.
Inside, Izuku’s thoughts were shattered glass.
Blood. Their blood. My fault, my fault. Kacchan’s voice—too far. Can’t—can’t breathe. Weak. I was supposed to be stronger than this. I can’t hold it—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—
His chest hitched, another sound slipping past his lips: “Didn’t mean… don’t hate me…”
Bakugo’s whole body locked. He wanted to scream, to shake him, to tell him he was an idiot for even thinking that. But if he let the rage in, if he cracked now, Izuku would fall with him.
So he forced the words out through clenched teeth, his voice raw, breaking even as he fought to keep it steady.
“You’re okay. You’re okay, dammit—stay with me, Izuku.” His hand slammed down on the side rail of the gurney, holding on as if his grip alone could anchor Izuku to the world. His chest burned, his eyes stung, but he didn’t care. “Don’t you leave me.”
The hallway spun with chaos, but for Bakugo, there was only the stretcher. Only the boy lying broken on it. Only the promise he refused to let go.
If I have to scream in your ear all night to drag you back, I’ll do it. If I have to fight whatever’s in your head myself, I’ll tear it apart with my bare hands. You’re not leaving me, Deku. Not now. Not ever.
And through the blur of lights and voices, he bent down close, his voice cracking into a whisper meant only for Izuku.
“I’ve got you. You hear me? I’ve always got you.”
A week Earlier
The mission room hummed with tension. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, reflecting off the cold metal table at the center.
Katsuki leaned against it with his arms crossed, expression carved sharp as stone. His eyes narrowed at the holographic display Aizawa had pulled up, images flickering like ghosts across the screen.
“Reports came in two weeks ago,” Aizawa began, voice even but low, each word weighted. “Civilian complaints. Strange sightings. Shadowy figures reported near pro hero residences. At first, it was mostly low-level heroes. But then…” He flicked through the photos. Blurred images, camera feeds with subtle distortions—nothing concrete, but unsettling all the same.
Aizawa’s eye hardened. “Last night, Number 11 Hero Rainmaker collapsed during patrol. Hallucination episode. No visible injuries. No physical trauma. But his mind was attacked. Quirk traces point to a sensory manipulation type.”
The silence that followed was thick.
Katsuki pushed away from the desk with a scowl. “So this bastard’s screwing with people’s heads. Fear-trip Quirk?”
Aizawa gave a short nod. “That’s our theory. Targeting pool’s random. No pattern in rankings yet. He doesn’t want to fight. He’s watching. Studying.”
Shinsou’s arms folded as his gaze stayed on the screen, his voice flat but sharp. “That’s worse. Someone who studies their prey instead of charging in… they’re patient. They’ll wait until their target’s most vulnerable.”
Kirishima’s jaw tightened. “So what—he’s hunting heroes one by one?”
Hawks leaned against the wall, his usual grin nowhere in sight. “He’s testing his reach. Probing the system. If he can cripple morale without lifting a finger, that’s more dangerous than brute force. Heroes who can’t trust their senses can’t function.”
Uraraka’s hands twisted in her lap, knuckles white. “Rainmaker’s strong. If he went down just from… from seeing something that wasn’t real—then what about the rest of us?”
Beside her, Iida sat rigid, hand slicing the air as he spoke, his voice grave. “That is precisely why we cannot underestimate this foe. A hero rendered immobile on duty becomes a liability—not just to themselves, but to civilians.”
Kaminari rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting nervously to the screen. “Yeah, uh, no offense, but this is nightmare fuel. Literally.”
Tokoyami’s shadow stirred restlessly at his feet, his voice a low rumble. “An adversary who weaves illusions can dismantle the spirit before the body. Such darkness aims for the heart.”
Todoroki, seated quietly at the far end, spoke without looking up. His tone was calm, but his words cut through. “Fear spreads faster than fire. If this villain wants chaos, he doesn’t need to kill anyone. He just needs us to believe we’re already dead.”
The weight of his words hung heavy.
All Might stood near the doorway, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the room. He had been silent the entire briefing, but his eyes—dull with the fatigue of too many regrets—flicked toward the far corner.
Izuku sat there.
Bandaged. Exhausted. His arm wrapped tight, his shoulder slung after the recent villain fight that had left him with more bruises than victories. He hadn’t said a word.
And that silence cut deeper than anything.
Because meetings like this—analysis, strategy, connecting dots no one else saw—that was where Izuku shined . He should have been the first one to speak, notebook in hand, muttering theories too fast for anyone to keep up. But now his notebook lay closed on the table beside him. His hand twitched toward it, then stilled, the pain too sharp in his arm. His lips parted, as if he might add something—only to falter.
I should be helping. I should be part of this. Why can’t I…?
His head ached. His chest ached worse.
Katsuki caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t turn—didn’t want to draw attention to it—but his fists clenched at his sides. He knew what that silence meant. He knew Izuku’s brain was burning to join in, to do what he always did: think five steps ahead of everyone else. And he knew how much it hurt that he couldn’t.
The conversation pressed on.
Aizawa flicked through one more slide. “The underground has a name for him. Sable.”
“Sable?” Kaminari repeated. “Like… black cat? Or… like sable fur? Creepy.”
Katsuki’s teeth ground together. “Sounds like a freak.” His fists cracked as he tightened them. “Let’s nail him before he starts crawling toward top ten heroes.”
Aizawa raised an eyebrow. Just slightly. “You’re worried he’ll come after you?”
“Hell no,” Katsuki shot back instantly. “He wouldn’t even get the chance.”
But his eyes flicked—just for a split second—toward Izuku. Sitting too still. Too pale. Shadows under his eyes deeper than they should’ve been.
And Katsuki didn’t say what was screaming at the back of his throat.
What he only realized later, when he walked into their apartment and saw Izuku shattered on the floor, scissors clattering from his shaking hands.
He wasn’t after me.
He was after Izuku.
Present — Hospital
The heart monitor was steady, a cruel reminder that Izuku was alive but far too close to the edge. Each beep cut through the suffocating silence of the hospital room.
Katsuki sat hunched in the chair, elbows on his knees, his eyes locked on Izuku’s face. Damp curls clung to his forehead, his skin was flushed with fever, and his lashes trembled faintly with restless dreams. His hands—hands that could break down mountains, hands that had carried the weight of the world—shook against the thin blanket.
Katsuki’s throat burned.
He’s supposed to be stronger than this. Stronger than anyone. So why the hell does he look like he’s breaking right in front of me?
“Goddammit, Izuku…” The words scraped out, low and raw.
A shadow lingered in the doorway. Aizawa, silent as ever, stepped inside with measured steps. His eyes, tired but sharp, flicked between Bakugo and the boy in the bed.
“I’ve locked down your building,” Aizawa said at last, his voice quiet but firm. “We’re tracing every energy signature from the apartment. If Sable was there, we’ll find him.”
Bakugo didn’t move. His fists were tight against his thighs, nails cutting crescents into his palms. “You said this bastard was watching heroes. Studying them. You knew.”
“I didn’t know he’d target Midoriya,” Aizawa replied, calm as stone.
Finally, Katsuki lifted his head, eyes burning like molten iron. “Why him?” His voice cracked before hardening. “He’s the Number Four Hero, sure—but why the hell would Sable go after him? Why not Mirio? He’s Number One. Or Todoroki, Number Two. They’re bigger targets, aren’t they?”
Aizawa’s silence stretched. His expression betrayed nothing, but his mind was already racing through the same questions.
Why Midoriya? Not the top of the rankings. Not the obvious names. Was it because of One For All? Or because of who he is—the heart everyone rallies behind? Breaking him wouldn’t just cripple a hero. It would shatter hope.
“You think he wants to kill Deku?” Katsuki muttered, his voice low, dangerous. “No. That’s not it. He’s not after just blood.” He swallowed, glaring at Izuku’s fragile body. “He wants to ruin him. Break him from the inside out. He knows if Deku falls, people follow.”
Aizawa met Bakugo’s eyes, steady. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
For a long moment, the two stood in silence, the steady beep…beep…beep of the monitor the only sound.
Then Katsuki stood abruptly, the chair screeching back. His fists shook at his sides, fury coiled tight in every line of his body.
“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve stopped it. I let him walk into it blind. Alone.” His voice cracked again, sharp and jagged. “And now look at him.”
Aizawa exhaled slowly. “You saved him.”
“Not soon enough,” Katsuki snapped.
The weight of his words hung heavy in the sterile air. He turned toward the window, chest heaving, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
“I’m going to find him,” Bakugo said, voice steel and fire. He turned back to Aizawa, eyes blazing. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m not letting this happen again. You hear me? Next time, he won’t just hallucinate. He’ll die.”
And beneath all the anger, Aizawa could see it—the raw, unshakable truth: Bakugo wasn’t just vowing to hunt down Sable. He was vowing never to let Izuku Midoriya be broken. Not by villains. Not by nightmares. Not by anything.
Izuku stirred in his bed, the hospital light soft overhead. The antiseptic smell pressed into his lungs, and every blink made the ceiling blur in and out of focus. His body wasn’t broken—at least not the way it had been before. No casts, no deep lacerations this time. But the heaviness in his chest, the weight behind his ribs, was worse than any wound he’d ever carried.
It felt like something inside him had been shredded, piece by piece.
His throat worked before his voice did. “…Kacchan?”
The chair scraped faintly. Katsuki was already leaning in, hand gripping the edge of the mattress like he’d been waiting for that sound.
“I’m here.” His voice was rough, taut with exhaustion, but steady.
Izuku blinked, his lashes damp, and words tumbled out broken. “I… I thought I saw you… dying… I was gonna—”
“I know.” Katsuki didn’t let him finish. His hand shot out, grabbing Izuku’s and holding it tight enough that his own knuckles whitened. “But you didn’t. You held on.”
Izuku swallowed, shame curling in his gut. He looked away, staring at the sterile sheets, the faint IV drip line. His voice cracked.
“…I should’ve known. I should’ve been ready. Heroes are supposed to read the signs—I should’ve seen it coming before he ever touched me.” His chest trembled as if the words were knives. “Why… why am I still so weak?”
Katsuki’s jaw locked.
Izuku kept going, unable to stop. “After everything—All For One, Shigaraki, the war—we swore it would be different. That we’d never let villains pull us under again. But one Quirk, one coward hiding in shadows, and I—” His voice broke. “I couldn’t protect anyone. I couldn’t even protect myself. Maybe—”
“Shut up.”
The words were low, harsh, cutting through Izuku’s spiral. His green eyes flicked up, startled.
Bakugo leaned forward, his gaze burning with something rawer than anger. “Don’t you dare start talking like that. You think you’re weak? You think after all the crap we’ve been through, after Shigaraki, after All For One—you get to sit here and tell me you’re not enough?”
Izuku’s breath hitched. “…But—”
“No.” Katsuki squeezed his hand harder, shaking it once like he could rattle the poison thoughts out of him. “You need to be stronger, Deku. Not because you’re weak, but because this bastard’s trying to break you—and I’m not letting him. You hear me? We’ve fought worse than this. Monsters who could end the damn world. And we’re still standing.”
Izuku’s chest tightened. His mind whispered back anyway: But I didn’t stop him. I didn’t save anyone. Kacchan had to drag me out like a corpse.
Katsuki leaned closer, cutting through the silence like a blade. “We’re not gonna let him win. Not this freak, not anyone. He wants to crawl out of the dark and play mind games? Fine. Then we’ll crush him into dust.”
Izuku’s lips parted, his throat burning with words he couldn’t form.
Katsuki tugged the blanket higher over him, movements rough but deliberate. His voice softened only by a fraction, but enough to hit Izuku harder than a scream.
“You don’t get to give up. You don’t get to say you’re weak. Not after everything we’ve done, everything we’ve survived. You’ll get back up, Deku. And I’ll be right here until you do.”
Izuku shut his eyes, the tear finally slipping free. His heart ached, but the grip on his hand grounded him, tethering him back from the dark.
“…He’s still out there, isn’t he?” he whispered.
Katsuki’s jaw tensed, teeth grinding. “…Yeah.”
Izuku’s breath shuddered, and his voice was barely a ghost. “I don’t feel safe anymore.”
Bakugo pulled the blanket tighter, his grip never leaving Izuku’s.
“Then I’ll make it safe. I’ll find him. And when I do…” His eyes narrowed, voice like fire pressed into steel. “He’s done.”
Chapter 2: Still Healing, Still Burning
Summary:
It wasn’t his fault.
It was Sable’s.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The hospital room was quiet, too quiet. Sterile white walls, slow beeping monitors, and a single chair by the window—where Izuku had been staring out for nearly an hour, unmoving.
He could see the city from here. The same city he swore to protect.
But today, it felt farther away than ever.
His hands were trembling again.
His body ached—not from any physical injury, but from exhaustion. Deep, soul-level exhaustion. Sleep came in fits and flashes, but it wasn’t rest. Each time his eyes closed, they opened to screaming. Blood. The weight of failure. Kacchan’s corpse, cold and still. His students at U.A., crying as fire engulfed the halls.
