_____[POV: Third Person]_____
The bell signaling the end of class echoed through the hallways, bringing a general sense of relief to the students. Backpacks were zipped shut, chairs scraped against the floor, and lively conversations spread across the room.
"Look, Ryuji, if we analyze last year's ranking numbers, we can see that Hawks' agency had a significant increase in quick response rates, but…" said Izuku, gesturing almost frantically as he walked toward the door beside him.
The boy spoke so fast it was as if he were trying to narrate a race against his own breath. In his other hand, he carried his open notebook, filled with scribbles, arrows, and colorful graphs.
Ryuji, hands in his pockets, stared blankly ahead. Inside, it felt like his brain was melting like butter forgotten under the sun with so much information crammed into it over the past few days.
"…on the other hand, if you consider Ryukyu's track record, she keeps an extremely high success rate in joint operations, which is great for anyone seeking diversified field experience. Not to mention the prestige, of course. But then there's another factor: location. Because the area of operations greatly influences the type of incident you'll face." Izuku flipped the notebook page to reveal a makeshift graph, pointing at it with his pencil.
"My God… he's really writing a doctoral thesis about this…" Ryuji thought, feeling a sharp throb in his temple.
That's when Uraraka and Iida approached just as the two were about to leave the classroom.
"Are you guys talking about the internship too?" Uraraka asked with a friendly smile, tilting her head slightly.
"Yes! We were discussing which agency would be the best choice."
Ryuji shot her a sideways glance and corrected, dryly:
"'We' is an exaggeration. I'm just listening to him turn a simple choice into an international political debate."
Iida, adjusting his glasses, looked at Izuku.
"And which one would be your choice, Midoriya? After all… you received seven offers, didn't you?"
Izuku scratched the back of his neck, looking down as if searching for invisible answers.
"Hm… I'm not sure yet. I want to carefully evaluate all of them before deciding."
"Translation: he's too much of a perfectionist and will take an eternity to choose."
"Says the guy who got eight thousand two hundred and forty-seven offers! The one who's going to take longer here is you!"
A smug little smile formed on Ryuji's face.
"Wrong. I decided a long time ago."
Izuku's jaw nearly hit the floor.
"What?! What do you mean?! Which agency?"
The reaction drew curious glances. Uraraka leaned forward slightly, Iida took a step closer, and even some classmates stopped what they were doing to listen.
"Yes, which one?" Iida asked, his voice filled with genuine interest.
The chatter in the room began to fade. Whispers ceased. Kaminari, Kirishima, and even Mina stopped talking and turned their attention to the center of the scene.
Ryuji looked around, soaking in the weight of the expectation like an actor before delivering his final line. Then, he slowly raised his index finger to his lips and calmly said:
"Secret."
An immediate chorus of protests erupted.
"Oh, come on!" grumbled Kaminari from the back.
"That's so 'not man-of-your-word'!" complained Mina, laughing.
"That's not fair!" said Kirishima, indignant but smiling.
Izuku just sighed, running a hand over his face.
"You're impossible…"
Ryuji shrugged, satisfied.
"I know."
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The overcast sky reflected off the imposing glass windows of the Rising Future Corporation's skyscraper. The silence in the main office was almost palpable. The spacious room, with walls clad in dark wood and panoramic windows offering a majestic view of the city, was bathed in a golden light that filtered through the heavy curtains. On the mahogany desk, documents and reports lay scattered beside a steaming cup of tea.
Lucifer, seated in the leather armchair, rested his chin on his hand, his gaze lost on the city beyond. Since the previous night, his thoughts had revolved around the meeting their Master had held—a revelation so impactful that it still weighed on his mind like a constant echo. What had been said completely shifted the board, and RF would have to act with surgical precision to contain the looming calamity.
His thoughts, however, were abruptly interrupted by a voice dripping with sarcasm and a tone unmistakably amused.
"If you keep frowning like that, you're gonna end up with wrinkles, blondie."
