The trembling finally ceased, and a heavy silence blanketed the icy wasteland. Snow drifted gently from the peaks above, settling over the cracked ground.
Izuku lowered his arm from in front of Nezu and blinked rapidly as his vision adjusted. His breath caught in his throat.
Before them stood a colossal crystalline structure, gleaming in the pale Antarctic sun. Its jagged spires rose like frozen flames, refracting light into a spectrum of colors that danced across the snow. It was otherworldly — alien, yet undeniably majestic.
Nezu adjusted his tiny spectacles, eyes widening in awe. "Remarkable…" he whispered, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic wonder.
Izuku took a cautious step forward, his eyes locked on the massive facade. The crystalline walls shimmered faintly as though alive, humming with energy. As they drew closer, something caught his attention — a vast wall, darker than the rest. It wasn't crystal. It was metal.
And etched into it, glowing faintly, was a crest.
Izuku froze, his heart hammering in his chest. "The House of El…" he breathed.
Nezu tilted his head, whiskers twitching as he studied the emblem. "That… symbol. What does it mean?"
Izuku lifted his hand, fingertips brushing the cold metal, his voice soft but firm. "It's my family crest. On Krypton."
The word lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.
With a low groan, the great wall parted, revealing a grand passageway of light and crystal. The air within carried a warmth unlike the biting cold outside. Together, they stepped inside.
As they entered, a figure materialized before them. Tall, dignified, clad in flowing Kryptonian robes. His face carried strength, wisdom… and a familiarity that hit Izuku like a tidal wave.
"Father…" Izuku whispered.
Jor-El's projection smiled faintly. "My son…"
Izuku staggered forward, confusion washing over him. "How are you here? Krypton— Krypton's gone!"
Jor-El raised a calming hand. "I am not truly here, Izuku. What you see before you is but a shadow — the imprint of my mind, preserved as consciousness within this Fortress. I am… an echo."
Nezu's sharp voice broke the heavy silence. His mind was already racing, dissecting every detail. "So your civilization achieved the capacity to replicate a living mind and encode it into an artificial intelligence… Astounding. You're saying what we see is not a ghost, but an interactive construct?"
Jor-El inclined his head. "Yes. One of the many accomplishments our people achieved, though it was only the surface of Krypton's advancements."
Izuku's fists trembled as he fought back the storm of emotions swelling inside him. "I have so many questions… Where did I come from? I know I'm from Krypton, but that's all I know! The message you left in my pod— it didn't explain anything!"
The air behind Jor-El shimmered, and suddenly a pool of black liquid surged upward from the crystal floor. It spread and twisted, forming a sphere. The surface rippled like water before solidifying into the shape of a planet.
Jor-El's voice deepened, carrying the weight of a civilization lost."You are of Krypton, my son. A world far harsher than Earth. Long ago, in the Era of Expansion, our people spread across the stars, seeking new worlds to settle. With vast machines, we reshaped entire environments to suit our needs. Outposts were built on countless planets, and for over one hundred thousand years our civilization flourished, achieving wonders beyond imagination."
Izuku and Nezu watched as the liquid sphere shifted, showing stars, galaxies, and distant planets—outposts glowing with Kryptonian cities.
Nezu adjusted his spectacles, his voice sharp and curious. "If your civilization was so advanced… what happened?"
The sphere darkened, the glowing outposts flickering and vanishing one by one until only Krypton remained, its surface cracking and bleeding molten light.
Jor-El's expression grew grim. "Artificial population control was established. Exploration ceased. The outposts were abandoned. We turned inward, and in time… exhausted our natural resources. To sustain ourselves, we harvested power from Krypton's very core. But in doing so, we weakened it—until the planet could no longer hold itself together."
The sphere cracked open, the vision of Krypton trembling violently, continents splitting apart.
"In those final desperate weeks, General Zod attempted a coup, but by then it was too late. Your mother and I foresaw the coming calamity, and we took certain steps to ensure your survival."
Izuku's hands curled into fists at his sides. "Why me?"
Jor-El's gaze softened, his voice quieter but filled with conviction."On Krypton, every child was designed to fulfill a predetermined role in society—a worker, a warrior, a leader, a scientist. Choice was stripped from us. Chance was eliminated. But your mother and I believed Krypton had lost something precious… the freedom to dream. What if a child wished to be something other than what society decreed? What if a child aspired to something greater? You, Kal, are the embodiment of that belief. Krypton's first natural birth in centuries. That is why we risked everything to save you."
Izuku's throat tightened. His mind reeled as he tried to process it.
And then Jor-El's expression shifted, almost questioning."Your cousin, Kara… she should have explained this to you. Did she not arrive with you?"
Izuku's eyes widened, his voice shaking. "No… no one has ever come looking for me."
For the first time, Jor-El faltered. His image stiffened, silent for a moment as if the AI itself grieved."Then she must have perished before reaching the ship my brother built for her…" His voice trailed, sorrow heavy in every word.
Nezu spoke next, his sharp mind already analyzing every thread. "If you knew Krypton was doomed… why did neither you nor your wife accompany Izuku? Surely a vessel could have been made large enough for three."
Jor-El turned his gaze upon the mouse, calm but unyielding. "Because space travel was forbidden. To build a ship large enough would have drawn the attention of the council, of the military. It would have been seized, destroyed. And even beyond that… your mother and I, for all our love for you, were bound to Krypton as surely as Zod was. We were the products of our world's failures, tied to its fate. Only you, our son born free, could escape it."
Izuku's voice cracked as the words spilled from him. "So… I'm alone."
