Chapter 84 - 12-13

"Friendship shows us who we really are."

Chapter XII: Lightsaber Training.

Izuku quietly opened the front door of his home, careful not to make a sound. The underlying sense of accomplishment and inner peace that hadn't been there before clung to him. Every step he took was deliberate, almost reverent, as if acknowledging that the teen who had left this house just days ago was not the same person who had returned. He gently set his bag on the floor, feeling the reassuring weight of the newly constructed lightsaber still tucked inside. It was more than a weapon; it was a symbol of the journey he had undertaken and the trials he had overcome.

Before he could take another step, a familiar voice called out from the kitchen, tinged with worry and love. "Izuku? Is that you?"

Inko appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with concern and relief. The moment she saw him standing there, whole and unharmed, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I was so worried about you! You didn't call, and I didn't know where you were or if you were safe. All I knew was that you were going to find your crystal, but…" Her voice trembled as she pulled back slightly, holding him at arm's length to inspect him. She searched his face, as if looking for signs of harm or distress. "Are you okay? You look... different."

Izuku smiled gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine, Mom. Really, I am. I just… I went through something that changed me. But it's a good change."

His mother's eyes softened as she studied him. There was a new calmness in his demeanor, a quiet confidence that had not been there before. It was as if the uncertainty that once clouded his heart had been replaced with clarity and purpose. Her gaze then shifted to the bag at his side, curiosity piqued. "What's in there?"

Izuku hesitated for a moment, knowing that what he was about to reveal would mean more to her than any words could convey. Slowly, he reached into the bag and pulled out the lightsaber. The soft blue glow filled the room as he ignited it, the hum of the blade resonating with a sense of quiet power. The light reflected in Inko's eyes, a mixture of awe and understanding washing over her.

"Oh my goodness, Izuku…" she breathed, her hands flying to her mouth, but not out of fear—out of overwhelming emotion. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at the blade, the culmination of her son's journey, and then back at him. "You did it. You really did it."

The padawan nodded, his heart swelling with pride and gratitude. "I built it, Mom. It's called a lightsaber. It's a symbol of what I've become, of the path I'm on now." He paused, searching for the right words to explain the depth of what he had experienced. "This… it's more than just a weapon. It represents everything I've learned, everything I've had to face. And it's also a reminder that I'm never truly alone, that the light will always guide me."

Inko's tears spilled over as she took in the sight of her son, standing tall and resolute, the lightsaber casting a serene glow over his face. She reached out to touch his cheek, her hand trembling slightly. "I'm so proud of you, Izuku. You've grown so much… you've become so strong."

The green haired teen's own eyes grew misty at her words. He deactivated the lightsaber, the blade disappearing with a soft hiss, and set it gently on the table. "Mom… there's something I need to tell you."

Inko's expression grew serious, sensing the gravity of what he was about to say. She guided him to the couch, where they sat down together. Izuku took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

"When I was out there, facing all those trials… I thought a lot about what drives me, about what gives me strength. And a lot of that comes from you, Mom. You've always believed in me, even when things were tough, even when others didn't."

His mother's eyes widened slightly, and she swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in her heart. "Izuku… I have something to tell you too. Something I should have told you a long time ago."

Izuku looked at her, his heart pounding in his chest. "What is it, Mom?"

Inko took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she clasped them in her lap. "When you were younger… when we found out that you were Quirkless… I—I was devastated. Not because I didn't believe in you, but because I felt like I had failed you. I cried so much that night, Izuku. I cried and I begged for forgiveness, not from you, but from myself. I blamed myself for everything, for all the dreams that I thought would never come true for you."

Izuku's breath caught in his throat. He had never known the depth of his mother's pain, the guilt she had carried all these years. "Mom… you don't have to apologize for that. You've done nothing but support me, even when things were hard."

Inko shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "But I didn't just cry because I felt guilty, Izuku. I cried because I was scared. I was scared that the world wouldn't see you the way I did. I was scared that you wouldn't get the chance to show everyone just how amazing you are. But I never, ever stopped believing in you. I want you to know that."

The padawan's heart swelled with emotion as he listened to his mother's words. He reached out and took her hands in his, squeezing them gently. "I know you did, Mom. I've always known that. And that's what's kept me going, what's given me the strength to keep pushing forward. You believed in me when no one else did, and that means everything to me."

Inko let out a shaky breath, a mixture of relief and lingering guilt evident in her eyes. "You've always been my hero, Izuku. Even when you were just a little boy, you were my hero. And now… now you've become something even greater."

He smiled softly, his heart full of love for the woman who had always stood by his side. "I couldn't have done any of this without you, Mom. You're my hero too."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared memories and experiences hanging in the air between them. The bond between them had always been strong, but in this moment, it felt unbreakable.

Inko glanced at the lightsaber on the table, its presence a reminder of the journey her son had undertaken. "You've become so much more than I ever imagined, Izuku. And I know… I know that you're going to keep doing amazing things. You've chosen a path that's not easy, but I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

Izuku's smile widened, and he leaned over to hug his mother tightly. They held each other for a long time, the warmth of their embrace a comforting reminder of the love and support that had always been there, even in the darkest of times. When they finally pulled away, Izuku could see the pride shining in his mother's eyes, and he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, he wouldn't face them alone.

As the evening wore on, they talked more about his journey, about the trials he had faced and the lessons he had learned. Inko listened intently, her heart swelling with pride at the young man her son had become. And as the night drew to a close, she knew with certainty that no matter what the future held, her belief in Izuku would never waver.

Izuku glanced at the lightsaber one last time before heading to bed the soft blue light a symbol of the balance and peace he had found within himself.

-THE FORCE AWAKENS–

The morning sun filtered gently through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over Izuku's room. The emotional exhaustion from the previous night had given way to a quiet, invigorating anticipation. Today was a significant milestone: his mentors—those who had guided him through the trials of the Force—would witness the culmination of his journey. He had crafted his own lightsaber, a tangible symbol of his growth and achievement.

Izuku moved with a sense of purpose, preparing for the day. The room seemed to hum with the energy of the Force as the spectral figures of his mentors began to materialize one by one. The first to appear was Anakin Skywalker. His face held a mixture of curiosity and pride, his presence exuding a confidence that matched his reputation. Obi-Wan Kenobi followed, his demeanor calm yet attentive, embodying the wisdom and serenity that had guided Izuku through his trials. Next, Yoda appeared, his eyes twinkling with ancient wisdom and a knowing smile. Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa completed the assembly, their expressions a blend of seriousness and encouragement, reflecting the gravity of the moment.

The green haired padawan stood before them, holding the lit lightsaber in both hands. The hilt was adorned with intricate designs that reflected his personal journey, a testament to the trials he had faced and the lessons he had learned. As he approached his mentors, he felt a mixture of nervous excitement and profound reverence.

Anakin's eyes widened as he beheld the lightsaber in Izuku's hands. The sight of it brought a rare, genuine admiration to his voice. "You've done it, Sparky," he said, a hint of fatherly pride seeping into his tone. "This isn't just impressive—it's a testament to your journey. The craftsmanship isn't merely skillful; it's deeply personal. It's a powerful symbol of your commitment and the path you've walked."

Izuku's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Master Anakin. This journey has been challenging, but every step has taught me so much. Your guidance has been like a beacon, helping me find my way."

Obi-Wan stepped closer, his gaze thoughtful as he studied the lightsaber. The weapon, imbued with Izuku's essence, seemed to tell a story of trials and triumphs. "This weapon, Izuku, carries the essence of your struggles and victories. It's not merely a tool; it embodies your growth and the balance you've achieved. Your craftsmanship speaks to the depth of your experiences."

The padawan nodded, recalling the intense moments of his training. The nights of doubt and the internal battles he had faced with Obi-Wan's wisdom guiding him. "I remember those trials—the moments when I struggled, the darkness I had to confront. Your teachings were my anchor. Without your support, masters. I might have faltered."

Yoda, observing with his characteristic calm, added his voice, rich with ancient wisdom. "Strong with the Force, you have become. This lightsaber reflects your struggle and triumph. A symbol of your inner strength, it is. Yet, remember, the Force guides you always."

Luke's contemplative gaze lingered on the lightsaber, his expression a blend of pride and introspection. "You've faced many trials, Izuku, and each one has shaped you into who you are today. This lightsaber is more than a mark of your achievements; it's a testament to the balance you've found within yourself. It reflects your journey and the harmony you've achieved."

Leia's presence exuded calm reassurance. Her voice was steady and warm. "You've grown not just in your skills but in your understanding of what it means to be a Jedi. This lightsaber symbolizes that growth and the wisdom you've gained along the way."

Izuku felt a profound sense of pride as he absorbed their affirmations. "The support and guidance you have all provided have been crucial. Each of you has helped me navigate the path I walked, and I've found strength in your teachings."

Anakin's expression softened, his pride evident. "The path of the Jedi is never easy, Sparky," he said, his tone reminiscent of a father offering advice. "But you've embraced the challenges and emerged stronger. This lightsaber is a reflection of that journey. And I must admit, I have a certain fondness for the blue hue. It's a color I'm quite partial to."

Yoda's voice carried a gentle firmness. "The path ahead, uncertain it may be. But strong with the Force, you are. Trust in yourself and listen always to the guidance of the Force. Face the future with both courage and wisdom."

The padawan's heart was full as he listened to their words. He felt a deep connection to the Force and to the guidance of his mentors. Their encouragement infused him with renewed purpose.

Anakin smiled warmly, his pride evident. "You've made us all proud. As you continue on your path, remember that rest is also part of the journey. You've pushed yourself hard, and it's important to take time to recover and reflect."