Raising his eyes with a mix of irritation and resignation, Lucifer found Bill Cipher—perfectly perched upside down, as if gravity were merely a suggestion. The golden triangle, its single eye half-lidded in a feigned calm, slowly spun a porcelain teacup between his fingers. The aroma of tea filled the air.
"You know, keeping that grumpy face won't solve anything," Bill said, crossing his legs while sipping tea with refined movements.
Lucifer looked up calmly, unsurprised.
"Bill…" he sighed. "Get down from there."
The golden triangle twirled in the air but ignored the command for a few seconds, taking another sip.
"The matter of reincarnates from other dimensions is important, sure, but if you keep brooding over it, your efficiency will plummet. And between us… Adrian already said it's going to be a while before they show up in this universe. So… relax a little."
"I appreciate your words…" Lucifer conceded, though his gaze remained serious. "But I'd appreciate even more if you'd stop drinking tea on the ceiling of my office."
Bill rolled his single eye—and, as if making the greatest sacrifice in the world, floated down slowly, pouting exaggeratedly.
"Tsk… no sense of humor."
It was then that the double doors of the office opened softly, revealing Esunami. The kitsune entered with her elegant, measured steps, her blue-and-white kimono swaying lightly with each movement. The room seemed to gain a gentle floral scent and a cozy warmth with her presence.
"Ara, good afternoon, my dears…" she greeted with a maternal smile. Her eyes, still closed, turned toward Bill… and then opened, bright blue, with a mix of surprise and delight. "Oh… Bill! It's been so long! I haven't seen you since you were assigned the role of handling planetary threats—you seem to be fulfilling your role perfectly."
"Well, if it isn't Lady Esu!" Bill said, puffing up his bowtie like adjusting a medal. "I'd expect nothing less than you recognizing the hard work I put into keeping the whole planet safe up to now."
"Ara ara~" Esunami laughed, tilting her head slightly. "Always so dedicated. As expected of our dear Master's most attentive creation."
"Oh, so you do recognize it, Chief's Main Lady?" Bill replied in a playful tone, clearly pleased.
Esunami let out a warm chuckle, bringing one hand to her face.
"Ara… and you're right, dear. After all, someone has to keep our Master well cared for and satisfied… and who better than me?"
Lucifer looked away, frowning.
"…That's a conversation for somewhere else, Esu." —
She ignored the comment, her hands now cupping her cheeks like a love-struck teenager.
"I asked Adrian about the fate my Master and I had in other resets… and even though he was with… several other women, 70% of the time it was me."
Lucifer coughed discreetly, looking aside. Bill, on the other hand, burst into laughter.
"And it makes sense, doesn't it? The boss modeled you after his ideal woman, with a generous pinch of all his most… peculiar desires."
"Ara~" Esunami let out, covering her mouth with her fan and laughing almost imperceptibly.
Before the conversation could stray further, the air in the room trembled. A thin luminous crack split the space just above the carpet. Two hands emerged from it, gripping its edges, and with a firm pull, tore the rift open to make way.
From within emerged Ryuji's seventh and final creation—Ard.
The tall, imposing figure stepped forward. His 1.96-meter (6′ 5″) height cast a long shadow, his muscular build accentuated by the tight black shirt and brown pants held by a braided belt. Black hair fell messily to neck length, contrasting with the deep glow of his star-blue eyes, intense as a moonlit night sea. His expression was calm, but carried the weight of someone who had crossed places and dangers few could imagine.
"Greetings." His strangely soft voice echoed through the room.
Lucifer stood with a rare smile.
"Ard. It's good to see you back."
"Welcome," Esunami said, bowing her head slightly in respect.
Bill floated toward him with casual familiarity.
"Well, look who decided to show up! Haven't seen you in ages, big guy."
"I've been… busy wandering the cosmos," Ard replied with a faint smile. "But I'm back… for now."
Esu tilted her head, curious.
"Ara… this is the first time I've seen our Master's most powerful creation in person. I've only heard about you from Lucifer."
Before they could resume the conversation, Lucifer clapped his hands together with a firm sound that cut the mood.