Jor-El stepped closer, his projection luminous in the crystalline hall. His voice rang with warmth, strength, and hope."No, Kal. You are never alone. You are as much a child of Earth now as you are of Krypton. You carry within you the potential to embody the best of both worlds."
The sphere dissolved into light, scattering into a thousand stars that hung in the air around them. Jor-El's final words echoed through the Fortress, heavy with meaning.
"They can be a great people, Kal-El. They wish to be. They only lack the light to show them the way. And for this reason—and their capacity for good—I have sent them you… my only son."
The projection of Jor-El shifted, and the crystalline walls pulsed with light. Before them, the great hall expanded, revealing the towering heart of the structure: a massive crystalline console at the fortress's center. It glowed with threads of energy that stretched into the ceiling like veins of light, as though the very building breathed with power.
"This," Jor-El said, gesturing toward the radiant construct, "is the central console. From here, you may access every system of the Fortress. Knowledge, defense, archives, simulations—all are bound to it. This place is as much a living library as it is a sanctuary."
Nezu tilted his head, his sharp eyes already dissecting possibilities. "Impressive. But tell me—if such a wonder stands here, hidden in the Arctic, how can it remain concealed? The major nations of this world are vigilant. They monitor the circle constantly. Satellites, patrols, subs… surely it would be discovered?"
Jor-El inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his calm expression. "You need not worry, Professor. When Kal-El moves more than eight hundred yards away, the Fortress will sink beneath the ice and snow, concealed within the Earth itself. When he returns within that distance… it shall rise again. To those who search, this place will remain invisible, a ghost beneath the polar winds."
Izuku's eyes widened, awe sparking in their green depths. "That's… amazing."
They continued deeper into the Fortress, crystalline corridors branching outward like arteries of light. The further they walked, the more alive the structure felt, as though responding to Izuku's very presence.
Eventually, they entered a wide chamber. In its center, half-built from glowing crystal and gleaming metal, stood the frame of a humanoid robot. Mechanical arms extended from the walls, inserting parts, sculpting plates of Kryptonian alloy with precise beams of energy. Sparks of white-blue light flickered with each motion.
Izuku blinked in confusion. "Why is the Fortress… building robots?"
Jor-El stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the construct. "Because, my son, I can only guide so much. The Fortress itself is vast, and you will not always be here. These machines will serve as caretakers. They will maintain and defend this place in your absence. They are bound to you, and to the preservation of your legacy."
The mechanical arms paused for a moment as if acknowledging Jor-El's words, before resuming their meticulous work.
For the next half hour, Jor-El guided them through chamber after chamber—vast archives of crystalline data, empty rooms that shifted and reshaped at command, training halls designed to simulate Krypton's gravity and environment. Each corner of the Fortress whispered of a civilization lost but not forgotten.
At last, they returned to the central hall. Izuku glanced up at his father's projection, a strange conflict swirling in his heart. "I should probably… head home. My parents are probably worried sick." He stopped, his voice faltering as the word lingered. Parents.
Jor-El noticed the hesitation, his expression softening. "It is right to call them that, Kal. The ones who found you, who raised you, who gave you love as their own—yes, they are your parents, no less than we."
The words made Izuku's chest tighten. For the first time, the fear of betraying the Midoriyas by acknowledging his Kryptonian heritage eased.
Jor-El then extended his palm. Liquid geometry rose from his hand, metallic strands weaving together like flowing mercury. They twisted and solidified, forming a sleek, silver watch etched with faint Kryptonian glyphs. The light from the Fortress reflected off its surface, making it shimmer like starlight frozen into metal.
"This device," Jor-El explained, fastening it into Izuku's palm, "is attuned to the same code as Kelex, my personal assistant on Krypton. Should you have questions you cannot fly here to ask, Kelex will answer. Through this watch, you will carry a piece of Krypton's knowledge with you."
Izuku held the watch close, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you… father."
The projection of Jor-El smiled faintly, his eyes proud, though tinged with sorrow. "Be well, my son. The Fortress shall always await your return."
As they stepped back into the icy winds, the ground beneath them began to tremble. Just as Jor-El had promised, the Fortress of Solitude shimmered with light, then slowly descended into the frozen earth. Towering spires of crystal sank like fading stars, swallowed by snow and shifting ice until the Arctic returned to its barren silence. To the unknowing eye, it would seem as though nothing had ever been there.
Nezu watched the last shard vanish beneath the snow, his sharp gaze lingering. Then he looked up at Izuku with a small, knowing smile."Well, young Midoriya," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle, "thank you for allowing me to glimpse your secret. Rest assured, I will guard it as fiercely as you would yourself. I will tell no one—unless you ask me to."
Izuku felt a weight lift from his chest, his grip on secrecy no longer lonely. He nodded, a grateful smile tugging at his lips."Thank you, Nezu."
With that, the principal hopped lightly onto Izuku's back, perching between his shoulders like it was second nature. "Now then," Nezu said cheerfully, "let's go home."
Izuku crouched, then shot into the air with a roar of displaced wind. The Arctic vanished beneath them, replaced by endless rolling clouds and the deep blue shimmer of the ocean. The air rushed past them, crisp and biting, as they cut across the sky toward Japan.
But far above, in the silent void of orbit, a lone satellite whirred to life. Its lenses locked onto the blur of green and red streaking across the atmosphere. The machine traced Izuku's trajectory with mechanical precision, feeding data through encrypted channels.