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. "Indeed. After such intense trials, a period of rest will help you regain your strength and perspective. Use this time wisely to reflect on your experiences and prepare for the challenges ahead."

Yoda's voice was gentle but firm. "Rest you must, young Jedi. The path ahead is long and uncertain. Strengthened, you will be, by taking time to heal and reflect."

Luke's expression conveyed understanding. "The journey of a Jedi is ongoing, and even the most steadfast warriors need time to recover, little brother. Use this time to rest and center yourself. It will serve you well as you continue to face the trials that lie ahead."

Leia's gaze was steady and reassuring. "We have faith in your ability to balance action with reflection. This period of rest will allow you to come back even stronger. Remember, we are here to support you every step of the way."

Izuku felt a renewed sense of purpose and clarity. With a final nod of gratitude to his mentors, the padawan turned his attention to the path that lay ahead. The coming days of rest and reflection, as advised by his mentors, would prepare him for the new challenges awaiting him.

-THE FORCE AWAKENS–

The afternoon sun bathed Izuku's living room in a warm, golden glow as it streamed through the windows. The light created a serene and inviting atmosphere, a stark contrast to the intensity of the day's events. After the significant moments earlier that day, Izuku was ready to share his achievement with his friends, Mei and Hitoshi, who had been eagerly awaiting this moment.

The pink haired inventor was already in the living room, her boundless curiosity on full display. She was surrounded by an assortment of gadgets and tools she had brought with her, her excitement palpable as she explored every corner of the room. Hitoshi, on the other hand, was lounging in an armchair with an air of relaxed intrigue. Although he was accustomed to Mei's exuberance, his genuine interest in what Izuku had to show was evident.

As the door opened, Izuku stepped into the room with a mix of pride and anticipation. Cradled in his hands was the lightsaber, a stunning embodiment of his journey and personal growth. As he approached his friends, his excitement was barely contained.

"Hey, Mei, Shinso," Izuku greeted, trying to sound casual despite the eagerness in his voice. "I've got something really special to show you."

The inventor's eyes widened as she caught sight of the object in Izuku's hands. Her gaze was fixed with a mixture of fascination and surprise. "Wow, what is that? It looks... incredible!" She sprang from the couch, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Is it some kind of new tech or weapon? It's so intricate!"

The padawan's cheeks flushed slightly at Mei's enthusiastic reaction. Hitoshi leaned forward, his interest evident. "Yeah, it's definitely something new to me. What's does it do?"

Izuku took a deep breath, his pride mixing with a hint of nervousness. "It's a lightsaber. It's not just a weapon; it represents a lot of what I've learned and experienced. It's a symbol of my journey and growth."

Mei's eyes sparkled with excitement as she examined the weapon more closely. "A lightsaber? That's straight out of a sci-fi movie! The craftsmanship is incredible—look at the design! It's clear you put a lot of work into this."

Izuku's expression softened with warm gratitude. Hitoshi studied the lightsaber thoughtfully, his expression shifting from curiosity to genuine admiration. "So, it's a special weapon you crafted. It's clear there's a lot of skill and emotion behind it."

The padawan nodded, his eyes reflecting a sense of accomplishment. "Yes, it took a lot of effort. It's not just about the technical aspects; it's about what it means to me. This lightsaber is like my heart."

Mei's curiosity turned into determination. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she reached out her fingers brushing the lightsaber's hilt. "Your heart, huh? That's deep and sappy. I can see why you're proud of it. I'm really impressed. But now I'm itching to take it apart and see how it works. Maybe there's a way to make it more... versatile?"

Izuku's eyes widened in horror. "Whoa, Mei! Let's not rush into dismantling it. I'd prefer to keep it intact, at least for now. It's more than just a tool—it's a reminder of everything I've been through. I'd rather not have it disassembled before I even get to use it."

Hitoshi, sensing the tension, intervened with a calm but firm tone. Lightly hitting the inventor on the head. "Oi cut it out. We should respect Midoriya's wishes here. It's clear that this weapon has significant meaning for him. Let's not give him a heart attack, okay?"

The pink haired teen pouted. Her enthusiasm slightly deflated but she was still curious. "Alright, alright. I'll respect that. But you've got to let me study it eventually, okay? I'm just fascinated by the design!"

The brainwasher groaned exasperatedly, his frustration with Mei's antics evident. Izuku smiled warmly at his friends.

As the afternoon wore on, the three friends reveled in Izuku's achievements and eagerly anticipated the future, their friendship strengthened by their shared experiences and mutual support.

A sense of camaraderie settled over the room. The padawan took a deep breath, his expression thoughtful. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about the future. I can't believe we're graduating soon. Next year, I'll be attending Orudera High School. It's the last step before U.A. High, where All Might went. It's my dream to become a hero like him."

Mei and Hitoshi exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles widening. "We're going there too," they said in unison, their voices brimming with excitement and shared ambition.

Izuku's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? That's amazing! I thought you two were heading in different directions."

The brainwasher grinned, a rare spark of enthusiasm breaking through his typically calm demeanor. "The world needs more smart heroes and fewer muscle-headed idiots," he declared, his grin widening. "And I'm more than ready to step up."

The inventor's face lit up with her characteristic enthusiasm. "And of course I'll be going to U.A. too. The support course there is the best—fully equipped and state-of-the-art. It's perfect for someone like me." Her voice brimmed with pride and determination.

Izuku felt a surge of happiness at their words. The thought of facing the challenges of the future alongside his friends was incredibly reassuring. "Then it's settled," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We'll get into U.A. together and become the best heroes we can be."

As the conversation continued, the Force ghosts observed their interactions from the sidelines, their presence unseen and unfelt by the trio. Their approval was palpable, a silent affirmation of the path these young heroes were forging together.

Izuku looked at both of his friends, his heart full. "Here's to our future, and to all the adventures we'll have."

Mei and Hitoshi raised imaginary glasses, their excitement unmistakable. The future seemed bright and full of promise, and the bonds of friendship that had been forged would carry them through the challenges ahead.

-THE FORCE AWAKENS–

Two days later the morning sun cast its warm light over Takoba Municipal Beach. Gentle waves caressed the shore, their soothing rhythm melding with the tranquil sounds of the sea. Izuku stood alongside his mentors—Anakin, Obi-Wan, Yoda, Luke, and Leia—preparing for a training session that promised to be unlike any they had experienced before.

The calm of the beach contrasted sharply with the eager anticipation in the air. Today's training would delve into the ancient art of lightsaber combat through a series of Force-enabled visions. The goal was to explore the seven forms of lightsaber combat, each demonstrated by a distinguished individual from history.

With a solemn nod, Yoda raised his hand. The Force responded, causing the serene beach to shimmer and fade into a series of vivid, dynamic scenes from Jedi history.

The first vision materialized, thrusting them onto a chaotic battlefield. Jedi Master Cin Drallig, a figure known for his robust yet straightforward style, stood amidst a sea of battle droids. His lightsaber moved with precise, rhythmic strikes, cutting through the mechanical foes with clear, methodical movements.

The Jedi Master was clad in traditional Jedi robes, his expression focused and intense as he demonstrated Shii-Cho, the first and most fundamental lightsaber form. His strikes were straightforward yet effective, emphasizing the basic stances and movements that formed the bedrock of all lightsaber combat.

Anakin's voice cut through the scene. "Form I: Shii-Cho is the foundation of all lightsaber combat. It's about mastering basic stances and movements. The form is simple, but its principles are crucial for any Jedi."

Izuku watched intently, his eyes wide with admiration. The clarity of Master Cin Drallig's strikes underscored the form's fundamental nature. He absorbed every detail, recognizing how even the most basic techniques could be powerful when executed with precision.

The vision shifted to a dimly lit chamber, where Count Dooku, with his aristocratic demeanor and elegant bearing, engaged in a refined duel. Dooku's lightsaber moved with a fluid grace, embodying Makashi, a form designed for one-on-one combat. His movements were characterized by a precise, almost dance-like quality.

Dooku, with his distinctive silver hair, in his dark robes and with a calm, calculating expression, demonstrated the form's emphasis on finesse and technique. His strikes and parries were executed with an air of effortless sophistication.

Obi-Wan's voice resonated as they observed. "Form II: Makashi is a dueling form, focusing on precision and technique. It's ideal for lightsaber combat against a single opponent. The elegance of Makashi contrasts with the more raw and foundational aspects of Shii-Cho."

Izuku observed the sophistication of Dooku's technique with rapt attention. the way he utilized his refined movements to outmaneuver his opponent. However, Master Obi-Wan's next words carried an important caution. "Remember, Izuku, Count Dooku was a Sith Lord. His skill in Makashi was formidable, but his use of it was twisted by his dark allegiance."

The green haired padawan's eyes widened with realization, his respect for the form tempered by the knowledge of its dark practitioner. Despite this, he marveled at the sophistication of Dooku's technique. The form's emphasis on footwork and balance was apparent, demonstrating how a Jedi could use Makashi to gain an advantage in personal combat through skillful maneuvering. Izuku thought deeply about how the form itself wasn't inherently evil; it was the user's intent that mattered.

The scene transitioned to a rugged, rocky outcrop where Kanan Jarrus stood resolutely. His lightsaber served as a shield against a relentless barrage of blaster fire. Kanan, with his rugged appearance and determined expression, embodied Soresu, the third form, known for its defensive nature.

Kanan's movements were deliberate and calculated, focusing on enduring and redirecting attacks rather than aggressive counterattacks. His stance was steadfast, creating a nearly impenetrable defense.