Even now, fully awake, flickers of those hallucinations lingered. Just for a second. Just long enough to steal his breath.
But worse than the hallucinations were the memories.
The apartment hadn’t been quiet when Sable came. The door hadn’t even made a sound before the darkness crept in—slick, heavy, alive. It crawled along the walls like living tar, smothering the lightbulbs, blotting out the window. The air had thickened in his lungs, metallic and sharp, until every inhale felt like swallowing glass.
He remembered the shadows pressing close, whispering with voices that weren’t real. His mother’s voice begging him to run. All Might’s voice telling him he was too weak. Kacchan’s voice—low, broken—blaming him for everything.
And then the shapes. For a second, he’d thought he saw hands pushing out of the walls, reaching for him, dragging him down. The kitchen table had warped, stretching into jagged black spikes, and the hallway had twisted like a maze. Even his own reflection in the darkened window had sneered back at him, eyes hollow, mouth curling in something cruel.
He hadn’t been able to tell what was real, what was Quirk, and what was his own mind breaking. All he knew was that the fear was real. The helplessness was real.
The doctors said it was aftershock from the Quirk exposure—residual fear impressions burned into his mind like scars.
But Izuku didn’t feel like a patient.
He felt like a liability.
He glanced to the nightstand where a photo rested: his class, back when everything felt simpler. Their smiles in that frozen moment—awkward, bright, innocent—almost felt like ghosts now.
And then his mind drifted, unbidden, to his students now. They looked up to him. They called him ‘Midoriya Sensei’ with pride in their voices. He was supposed to be strong for them. A symbol of hope. A reliable teacher. Someone who stood tall no matter how badly the world shook him.
So what would they think if they saw him like this?
Curled up in a hospital bed, jumpy, on edge, flinching at shadows no one else could see.
Would they call him weak?
Would they think he couldn’t protect them?
Would they be right?
The thought coiled around his chest like a vice. His breaths grew shallow.
You were supposed to know. You were supposed to anticipate this. You should’ve been prepared.
He clenched his blanket, jaw trembling. You’re stronger than this, Midoriya Izuku. You’ve fought monsters. You’ve bled for people. You’ve stood against All For One himself. So why… why are you crumbling now?
His throat burned. Why can’t I stop shaking?
The next afternoon, the room was suddenly noisier than Izuku expected.
“Deku!” Uraraka’s voice rang out, bright and familiar, as the door slid open. The sound of hurried footsteps followed, filling the once-quiet corridor with the rhythm of life. Mina burst in with a small bag of snacks crinkling in her hands, Iida carefully balanced a bouquet of sunflowers so large it looked like it belonged in a garden rather than on a bedside table, and Kaminari was already laughing as he pointed at Izuku.
“Man, you look like a grandpa in that thing,” Kaminari teased, grinning.
“Shut it,” Jirou muttered, smacking him lightly with her headphone jack.
The sterile, humming room—white walls, the faint antiseptic scent, the soft hiss of machines—shifted instantly. It no longer felt like a cage of recovery but a place alive with voices, laughter, and warmth.
Izuku blinked, wide-eyed, his throat tightening with an emotion he didn’t fully understand. Uraraka set a small carton of melon bread beside him, her smile as radiant as sunlight. “We thought you could use a little cheering up.”
“Y-Yeah,” Izuku managed, startled by the weight of such simple kindness. “Thank you…”
Mina leaned casually over the bedrail, her grin wide and teasing. “You scared us, you know! You’ve gotta stop ending up in hospitals, Midoriya. At this rate we’ll have to buy you a membership card.”
Even Kacchan snorted at that, though he tried to bury it beneath a scowl.
Their laughter rippled through the room. Izuku let out a weak chuckle of his own, though it sounded foreign in his ears, as though it belonged to someone else entirely. His body relaxed against the pillows, but his mind remained restless.
Because beneath the brightness, there was something else. Something missing.
No one asked about the villain. Not a single word about the attack. Not about the blood, the struggle, the way his chest had nearly caved under fear.
Everyone was smiling, chatting, making jokes as if they’d stepped into a normal afternoon visit. As if nothing had happened at all.
Izuku tried to match their rhythm, nodding, answering when they turned to him, curving his lips upward in that small smile they expected. But inside, confusion gnawed at him like a shadow that refused to leave.
Did they not know what really happened? Or… did they know and were simply pretending? Pretending for his sake, to shield him, to keep him from breaking further?
His gaze moved slowly across the circle of familiar faces. Uraraka’s warmth. Iida’s earnestness. Kaminari’s careless grin. Mina’s energy. Even Kacchan, standing silently at the back, his arms crossed but his eyes flicking constantly toward him, sharp and watchful.
They were all here. They were all alive. And for a fleeting second, that truth loosened the fear clamped tight around his chest.
But it didn’t vanish.
The silence about the attack pressed heavier than their words, heavier than the bouquet, heavier than the laughter that echoed too loudly against the hospital walls.
Izuku swallowed hard, his fingers curling slightly against the bedsheet. His friends filled the room with light—yet somewhere in the shadows of his heart, a question refused to fade.
Why wouldn’t anyone talk about it?
A knock on the door cut through the spiral.
He froze.
The door slid open again with a quiet creak.
“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar, cheerful voice said.
“Kirishima!” Mina waved him over immediately, bright as ever.
Kirishima stepped in, a little out of breath, his red hair slightly mussed like he’d rushed the whole way here. In his hands, he carried a small box wrapped in bright paper. “Got held up, but I wasn’t about to miss this.” His sharp-toothed grin spread wide as he approached the bed. “How ya holdin’ up, bro?”
Izuku blinked, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite the heaviness in his chest. “Kirishima… I-I’m okay. Just tired.”
“Course you are.” Kirishima set the box down carefully on the table beside the sunflowers, then rested his hands on his hips, giving him a once-over. “But you’re still here, and that’s what matters. You scared the crap outta us, man.” His voice softened, just slightly. “But you pulled through. That’s seriously…unbreakable.”
The room stilled for a moment at his words. Not in sadness, but in acknowledgment. Genuine warmth radiated from him—solid and steady, like he wanted Izuku to lean on that strength.
Izuku’s throat tightened. They’re all… pretending nothing happened. But Kirishima… he knows. He feels it too. That fear. That relief. Why can’t I be stronger, like them? Why do I still feel so weak?
He looked down at his hands, curling slightly against the blanket. I should’ve known this was coming. I should’ve been prepared. I’m supposed to be the one standing tall. The Symbol of—
“Don’t do that,” Kirishima cut in gently, as if reading his mind. He crouched a little so he was eye level with Izuku, his expression softer than usual. “Don’t start tearing yourself apart. You’re here. That’s more than enough right now.”
Izuku’s breath caught. His eyes flicked to Kacchan, who stood on the other side of the bed, arms crossed. Their gazes met for just a second, and Kacchan gave the smallest, sharpest nod—as if daring him to argue.
Warmth swelled in Izuku’s chest, tangled with guilt and fear. Surrounded by their voices, their laughter, their stubborn refusal to let him sink, he felt something fragile flicker to life inside him.
Hope.
The visit stretched on until the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling golden light through the narrow hospital windows. Slowly, one by one, the laughter and chatter began to fade as his friends excused themselves.
“I’ll come by tomorrow!” Uraraka promised with a wave. Mina squeezed Izuku’s hand dramatically. Iida, ever formal, adjusted his glasses and declared, “Rest well, Midoriya. Your recovery takes precedence!”
Even Kaminari gave a lazy salute before being dragged out by Jirou. The door clicked softly shut, and for the first time all day, the room was quiet again.
Only Katsuki remained.
Izuku stared at the window, the warmth of his classmates’ presence already fading into the sterile hush of the hospital. The silence pressed heavier now, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was grounding. He exhaled shakily.
“…Kacchan?” His voice was hesitant, almost childlike.
Katsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but his sharp eyes stayed on Izuku. “What?”
For a moment, Izuku just stared at him—heart hammering, breath caught in his chest. Katsuki’s words rang in his ears, sharp and unyielding, like the explosion of a firework against the suffocating fog that had wrapped around him since the attack.
The silence stretched. The steady beep of the monitor filled the room, mingling with the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above. Izuku could feel the sting of sweat at his temples, his palms damp where they rested against the rough fabric of the blanket.
Something inside him shifted.
It wasn’t a sudden miracle, not a blazing burst of confidence that wiped everything clean. The heaviness didn’t vanish—it was still there, dragging at his chest, whispering doubts he wasn’t sure he’d ever silence. But beneath it, something stirred. A flicker. A fragile spark.
“…You’re right,” Izuku whispered, his voice uneven but clearer than before. His hands trembled as he curled them into fists atop the blanket, knuckles pressing white. “I—I won’t be weak again. I can’t.”
Katsuki’s eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. For anyone else, it would’ve been missed. But Izuku caught it—the way the sharp edges of his expression dulled for just a second.
“Damn right,” Katsuki muttered, his tone still gruff, as if saying it too gently would break the spell. But Izuku heard the weight behind it. Not just a demand. Not just a command. A promise.
Izuku swallowed hard, chest tight but lighter than before. For the first time since waking up, he didn’t feel like he was drowning. The fear was still there, yes—but now, it wasn’t everything. There was room for something else. For resolve.
And sitting across from him, eyes fierce but steady, was Katsuki. The one person who had seen him break down more than anyone else, and the one who refused—absolutely refused—to let him stay broken.
Izuku let out a shaky breath, gaze dropping briefly to the blanket before rising again to meet Katsuki’s. His lips curved into the smallest, weakest, but truest smile he’d managed since the hospital doors had closed behind him.
“…Thank you, Kacchan.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue, looking away with a scoff. But his shoulders relaxed, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost careful.
“Tch. Don’t thank me. Just prove it.”
And in that dim, sterile room, with the hum of machines and the faint scent of antiseptic in the air, Izuku’s spark burned just a little brighter.
The doctors had cleared him. At least, as much as they could.
Izuku sat on the edge of the hospital bed, hospital gown loose around his shoulders, the sterile white sheets wrinkling beneath his fists. The final scans flickered across the monitor in sharp lines of green and blue—electroencephalograms, Quirk signature traces, neural activity patterns. All of it pointed to one thing: Sable’s Quirk hadn’t left behind any active residue.
But the aftereffects… those were another matter entirely.
“You’re stable,” the specialist said carefully, as if the words needed to be handled like glass. He removed the final electrode from Izuku’s temple, his gloved fingers gentle against pale skin. “No lasting Quirk energy detected in your body. But your neural pathways show stress markers. Nightmares, hallucination flashbacks, possible intrusive thoughts—they’re consistent with Sable’s previous victims.”
Izuku nodded silently, throat tight, fingers curling harder into the sheets. He already knew. He didn’t need the machines to tell him—he could feel it, the way shadows lingered in his mind, curling at the edges of his vision. Whispers, faint and slippery, taunting him that maybe he hadn’t truly escaped. Maybe it was still inside him, waiting.
Bakugo stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, scowling like the news itself was an insult. His sharp eyes tracked every flicker of emotion on Izuku’s face, catching the tiniest tremble in his hand, the way his shoulders hunched as if bracing for another blow.
“So basically you’re saying he’s clear, but his head’s screwed because of that bastard,” Bakugo snapped, his voice cutting through the sterile quiet.
The doctor gave a tight nod. “You could put it that way.”
“Tch.”
Bakugo’s scowl deepened, but inside, his chest was burning. He hated this. He hated standing here while some quack in a white coat listed off every way Sable had left scars on Deku. Scars no one could see. He clenched his jaw, nails biting into his palms where they hid in the crook of his arms.
They think this is it? That this is the best they can do? “Stable,” my ass. He looks like he’s about to fall apart right in front of me.
Bakugo’s eyes flicked to Izuku again. Deku’s face was pale, lips pressed together so tightly they’d gone bloodless. His hands shook—just barely, but enough for Bakugo to see. Enough to make his gut twist.
Damn nerd… he’s probably already blaming himself. Sitting there, swallowing all that crap like he deserves it. Like he doesn’t get to be okay.
His fists itched to punch something—punch Sable, punch the wall, punch anything that wasn’t Deku looking like this. But he forced himself still. Forced himself to breathe through the anger because blowing up now wouldn’t fix it. Wouldn’t help.
If they can’t do anything, then fine. I’ll do it. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get swallowed up by this crap. I’ll drag him out of it myself if I have to.
Bakugo’s gaze softened for just a heartbeat, though his scowl stayed plastered on his face. Out loud, all he gave was another grunt.
“Guess that just means he’s gotta fight harder than before. Right, Deku?”
Izuku swallowed, his throat dry. Nightmares. Flashbacks. Intrusive thoughts. The words echoed like a curse, clinical and cold, but what burned beneath them wasn’t fear. Not this time.
He stared down at his hands—still trembling faintly—but then clenched them into fists. His nails bit into his palms, leaving little crescent marks on his skin.
For so long he had blamed himself for being weak, for letting villains twist him into knots, for making his friends carry his weight. But now… the truth was clearer than ever.
It wasn’t his fault.
It was Sable’s.