In a control room half a world away, a young researcher leaned over his monitor. His heart skipped as the screen tracked the flight speed, altitude, and direction of the unidentified figure. "S-sir!" he called out, his voice strained. "We've picked up something—something moving at hypersonic speed over the Pacific!"
His supervisor rushed over, staring at the readings with wide eyes. "…That's not a plane."
The data was relayed up the chain, step by step, from analysts to department heads, to the defense ministry, until it reached the very top. In less than an hour, the information lay before the President of the United States.
He sat back in his chair, fingers steepled as he studied the blurred satellite image of a figure cutting across the skies with impossible velocity. The data scrolled beside it—speed estimates, trajectory toward Japan, and footage too clear to dismiss.
His advisors whispered around him, but the President's eyes remained locked on the screen. His jaw tightened."…Contact the Pentagon. Whatever this is, it changes everything."
The Situation Room was dim, lit only by the glow of monitors. Generals, advisors, and intelligence officers filled the long table as the President stood at its head. The satellite footage looped across the largest screen: a streak of green and red cutting through the clouds with impossible speed.
"Sir," one of the generals began, "at Mach 6, this isn't a fighter jet, it's not a missile—it's something else."
The President's expression hardened. "Get me Stars and Stripes."
Within minutes, a secure line was opened. The imposing figure of America's Number One Hero, Stars and Stripes, appeared on screen—her stern face framed by windswept blonde hair, the stars-and-stripes cape billowing behind her."You called, Mr. President?" she said, her voice firm and unshaken.
"We may have a situation," the President replied. "Something moving faster than any known aircraft. Trajectory toward Japan. We want you on standby until we have more answers."
Before she could respond, the heavy doors to the Situation Room opened. Several officials in dark suits entered, their presence radiating quiet authority. The lead figure adjusted his tie and addressed the room."Mr. President. Representatives of the U.S. branch of the Hero Public Safety Commission."
The generals bristled, but the President gestured for silence."You know something," he said flatly.
The HPSC director nodded. "We've been tracking an individual in Japan for some time. A student. Name: Izuku Midoriya." He placed a folder on the table, sliding it forward. "We believe he is the figure your satellites picked up."
Stars and Stripes raised an eyebrow. "A student? Moving at Mach speeds?"
The HPSC agent's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes. His supposed 'quirk' is… not officially documented in our files. The Japanese branch has kept details sealed. What we do know is that he has shown abilities well beyond conventional understanding—strength, speed, durability."
The President tapped his fingers on the desk. "That doesn't explain how he could survive at that altitude. Or in…" His eyes narrowed at the next report being handed to him. "…space."
The room went silent.
One of the analysts hesitated before speaking. "Sir, cross-checking Star Labs' deep-space surveillance records… this same figure was spotted on the moon. Weeks ago. A lone humanoid figure standing on the lunar surface before launching back into orbit."
The President stared at the image. Grainy but undeniable: a lone figure in a torn uniform, silhouetted against the grey horizon of the moon.
Even Stars and Stripes' normally unshakable demeanor faltered. "…The moon? Without equipment?"
The generals muttered, confusion rippling through the room. But the President cut through the noise, fixing his gaze on the HPSC director."Explain. What kind of quirk lets someone survive in space?"
The director's silence spoke louder than any words. He adjusted his glasses, choosing them carefully."…That, Mr. President, is what concerns us most. We don't believe this is a quirk at all."
The room went dead quiet.
Stars and Stripes crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. "Then what the hell is he?"
The President leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied the moon image again. His voice was low, measured, but it carried across the room like thunder."That's what we're going to find out."
The H.P.S.C. director opened the folder and slid it across the table. Inside were pictures of Izuku Midoriya—school records, public hero training footage, and his official quirk registry.
"Midoriya Izuku. Quirk: Superhuman. A mutation-type ability that allows him to absorb and metabolize solar radiation, fueling his strength, speed, and durability. On paper, it explains the extraordinary feats you've seen."
The President skimmed the report, then raised a brow. "On paper."
The director nodded. "Because it doesn't add up. His mother's quirk is mild—attraction of small objects. His father's is fire-breath, barely above standard. The genetic pairing does not account for a mutation this extreme. Not when his powers allow feats like surviving in space."
The generals exchanged uneasy glances. The words hung in the air: surviving in space.
Stars and Stripes leaned forward into the camera, her voice sharp."You're telling me this kid's parents have quirks that amount to parlor tricks—and somehow their son's quirk makes him a walking god? That doesn't happen. Unless…" She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Unless it's the Quirk Singularity theory."
Murmurs swept the room.
The President frowned. "I've heard whispers of it. Refresh my memory."
One of the H.P.S.C. analysts cleared his throat. "The Quirk Singularity theory suggests that quirks evolve and compound with each generation, becoming stronger, more complex, and eventually unstable. A day may come when a single quirk could eclipse everything before it. The theory has been dismissed as fearmongering by some… but in Midoriya's case, the evidence is undeniable."
Stars and Stripes' jaw tightened. "You're saying this boy might be proof of the theory. That he's not just an anomaly—he's the future."
The H.P.S.C. director nodded gravely."Possibly. But there's more. His quirk was registered publicly, yes. But Japan's H.P.S.C. has gone to great lengths to obscure the extent of his abilities. Even now, they may not understand the true limits."
The President's eyes flicked back to the lunar photo."Limits…" he muttered.
The room fell silent again. The weight of it pressed down on everyone present. If the boy could survive the vacuum of space, what else was possible?