Yoda's voice guided them through the vision. "Form III: Soresu, the way of the surface, emphasizes defense and endurance. About outlasting opponents and protecting oneself from harm, it is."

Izuku saw how Kanan's calm and measured movements created a robust defense. The form's emphasis on patience and strategic endurance resonated with him, highlighting the importance of defensive skills in prolonged engagements.

The scene shifted to a vibrant arena, the ground uneven and scattered with obstacles, where Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn engaged in dynamic, acrobatic combat. Qui-Gon, known for his distinctive appearance, had a strong, rugged build, with a beard that added to his wise and experienced demeanor. His dark hair was tied back, and he wore traditional Jedi robes that fluttered with his every movement.

Qui-Gon's use of Ataru was a spectacle of speed and aggression. The form, known for its acrobatic nature, was on full display as Qui-Gon leaped high into the air, performing flips and rapid spins with his green lightsaber. His strikes were fast and overwhelming, designed to exploit his opponents' weaknesses through sheer force and agility.

Luke's voice provided insight. "Form IV: Ataru is the most aggressive form, designed to exploit an opponent's weaknesses through speed and power. It requires both physical and mental agility."

Izuku watched in awe, his eyes wide with recognition. He had heard stories of Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi who had rescued Master Anakin from Tatooine. Seeing him in action was a revelation that brought him a sense of reverence. The way Qui-Gon used Ataru's speed to control the battlefield was mesmerizing, emphasizing how speed and power could be combined to dominate an opponent.

The scene transitioned to a desolate, rocky landscape where Jedi Master Plo Koon engaged in fierce combat. He was a tall and formidable figure and had an appearance that set him apart from other Jedi. His face was orange framed by the distinctive ridges on his head. He wore a traditional Jedi robe with a hood, adding to his imposing presence.

What made him particularly recognizable was his respirator mask, which covered his nose and mouth. The mask was essential for his species, the Kel Dorian, as it helped him breathe in various environments. The mask was sleek, with a slightly metallic sheen, and had a pair of small, circular vents on either side.

Plo Koon's combat style exemplified Shien/Djem So, characterized by a blend of offense and defense. His powerful strikes were not only decisive but also seamlessly integrated with his defensive maneuvers. As he fought, his lightsaber whirred with precision, deflecting and redirecting attacks with skillful counterattacks that turned his opponent's aggression into opportunities for his own strikes.

Leia's voice provided insight. "Form V: Shien/Djem So is about balancing offense and defense. It's designed to redirect an opponent's attacks and use them against them, making it a highly adaptable form."

Izuku was captivated by Plo Koon's commanding presence and adept use of Shien/Djem So. The Jedi Master's ability to harmonize defensive moves with powerful counterattacks showcased the form's versatility. The teen was particularly struck by how Plo Koon's respirator mask, a crucial element of his alien physiology, did nothing to detract from his effectiveness in combat. Instead, it was a reminder of how a Jedi's unique attributes could be integrated into their combat style, demonstrating the adaptability and resilience required in battle.

The vision changed to a serene forest glade where Jedi Master Ki-Adi Mundi practiced Niman, also known as the Way of the Rancor. The Cerean was a tall, alien Jedi with a distinctive white, cone-shaped head, and large, expressive eyes that gave him an air of calm wisdom. He wore the traditional brown and beige Jedi robes, which flowed elegantly as he moved.

Ki-Adi Mundi's combat style was a graceful dance of balanced movements. Niman combined elements from all previous forms into a versatile and adaptable style. As he wielded his blue lightsaber, his motions were smooth and fluid, blending offensive and defensive techniques seamlessly. The way he integrated strikes and parries showed a balanced approach that allowed him to adapt to various combat situations.

Anakin's voice conveyed the essence of Niman. " Form VI: Niman integrates aspects of all the other forms. It's about balance and versatility, blending techniques to suit different situations."

Izuku observed with fascination. The fluid transitions between techniques in Ki-Adi Mundi's movements highlighted how Niman's balanced approach could be applied to a range of combat scenarios. The form's adaptability resonated with him, illustrating how blending different techniques could create a well-rounded and effective combat style.

The final vision plunged them into a dark and intense duel, where Jedi Master Mace Windu demonstrated Juyo/Vaapad. Mace Windu was a striking figure, tall and muscular, with dark skin and a deeply focused gaze. His robes were deep purple, complementing the vibrant purple of his lightsaber.

Juyo/Vaapad was the most aggressive and dangerous form, embracing the ferocity of the dark side while maintaining control. Mace Windu's combat was unrelenting, showcasing a form that required mastery over one's emotions. His strikes were fierce and powerful, each movement charged with raw intensity and precision.

Yoda's voice carried a weight of caution. " Form VII: Juyo, or Vaapad, is the most aggressive and dangerous form. It requires mastery over one's emotions and a deep understanding of oneself."

Izuku felt a shiver as he watched Mace Windu's combat. The form's potential for darkness and aggression was palpable, highlighting the need for careful control and balance. Windu's use of Juyo/Vaapad showcased how a Jedi could channel their inner ferocity into a powerful combat style while maintaining the discipline needed to control it.

The visions slowly faded, and the tranquil beach of Takoba reappeared. Izuku stood on the sandy shore with a renewed sense of understanding and determination. The insights he had gained from observing the seven forms of lightsaber combat were profound. He felt a deep connection to the teachings of the Jedi, and his resolve to integrate these lessons into his own training was stronger than ever.

"I've learned so much today," he said, gazing at his lightsaber with a mix of awe and resolve. "I feel like I have a clearer understanding of each form and how they can be applied."

Anakin Skywalker stepped forward, his expression serious yet encouraging. "Seeing the forms in action is just the beginning. The real challenge is applying them to your own combat style. Each form has its strengths and weaknesses, and your task is to integrate them into your training."

Izuku nodded, absorbing Anakin's words. "I'm ready to start training, masters, and make the most of what I've learned."

The group moved to a cleared area of the beach, where debris and scrap metal had created a makeshift training ground. The padawan picked up his lightsaber, igniting the blade with a hum. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the scene. Izuku's excitement was palpable as he prepared to practice the basic form.

Obi-Wan Kenobi approached, his demeanor calm and focused. "Let's begin with Shii-Cho. It's the foundation of lightsaber combat, emphasizing control and precision. Your stance and movements are crucial."

Izuku took his stance, his lightsaber held in a basic guard position. His initial attempts were marked by hesitation and clumsiness as he tried to master the basic strikes and parries. The debris scattered around the training area served as targets for him to practice against.

Yoda observed from a short distance, nodding with approval as the teen made his first attempts. "Patience and persistence, crucial they are. Mastery takes time, and errors, part of the learning process they are."

Izuku focused on his movements, adjusting his stance as Obi-Wan demonstrated the correct form. The Jedi Master's fluid motions and precise strikes were a model for Izuku to emulate. He began to find a rhythm, his movements becoming more coordinated as he practiced. Each strike and block improved with repetition, his confidence growing with each successful maneuver.

Obi-Wan provided constant feedback, his voice steady and encouraging. "Good. Remember to keep your movements controlled. Shii-Cho is about balance. Don't rush; let each strike flow naturally."

As Izuku practiced, he began to use the debris around him as targets, imagining them as opponents. His strikes were more deliberate now, his control over the lightsaber improving. The makeshift targets, made from scrap metal and broken wood, provided a satisfying challenge as he honed his skills.

Yoda's words echoed in his mind, guiding him through the process. "Focus, you must. The Force guides your movements. Trust in it."

Hours passed as Izuku continued to train, the sun dipping lower on the horizon, casting long shadows over the beach. The guidance and encouragement from his mentors helped him stay focused and motivated.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Izuku took a moment to reflect on his progress. He felt more prepared than ever to continue his journey and apply the wisdom he had gained.

-THE FORCE AWAKENS–

The first days of vacation after Izuku's graduation from junior high brought him to a welcomed change to the warehouse. It was March and the area was filled with mechanical remnants and projects, with Izuku's mother, Inko, watching from a nearby chair, her gaze a mix of pride and concern. Mei and Hitoshi were seated at a workbench, the various tools and components forgotten as both watched their friend.

Izuku, his lightsaber in training mode, moved purposefully in the center of the warehouse. The droid he and Mei had constructed stood opposite him, its metal frame whirring and clanking as it mimicked combat moves. The hum of the saber cut through the air, its light flashing against the warehouse walls and casting dynamic shadows on the debris-strewn floor.

As Izuku executed precise strikes and fluid parries, his focus was intense. He had clearly mastered the basic stances of Form I—Shii-Cho—but a hint of frustration was evident on his face. The droid was no longer a challenge; it was the lack of real-world experience that was hindering his progress.

Unseen by Mei and Hitoshi, the Force ghosts—Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Luke Skywalker, and Leia Organa—watched from their ethereal realm. Their presence, though invisible, was deeply felt by Izuku through their telepathic connection.

As Izuku took a break, panting slightly, he deactivated his lightsaber and turned toward the spectral figures.

"Young Midoriya," Obi-Wan's voice resonated in Izuku's mind, tinged with approval, "you've achieved commendable proficiency in Shii-Cho. Your command of the basics is impressive."

Anakin, appearing with a rare paternal pride, nodded. "You've grasped the fundamentals well. However, it seems you've hit a plateau. To advance, you'll need new challenges."

The padawan, catching his breath, closed his eyes. "What should I do next? It feels like I've reached a limit with my current training."

The Force ghosts exchanged thoughtful glances. Yoda, with his characteristic wisdom, spoke first. "Observe duels through the Force, you should. Learn from the masters of old."