The bastard had crawled into his head, poisoned his mind, left scars like landmines waiting to explode. He hadn’t chosen this. He hadn’t deserved it. And he refused to let it define him.
Izuku lifted his head, eyes glinting with something hot, sharp, and unyielding. Anger.
“I’m not going to let him have that kind of power over me,” Izuku said suddenly, his voice steady but tight with fury. “Not anymore. He doesn’t get to stay in my head. He doesn’t get to win.”
Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly, just for a second. He recognized that tone—it wasn’t Deku’s usual desperate determination, the kind that chewed him up from the inside. This was different. Stronger.
There it is, Bakugo thought, chest tightening. That’s the nerd I know. Not broken, not scared. Pissed. Ready to fight.
He almost smirked, but kept his arms crossed. No way was he going to go soft in front of Deku now.
“Good,” Bakugo said gruffly. “Because if you let that bastard haunt you, it means he wins. And I’m not letting you turn into some victim that freak can laugh about. Got it?”
Izuku exhaled slowly, but he didn’t look away. His fists stayed clenched, his jaw set, his voice certain.
“I get it,” he said. “And I’m not letting him win. Not now, not ever.”
For the first time since the attack, the shadows in the corners of his mind didn’t feel suffocating. They felt like something he could fight. Something he would fight.
Bakugo let out a slow breath, his scowl softening into something only Izuku could read.
Yeah. That’s more like it, Deku. Keep that fire. If you stumble, I’ll be right there to drag your ass back on your feet. But this? This is the first step.
Izuku’s chest rose and fell with steady, deliberate breaths. The fury inside him wasn’t wild—it was focused, sharp like a blade pressed to steel. For once, it didn’t scare him. It gave him strength.
The doctor shifted, checking the final readouts before clearing his throat. “Midoriya, there’s… one more thing.”
Izuku’s gaze snapped toward him, unflinching now. “What is it?”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. Here we go. They always bury the real shit at the end.
The specialist hesitated, folding his clipboard against his chest. “The good news is you’re clear. No active Quirk residue, no permanent damage to your physical brain tissue.”
Izuku’s shoulders loosened slightly, the tension in his fists easing just enough. A breath of relief threatened to escape—until the doctor continued.
“The bad news,” the man said, voice dipping, “is that the neural stress markers aren’t going to vanish overnight. The patterns we’ve seen—trauma-linked firing, hallucination triggers—they suggest a risk of chronic recurrence. Even without Sable’s Quirk present, the pathways he forced open in your brain may not fully close. Meaning you may relive this, in flashes, for years.”
Izuku froze. The words felt like cold water poured over his anger, sizzling as they tried to smother it. For a heartbeat, fear pricked at the edge of his mind, whispering that maybe he’d never escape.
But then… he forced his fingers into fists again. Harder this time.
No. He wouldn’t let those whispers define him. If they stayed, if the scars never left, then he’d carry them—but he wouldn’t bow to them.
“I don’t care if it takes years,” Izuku said firmly, meeting the doctor’s eyes. “If he left scars, then I’ll fight them. Every single day. I’ll make sure his Quirk doesn’t control me, not ever again.”
The doctor blinked, taken aback by the certainty in his voice.
At the foot of the bed, Bakugo exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing—not in anger this time, but in something closer to pride.
The nerd’s finally pissed for the right reasons. Not tearing himself apart, not drowning in guilt. Fighting back. Damn stubborn idiot… but that’s why he’s still standing.
Bakugo stepped closer, shoving his hands into his pockets, voice rough but steady. “You hear that, doc? He’s not some fragile little project for you to write down on a clipboard. He’s Deku. He’ll handle it.”
Izuku turned to look at him, a flicker of warmth cutting through the storm in his chest. Bakugo’s scowl hadn’t softened—but his eyes told the truth. He believed in him.
For the first time since waking in that hospital bed, Izuku believed in himself too.
Three days later, the nurses finally wheeled Izuku out of the hospital’s white halls. The air outside tasted different—sharper, colder, too big after days trapped inside a sterile room. He tilted his head back just to look at the sky, and for a moment, it almost hurt. The clouds were heavy and gray, rolling in like curtains, as though the world itself wanted to press him down again.
He clutched the strap of his bag tighter, his fingers still trembling faintly despite the effort to steady them. The discharge papers rustled in his pocket.
Beside him, Katsuki carried most of his belongings without a word. His eyes flicked toward Izuku every few steps, sharp but not cruel—more like a watchdog checking for cracks in the fence. Protective. Watchful. Unshakably present.
When they reached the apartment, Izuku paused at the door. His hand hovered over the knob, chest tightening. The last time he’d crossed that threshold, the walls hadn’t felt like walls at all—more like a trap closing in, shadows stretching, voices whispering things that clawed into his skull. For a second, his breath hitched.
Katsuki caught the hesitation but didn’t rush him. Just waited, shoulders squared as if daring the room itself to try again.
Izuku forced his fingers to move, unlocking the door carefully, like the place might bite.
And then—
“Izuku!”
The voice split through the tension like sunlight through stormclouds.
His mother stood in the middle of the apartment. Her eyes were red and swollen, cheeks blotchy, as though she hadn’t slept properly in days. She looked smaller somehow, thinner, like fear itself had been chewing away at her. But the moment her gaze landed on him, her expression broke—relief flooding her face—and she rushed forward.
Before Izuku could breathe, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging like she’d never let go.
Izuku froze for a heartbeat, then clutched her back desperately, his throat closing around a choked sound. “M-Mom? Why—why are you here?”
“I asked them to let me come,” Inko said quickly, her voice trembling against his shoulder. “I couldn’t just sit at home knowing what happened. I had to make sure with my own eyes that my baby was safe.”
Izuku’s face heated despite the tears burning his eyes. “Mom,” he croaked, a watery laugh slipping out. “I—I’m not a baby anymore.”
Inko leaned back just enough to cup his face in both hands, staring at him through blurry eyes. “You’ll always be my baby,” she whispered, fierce and broken all at once. “Even if you save the whole world a hundred times over.”
That undid him. His chest ached so hard it felt like breaking. He’d faced villains, gods, Quirks that warped reality itself—but nothing ever hit harder than hearing his mother’s voice tremble like that.
“I’m okay,” he whispered back, even though he wasn’t. Even though the walls around him still seemed to shift, corners too dark, too sharp. But he wanted her to believe it. He wanted himself to believe it. “I’m here.”
From the doorway, Katsuki stood back, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t say a word. But his presence grounded them both—solid, unshakable, a silent promise that if anything tried to creep through those walls again, it would have to go through him first.
The apartment, though, felt different. Heavier. Every light was on—bright enough to sting the eyes—but Izuku still found himself scanning the corners, half-expecting to see the black sludge of fear dripping back into existence. His hands twitched as if ready to fight shadows.
Before he could settle, Katsuki’s phone buzzed sharply on the counter. The shrill sound cracked through the fragile calm of the room like glass shattering. Izuku flinched, while Inko instinctively reached for his hand. Katsuki’s face hardened as he grabbed the device and answered without hesitation.
“Bakugo,” he barked, his tone clipped. A pause followed, filled only by the faint hum of the lights and the muffled city noise beyond the apartment walls. His eyes narrowed. “Where?”
The shift in him was immediate. The calm, steady mask he’d worn for Izuku and Inko melted away, replaced by the battlefield sharpness that lived in his blood. His shoulders squared, his voice grew tighter, and fire seemed to flicker in the edges of his stare. Izuku knew that look. He’d seen it in training, in battle, in war. Katsuki wasn’t just listening anymore—he was preparing to fight.
“Tch. I’ll be there.” He hung up with a snap, shoving the phone into his pocket.
“Kacchan?” Izuku asked, already knowing the answer, but hoping he was wrong.
“Work,” Bakugo muttered, his voice low. “Something came up. Stay here. Don’t do anything stupid.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Izuku—softened for just half a second, almost apologetic—but then hardened again as he turned toward the door. His boots hit the floor with steady, decisive thuds.
Izuku’s chest tightened. His first instinct was to stand, to move, to insist on going too. His muscles coiled like springs, ready to follow. The idea of sitting here, safe and useless, while Katsuki and the others fought—while villains still roamed free—made him feel like he was suffocating. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.
“I should be working too,” he muttered, almost to himself.
But Inko’s grip on his wrist tightened like a chain. “No.”
The word snapped the air.
Her voice was firm, more than he’d expected, the kind of tone that left no space for argument. “You’re not ready, Izuku. Not yet. You need to get better first. Please.”
Her eyes glistened again, fresh tears brimming, but her tone carried steel—the quiet, immovable steel only a mother could wield. The words pinned him down more effectively than any restraint.
Izuku’s jaw trembled as he looked away, shame and frustration burning in his chest. She was right. He knew she was right. His legs still shook when he walked too fast. His chest still grew tight when the lights dimmed. His mind still betrayed him with flashes of fire, blood, and choking shadows. If he stepped into a battlefield like this, he wouldn’t be helping anyone. He’d only drag them down. He knew it. And yet… it burned like acid in his veins.
Katsuki’s hand brushed the doorframe as he left, a silent reassurance, though he didn’t look back. A moment later, the door shut behind him, and the apartment seemed too quiet, too fragile in his absence. Izuku’s pulse thrummed against the silence.
Outside, the gray evening swallowed Katsuki whole. Sirens whispered faintly in the distance, the city restless with trouble.
In a narrow alley, Todoroki stood still as stone. Frost crept slowly outward from his boots, thin veins of ice spreading across the pavement. His breath curled in mist, mixing with the cold air. Ahead of him stood a figure draped in shadow, the world itself seeming to bend around his form.
Sable.
The villain’s presence was suffocating. The air shimmered faintly, warping like heat haze. Even the distant traffic noise seemed muted here, as though reality itself was thinning, uncertain beneath his influence.
“You,” Todoroki said, voice low, steady. Fire flickered faintly at his shoulder, crackling against the frost that bloomed at his other side. His mismatched eyes cut sharply through the dark.
Sable’s smile curved slowly, calm. Too calm. “I’ve been waiting.”
The city held its breath, the shadows stretching long as if leaning closer.
Notes:
Well as you can see, i was confused with myself. I don't know which one to use, Katsuki? Bakugo? Kacchan?
I hope they not interrupting my story (T ^ T)
Chapter 3: Cracks in the Plan
Summary:
The familiar crackle of explosions rattled the air outside.
His heart leapt—relief flooding him so sudden it hurt.
“Kacchan…”He scrambled closer to the balcony door, pressing his hands to the glass. He knew that sound anywhere—it was Bakugo, his signal, his lifeline.
Notes:
Hey everyone! I know I’m a bit late with this update, and I’m really sorry for the delay (ToT)/~~~ . To make up for it, I’ve put extra care into this chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!
Thanks so much for your patience and support—it means a lot <3
Congrats, you’re about to read the longest chapter I’ve ever written—snacks and comfy blanket highly recommended ;) hope you survive the scroll!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Todoroki residence was unusually warm that afternoon. For once, the house wasn’t filled with tension. Shoto sat on the veranda, a soft breeze brushing against his hair as he held a steaming cup of tea. His older sister, Fuyumi hummed happily as she carried out a tray of snacks, setting it down on the low table between them.
“Eat before it gets cold, Shoto,” she said with a playful smile. “You’re too used to skipping meals, aren’t you?”
Shoto gave her a small nod, amused by her persistence. “You still sound like a teacher even when you’re not in the classroom,” he murmured, his lips curving faintly.
Fuyumi puffed her cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Inside, they could hear the gentle clinking of cups. Their mother, Rei, had just finished preparing more tea. The sound of her quiet laughter floated through the house as she spoke with Natsuo, who had dropped by with his wife. It had been months since his wedding, and he still carried that gentle glow of someone who had finally found balance.
“I’m telling you,” Natsuo was saying with mock seriousness, “married life doesn’t magically make me more responsible. But… it does keep me from eating instant noodles every night.”
Rei’s laughter—warm, unstrained, free—filled the living room. Shoto paused as he listened. For so long, laughter in this house had been foreign, even alien. But now it was something he could actually sit back and enjoy.
Even his father… had changed.
Enji Todoroki, once the towering shadow that suffocated his childhood, now sat with a calmness Shoto would never have imagined. Retirement had stripped away his firestorm of ambition, leaving behind a man who looked… tired, but gentler. He didn’t speak much, only giving a small nod here and there as he listened to Natsuo and Fuyumi. Yet the sharp edge in his presence had dulled.
Shoto glanced at him from the veranda. Endeavor still carried the weight of everything he had done, but at least now he wasn’t dragging the family down with him. For Shoto, it was enough.
For the first time in years, the Todoroki household didn’t feel like a battlefield.
This… isn’t bad, Shoto thought, taking another sip of tea. Maybe this is what a normal family is supposed to feel like.
Just a few days ago, the new hero rankings were announced. To the surprise of many, Shoto had claimed the number Two spot. He is currently the highest-ranked hero from his class. The press had been relentless, praising his growth, his composure, his strength. But all he could think about was how much work still remained.