Stars and Stripes finally broke the silence. "If this really is Quirk Singularity at work… then he's either the greatest hope humanity's got…" Her hand curled into a fist on the table. "…or the greatest threat we've ever faced."
The President leaned forward, resting both hands on the table as his expression hardened."Either way, we can't afford to ignore him. Keep him monitored at all costs. And if Japan won't give us answers—" His voice dropped, cold and resolute."—we'll get them ourselves."
The night sky stretched endlessly above them as Izuku cut through the cold air, the ocean glittering far below. Nezu clung to his shoulder, his fur ruffled by the high-altitude winds. Neither spoke during the return flight—both still digesting everything they had just learned inside the fortress.
Finally, Izuku touched down gently on the roof of U.A. Nezu hopped down, adjusting his tiny suit jacket before looking up at his student.
"Well, young Midoriya," Nezu said softly, "you've uncovered something extraordinary. Perhaps one of the most important secrets in the modern age. Thank you for trusting me with it."
Izuku scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I… I wasn't sure at first, but… you've always believed in me, Principal. I just—" He stopped, his words catching. "I just hope I can live up to what my father said. To what Krypton believed I could be."
Nezu's expression softened. His keen eyes saw the conflict in Izuku—the boy torn between being Japan's aspiring number one hero and the son of a world that no longer existed.
"You are not defined by Krypton's past, Izuku," Nezu said firmly. "Nor by Earth's expectations. You are defined by the choices you make, and I have no doubt you will choose well. You always have."
Izuku swallowed hard, nodding. For a moment, the burden of destiny felt lighter.
"Now," Nezu continued, his tone shifting to something almost playful, "you'd best head home. Your parents are likely worried, and you'll need a clear head for school tomorrow. We'll… discuss how to move forward later."
Izuku smiled faintly, then crouched and leapt back into the sky, the sound of rushing air trailing behind him.
As Nezu watched the boy vanish into the distance, his smile faded. His sharp mind replayed the conversation with Jor-El, the scope of Krypton's downfall, and the immense potential Izuku now carried within him.
"This changes everything…" Nezu whispered to himself. "For him… for all of us."
Izuku landed quietly on the balcony of his house a few minutes later. The lights inside were still on—his mother pacing in the living room. He hesitated, heart pounding.
How do I even begin to explain any of this?
Before he could answer himself, he pushed the door open. "I'm home," he said softly.
Inko rushed to him instantly, hugging him so tightly he almost lost his breath. "Izuku! Where have you been? I was worried sick!"
Izuku closed his eyes and held her back. After everything he had learned about Krypton, about his birth parents and his destiny, the warmth of his mother's embrace grounded him. No matter what the universe expected of him, this was home.
"Sorry, Mom," he whispered. "I won't be late again."
Time passed quickly, and soon it was time for classes to resume.
Izuku soared through the morning sky, weaving between skyscrapers with practiced ease. Below him, massive digital billboards and news screens still replayed footage of the U.S.J. incident. Anchors dissected every frame, but most of the coverage centered on one image in particular: Izuku Midoriya, the "boy who caught the plane."
He tightened his jaw. I didn't want the spotlight. I just wanted to save them…
When he landed discreetly near U.A. and made his way inside, the classroom was already buzzing with chatter.
"—seriously, my aunt called me last night, freaking out because she saw me on TV!" Kaminari said, waving his hands animatedly.
"Same here," Ashido groaned. "Except my cousins just keep sending me memes of us running for our lives…"
But the laughter was short-lived. Most conversations circled back to one name.
"All I've seen on the news is Midoriya," Kirishima said, folding his arms. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad nobody got hurt, but he's basically a celebrity now."
The tension thickened until Momo spoke firmly, her voice calm but cutting through the noise. "Would you rather he hadn't saved the plane? Lives were at stake. He did what a hero should do."
Kirishima raised his hands defensively. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I respect what he did, seriously. It's just… man, it feels like the rest of us barely even matter compared to him."
Silence settled, heavy and awkward. It was in that quiet that the door slid open, and Izuku stepped inside. Every eye in the room locked onto him.
Izuku froze mid-step, suddenly aware of how sharp the air felt. His classmates weren't glaring at him, but the weight of their stares pressed down like gravity. Some were filled with admiration, others with envy, and some—like Bakugo's—burned with frustrated pride.
Before Izuku could say anything, Mina leaned forward with a nervous grin, breaking the tension. "Sooo… who do you guys think is gonna be our substitute while Aizawa's recovering? Maybe Midnight? Ooooh, or Present Mic?!"
But as if summoned by her words, the door creaked open again.
Every head turned.
Standing there, wrapped head-to-toe in thick bandages, was Shota Aizawa. His face was barely visible, but his sharp, half-lidded eyes peeked out from the wrappings.
The room fell dead silent.
"…You all look way too disappointed," Aizawa muttered dryly, limping to the front of the class. "Sorry to crush your hopes, but I'm not dead yet. And as long as I can stand, you're stuck with me."
Aizawa stood silently at the front of the class, wrapped in his bandages like a mummy, his eyes scanning the room with their usual tired sharpness.
"You all did well at USJ," he began, voice rough. "But don't get comfortable. Your fight isn't over yet."
The words hit like a thunderclap.
Chairs scraped, gasps broke out, and half the class jolted upright, panic instantly surging.
"Again?!" Kaminari yelped."Are villains attacking right now?!" Sero added, his elbows smacking his desk.Mina nearly toppled out of her chair. "We just got back!"
Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience already waning. "Relax. No villains. What I meant was…" His gaze narrowed. "…the U.A. Sports Festival is about to begin."