Luke, ever optimistic, added, "Watching great duelists from the past could provide valuable insights into their techniques and strategies."

Leia, pragmatic as ever, countered, "But would mere observation be enough? Even if he spent years watching the best duelists, it might not translate into practical skills. There's a big difference between observation and actual practice."

Anakin's eyes softened with a mix of pride and contemplation. "Leia has a point. Observation offers context but doesn't replace the need for hands-on experience." He nudged Leia with a grin. "I'm proud of you for suggesting that."

Leia smiled warmly at her father's praise. Obi-Wan nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Observing through the Force might offer strategic perspectives, but practical training is indispensable."

Yoda's ears twitched thoughtfully. "Train with others, he must. Give him a new perspective, this will."

Izuku's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Others? I hadn't thought of that. It makes sense." He paused, considering the idea. "It could provide a new perspective on my techniques, and I might learn Kenjutsu, gaining practical experience while improving my physical conditioning."

While Izuku pondered, the ghosts continued discussing the merits of different approaches. Obi-Wan spoke about how traditional training had influenced his combat style, while Luke emphasized adapting various techniques to one's unique strengths. Anakin highlighted the importance of rigorous physical conditioning and mental discipline. Leia, enthusiastic, added, "The discipline and focus required in traditional martial arts will help you hone your control and precision with the lightsaber."

As Izuku stood in the middle of the warehouse, lost in thought, Mei, Hitoshi, and his mother Inko noticed he hadn't moved for several minutes. Mei looked up from her work, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"Hey, Iruku, are you alright?" Mei called out, her voice laced with worry.

Hitoshi wiped his hands on a rag and approached, his eyes sharp and observant. "You've been standing there for a while. What's going on?"

Inko, sitting nearby and knitting, glanced up with a concerned expression. "Izuku, dear, you seem distracted. Is everything okay?"

The padawan turned to face them, a thoughtful look on his face. "Actually, I've been thinking... I might have hit a wall with my training. I feel like I've reached a limit that I can't overcome on my own. Maybe I need to train with others to push past it."

The pink haired inventor's eyes widened in understanding. "You're talking about real-world experience, aren't you?"

The brainwasher nodded thoughtfully. "It makes sense. Sparring with others will expose you to different fighting styles and techniques. You'll learn things that you can't from just practicing on your own."

Inko put down her knitting and stood up, her expression supportive. "Izuku, you've always been determined and resourceful. If you think working with others will help, then you should definitely look into it. Maybe there are local martial arts clubs or training groups you could join."

Mei's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "I can help you find some options! There are probably some great places around where you can practice with others and get some real combat experience."

Hitoshi, ever the practical one, added, "And if you're looking for variety, try reaching out to different training centers. They might have instructors who can offer a range of techniques and styles."

The padawan's face brightened at their suggestions. Inko reached out and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you for recognizing when you need to seek new challenges. You've always been so dedicated."

Mei gave him a thumbs up and Hitoshi offered a rare smile. His eyes sparkled with gratitude and determination. The Force ghosts faded slightly as the warehouse buzzed with collaborative enthusiasm and support.

-THE FORCE AWAKENS–

After days of searching, Izuku Midoriya finally found a dojo that seemed to meet all his needs. It was located in Mygeto, a city an hour away from Musutafu. Excitedly, he read the details of the dojo from the announcement he had found on his phone. The sign-up deadline was the next day, April 20th. His eyes widened in surprise and a touch of panic—he had barely a day to act on this opportunity.

Feeling a sense of urgency, Izuku quickly sent a message to Hitoshi Shinso. "Hey, Shinso, I found a dojo that looks perfect for my training. It's in Mygeto, and the sign-up deadline is tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?"

Moments later, Hitoshi's response came through. "I'm not sure if I can make it tomorrow. We still have three years before we need to be at our peak. Maybe we can check it out later. Good luck, though!"

Izuku smiled at his friend's reply, understanding the perspective but feeling the need to seize the opportunity. He quickly informed his mother of his plans. "Mom, I found a dojo in Mygeto that I want to check out. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

His mother, though slightly surprised, gave him her blessing. "Be careful, and make sure to keep me updated."

He hastily prepared for his journey, packing essentials and making sure his lightsaber was secure in home. With a final glance at his modest apartment in Musutafu, Izuku stepped out and headed to the train station. The trip to Mygeto was about an hour, and he used the time to mentally review his goals and visualize the training ahead.

Upon arriving in Mygeto, Izuku made his way to the dojo, navigating the bustling city streets with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The dojo was located in a quieter part of the city, and as he approached, he was struck by the building's traditional Japanese architecture. The wooden exterior, with its intricate carvings and elegant design, stood in contrast to the modern buildings surrounding it. It was a testament to the rich history and respect for martial arts that the dojo embodied.

He approached the sliding doors, which were adorned with a simple yet elegant sign reading "Ojiro Dojo." Taking a deep breath, Izuku pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The interior was a serene and inviting space. The smell of fresh wood and a hint of incense created a calming atmosphere, setting the tone for his visit.

As he walked in, he was greeted by a young man with a warm and friendly demeanor. Mashirao Ojiro, the son of the dojo's owner, stood before him. Mashirao was a tall and well-built individual, his physique honed from years of dedicated training. He had a calm, composed aura, with short dark blond hair that was neatly styled. His eyes were sharp and focused, reflecting both his discipline and approachable nature. He wore a traditional dojo uniform specially tailored to fit his tail, which added to his authoritative yet approachable appearance.

Izuku returned the bow and introduced himself. "Hello, Ojiro. I'm Izuku Midoriya. I'm here to learn more about your dojo and to see if it's the right place for my training. I'm particularly interested in martial arts and Kenjutsu."

Mashirao's eyes lit up with interest. "You've come to the right place. Our dojo specializes in a variety of martial arts, including the one you seek. Let me give you a tour of the facilities."

As they walked through the dojo, Mashirao explained the various training areas. The main hall was spacious, with polished wooden floors and walls adorned with traditional calligraphy and photographs of past masters. The dojo had a sense of history and reverence, each corner reflecting the dedication and discipline that martial arts required.

The tailed teen led Izuku to the meditation room, a tranquil space with tatami mats and low wooden benches. "This room is used for meditation and mental preparation. It's important to clear your mind and focus before you begin your physical training."

The padawan nodded, taking in the peaceful ambiance of the room. "It's a beautiful space. I can see how it would be helpful for focusing my thoughts and preparing mentally."

Next, Mashirao showed him the practice areas, including a section dedicated to traditional Japanese swords and practice dummies, which were neatly arranged. Ts designed the area designed to facilitate both solo and partner training.

"This is where we practice Kenjutsu," He explained. "We have various training tools and techniques to help you master the art of the sword."

Izuku's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "This is exactly what I've been looking for. I've been training by myself, but I think learning traditional swordplay will complement my skills and provide me with a new perspective."

Mashirao smiled, clearly pleased with the green haired teen's enthusiasm. "I'm glad to hear that. We take pride in our training methods and the progress of our students. We'll be happy to help you achieve your goals."

As the tour concluded, the tailed teen proposed a friendly match to give Izuku a sense of the dojo's training environment. "How about a practice duel? A traditional hand-to-hand combat match. No quirks or special abilities—just a friendly spar to gauge each other's skills."

The padawan agreed eagerly understanding the importance of testing his abilities. "That sounds like a great idea. I'm ready."

They moved to the practice area, where a set of tatami mats provided a safe surface for their duel. Both fighters assumed their stances, focusing on each other with determined expressions. The match began with a series of controlled strikes and blocks, each move calculated and precise.

Izuku's physical training had given him a solid foundation, and he applied his techniques with skill and agility. Mashirao, in turn, demonstrated a fluid and disciplined style, his movements reflecting years of dedicated practice. The duel was intense and engaging, showcasing their mutual respect and skill.

Despite his best efforts, Mashirao's superior experience and technique began to show. His strikes were more precise, his movements more fluid, and his timing impeccable. Izuku found himself struggling to keep up, each move being met with a counter from Mashirao that left him off balance.

The intensity of the fight left Izuku breathless, his body feeling the strain of the relentless pace. Mashirao, while equally exerted, maintained a calm and composed demeanor. His experience allowed him to predict the padawan's movements and counter them effectively. With a well-timed combination of strikes and blocks, the Dojo heir managed to gain the upper hand.

The match ended with Mashirao executing a final, decisive move that left Izuku unable to continue. Both combatants stepped back, breathing heavily but with mutual respect. Izuku, though clearly tired, looked at Mashirao with admiration.

The teen extended a hand with a friendly grin. "That was a great match, Midoriya. You've got some impressive moves, but you've still got a lot to learn. Your dedication is evident, though."

Izuku accepted the handshake with a smile, his face flushed but filled with satisfaction. "Thanks, Ojiro. I really enjoyed the challenge. It was a great test of my skills."

Mashirao's demeanor softened, and he looked at the padawan with genuine warmth. "You know, I think you're a great person to train with. We should definitely be friends. How about it?"

Izuku's face brightened with a sense of relief and excitement. "I'd like that. I'm looking forward to training here and getting to know you better."

As Izuku left the dojo, the sun had begun to set, casting its warm glow over the city. The day's events had filled Izuku with a sense of accomplishment and hope. Finding a dojo that offered both traditional and modern techniques, and making a new friend in the process, was a promising start to this new chapter of his journey.

The challenges and opportunities that lay ahead were exciting, and he was eager to embrace them. His heart swelled with anticipation and excitement. Despite losing the friendly match, he felt invigorated by the prospect of learning and growing in the dojo. The experience had been humbling but motivating, reinforcing his determination.