"Introductions and small talk can continue later. We have urgent matters." His gaze turned serious. "It's time to discuss Project Golden Era."
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One day before the Hero Work-Studies start.
The morning sun still struggled to warm the neighborhood as Izuku Midoriya left his house, wearing a simple jacket and carrying the shopping list on his phone. His usual butcher shop was closed for renovations, and his mother, Inko, had asked him for a special favor:
"1,500 grams of pork loin. I'll make tonkatsu before your internship. One last proper meal before you're away for a while, sweetheart."
He thanked her, nearly moved by the gesture. Between disassembled armor pieces and lines of code, he had almost forgotten the taste of his mother's cooking.
As he walked down the street, his mind buzzed with thoughts about the internship. Had he made the right choice? Should he have listened to All Might and Ryuji? Should he have pursued a more efficient line of research?
And, as always, the eternal doubt crept in:
"What did Ryuji choose…?"
All he got when he asked was a mysterious and annoyingly casual answer:
"Secret."
Izuku sighed. Was it wrong to consider planting another tracker on him? After all, the last three had been easily detected and ripped off with the precision of an anti-satellite radar. And Ryuji shouldn't even have known they were there...
At least he still had the rest of the class on his radar. Even All Might.
"I'm not paranoid," he muttered to himself. "It's just precaution. Security. Strategy."
An old lady with a small dog gave him a sideways glance from the sidewalk. Izuku adjusted his jacket, coughed, and quickened his pace.
Shin-Kawa Butcher Shop was a simple but clean place, with a gleaming display case and the scent of smoked spices in the air. As he pushed the door open, a small bell jingled. The shop was so quiet he could hear the buzz of an insect outside.
But what really caught his attention was the man behind the counter.
He was… intense.
A tall man, muscles well-defined even under the bloodstained red apron. He moved with a slight hunch, almost animalistic, as if he were always ready to pounce. His long, black hair fell over his face like wild vines, and his tiny yet piercing red eyes stared at Izuku as if judging his very soul. And worst of all—he had no nose. His face looked like something had been removed, that flat, triangular shape seemingly carved to intimidate.
For a second, Izuku froze.
His strategist mind kicked in like a reflex.
"Advanced physique, high potential for close combat, killer's gaze, missing nose… was that intentional? Who in their right mind removes their own nose?! Is he a villain in disguise? Is the butcher shop a front? What if—"
"Can I help you?"
The man's voice was deep, rough, but surprisingly… gentle?
"Uh… yes!" Izuku snapped back to reality, pulling out a slip of paper. *"Pork loin. 1,500 grams. P-Please…"*
The man merely nodded with a low grunt of approval and turned around. Within seconds, he was sharpening one of his knives with such precision that Izuku almost expected the laws of physics to stop and take notes.
With almost theatrical skill, the man sliced the loin with millimeter accuracy. His movements were so fluid and swift that Izuku found himself mesmerized. It was like watching a ritual dance… a deadly dance with swine flesh.
Then, without weighing it—just knowing—he placed the cuts on the scale.
Exactly 1,500 grams.
"What the hell…" Izuku muttered, leaning in to check. "Is this real? That's too perfect to be normal! Do you calculate that in your head? Is this advanced math? Elite training? A precision Quirk?!"
The man just looked at him for a second and replied with near-zen simplicity:
"Experience."
"But… like… that was mathematically perfect. Not a gram more… not a gram less…"
"I'd be ashamed if it were otherwise."
"…Cool."
Silence hung for a moment. The man handed over the neatly wrapped tray with surgical precision. Izuku was still debating whether to ask if he was some kind of mutant meat-cutting specialist.
At the register, Izuku pulled out his wallet, but the payment terminal froze for a second. The man glared at it in annoyance.
"Uh… is credit okay?"
Chizome rubbed his face tiredly.
"The system sometimes reboots on its own. Cheap machine. The real villain of this place."
"Got it. Want me to try manually restarting it with a light electric pulse?"