The class collectively sagged in relief, only to immediately shoot him a series of incredulous looks.
"Seriously?!" Kaminari groaned. "You could've led with that!""Yeah!" Ashido added, crossing her arms. "Don't just drop it like we're under attack again!"
But their complaints dissolved quickly into excitement, voices overlapping as they realized what this meant.
"Wait, the Sports Festival?" Kirishima's grin split wide. "Bro, this is huge!""Finally something fun!" Mina beamed.
However, not everyone was celebrating. Jirō cautiously raised her hand, her earjack twitching nervously. "Sensei… is it really wise to hold something so big right now? After the attack?"
Ojiro nodded in agreement, tail swishing behind him. "Yeah, what if the villains strike again? They'd have the perfect chance with all of us in one place."
Aizawa's gaze swept over them, his expression unreadable. "The principal is fully aware of that risk. That's exactly why he wants the festival to continue. To show the world that U.A. isn't shaken. That the threat has been handled. Security will be far stronger than last year."
The tension in the room eased, though Mineta wasn't convinced. He shrank into his chair, muttering, "Sounds like a great way to get murdered on live television…"
Izuku turned toward him, brows furrowed. "Do you really not understand how important the Sports Festival is?"
"Of course I know!" Mineta shot back, flailing his stubby arms. "I just prefer living to being scouted!"
That earned a small wave of laughter, but Aizawa cut through it with his calm, flat tone.
"The U.A. Sports Festival is one of the most-watched events in the world. Once, people cared about the Olympics. That changed with the rise of quirks. Now, if you care about competition, there's only one stage that matters—U.A.'s arena."
Momo leaned forward, her voice steady, adding weight to his words. "And it isn't just the public. Top heroes from across the globe watch this event to scout new talent. Our future depends on how we perform here."
Mineta groaned into his arms. "Unless you die trying…"
Aizawa didn't even flinch. "True enough. But the rewards outweigh the risks. Getting noticed by a pro hero agency can give you invaluable experience and credibility. For those aiming to go pro, this festival is your first true opportunity. Your one chance, every year."
He looked over them, his voice firm despite his ragged condition.
"So don't slack off. If you want a future as heroes, treat this like the battle it is. Because it will decide who among you rises… and who gets left behind."
The room fell silent at his words, every student feeling the weight of them settle over their shoulders.
Aizawa's voice was as flat as ever when he finally wrapped up."That's all for now. Class dismissed."
The students all began to shuffle in their seats, the tension of his words still lingering as the door slid open. Cementoss entered, his massive, blocky frame filling the doorway.
"Alright, everyone," Cementoss said, his deep voice rumbling, "let's pick up where we left off with Modern Literature."
The sudden shift in mood was almost comical. The students straightened their backs, grabbed their books, and tried to focus. But their minds kept drifting. The U.A. Sports Festival was now a looming presence in all of their thoughts, bigger than any lesson.
By the time Cementoss left, the classroom practically erupted.
"Can you believe it?!" Kaminari shot up from his seat, sparks of electricity zipping out from his excitement."This is gonna be so manly!" Kirishima roared, flexing his arms.Mina leaned forward on her desk, eyes sparkling. "It's basically the stage where we get to show off in front of the whole world!"Even Bakugo smirked, a low growl under his breath. "Heh. Finally, a chance to prove I'm the best."
The buzz carried through the halls as students spilled out of the classroom. Izuku walked alongside Iida and Uraraka, the three of them naturally falling into step together.
Izuku glanced at them, curiosity tugging at his mind. "Hey… can I ask you both something? Why did you want to become heroes?"
Uraraka blinked, her face warming instantly. She fiddled with her fingers, voice small. "Well… honestly… I want to be a hero for money."
Both boys looked at her with surprise. She rushed to explain, cheeks flushing pink. "My parents run a construction business, but they've been struggling. If I can become a Pro, I'll be able to support them and keep the business afloat. That's why I want to succeed."
Iida adjusted his glasses with a sharp push, his expression full of admiration. "That's nothing to be ashamed of. Wanting to use your strength to protect and support your family is an admirable and noble reason. It shows you have your priorities straight."
Uraraka's embarrassment softened into a smile at his words, and Izuku nodded firmly. "I think so too. You're incredible, Uraraka."
As they neared the cafeteria, a tall, muscular figure suddenly appeared around the corner, flanked by a blond third-year with a sunny smile.
"All Might?!" Izuku's eyes widened.
"Midoriya, my boy!" All Might boomed, though his voice carried a strained undertone. "And young Togata here. We were hoping to invite you to lunch!"
The trio froze. Iida blinked in surprise, while Uraraka gasped.
"Lunch… with All Might?!" she whispered.
Izuku hesitated, but his friends both gave him reassuring looks. "Go on, Midoriya," Iida said, offering a polite nod. "We'll eat together tomorrow."Uraraka smiled. "Yeah! Don't worry about us."
Grateful, Izuku followed All Might and the third-year down the hall.
The blond upperclassman offered his hand with a grin so wide it was almost blinding. "Mirio Togata! Nice to meet you, first-year!"
Izuku shook his hand, recognizing the name instantly. "You're Mirio, right? One of the Big Three."
"Guilty as charged!" Mirio laughed, guiding them toward a private dining room.
When they arrived, All Might shut the door behind them and immediately deflated into his true form. His thin frame hunched over slightly, shadows under his eyes.
"I'm down to only fifty minutes a day now," he admitted, settling into a chair with a weary sigh.
Mirio's smile faltered as he blinked in shock. "What…? What are you doing?!"