With a determined stride, Izuku made his way back to the train station. The path ahead was filled with possibilities, and he was eager to make the most of every opportunity that came his way. As he boarded the train and watched the city of Mygeto fade into the distance, Izuku's thoughts were already focused on the upcoming training sessions and the new skills he would acquire.

"A failure in planning is a plan for failure."

Chapter XIII: Thwarted Plans.

The summer sun blazed down on Musutafu as Izuku bounded down the stairs of his apartment building, his heart racing with excitement. The midday heat was oppressive, yet the sixteen-year-old barely noticed. It was the middle of July, and the first semester at Orudera High School had just ended. For Izuku, this meant one thing: the Annual Hero Convention in Naruhata, Tokyo.

The padawan had been counting down the days to this event, eagerly awaiting the chance to immerse himself in the world of heroes. The convention was a massive gathering of pro heroes, aspiring heroes, and enthusiasts from all over Japan. It was a place to learn, network, and be inspired. This year felt especially important, as Izuku had grown significantly both in skill and in spirit. His friends, Hitoshi Shinso and Mei Hatsume, shared in his enthusiasm. However, despite the excitement bubbling within him, a small cloud of sadness lingered over Izuku's heart. His new friend, Mashirao Ojiro, wouldn't be able to join them due to obligations at his family's dojo.

As Izuku made his way through the bustling streets towards the train station, the reality of how much had changed in the past few months settled in his mind. Mashirao had quickly become an integral part of their group. Despite living an hour away, Mashirao made the effort to visit Musutafu frequently, often joining them for study sessions and training. His calm demeanor and unwavering sense of justice had earned him a special place in their hearts.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he recalled one of their recent training sessions. Mashirao had been patient, guiding them through various techniques with a level of expertise that spoke to years of disciplined practice. His dedication to mastering his martial arts and honing his Quirk had a profound influence on all of them, pushing them to strive harder. For Izuku, these sessions had become more than just practice; they were moments of growth and camaraderie, where each of them contributed to the other's progress.

The most significant change in their dynamic had been the improvement in Hitoshi's physical condition. Mei, ever the relentless engineer, had insisted that Hitoshi join him in training at Mashirao's dojo. The brainwasher had initially resisted, preferring to focus on his mental training and Quirk control. But the pink-haired inventor's persistence, combined with Ojiro's patient guidance, had paid off. Hitoshi was now noticeably fitter and more agile. Izuku had watched as his friend gradually transformed, his once-slouched posture straightening, and his movements becoming more deliberate and confident. The quiet pride Hitoshi took in his progress was evident in the way he carried himself, and Izuku couldn't help but feel a swell of admiration for his friend.

Izuku himself had made significant strides in his training as well. The rigorous kenjutsu sessions had greatly improved his lightsaber skills. The discipline and focus required in traditional martial arts had translated well into his Jedi training. His movements were becoming more fluid, his strikes more precise. Every time he ignited his lightsaber, the hum of the blade felt like an extension of his own will—a testament to the countless hours he had devoted to his craft. The combination of physical and mental training was shaping him into a formidable warrior. But beyond the physical, there was a deeper transformation taking place within him—a growing understanding of the balance between light and dark, and the delicate equilibrium he needed to maintain within himself.

As he neared the station, the green-haired teen's thoughts shifted to the Hero Convention. It was more than just an event; it was an opportunity to learn and grow. Izuku's mind buzzed with anticipation, eager to attend the panels and workshops, hoping to gain insights from some of the greatest heroes of their time. There were also rumors of special exhibits showcasing new hero technology and gear, which he knew would be of great interest to Mei. The prospect of seeing All Might—the number one hero—speak at one of the panels filled him with a mixture of excitement and reverence.

Hitoshi had his own reasons for attending. The convention was the perfect place to observe and analyze various heroes and their Quirks. Hitoshi's analytical mind thrived in such environments, where he could dissect strategies and abilities, learning from the best to refine his own techniques. Izuku couldn't help but notice how much Hitoshi had changed since they first met. He had come a long way from the quiet, reserved kid Izuku had initially known. Now, his determination to prove himself as a hero was evident in every step he took, and Izuku felt proud to witness his friend's evolution.

As Izuku waited on the platform, the hum of the city around him faded into the background, his mind wandering to Mashirao once again. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to his friend.

"Hey Ojiro, we're going to miss you at the convention. Good luck with the dojo stuff! Let's hang out when you have some free time."

He hit send and slipped his phone back into his pocket just as the train arrived. The doors slid open with a hiss, and he stepped inside, finding a seat by the window. The train was bustling with activity, filled with people heading to various destinations, their faces a mix of anticipation and fatigue. Moments later, Hitoshi and Mei joined him, both of them radiating excitement.

"Can you believe it? The Hero Convention!" the pink haired inventor exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. Her eyes sparkled with an almost childlike glee, and her hands moved animatedly as she spoke. "I've got a whole list of booths and panels I want to check out. And did you hear about the new support gear they're showcasing this year? I can't wait to see it all!"

Hitoshi chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. "Of course you do, Hatsume. Just remember to pace yourself. We've got all week, and I don't think the vendors will appreciate you dismantling their prototypes on day one."

Mei waved a hand dismissively, though a mischievous grin played on her lips. "Hey, I only dismantle things for educational purposes! Besides, this is a chance to learn from the best. Who knows what kind of innovations we might see?"

Izuku smiled at his friends, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie wash over him. This was what he cherished the most—these moments where they could share their passions, their hopes, and their dreams. "It's going to be amazing. I can't wait to see what new gear and tech they'll have this year. And the panels… I really want to hear All Might's speech. I feel like every time I hear him speak, I learn something new about being a hero."

As the train rolled on, the trio continued to chat, their excitement building with each passing mile. The cityscape outside the window gradually shifted from the familiar streets of Musutafu to the more densely packed urban sprawl of Tokyo. The towering skyscrapers and neon signs that defined Naruhata ward came into view, a stark contrast to the quieter suburban neighborhood they had left behind. The Hero Convention awaited them—a place where dreams could be realized and where they could measure just how far they had come on their journey to becoming heroes.

But as the train approached their destination, an unsettling feeling began to gnaw at the edges of Izuku's consciousness. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a sense of foreboding that lingered in the air. It was as if the bright hopes they carried with them were being shadowed by something dark, something hidden beneath the surface of the bustling district they were about to enter.

Little did they know, Naruhata ward held more than just otakus and hero enthusiasts. A dark presence was beginning to stir in the district, its plans years in the making finally starting to unfold. As the train pulled into the station, casting long shadows over their bright hopes, the stage was set for a confrontation that none of them could have anticipated—a test that would challenge not just their skills, but their very resolve as heroes.

But for now, they were just three excited teens, eager to see what the convention had in store, unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon.

-THE FORCE AWAKENS–

The vibrant streets of Naruhata thrummed with energy as the Annual Hero Convention drew thousands of enthusiasts, heroes, and hopefuls to the district. The atmosphere was electric, with the buzz of chatter, the hum of excitement, and the bursts of laughter mingling in the air. The towering banners of heroes in dynamic poses, the flashing lights of vendors, and the vivid displays of hero gear all combined to create a sensory overload that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. Among the throngs of excited convention-goers, two figures moved through the crowd with a different kind of energy, one born not of joy but of internal conflict and hidden agendas.

Kazuho Haneyama, better known as Pop Step, was a young woman of nineteen with a striking presence, even when she wasn't dressed in her usual flamboyant attire. Today, her bright pink hair, typically styled in playful, eye-catching designs, was tied back in a simple ponytail. She had chosen a plain hoodie and jeans for the occasion, but her outward simplicity did little to conceal the storm brewing within her. Her vibrant, expressive eyes, usually full of mischief and life, were now clouded with uncertainty and a deep, pervasive sadness.

The crowds around her moved with purpose, eager to dive into the festivities, but Kazuho felt strangely disconnected from it all. The exuberance of the convention seemed almost mocking against the backdrop of her inner turmoil. Her heart was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, longing, confusion—all competing for dominance. She couldn't shake the gnawing anxiety that had settled in her chest, the sense that everything in her life was spiraling out of control.

Beside her walked Rokuro Nomura, her manager, and a man whose very presence exuded a carefully crafted image of calm and control. To the casual observer, he seemed the epitome of a supportive, professional manager, guiding his charge through the chaotic sea of fans and vendors. But beneath the surface, Rokuro's mind was alight with anticipation and a dark satisfaction. His plans were unfolding perfectly, the pieces falling into place with a precision that both thrilled and satisfied him. Every step he took beside Kazuho was calculated, every word spoken with intent.

"You're doing great, Pop," Rokuro said, his voice smooth and warm, laced with a practiced enthusiasm. He flashed her a smile that, to anyone else, would seem genuinely encouraging. "All of this will pay off soon. You just have to trust me."

Kazuho forced a smile in return, but her gaze was distant, her mind a million miles away. She was barely listening to him, her thoughts too tangled up in her own anxieties. Her heart ached with a confusing mix of emotions, not least of which was her secret, unspoken love for Koichi Haimawari—the Crawler. She had admired him for so long, captivated by his quiet strength, his unwavering determination, and his inherent kindness. Her affection for him had grown into something deep and powerful, something she didn't know how to handle.

But the fear of rejection loomed large, a shadow that darkened every hopeful thought. The image of Makoto Tsukauchi, always poised, always perfect, haunted her. Kazuho was terrified that if she confessed her feelings, Koichi would turn away from her, drawn instead to the seemingly perfect Makoto. The thought was almost unbearable, a suffocating dread that made her heart clench painfully in her chest.