Heroes were thinner than ever since the war. Many had retired, and the young generation had been forced to take their place much sooner than expected. Bakugo rose to the top with sheer force of will after Midoriya returns as a pro hero. Uraraka became one of the most reliable rescue heroes in the nation. Iida carried his agency with pride, ensuring stability in the western districts. Even Kaminari and Mina, though not in the top ranks, had carved their names into the field.
Everyone was moving forward.
But then there was the shadow that unsettled it all.
Sable.
Shoto’s grip on his teacup tightened as he thought of the name.
A villain that didn’t attack with brute force, but with something far worse: manipulation. Words twisted into weapons, striking fear deeper than any blade could. Shoto had read the reports, heard the warnings, but there was still something about Sable that gnawed at him—something Midoriya had felt firsthand.
And now, Midoriya was in the hospital.
Shoto’s chest tightened. He remembered the call from Aizawa just hours ago, his voice grim as he explained what had happened. Midoriya had been attacked at his apartment, saved only because Bakugo had been there.
Shoto had wanted to go immediately. To see him. To make sure he was okay. But Aizawa had stopped him with a firm voice:
“Bakugo is handling it. For now, you should focus on yourself. Midoriya’s condition isn’t something you should carry recklessly.”
Those words had lingered in Shoto’s mind all day.
Guilt gnawed at him. He had been with his family, enjoying peace for once, while Midoriya had been fighting for his life. Even now, the warmth of home couldn’t shake that bitterness.
He set down his cup, glancing toward the sky. Clouds shifted lazily across the afternoon sun, but his mind was already moving elsewhere.
“…so then she tried cooking miso soup for the first time, but she forgot the miso!” Natsuo laughed, his voice carrying. “I swear, I’ve never had soup that tasted so… plain. But hey, she’s getting better.”
Rei chuckled, covering her mouth politely. “That reminds me of my early days, too.”
“Don’t worry, Natsuo,” Fuyumi teased. “You’re not the only one suffering through cooking experiments. I think Shoto once ate soba that was completely raw.”
Shoto blinked. “…It wasn’t that bad.”
The room burst into laughter. Even Enji exhaled a quiet breath that almost resembled amusement.
For a brief moment, Shoto let himself enjoy it. His chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. This was what his older brother, Touya, had always wanted: a family not torn apart by silence and resentment.
Rei’s gaze lingered on him. She always noticed. “Shoto. Something’s on your mind.”
He hesitated before answering. “…Nothing serious. Work.”
“Work again,” Fuyumi sighed. “You just climbed to Number Two in the rankings. Don’t you think you should let yourself rest? Heroes aren’t machines, Shoto.”
Natsuo leaned back with a smirk. “She’s right. Honestly, I don’t know how you handle it. Bakugo’s rise from Number 15 to Number 5, right? How’s he holding up?”
Shoto looked at the table. “He’s… the same. Loud. Relentless.” A small pause. “But he’s strong. Strong enough to carry what’s been put on him.”
“And Midoriya?” Rei asked gently. “You three were always together. How is he?”
The question tightened his throat. He hadn’t seen Midoriya since the attack. He’d wanted to rush to him, to stand at his side like they always had during their school days. But by the time he’d cleared his schedule, news of Midoriya’s condition reached him through others. Bakugo had been there first, as always.
“…He’s recovering,” Shoto said at last, voice low. “But it’s complicated.”
The mood shifted. Fuyumi set down her teacup carefully. “Shoto, is something wrong? You sound… distant.”
He forced a faint smile. “I’ll explain later. For now, just—enjoy today.”
But deep down, he already knew—peace never lasted long. Not for heroes.
And especially not with Sable still out there.
Shoto excused himself, bowing his head slightly to his family before leaving. The smile on Fuyumi’s face flickered with worry, but Shoto reassured her with a calm tone.
Natsuo clapped him on the shoulder before he left.
“Don’t overwork yourself. You’ve earned the right to breathe once in a while.”
Shoto gave a faint smile. No.2 hero….and yet, peace still feels so far away.
He stepped out into the evening air, the cool breeze brushing against his skin as the quiet of the Todoroki residence faded behind him. The streets glowed under the faint hue of streetlamps. He walked steadily toward the agency, his thoughts drifting back to the faint peace he had felt just an hour ago. If Touya had been here… would we have laughed like this?
His chest tightened, but he pushed the thought aside.
Then—
A faint voice slipped from the shadows of an alley he passed. Smooth, steady, almost casual.
“You carry the weight of fire and ice… but you also carry hesitation, don’t you, Todoroki Shoto?”
Shoto froze mid-step, his hand instinctively brushing against the hilt of his blade holster. He turned his head slowly.
From the darkness stepped a man cloaked in a dark trench, his eyes gleaming like silver knives beneath the hood. His presence wasn’t loud—but it was suffocating.
Sable.
“You’ve been enjoying yourself today, haven’t you?” Sable’s tone was conversational, almost mocking. “Family dinners, laughter, tea… while your so-called symbol of hope was clawing at his own survival.”
Shoto’s hand instinctively twitched toward his side, ready to call fire or ice if needed. His heart pounded, but he forced his voice to remain level. “What do you want?”
The villain tilted his head slightly, lips curling into a smirk.
“I didn’t come to fight. Not yet. But I wanted to see the one who holds such a… delicate thread to your precious Symbol of Peace.”
Shoto narrowed his eyes. “You mean, Midoriya.”
Sable chuckled softly, his tone almost playful. “Midoriya Izuku… One For All’s last torchbearer. Did you see him that night? Broken. Fragile. Barely clinging to life. Heroes protect the people… yet you couldn’t protect him. ”
Shoto’s breath hitched, but he stood his ground. “You won’t touch him again.”
“Oh?” Sable stepped closer, his voice lowering like a whisper in Shoto’s ear. “Do you think you can? Or will you hesitate… when you see how much of a burden he has become? You can’t save him. You can’t save anyone. You’ll only watch as I dismantle this society piece by piece. And when the Symbol crumbles, the others will follow.”
Shoto’s hand flared with heat, fire licking against his palm. “Say one more word about him, and you won’t leave this street.”
But Sable didn’t flinch. His eyes gleamed with unsettling amusement.
“Then fight me now. But if you do… you’ll miss your chance to see Midoriya one last time. I’m not here for you, Todoroki. I’m here to remind you… that heroes fall easier when they’re divided. When their doubts eat them alive.”
Shoto’s chest burned with fury, but beneath it, a flicker of unease wormed into his mind. The image of Midoriya lying bloodied and gasping surfaced again. His steps faltered.
Sable smiled, taking one step back into the shadows.
“Just a word of caution. Don’t interfere in what’s coming. If you do, you won’t just lose your friend—you’ll watch the entire structure of heroes crumble from the inside. The same way your family once almost did.”
Shoto’s eyes narrowed. His father’s mistakes, his brother’s death—the words dug into places he hated to keep open.
“You think I’ll just stand by and let you touch him?” Shoto barked, anger cutting through his restraint.
Sable smiled faintly, as though amused. “You’re already hesitating. That’s enough for me. Midoriya Izuku’s fate is sealed, and when the time comes, you’ll see what your loyalty is worth.”
Before Shoto could strike, the villain was gone—his presence fading like mist, leaving only silence in the alley.
Shoto clenched his fists, his breath sharp in the cold air.
Don’t let his words get to you. Don’t.
But the unease lingered. Even as he rushed to the agency, Sable’s warning echoed in his mind.
When he arrived at the agency, the contrast was stark. The lively warmth of his family dinner was gone—here, the meeting room air was heavy with tension. His old classmates had gathered—Uraraka, Iida, Kirishima, Mina, Kaminari and even Shinsou.
Their eyes flicked up as Shoto entered.
“Todoroki!” Uraraka said, relief quickly turning into concern. “You didn’t go to see Deku yet?”
Shoto hesitated for a fraction of a second. His throat tightened, remembering Sable’s words. “I will. Soon,” he said flatly.
“Soon?” Kirishima frowned. “Man, he needs us. Bakugo’s there, but—he can’t do this alone.”
Mina’s gaze was steady. “You’re worried, but so are we. Midoriya’s been through enough.”
Iida adjusted his glasses, his tone more formal but equally pressing. “As friends, we have an obligation. If Midoriya is hospitalized, our duty is to support him, not hesitate.”
Shoto felt the weight of their stares. “I’ll visit,” Shoto repeated, quieter this time. “Just…not yet.”
The tension in the room thickened, Shoto slid into his seat, eyes flicking toward the empty space where Midoriya and Bakugo should have been.
Aizawa stepped forward, voice steady but laced with heaviness. “Midoriya Izuku, or also known as One For All Hero: Deku was attacked last night. The villain we’ve identified as Sable had planned it carefully. Dynamight intervened and kept him alive until help arrived. Deku sustained heavy psychological strain, but he is stable. For now.”
Shoto’s throat tightened. The hunted voices of Sable replayed again in his head.
Aizawa continued. “His Quirk is difficult—he manipulates emotions, not just through power but through words. That makes him unpredictable. He wants to destabilize heroes from the inside out. He’s already proven he can get close to his target.”
Aizawa’s tired eyes swept across the room. The lights above buzzed faintly, the only sound before he spoke.
“I didn’t call just anyone here,” his voice low but steady. “This meeting is only for those closest to Midoriya. People he trusts. People who’ve seen the effect this villain—Sable—already has on him.”
He paused, letting the weight of the name settle.
“We underestimated him. Sable isn’t just another villain with a flashy quirk. He’s calculated. He’s patient. And he’s after Midoriya for a reason we still don’t fully understand. If he succeeds, the consequences won’t stop at one student…it’ll ripple through all of us. Through society.”
Aizawa’s gaze hardened. “That’s why you’re here. Because you’re not just friends. You’re not just colleagues. You’re his anchor. His support. And when Sable makes his next move, Midoriya is going to need every one of you to hold him up.”
His eyes flicked briefly to Hawks at the far side of the table. “I’ve also asked Hawks to sit in. He’s earned my trust, and more importantly, Midoriya’s safety comes before protocol.”
Silence stretched for a moment, heavy but united.
Aizawa finally leaned back, his voice dipping even lower. “What Sable did to Rainmaker was already crossing the line. Manipulating, tearing down someone who dedicated their life to saving others—that was bad enough. But this?” His gaze swept over the gathered pro heroes, then lingered on his students. “Now he’s interfering with the top ten. Heroes who are supposed to set the standard. Heroes who are supposed to be untouchable.”
He folded his arms, his expression hardening.
“The longer he roams free, the worse this is going to get. Every second he moves in the shadows, more damage piles up. Not just to reputations—but to people. To trust. To the very foundation of what’s left after the war.”
The room stayed silent, the weight of his words pressing down like a storm cloud.
“We need answers. Why he’s doing this. What he wants. Because if we don’t figure that out—” Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping, firm and final—
“—then he’s going to decide the terms of this fight. And none of us can afford that.”
Hawks leaned forward, fingers tapping the table. “We need to strike first. If he’s already testing our response, he won’t stop with Deku. He’ll keep pressing until someone breaks.”
All Might finally spoke, his voice low but carrying weight. “Midoriya fought too long to hold this torch. He can’t…he shouldn’t bear this alone anymore.”
Hawks straightened, his usual grin nowhere to be seen. “If Mirio were here, I’d put him on protection detail. But he’s tied up overseas right now. Which means—it’s us. We can’t waste time.”
“Agreed,” Aizawa said firmly. “Sable isn’t just targeting Deku. He wants something bigger. Until we understand what that is, anyone close to Deku is in danger.”
Uraraka’s fists tightened. “So what’s the plan? How do we stop him before he hurts anyone else?”
A pause stretched. Then Shoto spoke, his voice calm but cold. “Use me.”
Everyone turned to look at him.
Shoto kept his gaze on the table. “He’s after Midoriya . But he sought me out today. He wanted to rattle me. If we use that—if I’m the bait—we can draw him out.”
Uraraka’s eyes widened. “Todoroki… that’s too risky—”
Aizawa cut in, eye narrowing. “You’ve already met him?”
The room fell silent.
Shoto didn’t answer immediately, but his fists tightened in his lap. At last, he gave a single nod. “On the way here. He didn’t attack. Just… talked.”
The silence grew heavier.
“What did he say?” Hawks asked sharply.
Shoto’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That if I interfered, I’d lose everything. That he’d tear down heroes the way my family nearly was torn down.”
The air grew dense after Todoroki’s words. Mina slammed her palms against the table, pink brows furrowed.
“So what—you’re thinking of letting him come to you again? No way! That’s suicide!”
Uraraka leaned forward, her voice tight with worry. “Todoroki-kun, you can’t honestly believe being bait is the best option. If Sable’s after Deku, then we should all focus on protecting him—not splitting up.”
Kaminari pointed at Todoroki, sparks flickering nervously from his hair. “Yeah, dude, you’re seriously underestimating what this guy’s planning! He’s already two steps ahead! What if he wants you to think this’ll work?”
“I understand your caution,” Iida said, his arms chopping through the air in sharp gestures, “but to deliberately place yourself as bait is reckless! If Midoriya were here, he would never approve of such a self-sacrificial strategy!”