All Might raised a hand, cutting him off. "Don't panic. Midoriya already knows my secret."
Izuku added quickly, "All Might and Principal Nezu came to my home once. Even in his smaller form, his heartbeat was the same as in his hero form. I could tell."
Mirio tilted his head in surprise. "So your hearing's that sharp? You can hear someone's heartbeat like that?"
Izuku nodded calmly. "Not just someone's. I can hear every heartbeat in Japan. But enough of that—it's not why we're here. All Might wouldn't bring us just to show off."
Mirio whistled low, impressed despite himself. "Every heartbeat in Japan? That's insane."
All Might poured them both tea before sitting back, his gaunt form weighed down by gravity itself. "You're both here because of the Sports Festival. It's not just an event—it's a test. And for you, Togata, the problem lies with your control."
Mirio's usual smile dipped into a frown. "I know. I can handle about fifty percent of One For All, but anything higher causes problems. My body just can't handle it yet."
Izuku leaned forward, earnest. "But fifty percent of All Might's strength? That's still incredible. You're already amazing."
Mirio chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Thanks, Midoriya. But let me ask you—where'd you place in the entrance exam?"
"First," Izuku answered honestly. "Why?"
Mirio's grin returned. "Because the top scorer gets to give the opening speech at the Sports Festival. They don't tell you until right before it happens. Guess that honor goes to you."
Izuku blinked, caught off guard. "What?!"
Before he could react further, All Might raised his hand again, voice heavy. "Listen closely. My time as the Symbol of Peace is running short. More villains are beginning to notice my weakness. But there is still hope."
He looked between the two boys, his sunken eyes filled with unshakable determination.
"Togata, Midoriya… the future rests on your shoulders. And Midoriya…" His gaze lingered on Izuku. "…when I retire, I'll need you to look after Mirio."
Both boys froze.
Mario's expression tightened, his usual smile fading. "Why… would you ask that of him, and not me?"
Izuku took a breath, his face solemn. "Because the Hero Public Safety Commission already approached me. After the USJ attack, they came to my house. They wanted me to leave U.A. and join them directly. I refused. But I told them this—" His green eyes burned with conviction. "—if the day ever comes when All Might can no longer fight, I'll step in. I'll take his place."
The room grew impossibly quiet, the weight of his words sinking into the air.
Izuku's voice softened as he looked down at his hands, fingers curling tightly against the edge of the table."I grew up on my family's farm… I was homeschooled most of my life. So… being here at U.A., making friends my own age—friends who aren't just my parents—it's all still new to me. I don't want to lose that. But…" His green eyes lifted, steady but heavy with resolve. "…if I have to give it up to protect everybody, then I'll make that sacrifice."
The words hung in the air like a weight.
Mirio leaned forward, his normally radiant smile replaced with something gentler, more earnest. "Midoriya… you shouldn't have to do that. That's not fair to you." He set his hand firmly on Izuku's shoulder. "I'm graduating this year. That means I'll be out there, standing with the Pros really soon. You don't have to carry that kind of burden alone."
All Might nodded, his sunken form straightening slightly as his voice carried both authority and reassurance. "Mirio speaks the truth. He's destined to rise quickly—his spirit, his quirk, and his determination will make him a top hero in no time. He'll shoulder the weight of being Number One until you finish high school, Midoriya. And when that time comes, the two of you can share the responsibility—supporting each other, as heroes should."
Izuku sat in silence, his eyes shifting from Mirio's warm, determined gaze to All Might's tired but unshakable one. For a moment, he didn't answer. The quiet stretched, broken only by the faint sound of his heartbeat—steady, but heavy.
Finally, he spoke, voice low and measured. "…I'd like it if things happened that way. Truly, I would." His expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "But life doesn't always go the way we want."
All Might, noticing the heaviness in the room after Izuku's words, decided to shift the atmosphere. He straightened up, his gaunt frame rising with a little of the old flare. "Enough gloom! Togata, this will be your final Sports Festival as a U.A. student. You mustn't waste the opportunity. The pros will be watching, and this is your chance to show the world that you are here! You must shine so brightly that they see you as the next Symbol of Peace—the next All Might!"
Mirio's expression hardened with determination. He stood from his chair, bowing deeply. "I won't let you down, All Might."
Izuku smiled faintly at his senpai's energy, though deep down he knew Mirio wasn't the only one under pressure. Still, the thought of watching him shine in the spotlight made Izuku's heart swell with admiration.
After their conversation ended, the two boys returned to their respective classes. The rest of the school day passed normally—lectures, note-taking, and the occasional chatter about the upcoming festival. But a tension lingered in the air, and by the time the final bell rang, every student in Class 1-A felt the undercurrent of anticipation.
As the class gathered their things and headed for the door, they found their path blocked. A crowd of students from other departments stood waiting in the hallway, eyes sharp and expressions full of mixed emotions—curiosity, hostility, even envy.
Uraraka blinked in surprise and nervously raised her hand. "U-um… why the heck are you all here?"
Ida stepped forward, chopping the air with his hands in his usual stern manner. "If you have some kind of business with our class, then state it clearly instead of obstructing the hallways!"
Mineta shrank back nervously, beads of sweat forming on his head. "W-why are you blocking the doorway? I won't let you hold us hostage!"
Bakugo, scowling at the fuss, pushed his way past his classmates. "You morons… they're here to scout the competition. We're the class that survived a real villain attack, remember? Of course everyone's eyes are on us." His tone was sharp, but filled with a smug certainty.