The man frowned as Izuku pulled out a taser from his pocket.
"You carry one of those?"
"…You don't?"
A beat of silence. Then, the man let out a short, dry laugh—more like a throat noise.
"Interesting."
After paying, Izuku prepared to leave but glanced around one last time, curious.
"Have you… always been a butcher?"
"Chizome. Akaguro."
"R-Right… Akaguro-san, have you always been a butcher?"
"No. Did other things before. But it was a dangerous path. This one… lets me keep cutting without causing greater harm."
Izuku smirked slightly. That was… profound? Or just weird? He couldn't tell.
"Well, it was a pleasure. That was… a perfect cut."
"Don't say that to other butchers," Chizome replied, returning to his cold demeanor.
Izuku waved and stepped out the door, still glancing back as if he'd just witnessed something rare.
"Maybe I should put a tracker on that guy too…" Izuku thought.
Inside the butcher shop, silence returned. Chizome wiped the counter carefully, arranged his tools, then turned to the small TV mounted in the corner.
The news showed an ongoing hero operation. Lady Nagant, dressed in tactical precision, was apprehending a group of armed villains with almost poetic calm and grace. Her aim was flawless. Her gaze, steady. A symbol of authority without the need for spotlights.
Chizome paused. His eyes softened. A faint smile touched his rigid face.
"Impressive… as always…"
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The station courtyard was crowded with U.A. students, all carrying bags and backpacks, ready to catch their respective trains on the long-awaited Hero Work-Studies day. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation and lively chatter, occasionally interrupted by Aizawa's monotone voice as he checked if everyone had brought their uniforms.
"Yes, sensei!" the group replied in unison, although Ashido made sure to shout with more enthusiasm than necessary, immediately earning a reproachful look from Aizawa.He reminded everyone that, although it was normally forbidden to wear their uniforms in public, during the internship period they were allowed to use them — but that didn't mean they could act as if they were in a fashion show.
"Good luck, and mind your manners," he finished, as dry as ever.
Uraraka waved goodbye to the usual trio before boarding the train that would take her to her own agency. That left Ryuji, Izuku, and Iida.
"Midoriya, it seems our destination is the same," commented Iida, adjusting his glasses. "Hosu, right?"
Izuku confirmed with a small nod, but soon his attention turned to Ryuji, who was yawning lazily, as if he had been up all night — which, knowing him, was likely.
"You're really going to Chūgoku?" asked Izuku.
"Yes," he replied shortly, not bothering to hide his boredom.
Izuku frowned. Until then, Ryuji hadn't revealed which agency he had chosen for his internship, but the destination left few options. Mirko was practically the only name that came to mind.
"So… you chose Mirko's agency?"
Ryuji raised an eyebrow and smirked. "And if I did, would it change anything?"
The two friends exchanged awkward smiles, because in practice, yes — it changed a lot.
A few minutes later, they parted ways. Ryuji boarded the train bound for Hiroshima. The trip went smoothly, except for a few passengers who recognized him as the Sports Festival champion and insisted on taking selfies. He obliged them all, but with the look of someone mentally counting how many minutes of life he was losing, despite being immortal.
More than half an hour later, he disembarked in Chūgoku. The address led him to a simple yet well-kept residential building. Climbing up to the ground floor hallway, he found door 104. He knocked three times.
There were muffled sounds of something being dragged and hurried footsteps. Then, the door opened, revealing Satoru, better known as Mumen Rider, dressed in casual clothes and a cleaning apron that made him look more like a dedicated janitor than a hero. He smiled warmly.
"Welcome, Fugimoto-san," he said, bowing his head slightly.
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(A/N: The fic is back! Your wait is over, you can shake off and dust those bones because I've finally returned with updates. But can I say something? Man, it was harder than it looks to make this chapter. I spent so much time without touching this fic that I had forgotten a lot of things, which made me reread almost all the previous chapters. But in the end, I managed to remember and finish this chapter. I hope it looks good in your eyes, because what's good for me might be bad for you and vice versa. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you in the next update, bye!)