Kirishima’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching on the table. “Bro, we just got through watching Midoriya tear himself apart once already. We’re not about to watch you do the same. Heroes protect each other, remember? This isn’t manly.”
Shinsou sat quietly in the corner, his eyes unreadable, but his silence cut sharper than any protest.
Through it all, Todoroki didn’t flinch. His gaze was steady, almost detached, but there was a fire beneath it.
“I’ve thought it through. Sable’s watching. He’s calculating. If we keep playing defense, we’ll always be behind him. If I act as bait, we force him to move on our terms.”
“Todoroki—” Uraraka started, but he shook his head, his tone firm.
“I’m not asking for approval. I’m telling you this is the only way to drag him out. If he wants me to stay away, then that’s exactly why I won’t.”
The room stirred with protests again, voices overlapping in heated waves—until Aizawa’s sharp command cut through:
“Enough.”
All Might’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing.
Aizawa’s voice sliced through the noise like a whip, silencing the room at once.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said evenly. “We can’t keep reacting. Sable’s testing us, and if he’s already made contact, he’s gauging how much we’re willing to risk. That means time isn’t on our side.”
Shoto’s shoulders straightened, but Aizawa raised a hand before he could speak.
“That doesn’t mean throwing yourself in blindly. Acting as bait alone makes you predictable. Sable is counting on our emotions to cloud judgment.”
“He’s not wrong, kid. You’re valuable bait, sure, but one wrong move and Sable gets exactly what he wants—proof heroes are reckless enough to sacrifice their own. That’s propaganda material for months.” Hawks eyes narrowed, sharp beneath his easy tone. “But if we design the trap knowing he’ll expect bait, then we layer the strategy. Give him what he thinks he wants, while we’re already three steps ahead.”
Aizawa folded his arms. “There are options. We can rotate who he sees, spread his focus. We can use illusions, or doubles. Or, if you’re insistent on being involved, we build contingencies that don’t hinge on you being alone.”
Hawks smirked faintly, though the edge in his voice lingered. “Heroes don’t win by playing fair. We win by refusing to let the villain write the script. So—do we give Sable one target?” His eyes swept the room. “Or do we force him to pick between shadows, decoys, and backup that he doesn’t see coming?”
The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t hopeless.
For the first time, Todoroki’s gaze flickered, as if weighing the ground beneath him.
Aizawa’s tone softened just slightly, though his eyes stayed sharp. “We’re not letting Sable break another one of you. Not Midoriya, not Todoroki, none of you. So we plan this smart. Understood?”
“He didn’t attack me,” Shoto admitted, “but he knows how to use words as weapons. He… tried to make me doubt Midoriya.”
The table fell silent. Hawks leaned back, whistling under his breath.
“Sounds like he knows how to cut deep. That’s dangerous.”
Aizawa’s tone hardened. “All the more reason to plan carefully. We can’t let him get to anyone else. The plan is simple: we lure him. We’ll use ourselves as bait if we must. But this ends before he makes another move.”
Shoto exhaled, gripping the table. I won’t let his words shake me. Not when Midoriya needs me to be strong.
As the meeting adjourned, Aizawa called after him. “Todoroki.”
Shoto paused.
“Don’t let this situation get into your head. Midoriya’s going to need strength around him. Not more doubt.”
Shoto held his gaze, nodded once, and left.
The scrape of a chair broke the silence that followed. Everyone turned—Hitoshi Shinsou had finally spoken, his voice low but steady despite the tension in the room.
“…You’re really planning to let Todoroki act as bait?”
His words cut through the air like a blade. Up until now, he had sat quietly at the edge of the meeting table, half in shadow, as if waiting for the right moment. His violet eyes flickered between Aizawa and Todoroki. “He’s strong, yeah. But we don’t know what Sable’s Quirk really does. If it’s manipulation, if it’s mental tampering… what if he gets caught up in it?”
Some of the others murmured, concern flashing across their faces. Iida adjusted his glasses sharply. “Shinsou has a point. We cannot risk another one of us being compromised—especially someone so vital to the plan.”
Todoroki stopped in the doorway, half-turned, his expression unreadable. “…That’s why I have a plan.”
Shinsou blinked, startled by how calmly he said it. “…A plan?”
Todoroki stepped back into the room, eyes sharp, voice quiet but firm. “I’ll act as bait. But I won’t be alone. You’ll be close, Shinsou. If Sable tries to use his Quirk on me… you’ll be my safeguard.”
The room went silent again, but this time, it wasn’t disbelief—it was consideration. Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the weight of what Shoto was proposing.
“…You want Shinsou to counteract him?” All Might rumbled, frowning deeply.
“Yes,” Todoroki replied simply. “If I falter—Shinsou steps in. He has the training. He’s proved himself enough times.” His gaze slid back to the purple-haired hero. “I trust you.”
Shinsou stiffened, caught off guard. “…Todoroki…”
The room stirred. Mina blinked. “Shinsou? But… wouldn’t Bakugo be more reliable backup?”
Immediately, half the room chimed in—Kirishima, Kaminari, even Iida voicing Bakugo’s strength.
Aizawa spoke first, tone final. “No. Bakugo stays with Midoriya.” His gaze didn’t waver. “After what happened, separating them is the worst move we could make.”
Hawks gave a lazy shrug, though his eyes were sharp. “Besides, you’re all underestimating the mind games. Sable’s not just muscle—he’s precision. Someone who can turn his words into weapons. That makes Shinsou our best shot. One second of hesitation, one slip—and boom, tables turned.”
Shoto’s tone softened just slightly. “I don’t need Bakugo for this. He needs to stay with Midoriya until he’s stable. That’s more important.”
“But—” Iida interjected, brows furrowed.
Todoroki cut him off, more firmly this time. “If things spiral out of control, if it becomes impossible to contain, then yes—we’ll call Bakugo. But only then. We can’t afford to drag him into this when Midoriya needs him the most.”
For a moment, the group sat with his words. Shinsou’s fists tightened at his sides. He wasn’t used to being trusted—not like this, not so openly. He finally exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “…Guess I don’t have a choice then, huh?”
“You do,” Todoroki answered quietly. “But I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”
The weight of his words hung in the room like smoke, heavier than any lingering silence. Aizawa finally spoke, his tone low and final: “Then it’s decided. Shinsou, you’ll shadow Todoroki. No mistakes.”
Shinsou smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “…No pressure, huh?”
Todoroki turned again toward the door, the faintest flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. “Pressure’s nothing new to us. Just be ready.”
And with that, he left for real this time, the door shutting softly behind him.
But not before Kirishima crimson eyes briefly locked on Todoroki. It wasn’t aggressive, not exactly—but it carried weight. A silent message threaded through the look.
Only once Todoroki’s footsteps faded down the hall did Kirishima exhale, shoulders shifting as if shedding the weight of that silent exchange.
Katsuki hadn’t slept properly since the attack.
Not really, anyway. Sure, he’d closed his eyes on the couch once or twice, but every time he heard the faintest movement from Izuku’s bed, his body shot awake like he was back on the battlefield. His throat still ached from the way he’d screamed Izuku’s name that night—finding him on the floor with scissors in his hand, shaking. Eyes glazed like he wasn’t even in his own body.
If he hadn’t been there… if he hadn’t acted fast enough…
Katsuki pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, swallowing down the thought before it could choke him. He had no right to fall apart when Izuku was the one fighting to keep his head above water.
“You did good, Bakugo. If you hadn’t been there, Midoriya… it could’ve ended differently.”
For once, Katsuki had no bark in response, no sharp retort. He only nodded and sat back down beside Izuku.
By midmorning, Katsuki paced just outside Izuku’s hospital room, phone heavy in his hand. He stopped occasionally, jaw tight, staring at the contact name for a long moment, thumb hovering but not pressing. He hated this part—hated that he couldn’t handle everything himself. But Izuku’s mom deserved to know, and more than that, Izuku needed her.
He ran a hand through his hair, tension coiling in his shoulders. Stepping out of the room felt like a relief, but only for a second. His eyes kept flicking back to the doorway, scanning for any movement, any sign that Izuku might need him. Even a few feet away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that leaving him—no matter how briefly—was another way he was failing.
Finally, with a sharp exhale, he hit the call button.
It rang once. Twice. Then her familiar, trembling voice answered. “Hello?”
Katsuki’s throat felt tight. He forced his voice lower, calmer than his usual bark. “Auntie… it’s me. Katsuki.”
There was a pause on the other end, like she was bracing herself. “…Is—Izuku? Is he—”
“He’s alive,” Katsuki cut in quickly, almost too sharp, before softening. “…He’s alive. But he’s… he’s not in a good place right now.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. “I can handle everything else. Keep the idiots off his back, deal with the pros, whatever. But when I can’t be here… can you? Just—just don’t let him be alone.”
There was silence. Then the faint, shaky sound of her breathing broke into a quiet sob. “…My poor boy…” she whispered. The muffled sound of her crying carried through the speaker, stabbing at his chest. “He’s been carrying so much on his own again, hasn’t he?”
Katsuki’s grip on the phone tightened. “…Yeah. But not anymore.”
For a few seconds, she didn’t speak—just soft sniffling. Then her voice steadied, fragile but warm. “…Thank you, Katsuki. I don’t know what would’ve happened to Izuku without you. I—I don’t think I could bear it if he had gone through this alone.”
Katsuki swallowed hard, his chest heavy. He didn’t let his voice waver. “Tch. Don’t thank me. He’s my dumbass to deal with. Always has been.”
But when he hung up, his eyes shut for a moment, letting himself feel the faint relief that washed over him.
When their friends came to visit, the hospital room briefly felt alive again.
“Man, you look like a grandpa in that thing,” Kaminari teased, grinning.
Katsuki let out a quiet, rough chuckle, shaking his head. The ridiculousness of them—fighting like kids in the middle of all this—almost made him forget the gnawing weight in his chest.
After a while, the group broke off into smaller conversations. Mina, uraraka and jirou bickered softly over arranging the flowers. Iida launched into an enthusiastic debate with Kaminari about patrol efficiency. That was when Kirishima tugged his arm and jerked his chin toward the hallway.
Katsuki clicked his tongue but followed, glancing back once more at the room. His eyes landed on Izuku—sitting straighter now, the faintest flicker of determination alive in his tired face.
“Tch,” Katsuki muttered under his breath. “He looked like he was gonna fold in on himself before you showed up. When you barged in late, grinning like an idiot, he actually lifted his damn head. Like he remembered he’s still supposed to fight.”
Kirishima blinked, caught off guard. “Huh? Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Katsuki snapped quietly, though his tone was less sharp than usual. “Deku’s all messed up right now, and somehow you gave him the guts to keep it together. Don’t ask me why.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, then Bakugo narrowed his eyes.
“…So what the hell do you wanna talk about? You dragged me out here for a reason, didn’t you?”
Kirishima’s usual smile faltered, replaced by a more serious edge.
The hallway was quieter, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above them. Kirishima crossed his arms, his usual bright grin nowhere to be found.
“Bro… you look wrecked,” he said bluntly.
Katsuki snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, no shit. I’m not gonna leave Deku like this. Someone’s gotta watch him.”
“I know.” Kirishima’s tone softened, his red eyes filled with concern. “That’s why I’m telling you this. The others—they’re working on something. A plan. About Sable.”
Katsuki’s gaze sharpened instantly. “What plan? Why the hell am I just hearing this from you?”
Kirishima hesitated, glancing down the hallway before leaning in closer. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, man. They didn’t want to drag you in yet, ‘cause they know how close you’re staying to Midoriya right now. They think… you wouldn’t leave him.”
Katsuki growled low in his throat, fists clenching. “Damn right I wouldn’t. That nerd almost—” His voice caught for a fraction of a second, the memory of Izuku’s shaking and scissors flashing uninvited. He forced it down, glaring harder. “So what the hell are they planning without me?”
Kirishima’s voice dropped.
“They’re gonna use Todoroki as bait. They think Sable’s circling, waiting for an opening, and Todoroki’s willing to risk it. They want to corner him before he makes a move on anyone else.”
Katsuki froze. His jaw tightened, and for a moment his breathing hitched.
“…Deku already looks like hell,” Katsuki muttered, eyes blazing. “And now that half-and-half dumbass is throwing himself on the chopping block?!” He cursed under his breath, pacing a short step before turning back, his eyes burning. “And no one thought to tell me? What if—”
Kirishima’s hand tightened slightly on Bakugo’s arm, his usual warmth edged with unease.
“Look, Bakugo… I’m not saying I agree with Todoroki’s idea. Hell, it scares the crap outta me. But…” His eyes darted toward the room, where Izuku sat talking softly with Uraraka. “He’s set on it. If we push too hard—“
Bakugo’s scowl deepened. “So what? We’re supposed to just let him throw himself to the wolves?”
“No,” Kirishima said quickly, shaking his head. “I’m saying… either you stick close to Midoriya and make sure nothing happens while Todoroki runs his stupid plan—” he paused, lowering his voice further, “—or you follow him without letting anyone else know. Keep him from going too far.”