As he reached the doorway, he glared at the gathered crowd. "At least now you know what a future pro looks like. NOW MOVE IT, EXTRAS!"
"Bakugo!" Ida immediately scolded, grabbing the sides of his head in frustration. "You cannot go around calling others 'extras' simply because you don't know who they are! That is—"
Before Ida could finish, a sharp voice cut through the crowd.
"So this is Class 1-A, huh? I heard you guys were impressive… but all I hear is a bunch of arrogant jerks. Tell me—are all hero students this delusional, or is it just you?"
The crowd shifted, murmurs rising. Bakugo's temper flared instantly, but before he could lunge forward, Izuku stepped in. He grabbed Bakugo by the shoulder and pulled him back with surprising strength, moving him away from the door. "Don't," Izuku muttered firmly, his eyes forward.
When Izuku stepped into the doorway himself, the murmuring of the students grew louder. His presence was imposing—standing at six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying the quiet weight of someone who'd already faced death. In a hallway where most students stood around five and a half feet, he stood out like a giant.
"That's him…" one whispered."The one from the news.""The boy who fought at the U.S.J.…"
The student who had called Bakugo out stepped forward now, a boy with sharp features and a defiant glare. He craned his neck to meet Izuku's eyes. "What a shame. I came here hoping to find worthy rivals, but all I see are a bunch of egomaniacs. I wanted to be in the hero course too, but like a lot of us here, I was forced onto a different track."
His words carried bitterness, but also burning determination. "I didn't make it the first time, but the Sports Festival is my second chance. If we do well, the teachers can recommend us for transfer into the hero course. And when that happens, they'll have to kick some of you out to make room."
The boy leaned closer, his voice firm and cutting. "So here's my message, Class 1-A: if you don't bring your A-game, I'll take your spot. Consider this a declaration of war."
A nervous gulp rippled through the class. Some students stiffened, others looked away nervously. Even Bakugo opened his mouth, ready to spit back, but Kirishima quickly slapped a hand over his friend's mouth. "Not now, bro. Seriously."
Then another voice rose from the crowd, much louder and filled with pride.
"My name's Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu!" the boy with steel-gray hair and a jaw like chiseled iron barked, his voice booming through the hallway. He jabbed a finger at Class 1-A with a mix of anger and pride. "I heard you guys fought real villains—but don't get cocky. At the end of the day, you're just a bunch of brats who think you're better than the rest of us!"
The words cut through the air like a blade.
"Crap…" many of the 1-A students thought at once, glancing nervously at each other. Now everyone hates our class…
The crowd of general studies, support, and business course students nodded and muttered among themselves, glaring at the hero course like they were prey that needed to be taken down.
Tetsutetsu folded his arms, his expression fierce. "Talk all you want, but all that trash will just make it more embarrassing when you're KO'd in front of the pros. We'll prove we belong in the hero course."
Before Bakugo could explode and make things worse, Izuku stepped forward. His tall frame loomed over most of the gathered students, his presence drawing silence without him needing to raise his voice.
"We don't think we're better than anyone," Izuku said firmly, his voice steady and commanding. His emerald eyes locked onto the boy who had declared war earlier, then flicked briefly to Tetsutetsu. "But make no mistake—we will fight with everything we have. You want to transfer in? Fine. But don't think it'll be easy to take my spot… or any of my classmates' spots. Because we plan to bring our A-game to the Sports Festival too."
The murmuring stopped for a moment, tension crackling in the air. Students from the other courses stared at Izuku, caught off guard by the quiet strength in his words. He didn't look like he was boasting. He didn't look like he was belittling them. He looked like someone who had already faced something bigger than the Sports Festival—someone who meant it.
Tetsutetsu clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together, but his eyes glimmered with something else now—excitement. Rivalry.
Izuku didn't wait for a response. Without another word, he turned and walked through the crowd, his footsteps echoing on the tile floor. The students instinctively parted for him, leaving a path clear to the exit.
Behind him, Class 1-A followed in silence, the tension pressing heavy on their shoulders. For the first time since the U.S.J. incident, they realized just how much the rest of the school resented them—and how hard they would have to fight to prove they deserved their place.
Once Izuku stepped out of the building and away from the crowd of glaring students, he took a deep breath. His classmates trailed behind, but Izuku didn't stop; with a single bound he leapt into the air, streaking across the sky. The wind whipped against his face as the city shrank beneath him, and his thoughts turned inward.
Two weeks… he thought. Just two weeks until the Sports Festival. And it's going to be live—every camera, every screen, every pro watching. No room for mistakes.
While Izuku flew home, halfway across the world in Washington, D.C., the Oval Office was locked down for a private meeting.
Stars and Stripes—the number one hero in the United States—stood across from the President of the United States. Her towering figure was rigid, arms crossed, cape draped proudly behind her. Despite her confident posture, her brow was furrowed in curiosity.
"Mr. President," she began, her voice sharp but respectful, "why are we so obsessed with this boy? Yes, Midoriya is powerful, no doubt about that. But other than his quirk, he doesn't have anything noteworthy. He's just another student—Japan has dozens of powerful up-and-coming heroes."
The President leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his expression unreadable. The American flag rippled faintly from the air conditioning behind him, and the golden light of evening poured in through the window, casting long shadows across the Oval Office.
"Cathy," he said, using her real name in the privacy of the room, "you're not wrong. Plenty of young heroes are strong. But Midoriya is… different. His quirk doesn't match his parents' abilities. That alone raises questions."