As they walked through the crowded streets, Kazuho found herself lost in a daydream, imagining a world where she was brave enough to tell Koichi how she felt. But even in her daydreams, the outcome was the same—Koichi turning away from her, his gaze shifting to Makoto, leaving Kazuho standing alone, her heart shattered.

Rokuro, ever the opportunist, noticed her distraction. He had long since learned how to read her moods, how to pick up on the slightest change in her demeanor. He seized the opportunity to tighten his grip on her psyche, his voice taking on a soothing, almost hypnotic quality.

"You know, Pop," he said, his tone gentle, as if he were offering her a lifeline, "all of this is just the beginning. I know how hard things have been for you—balancing your career, your feelings for Koichi, and the pressures of your public image. But don't worry. I'm here to help you through it."

His words were like a comforting blanket, wrapping around her and momentarily easing the tight knot of anxiety in her chest. But beneath that comforting exterior lay something far more sinister. Rokuro had always been a master manipulator, adept at using Kazuho's insecurities to keep her under his control. He knew exactly how to exploit her fears, how to amplify her doubts, all while presenting himself as her greatest ally.

As they continued walking, the lively sounds of the convention grew louder, the bright lights and colors intensifying as they approached the main event area. But Kazuho barely noticed any of it. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts, in the suffocating fear that she was losing control of her life. Every step felt heavy, as if she were trudging through mud, each movement taking more effort than the last.

The future seemed like a vast, dark void, and she was standing on the edge, teetering precariously. She couldn't shake the feeling that something momentous was about to happen, something that would change the course of her life forever. But whether it would be for better or worse, she couldn't say.

Rokuro, on the other hand, was in his element. The chaos of the convention, the swirl of people, the excitement in the air—it all fueled his own excitement, his own anticipation. He could almost taste the success of his plans, could almost see the culmination of all his careful machinations. The thrill of it all was intoxicating, and he had to work hard to keep his composure, to maintain the mask of the calm, supportive manager.

As they neared the convention's entrance, Rokuro leaned in closer to Kazuho, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Just remember, Pop," he murmured, "we're in this together. Trust me, and everything will work out. I've got everything under control."

But as Kazuho glanced up at him, something in his words struck a chord of unease within her. She forced herself to smile, to nod in agreement, but deep down, the sense of dread only grew stronger. The cheerful atmosphere of the convention felt increasingly out of place, a veneer over the darkness that was creeping ever closer.

The world was about to change, and Kazuho Haneyama wasn't sure if she was ready for what was coming.

-THE FORCE AWAKENS–

The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over Naruhata as the streets buzzed with the energy of the Hero Convention. Izuku moved through the lively crowd, his senses were heightened, alert to the myriads of Force signatures that flowed around him.

He marveled at how each person seemed to have a unique aura, a reflection of their inner selves. The convention was more than just a spectacle; it was a rich tapestry of human emotions and aspirations woven together by the Force. His training had deepened his connection to these sensations, allowing him to discern the subtle fluctuations in the energy around him.

The excitement of the event filled the air, but beneath the surface, Izuku could sense a darker undercurrent—a tension that prickled at the edges of his awareness.

As he navigated through the throngs of people, Izuku's attention was drawn to a pair walking together a short distance ahead. The woman, with her vibrant pink hair tied back, stood out amidst the sea of faces. Beside her walked a man whose presence immediately set Izuku on edge. The Force seemed to recoil from him, as if rejecting his very existence. It was an anomaly, a void in the natural flow of energy that Izuku had never encountered before.

The woman's emotional signature was a chaotic storm, swirling with fear, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of dread. Her inner turmoil was almost palpable to Izuku, as if she was carrying a burden too heavy to bear. It was as if her very presence was a magnetic force, pulling him into her emotional struggle.

In discrepancy, the man beside her exuded a cold, calculated calm that was deeply unsettling. His aura was disturbingly void, like a black hole that consumed all light and warmth around him, lacking the usual resonance that marked living beings. It was as if he was an anomaly, an artificial creation in the natural flow of the Force.

Izuku's instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong. The contrast between the woman's vulnerability and the man's eerie composure sent a shiver down his spine. He decided to follow them, keeping a careful distance as they made their way towards a dilapidated building at the edge of the convention area.

The structure was a stark difference to the vibrant energy of the surrounding streets. Its worn, crumbling facade suggested years of neglect, standing as a silent sentinel to whatever secrets it held within. Izuku's instincts told him that something important—and potentially dangerous—was about to unfold.

The woman hesitated as they reached the entrance, her steps faltering as a wave of apprehension washed over her. But the man was unfazed, guiding her forward with a cold determination.

The padawan felt the Force stirring within him, urging him to act. The sense of impending danger was growing stronger with each passing moment. Just as the man pushed the woman toward the darkened doorway, Izuku made his move. In an instant, he was there, placing himself between her and the entrance.

"Stop!" His voice cut through the air, firm but calm, as he extended a hand towards the pair. The suddenness of his appearance startled them both, but it was the man who recovered first, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint.

"And who might you be?" the man asked, his voice dripping with cold disdain.

Izuku met his gaze, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, but he stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm just someone who likes to get involved where he's not wanted," he replied, his voice steady, yet laced with an undercurrent of challenge.

Kazuho's eyes widened in surprise as she looked at the teenager. Her gaze seemed to waver for a moment and for a fleeting moment, her vision betrayed her. The green haired teen's figure seemed to merge with another—Koichi's face flickered in her sight, creating a disorienting blur between the two. Her heart raced, confusion battling with the terror bubbling within her.

"Who… who are you?" She whispered, her voice trembling as she took a step back.

Rokuro's lips curled into a sinister grin. "How intriguing. It seems we have an unexpected guest. Unfortunately for you, your interference won't be tolerated."

Without warning, the 'manager' lunged at Izuku, his body a blur of motion. The air itself seemed to crackle with the speed of his attack, but Izuku, senses sharpened by the Force, reacted instantly.

His senses were on high alert as he faced off against Rokuro, who was now on the offensive. Each attack was executed with blistering speed. The air around them crackled with the intensity of their confrontation, and the padawan's enhanced awareness allowed him to dodge Rokuro's rapid strikes.

Yet, despite his skill, he could feel the pressure mounting. The fake manager's speed was unnatural, pushing him to his limits.

He sidestepped another blow, narrowly avoiding a fist that would have shattered bone. His heart pounded in his chest. "Run, Miss!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Get out of here! I'll handle this!"

Kazuho hesitated, her eyes locked onto the battle. But fear won over, and she nodded shakily. With a swift leap, she used her Quirk to propel herself onto a nearby rooftop, the adrenaline surging through her veins. As her feet touched the concrete, she fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed Koichi's number.

"Koichi… help… please…" Her voice was barely a whisper, panic lacing every word.

Back on the ground, Izuku was momentarily distracted by Kazuho's plea. His focus shifted to her, giving Rokuro the perfect opportunity to exploit the lapse. With a flash of movement, Rokuro unleashed the full power of Overclock, his speed accelerating to a nearly imperceptible blur. He struck the padawan with a force that sent him staggering, a crushing blow that broke through his defenses.

Izuku grunted in pain as he was hit, the impact jolting him back. He fought to regain his composure, his mind racing to process the situation. The pain from the hit was sharp, but his determination was sharper. He focused on Rokuro, who was now preparing for another attack, his eyes gleaming with a sinister edge.

Above, Kazuho's voice trembled as she pleaded into the phone. "Koichi, please! It's bad! I don't know what's happening, but Rokuro… he's trying to hurt me and this kid with green hair that came to help me! You have to come now!" Her words were rushed, desperate, the fear choking her.

"Pop?! Stay calm, I'm on my way!" Koichi's voice was urgent, but it did little to soothe her frayed nerves.

On the ground, Izuku's focus remained unbroken, but the strain was starting to show. Rokuro was unrelenting, his attacks coming in a frenzied flurry. Each strike seemed faster than the last, blurring into a cascade of lethal movements. The narrow alleyway reverberated with the sounds of their conflict—the heavy thud of fists cutting through the air, the sharp slap of flesh meeting flesh, and the constant scuffling of feet against the pavement as he maneuvered to dodge each blow. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his muscles ached from the effort of maintaining his defenses. Despite the searing pain from the earlier hit, his resolve did not falter.

"Stay calm, focus," He reminded himself, breathing deeply to center his mind. He recalled the teachings of his masters, how they had stressed the importance of restraint. A lightsaber was not a toy to be brandished at every moment of danger, and it was not always the answer to conflict. He knew he had to find another way to subdue his opponent. Rokuro's speed was incredible, nearly overwhelming, and it was clear that the man had a far greater mastery of his quirk than Izuku had over his own abilities. Izuku's training as a Jedi Padawan had taught him to use the Force for defense, for understanding, to protect rather than destroy. Yet, as the fake manager pressed his advantage, Izuku found himself struggling just to stay in the fight.

Seeing that his opponent was starting to recover, Rokuro's expression twisted into a predatory grin. "You're quick on your feet, kid, but you can't keep this up forever," he taunted, his voice a low growl. He surged forward again, Overclock pushing his body to the brink as he lashed out with a series of rapid punches, each one faster and more precise than the last. To Izuku, the fake manager's movements were a blur, his limbs like streaks of light. He barely had time to react, relying on the Force to guide his instincts and keep him from being overwhelmed.