Katsuki’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. The idea of leaving Deku unguarded twisted in his gut like a knife, but the thought of Todoroki running headfirst into Sable’s hands without backup… that was just as bad.
“Tch.” Sparks snapped off his palms. “Damn it. Half-and-half’s gonna get himself killed if I’m not there. But if I leave Deku…”
Kirishima’s gaze softened, though his voice stayed firm. “That’s why I came to you, man. You’re the only one who can make that call. We can’t afford to split wrong.”
Bakugo’s eyes flicked once more toward Izuku. His friend’s shoulders looked smaller somehow, weighed down even as he smiled faintly at the others.
Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, glancing again toward the common room. “Then… how about this. If Todoroki actually goes through with it, I’ll call you right away. No matter what. At least that way you don’t have to split yourself in two, y’know? You can keep watching Midoriya, and I’ll keep my eye on Todoroki until things get dicey.”
Katsuki’s scowl didn’t ease. His fists twitched at his sides, restless sparks dancing across his knuckles. “That’s not good enough. If Half-and-half’s dumbass idea backfires, it won’t matter if you call me. By the time I get there, it could already be too late.”
“I get that,” Kirishima admitted quietly. “But we’re all stretched thin, man. None of us can cover everything. At least this way, you’ll know Midoriya’s not alone—and Todoroki won’t be either.”
Katsuki ground his teeth, his mind running through every worst-case scenario. Every option felt like choosing which friend he was willing to sacrifice.
“…Damn it.” His voice cracked low with frustration, sharp as broken glass. “All these choices are crap. Deku’s fragile as hell right now, and Half-and-half’s offering himself up like a side dish. Sable’s gonna eat one of them alive if I pick wrong.”
Kirishima reached out, gripping Katsuki’s shoulder firmly. “Then don’t think of it like picking. Think of it like… holding the line. If we stay linked up, none of us are easy prey.”
Finally, Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine. But if Todoroki makes one wrong move, I don’t care what anyone says—I’ll blow his plan to hell myself.”
His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as his crimson eyes burned with fury. “I’ve waited long enough. That bastard Sable’s gonna learn—he doesn’t get to mess with me, or with anyone close to me, and walk away.”
That’s when the long-awaited day arrives.
Before he could settle, Katsuki’s phone buzzed sharply on the counter. The shrill sound cracked through the fragile calm of the room like glass shattering. Izuku flinched, while Inko instinctively reached for his hand. Katsuki’s jaw tightened as he snatched the device and answered without hesitation.
“Bakugo,” he barked, tone clipped.
A pause. Then a familiar voice filled his ear. Kirishima.
“We need you.” The words came fast, strained, like Kirishima was forcing them out between clenched teeth. “It’s happening. They’re using Todoroki as bait, just like I told you. If something goes wrong, we won’t hold him off without you.”
Katsuki’s grip on the phone tightened, the plastic creaking under his hand. His eyes narrowed, the faint hum of the lights above suddenly loud in his ears. “Where?”
There was no hesitation on Kirishima’s end. “East district. Warehouse block. We’re already on the move.”
The shift in him was immediate. The calm, steady mask he’d worn for Izuku and Inko shattered, replaced by the battlefield sharpness that lived in his blood. His shoulders squared, his voice drew tight, and fire seemed to flicker in the edges of his stare. Izuku knew that look. He’d seen it in training, in battle, in war. Katsuki wasn’t just listening anymore—he was preparing to fight.
“Tch. I’ll be there.” He hung up with a snap, shoving the phone into his pocket.
“Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice was small, already knowing the answer but hoping he was wrong.
“Work,” Katsuki muttered, voice low. “Something came up. Stay here. Don’t do anything stupid.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Izuku—softened for just half a second, almost apologetic—but then hardened again as he turned toward the door. His boots struck the floor with steady, decisive weight, each step echoing with the promise of violence.
Inside, his mind was already a storm.
If things were bad enough that Kirishima’s voice was shaking, then shit was already on fire.
But leaving Izuku behind… that was the part that twisted a knife in his chest. The image of Izuku sitting there, pale and trembling, clutching his mom’s hand, burned in his head. What if something happened here while he was gone? What if the villains weren’t just playing bait games with Todoroki, but already had their eyes on Izuku?
His chest felt like it was caught in a vice. Katsuki had seen Izuku fight through broken bones, bloodied lungs, even when his body was seconds from shutting down—and none of that compared to how fragile he looked right now. This wasn’t a battle wound you could push through. This was a slow bleed on the inside, something Katsuki couldn’t punch or blast away.
And now Todoroki wanted to dangle himself in front of Sable like fresh meat? Idiotic. Careless. Reckless in a way that made Katsuki’s teeth grind.
But the thought of leaving Izuku unguarded was worse. He could already see it: the apartment windows shattering, shadows slipping through, Izuku too slow to react because of those whispers gnawing at him. His mom screaming his name while Bakugo was too far away to stop it.
Damn it. Every path led straight into a trap.
Bakugo’s fists clenched until sparks hissed out, his jaw tight enough to ache. This plan is so goddamn stupid.
Still, what choice did he have?
If he stayed glued to Izuku , the others could end up gutted by Sable’s games. If he shadowed Todoroki, Izuku would be exposed to whatever new scheme those bastards were cooking.
Either way, someone he cared about was left open, and Katsuki hated it.
He forced out a sharp breath through his nose. He’d make his choice, and he’d make it count. He had to. Because if the villains got to Izuku again—if Izuku ended up broken because Katsuki wasn’t there—then no excuse, no strategy, no half-baked plan would matter.
He’d never forgive himself.
Shoto’s words were quiet, but they carried weight.
“When I saw him… it was strange. He didn’t attack. He just—looked at me, and said if I interfered with his plan, I’d regret it. It felt less like a threat, and more like… a warning.”
Across the table, Aizawa’s gaze sharpened, his arms folded tightly as if holding himself back from speaking too soon. Beside him, Shinsou shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hands clasped in his lap. He hadn’t said a word since the briefing began, but his eyes flickered toward Shoto with something between doubt and determination.
“Why Midoriya?” Shoto asked finally, the question that had been gnawing at him since that night. His breath left him in a low hiss. “Sable could’ve chosen anyone. He isn’t after money, he isn’t targeting cities… so why him?”
A heavy silence filled the room. Even the hum of the monitors seemed distant. Then Hawks leaned back in his chair, his usual casual air dimmed with rare seriousness.
“That’s the thing,” Hawks said. “Sable hasn’t made a single move in over a week. No civilians harmed, no heroes cornered, not even a whisper of his Quirk in use. Villains don’t go that quiet without a reason. If he’s not striking, he’s planning. Which means… this silence? It’s worse than activity.”
The statement dropped like lead, leaving even the younger heroes uneasy. Uraraka glanced at Iida, worry etched across her face. Kaminari fidgeted with the comm earpiece in his hand, while Kirishima leaned forward, his jaw set.
Mina’s voice broke the tension. “So what’s the plan if he really shows up? We can’t just… sit around and hope.”
“That’s why you’re backup,” Aizawa cut in, his tone final. “Front lines will move first. If Sable escalates, you step in. No hesitation.”
All Might’s voice rumbled through the meeting room. His smile wasn’t the same as it once was, but the resolve in his eyes was just as strong. “Remember—no one moves recklessly. This isn’t about glory or rankings. It’s about staying alive, and making sure Sable doesn’t claim any more ground.”
The strategy was simple in writing, yet razor-thin in execution. Todoroki, Shinsou, and Aizawa would take the front. Hawks and All Might coordinated from the agency, ready to deploy reinforcements. The rest stood in the wings as backup—heroes in their own right, but still watching the gap between caution and catastrophe.
As the briefing ended, Todoroki caught Shinsou’s glance. The other boy had finally spoken, his voice low but steady. “You’re really willing to be bait.”
Shoto’s mismatched eyes narrowed, but there was no hesitation in his reply.
“If it means we get him, then yes. I’ll draw him out. You’ll know when to move.”
And that was it—the plan was set.
Only, no one could know how it would really turn out.
They could map every step, weigh every risk, but Sable wasn’t some street thug they could pin with brute force. He thrived on cracks, on blind spots, on the moments when heroes thought they had control. Whatever they thought they were preparing for, there was always the chance he was three moves ahead—already twisting the board to his favor.
The city felt unnaturally still.
Todoroki was alone, the comm in his ear carrying only faint static and the occasional check-in from Hawks. Shadows stretched long against the alley walls, broken only by the glow of a streetlamp humming above.
A flicker of doubt crossed him—not for his own safety, but for the thought of Midoriya. Why him?
Shinsou’s voice crackled softly through the earpiece. “We’ve got eyes on you. Stay sharp.”
Aizawa was close, silent in the shadows of a rooftop, ready to erase. Hawks and All Might manned the agency’s command room, monitoring screens, voices calm but clipped through the comms. Kirishima, Uraraka, Iida, Mina, and Kaminari waited on standby — the backup, ready if things went sideways.
Todoroki slowed as he reached the narrow stretch of alley, where the streetlamps only gave off a faint halo of light. His breath was steady, his expression carved from stone, but every step felt deliberate—as if he were daring the darkness itself to move.
He stopped at the center, the silence pressing in. For a heartbeat, nothing stirred. Then, Todoroki’s voice cut through the still air, low but sharp enough to echo against the brick.
“You think you’re clever, hiding in the shadows. But all you’re doing is proving you’re too scared to face us directly.”
The words rang out, bait dropped cleanly into the quiet. Todoroki’s hand flexed at his side, ready for ice or flame at the first sign of movement.
No answer. Only the hum of a buzzing streetlight.
His jaw tightened, mismatched eyes narrowing. If provocation was what it took, then he would push harder.
“Is this what you are, Sable?” he continued, tone colder, sharper. “A coward who only strikes from the dark?”
That was when the air shifted—like the shadows themselves were holding their breath.
The thought shattered when the air thickened.
A ripple, like fabric tearing at its seams. The faint warping shimmer of heat haze bent reality itself, muting even the distant noise of traffic.
It was subtle at first: the faint warping of light, the distortion of sound, the way frost beneath his boots cracked as though afraid.
A low chuckle slithered from the dark ahead. From the blackened corner of the alley, a figure detached itself, almost like it had been painted into the night until now.
“…Careful, boy.” A voice was silk wrapped around steel, amused but simmering with menace. “Words like that could get you killed.”
He stepped forward, the faint glow of the streetlight catching on the sharp line of his smirk, eyes glinting in the dark.
“But since you’re so eager…” His grin widened, predatory, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
In a narrow alley, Todoroki stood still as stone. Frost crept slowly outward from his boots, thin veins of ice spreading across the pavement. His breath curled in mist, mixing with the cold air. Ahead of him stood a figure draped in shadow, the world itself seeming to bend around his form.
Sable.
The villain’s presence was suffocating. The air shimmered faintly, warping like heat haze. Even the distant traffic noise seemed muted here, as though reality itself was thinning, uncertain beneath his influence.
“You,” Todoroki said, voice low, steady. Fire flickered faintly at his shoulder, crackling against the frost that bloomed at his other side. His mismatched eyes cut sharply through the dark.
Sable’s smile curved slowly, calm. Too calm.
“I’ve been waiting.”
His tone was almost conversational, like he was greeting an old friend rather than a hunter staring down prey.
“You didn’t attack me before,” Todoroki said, his voice cutting through the silence. “Why? If you wanted to hurt me—or Midoriya—you had your chance.”
Sable tilted his head, shadows stretching unnaturally along the alley walls with the motion. His eyes glimmered faintly, unreadable.
“Because this isn’t about you. Or rather—it wasn’t supposed to be. Midoriya… he’s the key. And you… you’re in the way.”
The words pricked at something deep in Shoto’s chest. His fists tightened, heat sparking against ice.
“Then you’ll have to get through me first.”
Sable’s smile widened, but there was no joy in it—only inevitability. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
The ground trembled as Shoto unleashed a wave of ice, jagged spikes racing forward to pin his opponent. But Sable moved like a shadow, weaving through the frozen pillars as if the darkness bent to clear his path.
A sharp crack rang out as Shoto’s fire roared to life on his left side, heat clashing against the chill in the air. He thrust his arm forward, sending a torrent of flame barreling toward Sable. The blaze illuminated the villain’s sharp grin—right before he vanished into the smoke.
Shoto’s eyes darted, heart hammering. A whisper brushed his ear.
“Still trying to prove you’re not your father?”
He spun, ice wall slamming into place, but Sable’s voice echoed from the other side. “Fire and frost… burden and gift. You wield them like weapons, but all I see is a boy terrified of becoming the man who raised him.”
“Shut up!” Shoto snarled, fire bursting violently, forcing Sable back. For a moment, he thought he’d scorched him—until the villain slipped free again, barely touched by the flames.
“You burn so bright, yet you’re just trying to melt the chains you forged yourself.” Sable’s tone was calm, almost pitying. “No matter how strong you grow… that scar on your face isn’t from me.”
Shoto’s breath hitched, his flame faltering for a heartbeat.