The padawan ducked under a vicious swing, his body moving in a fluid motion as he twisted away from a follow-up strike. He could feel the air rippling around him from the force of Rokuro's blows. The villain's speed was terrifying, his quirk making it seem as if he existed in a different time frame, a few seconds ahead of everyone else. Izuku's mind raced to keep up, his senses heightened by the Force, yet even with his training, he could feel the gap between them. Rokuro's experience in combat was evident in every move, every feint, and every calculated strike that sought to exploit his defenses.

From above, Kazuho's heart clenched with anxiety as she watched the scene play out below her. The pace of the battle was staggering, a chaotic dance of life and death unfolding before her eyes. Her fingers tightened around her phone, desperately willing Koichi to arrive. Could the green haired younger teen hold his own against an opponent like Rokuro? The sheer intensity of the fight filled her with dread, each passing moment amplifying her fear.

Izuku gritted his teeth, his breath coming in controlled bursts as he focused on his breathing, trying to keep calm despite the frantic pace of the fight. He had to stay ahead of Rokuro, had to find a way to disrupt the man's rhythm and create an opening. He pushed the pain from his mind, channeling the Force to keep his reflexes sharp and his perception keen. The danger was mounting, and the stakes were higher than ever. He knew that if he lost focus for even a second, it could mean the end.

Rokuro's strikes continued to come, a relentless barrage that left him little room to counter. The alley seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as the battle raged on. The padawan could feel his muscles burning, fatigue starting to creep in, but he couldn't afford to slow down. He had to protect the pink haired woman, had to buy time until a hero arrived.

As he maneuvered through the onslaught, narrowly evading each strike from Rokuro, a memory from his training resurfaced. It was a conversation he once had with Master Anakin during one of their lessons about the intricacies of space travel. They had discussed the mechanics of hyperdrive, a subject that had fascinated Izuku with its blend of physics and mysticism.

His master had explained that hyperdrives allowed ships to travel faster than light not by simply increasing speed, but by shifting the ship into an alternate dimension—a hyperspace lane—where the normal rules of time and space didn't apply. In this dimension, the passage of time was altered; to those inside the ship, time seemed to stretch and compress, allowing them to traverse vast distances in what felt like mere moments. Meanwhile, the external universe appeared almost frozen, like a photograph, as if the ship was a stone skipping across the surface of a still pond.

"The trick," Anakin had said, his voice echoing in Izuku's memory, "is not just moving faster. It's about finding a path where the rules are different. In hyperspace, you aren't bound by the normal flow of time and space—you bend it to your will."

Izuku's eyes widened as he sidestepped another of Rokuro's attacks, the villain's fist grazing his cheek with the force of a sledgehammer. It clicked into place. Rokuro's Quirk, wasn't merely about increasing his speed. No, it was more nuanced, more sophisticated. Rokuro was shifting his perception, operating on a plane where time flowed differently for him. Just like a ship in hyperspace, his mind moved so fast that the world around him seemed to slow to a crawl.

Rokuro was effectively manipulating his own temporal perception, granting him the illusion of superhuman speed. In essence, he was dipping into a personal kind of dimension, where his thoughts, reflexes, and decisions were accelerated beyond the comprehension of his opponents. To everyone else, he was moving faster than the eye could follow, but to him, each moment stretched out, offering ample time to react and adapt.

However, just like with a hyperdrive, there had to be limits. Even the best hyperdrive couldn't stay in hyperspace indefinitely without risk; it required precise navigation and immense energy. If Izuku could understand the rhythm of Rokuro's acceleration—his bursts of time manipulation—then maybe he could find a way to counter it. There would be a pattern, a pause, a moment when Rokuro had to re-align his perception with the normal flow of time, even if only for a fraction of a second.

Izuku took a deep breath, centering himself as Rokuro lunged again. This time, he focused not on matching Rokuro's speed but on sensing the changes in the Force around him, attuning himself to the subtle shifts in Rokuro's presence. He could feel the pull and stretch of time, the way Rokuro dipped into his personal dimension, each movement punctuated by a slight ripple in the Force.

With newfound clarity, Izuku's movements became more deliberate. He dodged to the left, his body moving almost before Rokuro had decided to strike, catching the villain off guard. For the first time, Rokuro's confident grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise.

"Impressive," Rokuro snarled, his voice laced with pain and fury. "But how long can you keep up?"

The padawan's expression was calm, his mind racing with possibilities. He didn't need to be faster than Rokuro; he just needed to be smarter. He just needed to trust the guidance of the Force.

Meanwhile, on the rooftop, Kazuho could only watch in horror as the fight below unfolded in a whirlwind of motion. The combatants seemed like blurs, their movements so fast that her eyes struggled to keep up. She saw only the aftermath—the chaotic collision of limbs, the explosive bursts of dust and debris, and the occasional flash of violence. It was as though the world had slowed down for them, while her own senses were trapped in a nightmarish struggle to process what was happening.

Her heart raced with fear and helplessness. Each time the green haired teen narrowly avoided a strike, her breath caught in her throat. The scene was both mesmerizing and terrifying, a brutal dance of skill and power. Kazuho's emotions were a chaotic storm—terror for the younger teen fighting so valiantly, guilt for her role in dragging him into this peril, and an ever-growing hope that Koichi would arrive before it was too late.

Below, Izuku was locked in a relentless battle. Every fiber of his being was focused on dodging Rokuro's relentless onslaught. His body moved with the grace and precision honed through years of training, yet the attacks came with such speed and ferocity that each dodge felt like a heartbeat away from disaster. His mind raced, every second stretched as if time itself were mocking his efforts to keep up. The alleyway was alive with the sounds of their clash—the staccato rhythm of rapid strikes, the heavy thuds of impacts, and the padawan's strained breaths.

With each passing moment, Izuku's strategy became more evident. His movements, once frantic and purely reactive, had taken on a calculated rhythm. He began to time his dodges with impeccable accuracy, his enhanced senses—sharpened through years of rigorous training and his connection to the Force—granting him the clarity needed to anticipate Rokuro's next move.

As he adjusted his approach, the dynamic of the battle shifted. His attacks, once sporadic and driven by instinct, now flowed with a deliberate intent. He moved with fluid grace, each strike purposefully aimed to exploit the brief openings left by Rokuro's relentless barrage. The transition was subtle but profound. Izuku's precise strikes began to land, each impact a testament to his growing understanding of Rokuro's quirk and his ability to counter it effectively.

From her rooftop perch, Kazuho could see the tide of the battle turning. The previously unstoppable force of Rokuro's assault was being met with a new level of resistance. The green haired teen's strikes were beginning to break through Rokuro's defenses, the villain's once-unyielding form now showing signs of strain. Kazuho's emotions were a turbulent mix of relief and dread. Relief that Izuku was finding his footing in the fight, but dread at the sheer magnitude of the danger they were still facing.

As Izuku pressed his advantage, his thoughts were a whirlwind of focus and determination. He was fighting not just for his own survival but for the safety of Kazuho Each strike was a testament to his commitment to protect and defend.

In the midst of this chaotic struggle, Rokuro's frustration was etched deeply into his face, his eyes gleaming with a sinister, almost predatory resolve. A malevolent smirk twisted his lips as he extended his arm, dark energy coalescing around it with a threatening intensity. The arm morphed into a menacing, pulsating bomb, its ominous glow casting a harsh, flickering light in the twilight of the alleyway.

Izuku's heart raced, the threat of the bomb clear in his mind. He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts flashing back to the words of his masters: They had taught him to use his lightsaber with care, to wield it only when absolutely necessary. Up until now, Izuku had held back, relying on his agility and the Force to evade Rokuro's relentless assaults.

But the sight of Rokuro's deadly bomb arm forced a critical shift in his mindset. The imminent danger of a catastrophic explosion left him no room for hesitation. Izuku knew that the only way to prevent a disaster and protect those around him was to act decisively. With a steely resolve, he unsheathed his blue lightsaber, its blade igniting with a brilliant, reassuring glow.

Without hesitation, the padawan swung his lightsaber in a swift, decisive arc, the blade slicing cleanly through Rokuro's arm. The severed limb flew through the air, trailing a streak of malevolent energy before landing a couple of meters away. With a forceful wave of his hand, Izuku used the Force to propel the dismembered arm even farther, minimizing the risk of a catastrophic explosion.

The ensuing blast was deafening, a roar that reverberated through the alleyway and sent shockwaves cascading through the air. Debris was hurled into the sky, and the ground shook beneath the padawan's feet. As the dust began to settle, his gaze remained locked on the fake manager. To his astonishment, Rokuro's severed arm was already regenerating with grotesque speed, reassembling itself in a sickening display of resilience. It was as if the villain was impervious to conventional attacks, his quirk defying the natural limits of combat.

In the midst of this frenetic scene, Kazuho's mind was awash with a storm of realizations. The ruthless, unearthly nature of Rokuro's quirk was a horrifying revelation, fitting into the vague, ominous warnings Koichi had once shared. She recalled his words about a shadowy figure linked to a series of bombings at the Tokyo Sky Egg. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with jarring clarity—Rokuro, the man she had trusted as her manager, was the mastermind behind the terror that had gripped Tokyo. The betrayal cut deep, leaving her with a profound sense of dread. Her closest ally had been a facade, a puppet master orchestrating chaos from behind the scenes.

Realizing the gravity of the battle before him, Izuku adjusted his strategy. With the lightsaber now in hand, he attacked with relentless precision, his blade carving through the air with a series of rapid, calculated strikes. Each movement was deliberate, aimed at keeping Rokuro off balance and preventing him from mounting an effective counterattack. As the lightsaber clashed against Rokuro's defenses, Izuku noticed a crucial pattern: Rokuro seemed to react with heightened urgency whenever the blade approached his head.