Sable didn’t stop. His voice was a blade.
“And yet—despite all of that—you still think you can protect him. Midoriya Izuku.”
Shoto’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
Sable tilted his head, shadows curling at his feet. “The fragile boy with too many ghosts in his head. The one you all cling to as if he’s the sun. Tell me, Todoroki… what happens when the sun burns out? When he finally breaks, and there’s nothing left for you to protect?”
“Don’t you dare talk about him,” Shoto growled, ice cracking outward in jagged lines.
“Why not?” Sable’s smile widened, cruel and knowing. “He’s already breaking. Every second. And you—” his hand gestured lazily at Shoto’s stance, trembling though he forced it steady—“you’re the one playing hero while he falls apart.”
The clash was brutal from the first step. Ice erupted from the ground, jagged and merciless, while shadows coiled and slipped between every gap. Shoto’s breath fogged in the air as he forced Sable back with another burst of fire, the heat scorching the ground.
But Sable was everywhere. His laughter threaded through the dark, disembodied, curling against Shoto’s ears like smoke.
“Look at you. Splitting yourself apart just to stand. Ice, fire, rage, fear… you’re no different from him.”
Shoto gritted his teeth, forcing his focus, forcing the tremor out of his hands. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Oh, but I do,” Sable crooned, his form slithering out of the gloom. His eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. “Your family built you into a weapon. You hate your father, but you fight like him. All fire and fury when you’re desperate. And yet, you still call yourself a hero.”
Shoto’s chest tightened, the old shame clawing up his throat. He snapped his arm forward, sending a jagged wall of ice rushing at Sable, but the villain’s shadows burst apart and reformed behind him.
“And even now,” Sable pressed, his voice low, deliberate, “you think you can protect your best friend, Midoriya Izuku.”
Shoto’s fire roared instantly, his heartbeat spiking. “Don’t—”
“Why not?” Sable smiled, the kind of smile that carried no warmth. “He’s crumbling. Everyone sees it. You can’t save him from what’s already inside. He’ll burn himself out, and when he does, you’ll realize you were only fighting to hold up the ashes.”
The words struck deep, colder than the ice clinging to Shoto’s arm. For just a moment, his flames faltered. His breath came uneven, hitching against the weight pressing down on his chest.
Sable leaned closer through the dark, whispering like a promise: “You can’t save a boy who doesn’t want to be saved.”
Shoto’s fists clenched, his eyes hard. He forced down the sting of fear, the suffocating truth in the villain’s words.
Shoto’s shoulders squared, the heat from his left palm seeping faintly into the cold air. Sable’s smirk never wavered as he circled a step closer, like a predator testing prey.
Then, a crackle in Shoto’s earpiece. The dry, steady voice of Aizawa cut through, low but sharp as a blade:
“Shoto. Don’t let your guard down for even a second. He’s smarter than he looks. The moment you blink, he’ll strike.”
Shoto eyes flicked—just briefly—to the shadows stretching at his feet. He gave the slightest nod, barely a movement, but enough for Aizawa to know he’d heard.
That earned him another dark laugh from Sable, rich and dangerous, the sound echoing like claws dragging across metal.
His thoughts flashed to Hawks’s warning, to the silence of the past week—the calm before a storm. And in that stillness, he found his anchor.
His voice was steady, cold with defiance.
“You’re afraid of Midoriya.”
The silence after Shoto’s words stretched. For the first time, it wasn’t Shoto’s resolve wavering — it was Sable’s shadow.
The villain tilted his head, that empty smile still fixed, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The shadows around him rippled, restless, like they had felt the sting of truth.
“You think I’m wrong,” Shoto pressed, his breath steady despite the burning in his lungs. “But you wouldn’t waste so much time circling him if you weren’t scared. You talk about him breaking… because you’re terrified of what happens if he doesn’t.”
The fire on Shoto’s left side flared higher, the ice at his feet spreading sharper. His mismatched eyes glared straight through the shifting dark. “You saw what he is. What he can become. That’s why you won’t leave him alone.”
Sable’s laugh was low, jagged at the edges, no longer smooth and practiced. His eyes gleamed with something feral, something uncontained.
“You think he’s strength?” he hissed, voice rising like a storm. “That boy is fragility dressed up in borrowed power. He clings to you, to Bakugo, to anyone who’ll keep him standing. And you all… you indulge it .”
The shadows writhed at his feet, restless snakes slithering across the ground. His tone cracked into fury, words sharp and wild. “You see a hero in him—while I see the truth. A glass vessel. A weapon waiting to shatter. And when he does… everything falls.”
Sable’s smile returned, but now it was twisted, unhinged. His voice dropped to a whisper that dripped poison.
“And you’ll all be standing in the ruins.”
The world bent. Reality thinned. Pressure stabbed at Shoto’s skull as if invisible hands tried to drag his mind into darkness. His ice cracked across the pavement, fire flaring violently in protest — Sable was using his Quirk.
That was the signal.
Aizawa’s scarf snapped down from the rooftop, eyes glowing red as his Quirk activated. Sable’s distortion stuttered, the pressure lessening instantly. Shinsou’s voice followed, urgent, commanding: “You’re more foolish than I thought.”
“You—“ The shadows writhed once more—then froze. The sneer on Sable’s lips slackened, his posture going rigid as the Brainwashing took hold. The air eased, the oppressive weight vanishing from Shoto’s shoulders. For the first time since the fight began, there was silence.
Aizawa landed hard on the pavement beside Shoto, scarf coiling back around his arm. His eyes didn’t waver from their target. “Keep your grip on him, Shinsou.”
“Got it,” Shinsou muttered, his jaw tight.
Shinsou stepped closer to their prisoner, eyes narrowing. “Why Midoriya? What’s your endgame?”
Sable’s lips twitched under Shinsou’s control, his words slow, stilted. “He… breaks easily. He… is unstable. Heroes….will crumble when he does.”
Shoto’s fists tightened at his sides. He wanted to lunge, to shut Sable up, but he held back. They needed answers.
Shinsou’s voice cut through, sharp. “Who sent you?”
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then—
A scream split the air. A violent crash thundered from the rooftop above, and the Brainwashing broke like glass. Shinsou staggered, clutching his head. Aizawa’s hair snapped downward—his capture had been severed too.
Two figures stepped out from the smoke, their presence heavy and immediate. One was tall, cloaked in jagged armor that pulsed faintly as if alive. The other was lean, grinning, hands sparking with volatile light.
Sable straightened, his composure slithering back into place. His grin returned, sharper than ever. “Right on time.”
The first — a hulking brute clad in jagged, shifting armor that clanked with every movement, its edges pulsing like living metal. His eyes gleamed faintly red through the cracks, inhuman and cold.
The second — lean, sharp-faced, with a cruel grin and hands sparking with volatile light. Her presence crackled in the air like a storm ready to break.
Gasps erupted from the rooftops where the other pros were watching. Shinsou’s breath hitched, sweat rolling down his temple. “Two more…?”
Sable straightened, shadows crawling up his arms like a mantle. He looked between Aizawa, Todoroki, and Shinsou, his grin widening. “Did you really think I was reckless enough to come alone?”
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “So you’re not just a rogue. You’re organized.”
“Heroes waste time asking questions,” the sparking villain sneered, her voice crackling like static. “We came for Midoriya — and to make sure you all learn what happens when you get in our way.”
For a split second, no one moved. The reality set in — Sable wasn’t some lone predator stalking shadows. He was part of something bigger, something coordinated.
Shoto’s chest tightened as the truth settled like ice in his lungs. Midoriya was their target all along… and they weren’t going to stop with one attempt.
Iida’s voice roared through the comms: “Two more just showed up! We’re moving in!”
The backup squad rushed forward. Iida’s engines blazed, Mina’s acid hissed against the ground, Uraraka floated rubble into weapons. Kaminari raised his hand to his earpiece, desperation in his voice—
“No line! I can’t get Hawks or All Might— the signal’s cut!”
The ground shuddered before anyone could react.
The first villain stepped forward, lean and wiry, his jagged claws scraping against the cracked pavement. With each drag, the earth split and buckled — stone pillars surged upward, slamming into place like the walls of a closing cage. Alleyways twisted into dead ends, escape routes sealed in seconds.
The second villain followed in his wake, her presence worse than the shifting terrain. The air itself seemed to bend around her; colors bled at the edges of vision, buildings stretched like liquid. The street ahead rippled sideways, a false path yawning open where none existed.
Mina fired a quick shot of acid, trying to melt through the nearest stone wall — but the stream slid off harmlessly, curving along an angle that wasn’t real. “What—?!” she gasped, stumbling back.
Shinsou swore under his breath, realization dawning. “They’re trying to split us—”
“Exactly.” The woman’s voice reverberated strangely, as if she spoke from behind Shinsou’s ear and across the street at the same time. Her grin curved unnaturally with the bending of light. “Three against one isn’t much of a test, is it?”
Aizawa’s scarf lashed out, but the stone-wielder slammed a claw down, forcing a jagged wall to tear up between them. Forcing Aizawa’s line of sight.
“Damn it—” Aizawa cursed, eyes flashing red. He caught the stone villain in his gaze, and the claws froze mid-motion — but that left the woman free, her warped reality growing thicker, bending further with every step.
In seconds, Shinsou and Aizawa were being dragged deeper into the labyrinth, their focus divided. Aizawa could lock one down, but not both.
And just as the trap intended — Shoto was left facing Sable alone..
“Damn it—what the hell is this ?!” Kaminari growled, sparks flying erratically. He tapped his earpiece, frustration mounting. “All Might? Hawks? Anybody?”
Static. Nothing but dead air.
Uraraka’s breath hitched. “We can’t reach them—”
Kirishima’s fists shook at his sides, knuckles aching against his hardening skin. His instincts screamed—every nerve in his body begging him to yell Bakugo’s name, to call him here right now. But he bit it back, jaw tight.
He’d already told him. Already given him their location before this all started. “Just in case,” he’d said, half-joking, half-serious. Now, standing in the middle of the chaos, he realized just how heavy those words were.
Damn it… what if this was the wrong call? What if leaving the choice to him ends up costing Midoriya everything?
The guilt gnawed at his chest, sharp and merciless. But alongside it was something else—trust. Unshakable trust in Bakugo. The guy had carried Midoriya through hell before, and Kirishima believed— had to believe —he’d do it again.
So instead of shouting, instead of breaking that fragile line of trust, Kirishima grit his teeth and roared wordlessly. His hardened fist slammed into the rising stone wall, shattering it apart with raw force.
The clash split the alleyways into chaos. Kaminari unleashed a bolt that ricocheted wildly, illuminating warped shadows. Mina darted forward, her acid sizzling against stone, while Iida tried to outrun the shifting terrain.
But it wasn’t enough. They weren’t breaking through fast enough.
On the front lines, Shoto’s chest heaved. His vision blurred, the frost at his feet spreading unevenly. He had forced himself to stay calm, even when Sable’s words gnawed at his composure. But his strength was slipping. His fire sputtered, his ice cracked.
Sable’s shadowy form glided forward with a deliberate slowness, each step echoing like a hammer against Shoto’s heart. The villain tilted his head, voice smooth and poisonous, curling like smoke in the air.
“You think you’ve disrupted me,” he said softly, almost amused. “You think standing here changes anything. But you don’t understand the game you’ve walked into.”
Shoto clenched his fists, flames sparking weakly, ice clawing at the ground. He didn’t answer. His jaw locked tight, his mismatched eyes fixed on the villain before him.
Sable’s smile deepened, cruel and knowing. He took another step, the world rippling faintly around him, like reality itself bent to his will.
“Midoriya… he’s fragile. Always has been. You all cling to him like a lifeline, but that’s the beauty of it. The more he’s praised, the higher you force him to climb, the easier he’ll break when I push. I don’t even need to shatter him myself—he’s already splintering. All I have to do… is take the pieces.”
Shoto’s breath caught. His eyes widened, his composure cracking like thin ice under weight.
Sable leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper edged with malice.
“And when I’m finished with him… when the Number Four Hero is reduced to a hollow shell, what do you think happens next? How many people will look up to a broken symbol before they lose hope entirely? Midoriya will destroy himself for me. And you—” His gaze flicked toward Shoto, sharp and calculating, “—you see how Bakugo’s always by his side? Always interfering, always protecting him… making my plans fail at every turn. He’s nothing more than a nuisance, a distraction I can ignore. But Midoriya….alone, that’s when my plan truly succeeds.”
The words sank deep, and for the first time, Shoto faltered. His knees threatened to give, the frost around his boots fracturing into jagged shards. His fire sputtered out with a hiss, leaving only a thin curl of smoke.
Sable stretched his pale hand toward him, fingers curling, the air around them bending in a suffocating haze. Shoto tried to lift his arm, to summon flame or frost again, but his body screamed with exhaustion, balance breaking, vision narrowing to shadows.
And then—
BOOM.
A shockwave split the air, ripping the darkness apart in a blaze of orange. Sparks rained down, burning holes in the night as Bakugo slammed into the ground between them, palm already crackling with nitroglycerin sweat. His glare burned hotter than his explosions.
“Get your damn hands OFF him!” Bakugo roared, the ground trembling as he released another burst, driving Sable back a step.
For a moment, the pressure lifted. Shoto gasped, stumbling, his ice cracking apart beneath his boots. Bakugo shot him a quick glance, sharp and urgent. He crouched low beside him, voice dropping, rough but steady.
“You alright, Icyhot?”
“Bakugo…?!” his voice cracked, disbelief raw. For a heartbeat, relief flickered—but then Sable’s voice echoed again in his memory. Those venomous words about Midoriya. About breaking him. About tearing him away from Bakugo.
Shoto’s trembling hand shot out, gripping Bakugo’s sleeve, desperate.
“Why are you here?!” His tone rushed, panicked. “You need to get back—back to Midoriya! That’s what Sable wants! He’s using this to pull you away from him!”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding so hard it hurt. His crimson eyes flicked toward the alley where Sable’s shadow twisted unnaturally. Every instinct in him screamed to follow the plan—but the memory of Izuku, vulnerable and alone with his mother, burned in his chest.
A tight, crushing weight settled over his chest. His fists shook, knuckles white, heart hammering. Suddenly, he could feel his own guilt clawing at him like fire. I left him. I left him with her, thinking I could follow the damn plan.
A strangled growl ripped from his throat, low and raw. “Like hell….like hell I’m leaving you here,” he spat, every word trembling with rage, fear, and the sharp sting of self-recrimination. He felt as if the ground beneath him had tilted, the air around him thick and suffocating—but still, he took a step forward, and then another.
“God… how stupid can you be, Icyhot!?” he barked, fists clenching so tight his knuckles ached.
“Without telling me what the hell’s going on? Without thinking about the consequences? You think I can just watch Deku suffer alone?!” His crimson eyes blazed, burning with anger that was half at Todoroki, half at himself. “This—this is Sable’s fault! He’s the one putting Deku through hell! And you think leaving me out of it makes it better? No. I need to be there too. Every damn step!”
“But—” Todoroki’s words faltered, his breath uneven. He still clutched Bakugo’s sleeve, torn between relief and dread. “He’ll go for him! He will— ”
Bakugo’s chest rose and fell hard, the weight of those words sinking in. The image of Deku—alone, unguarded—flashed through his mind, and for the first time, hesitation cracked through his armor.
Sable shifted forward, his distorted form rippling like smoke, shadows licking the ground at his feet.
Bakugo noticed—and snapped his glare back at him, hands sparking violently. “You take one step closer, and I’ll blow your damn legs off.” His voice was all venom, the kind that promised follow-through.
Sable only tilted his head, unfazed. The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth deepened, as though Bakugo’s fury was nothing but entertainment.
“Tch.” Bakugo spat to the side, then shoved Todoroki back against the wall with one hand still gripping his sleeve. “You think I’m just gonna let you—let him—fall apart while you sit back and play your little game?”
“Clever,” he murmured, voice calm. “But you misunderstand. Your presence here… it’s perfect. Just having you meddle, fighting your instincts to save him… it’s more than enough for my next plan to succeed.”
His shadows twitched like serpents, curling and unraveling around his boots. His eyes gleamed in the fractured light as he let the words hang, slow and deliberate.
Bakugo’s shoulders stiffened.
“Because while you’re standing here—wasting explosions and threats—” Sable’s voice lowered to a razor whisper, his smile stretching wider, “Midoriya’s alone. And you know better than anyone… he doesn’t last long when left alone.”
The words slammed into Bakugo like shrapnel. His breath hitched, fury sparking hotter than the blasts in his palms.
“Shut your damn mouth!” he roared, an explosion cracking the ground at his feet, scorching the walls with raw heat.
Sable only laughed—low, calm, mocking. Shadows writhed higher around him, tasting Bakugo’s rage like blood in the water.
“You feel it, don’t you? That pull? You want to run back to him. Save him. But you can’t.” His eyes flicked at Todoroki, still pale and trembling against the wall. “So tell me, Bakugo… which one are you willing to lose first?”
Todoroki flinched, guilt stabbing through his chest—but Bakugo didn’t waver. He stood planted, snarling like a beast cornered, ready to burn the whole street down before choosing either.
Bakugo’s teeth ground so hard his jaw ached. He wanted to blast Sable’s smirk off his face, burn the alley to ash, drag him back by the throat—but the words hit too close. Izuku—alone. Izuku—unguarded. Izuku —waiting for someone who wasn’t coming.
Damn it… this was a mistake. His chest heaved, fire sparking restlessly in his palms. I should’ve stayed with him. I knew it, I knew this bastard was just buying time—
And then—Sable simply walked. His body dissolved into the darkness, moving like liquid shadow across the ground. He slipped through Aizawa’s gaze, slipped past Shinsou’s hold, as if neither quirk had ever touched him. Step by step, he strolled toward the city skyline.
Toward the apartment.
Bakugo’s blood ran cold. His fury surged, panic burning through his veins. “The hell you think you’re going?!”
Aizawa cursed under his breath, snapping his scarf forward—only for a jagged stone pillar to burst up, cutting the line. The terrain twisted violently around him, sealing him in place. “Damn it—! I can’t get closer!” His usually calm voice cracked with urgency, eyes bloodshot as he strained to keep both villains in sight. “If I blink, even for a second, we’re finished!”
Shinsou’s hands trembled around the capture weapon. The illusion warped the alley around him, space bending, angles wrong. He tried to step forward, only to stumble sideways into a wall that shouldn’t exist. “I—I can’t reach him! It’s like the ground’s pulling me off course!”
Their panic crashed into Bakugo’s gut like a sledgehammer. For the first time, it felt like everything was slipping away at once—Sable, the villains, Izuku. He was being forced to choose , and the thought alone nearly tore him apart.
Todoroki shakily stepped forward. “Stop him, Bakugo—“ His voice was steady—until the shadows around Sable pulsed.
For a heartbeat, Todoroki saw nothing but black. Not blindness— visions . A suffocating void stretching endless in every direction, whispers clawing at the edges of his mind. His body froze, locked by the weight of something vast and hollow pressing down on him. His breath caught in his throat, and the fire at his side sputtered out.
No—damn it… I let my guard down. The thought hammered inside his head, loud enough to drown the rest of the world. The plan… Aizawa-sensei trusted me to cover this side, and I… I failed. Because of me, he’ll slip away. Because of me—Midoriya’s—
Bakugo whipped around. “Tch—Shitty Half’n’Half, what the hell are you doing?! Move!”
Todoroki couldn’t. His legs felt like they’d sunk knee-deep into tar, unresponsive, useless. His pulse thundered in his ears as the darkness gnawed at him, pulling him deeper. Still—through sheer grit—he forced his mouth open, words rasping out like broken glass.
“Bakugo… don’t let him reach Midoriya… ”
Bakugo’s eyes went wide. For a split second, everything else fell away—the twisting stone, the warped space, even the villains blocking their path. All he could see was Sable’s back retreating into the skyline, shadows slithering toward the one place he knew Deku would be.
And Todoroki, the one who never wasted breath, had just staked everything on him.
“Like I’d ever let that bastard—” Bakugo’s voice cracked, rage and fear crashing together. His palms detonated with violent sparks, heat searing the air.
He rocketed forward, blasting after him. The night lit up as Bakugo’s explosions clashed with Sable’s warping aura. Each blast shook the air, detonations tearing chunks of the ground as Bakugo forced him back. Sable’s movements bent reality around him, weaving through the explosions like a phantom.
“You’re in my way, boy,” Sable said coolly, eyes glinting. He flicked his wrist and the shadows bent, a wall of darkness slamming against Bakugo.
“LIKE I GIVE A SHIT!” Bakugo snarled, blasting straight through it, sparks flying off his body like a meteor. He met Sable head-on, palms cracking with a roar of explosions.
Sable countered, the air around him warping into jagged blades of shadow that lashed out. Bakugo twisted, dodging narrowly, detonating against the blades until the night burned with fire and smoke.
But Bakugo kept pressing closer, his teeth bared, sweat flying with every detonation.
“You’re not getting anywhere NEAR Deku, you bastard!”
Sable’s grin widened, cruel and unshaken. “Then let’s see if you can keep me from him.”
Their clash ripped through the street, explosions and shadows colliding in a storm of fire and darkness.
That left Shoto leaning heavily on the wall, his body trembling as he tried to stay conscious. His breaths were shallow, uneven.
The words spilled out like poison, his mismatched eyes trembling with clarity.
“Sable wants Midoriya. He wants to break him. He wants to tear him apart… without Bakugo there to stop it. ”
The shadows around him pressed harder, his vision narrowing to pinpricks of light. Still, he forced the words out, desperate, clinging to consciousness.
“We were supposed to hold… the other two back. Shinsou… Aizawa-sensei… they can’t reach him. And me—I… I let the plan fall apart. I wasn’t fast enough. Not strong enough. I… failed you. I failed you…Midoriya.”
His chest hitched as his knees buckled, the dark weight nearly crushing him flat.
“Bakugo… if you don’t get to him… Midoriya won’t stand a chance.”
The last syllables tore out of him as a whisper, his head dipping forward. His body finally giving out under the suffocating pressure.
Izuku sat cross-legged on the floor, the cardboard box balanced against his knees. His fingers trembled slightly as he stacked the last of his notebooks, hospital paperwork, and the old hoodie his mom had brought him during his stay. It felt strange—coming back home, back to normalcy —when nothing inside him felt normal anymore.
From the kitchen, he heard his mother’s gentle voice, laced with worry.
“Izuku, sweetheart, are you sure you’re okay sitting alone? I can come keep you company.”
He forced a smile over his shoulder, his voice soft but steady.
“I’m fine, Mom. Just… finishing this up.”
But he wasn’t fine. Not really. His chest ached as he thought back to that night —the blur in the bathroom, his hand reaching for the scissors, his mind drowning in static until everything went black. He didn’t remember what happened after… only the desperate warmth of Kacchan’s arms around him, his voice cracking as he whispered, “Don’t give up, damn nerd.”
That memory was the only thing keeping him anchored now.
Still, the whispers came back—their presence lingering, faint but sharp, like needles pressing against the back of his mind. The voices hadn’t left since his classmates’ visit days ago. They hissed and muttered, threads of venom trying to unravel him from the inside.
Izuku pressed his palms against his temples, trying to steady his breathing. He told himself it was just exhaustion, just the war still clinging to his bones—but then another thought pierced through.
Wait… where’s Todoroki?
His chest tightened. He hadn’t seen him in days—not properly, not outside of missions and fleeting check-ins. Todoroki had his own war to fight, his own demons that wore his brother’s face. Touya… Dabi… Izuku swallowed, guilt prickling sharp in his throat. Todoroki had been carrying so much, and Izuku had been too busy drowning in work, in his own mess, to reach out.
What kind of friend am I? He’s out there fighting—and I don’t even know if he’s okay.
The whispers curled tighter around the thought, hissing like snakes in his ears.
You let him down. You always let them down. One by one, they’ll fall… and it’ll be your fault.
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently, but the voices only pressed harder, worming into the cracks of his guilt until every breath felt thinner, every shadow longer.
Still, the emptiness in his chest lingered, gnawing quietly as he wondered—did his friends miss him? Did the people out there miss him? Or had they already moved on, leaving him with the shadows and the whispers?
Until—
The familiar crackle of explosions rattled the air outside.
His heart leapt—relief flooding him so sudden it hurt.
“Kacchan…”
He scrambled closer to the balcony door, pressing his hands to the glass. He knew that sound anywhere—it was Bakugo, his signal, his lifeline.
But when he slid the door open, the cold evening wind rushed in… and his relief evaporated.
A tight knot twisted in his stomach, his chest constricting with each shallow breath. His heart pounded so hard it seemed to shake his entire body. Muscles locked, hands trembling, and a cold sweat prickled at his temples. Every instinct screamed danger, yet he couldn’t move fast enough. Something was coming. Something bad. And deep down, he knew he wasn’t ready.
Notes:
If you catch any typos or mistakes, consider yourself a hero for saving future readers! Please feel free to point them out so I can fix them—thank you!
I really appreciate it—it’ll help other readers enjoy the story too! (*^▽^*)
Kind_of_a_bad_idea on Chapter 1 Sun 17 Aug 2025 07:51AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 17 Aug 2025 07:51AM UTC
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Piachimm on Chapter 1 Sun 17 Aug 2025 08:40AM UTC
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Kind_of_a_bad_idea on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Aug 2025 01:03AM UTC
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Kind_of_a_bad_idea on Chapter 2 Sun 24 Aug 2025 09:15PM UTC
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Piachimm on Chapter 2 Sun 24 Aug 2025 11:16PM UTC
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Kind_of_a_bad_idea on Chapter 2 Mon 25 Aug 2025 01:26AM UTC
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h0ly_guacamol3 on Chapter 3 Thu 04 Sep 2025 04:10PM UTC
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Kind_of_a_bad_idea on Chapter 3 Tue 09 Sep 2025 04:42AM UTC
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