This observation granted the padawan a tactical edge. He began to feint his attacks, making Rokuro believe that his head was the target. With a deft shift, he redirected his strikes toward other vulnerable areas, aiming to wear down the villain's defenses and force him into a corner. The battle transformed into a high-stakes game of wits and endurance, with Izuku leveraging his insights to press the attack while evading the explosive potential of Rokuro's other quirk.

"You meddling fool!" Rokuro roared, his voice laced with raw frustration. "Why do you have to get in my way?!"

Izuku, narrowly dodging Rokuro's next ferocious strike, shot back, "You're a menace to everyone here! I'm not letting you get away with this!"

Kazuho watched in a mix of awe and terror as the green haired teen's weapon sliced through the air, each movement a testament to his skill and determination. The sight was both mesmerizing and frightening, a vivid display of the battle's intensity. Her breath caught in her throat as Rokuro's eyes narrowed with a sudden shift of focus, his gaze momentarily darting toward her. The hostility in his eyes was chilling, a stark reminder that the danger was not confined to Izuku alone.

As she grappled with the realization of Rokuro's intent, her phone rang abruptly. It was Koichi. Her fingers trembled as she answered, her voice shaking with urgency. "Koichi, I need your help. Rokuro is the one behind the bombings at the Tokyo Sky Egg!"

Koichi's voice came through, filled with alarm and determination. "Stay where you are, Pop. We're on our way. Keep yourself safe and stay alert."

Kazuho ended the call and refocused on the battle below. Izuku's movements were a blur of agility and precision as he skillfully avoided Rokuro's explosive attacks. The villain's rage was palpable, his eyes burning with a fierce, dangerous light. As the fake manager's furious gaze locked once more on her, it was clear that the battle was reaching a critical juncture, with the fate of everyone involved hanging in the balance.

"You have no idea what you've stumbled into," Rokuro sneered, his voice dripping with malevolence. "I had to cover my tracks, keep things under wraps. But now you've forced my hand. It's time to clean up loose ends."

The padawan's heart pounded as he heard Rokuro's sinister words. Desperately trying to keep the villain's attention fixed on him, he shouted, "Leave her out of this! I'm the one you want, so come at me!"

Fueled by a sudden surge of rage, the fake manager lunged toward Kazuho with a blinding speed, his form a menacing blur against the dim alleyway. Izuku's eyes widened in horror as he saw Rokuro's trajectory. The urgency of the moment ignited within him, and without a second thought, he leapt into action. His heart raced as he calculated the precise moment to strike, knowing that Kazuho's life hung in the balance.

With a swift and practiced motion, Izuku swung his lightsaber with unerring precision. The blade blazed through the air, its blue light cutting through the darkness. In an instant, Rokuro's legs were severed in a flash of brilliant energy. The villain's lower limbs fell to the ground, a grotesque display of regenerating flesh. To the padawan's astonishment, the severed limbs began to reassemble almost immediately, the regeneration process a nightmarish testament to the fake manager's unnatural quirk.

Rokuro's growl of frustration echoed through the alley, mingling with the sounds of crumbling debris and distant sirens. Determined not to let Kazuho fall victim to the villain's rampage, the padawan's resolve hardened. His focus was razor-sharp, and every instinct screamed at him to protect the woman who had unwittingly become a pawn in this deadly game. The panic in the pink haired woman's eyes, as she desperately tried to maintain her distance from the chaos, fueled his urgency.

Before Izuku could take further action, Rokuro, still seething with rage, redirected his focus toward the nearby building. His movement was a blur of efficiency, slipping inside with a predatory grace that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The rapid regeneration of his limbs gave him a formidable edge, and his escape into the building was executed with ruthless precision.

Izuku stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the confrontation settling over him. He deactivated his lightsaber, the blade's brilliant light fading to darkness as he took a deep, steadying breath. His gaze shifted away from the now-vanished villain and toward Kazuho, who was trembling and visibly shaken. The pavement around them was a battlefield of near-destruction, and Izuku knew he needed to ensure her safety.

Approaching her with a mix of concern and relief, he asked, "Are you alright?"

Kazuho looked up, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions—fear, gratitude, and a profound sense of vulnerability. Her voice trembled as she replied, "I—I'm okay. Thank you for saving me. I—I didn't know what to do."

The intensity of the moment melted away slightly as Izuku took in her gratitude. He offered a reassuring nod, the weight of their shared experience lingering in the air. Despite the chaos and danger, there was a fleeting moment of connection, a shared understanding of the harrowing reality they faced.

Before Izuku could respond, a familiar voice cut through the cacophony of the battle. Koichi, having received Kazuho's distress call, arrived at the scene with an urgent stride. His expression was a blend of deep concern and resolute determination.

He quickly moved towards Kazuho, his eyes scanning her for any signs of injury. "Pop, are you alright?" he asked, his voice edged with anxiety.

The pink haired woman managed a reassuring nod, her voice steadier as she replied, "Yes, I'm fine, Koichi. But you should definitely thank him," she said, gesturing toward Izuku. "He's the one who stopped Rokuro."

The man turned to Izuku, his gaze softening with genuine appreciation. "Thank you for your help," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I'm Koichi Haimawari. It's nice to finally meet you. I was able to get here quickly, thanks to you holding off Rokuro. If it weren't for you, things could have been much worse."

The green haired teen, still buzzing with adrenaline, couldn't help but express his excitement. "I'm Izuku Midoriya. Wow, your quirk is incredible. I saw you slide in and—wow! I'm so glad you arrived just in time."

Koichi's smile widened, clearly pleased by the enthusiasm. "Thanks. I'm here to make sure Pop is safe, and your timing was perfect. I appreciate you keeping Rokuro at bay."

Izuku's eyes then landed on the man's jacket—a rare collector's item adorned with All Might's signature. His excitement reached new heights. "Wait, is that an All Might jacket? And it's got an autograph?!"

Koichi's smile grew even more, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yep. Got it directly from the man himself. Want to see a photo?"

He pulled out his phone and showed the teenager a picture of All Might signing the very jacket Koichi wore. The padawan's eyes widened in awe. "This is amazing! I've read so much about All Might, and to see this jacket in person—"

Suddenly, Izuku's excitement got the best of him. He bowed deeply, almost in reverence. "Sempai, this is incredible! I can't believe I'm standing here with you!"

Kazuho, observing the interaction, felt a twinge of embarrassment. The fervor with which Izuku admired Koichi's memorabilia made her feel slightly out of place, as if she were an outsider in this hero-worshipping moment.

The green haired teen continued to enthusiastically discuss the jacket and All Might, his voice animated as he recounted the hero's achievements and trivia. Koichi, equally engaged, shared anecdotes about All Might that only fueled Izuku's excitement further.

Meanwhile, back in the building, Number 6—previously known as Rokuro—was engulfed in a tempest of fury. His plan, meticulously crafted over months, had been upended by the unexpected intervention of the meddlesome teen. The air was thick with acrid smoke, the stench of burning debris mixing with the palpable anger emanating from the villain.

His eyes, once filled with calculated precision, now blazed with unrestrained madness. His rage was almost tangible, an almost visible storm of dark energy swirling around him. He paced furiously among the wreckage, his mind a turbulent maelstrom of shattered ambitions and vengeful schemes. Each step he took seemed to echo with the weight of his mounting desperation.

The Queen Bee, once a critical component of his scheme and intended to be unleashed upon Kazuho, lay before him in a twisted heap. Number 6 had planned to use the living quirk to further his nefarious goals, but now it was useless. The villain's eyes narrowed into slits of cold fury as he threw it to the floor.

With a snarl of frustration, he stomped over the living quirk. He couldn't afford any loose ends, and the Queen Bee's failure was an intolerable setback. He unleashed a burst of destructive energy, obliterating what remained of it with a final, violent explosion. The blast scattered debris and sent a cloud of acrid smoke billowing through the air. The flames that followed quickly consumed the device's remnants, reducing them to cinders.

The basement was a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Bodies, twisted and contorted in their final moments, lay scattered across the floor. The once-pristine space now resembled a battlefield of the damned, with pools of blood mingling with the wreckage of shattered lives. The cold, metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the horrors that had unfolded within these walls.

With a sneer of derision, the villain began to manipulate his form, his body shifting grotesquely as he morphed into a perfect replica of one of the lifeless bodies sprawled in the basement. His eyes, once cold and calculating, now flickered with a malevolent satisfaction. This was more than just a tactical maneuver; it was a perverse display of his control over life and death, an assertion of his dominion over the chaos he had wrought.

As he prepared to make his escape, Rokuro set fire to the building with a flick of his hand. The flames roared to life with a voracious hunger, spreading rapidly through the weakened structure. The fire licked at the walls and ceilings, painting the interior with a hellish glow. The heat intensified, warping the air and casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls.

The building, already battered and bruised from the earlier chaos, was now being consumed by the inferno. The crackling of flames and the groaning of collapsing beams created a cacophony of destruction. The once-sturdy construction succumbed to the blaze, its structure crumbling under the relentless assault of the fire.

Number 6, shrouded in the guise of his latest victim, slipped out through the back door. The thick smoke and billowing flames obscured his escape, the oppressive heat a testament to the intensity of his wrath. As he vanished into the night, the building continued to burn, the inferno erasing any trace of his presence.

The destruction marked the end of his latest plot, but it was clear that this was only a chapter in a much larger, more sinister narrative. His actions left a trail of devastation, and the smoke and flames that obscured his departure were a grim reminder of the threat he posed. The true extent of his depravity and the scale of the danger he represented loomed ominously, casting a long, dark shadow over the future.