Star raised an eyebrow, scoffing lightly. "So what? My quirk doesn't match my parents either. That's nothing new. The 'quirk singularity theory' gets thrown around all the time—quirks evolving in unpredictable ways. You can't tell me that's reason enough to focus this much attention on one kid."
The President's gaze sharpened. He pressed a button on his desk, and a holographic projection of Izuku's file appeared above the surface. Data, photos, medical notes, and quirk evaluations filled the display.
"You're right—his parents' quirks don't matter. But his does."
Stars leaned closer, scanning the file she'd already seen before. "Superhuman. Absorbs solar radiation… yeah, I was there when the H.P.S.C. presented it. Nothing new."
"Yes, you were," the President said slowly, his tone measured. "But after that meeting, I pulled his full medical notes. Most of that data was not shared with you—or Japan's public, for that matter." He tapped the file, enlarging one of the doctor's notes highlighted in red. "Here. Read it."
Stars frowned and skimmed the text, her eyes narrowing as she read aloud:
'Subject continues to display exponential growth in physical and energy output. Prolonged exposure to direct sunlight significantly increases strength, speed, and durability. No observable limit has yet been documented. Current recommendation: monitor closely, as potential for escalation is unknown.'
She straightened, eyes hardening. "…They don't know his limits."
The President nodded grimly. "Exactly. Every quirk has limits. Even yours. Even All Might's. But Midoriya? According to these observations, as long as the sun shines, he can keep getting stronger. No cap. No ceiling."
Stars exhaled through her nose, her expression shifting. There was no fear in her eyes—she wasn't the type to fear—but there was a rare hint of unease. "…You're saying, given enough time, he could surpass anyone."
"I'm saying," the President replied, voice heavy with weight, "that the world has seen beings like this before. Not often… but enough to know the danger and opportunity in someone like him. And if we're right, then we're not just watching the rise of another hero. We may be witnessing the birth of something unprecedented."
Stars fell silent for a moment, then tilted her head. "So that's why you want to keep such a close eye on him during the Sports Festival."
The President's lips curled into the faintest shadow of a smile. "Exactly. It'll be broadcast live, and we'll see him in action under pressure, against other strong opponents. Every country, every agency, every rival will be watching. And we'll get our answers. Until then… Midoriya Izuku remains a priority."
Stars and Stripes straightened, her cape shifting as she folded her arms again. "Fine. I'll keep watching. But just remember, Mr. President—he's still just a kid. If he is as powerful as you think, then the last thing we want to do is treat him like a weapon before he even becomes a hero."
Meanwhile, at the bustling newsroom of the Daily Planet, the clacking of keyboards and the buzz of reporters filled the air. Deadlines loomed, stories were being edited, and phones rang off the hook. In the middle of it all, a booming voice cut through the noise like a thunderclap.
"Lois! Get in here!"
Lois Lane, sharp-eyed and quick on her feet, emerged from her desk and strode into the office of Perry White, the gruff yet seasoned editor-in-chief. His desk was littered with papers, coffee cups, and half-finished headlines. He was holding a glossy photo in one hand, his expression serious but excited.
"You called for me, Perry?" Lois asked, crossing her arms with curiosity.
"Yeah, I did. Here—take a look at this." Perry handed her the photo.
Lois leaned forward and squinted. The image captured a moment already burned into the public's memory: Izuku Midoriya, a teenager, standing tall in the sky while holding an entire passenger plane aloft with nothing but his bare hands. The sunlight caught his determined expression perfectly, like something straight out of a comic book.
"Ahh," Lois breathed, recognition dawning. "The boy who caught a plane. The one people are calling the second coming of All Might." Her tone carried equal parts intrigue and skepticism.
Perry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "That's right. And here's the deal: I've got two tickets to Japan. The first-year U.A. Sports Festival. I want you there, front row, reporting on this kid. I want everything you can get. Background. Power. Personality. If he really is what people are saying, if he really is another All Might—or maybe something even bigger—then the Daily Planet is gonna be the first to tell the story."
Lois's eyes flicked up from the photo to meet Perry's gaze. "You want me to cover a school sports festival?"
"This isn't just some high school track meet, Lois. This is U.A.—the school that trained All Might himself. And this Midoriya kid? He's the headline. He's the one the world's watching now." Perry slid the tickets across his desk. "Your plane leaves in a week. And you're taking Jimmy with you. He'll handle the camera work and keep his nose clean."
Lois smirked, picking up the tickets. "Jimmy's fine, but I was supposed to be in Greece. I had an exclusive lined up with Diana, the top student at Olympus Hero Academy. Do you know how hard it is to get face time with her? She's practically royalty."
Perry waved a hand dismissively. "I'll send Cat Grant or somebody else to do the Diana piece. What's important is this kid. People are calling him the next number one hero before he's even graduated high school. Hell, Lois, you know better than anyone—stories like this don't come around every day. I want the Daily Planet to be the paper of record when the world looks back and asks, Where did it all begin?"
Lois studied the photo again, her reporter's instincts firing. The boy looked so young, yet there was something about his expression—something steady, unyielding, almost larger than life. She lowered the photo slowly and gave Perry a sharp nod.
"Fine. I'll go. But don't expect fluff pieces. If I'm covering this boy, I'm digging into who he really is—whether he's a savior, a fraud, or something in between. People deserve the truth."
"That's exactly why I'm sending you," Perry said with a small grin, lighting a cigar despite the newsroom's complaints about the smell. "Nobody digs like Lois Lane."
As she turned to leave, Perry called after her. "Oh, and Lois?"
She glanced back.
"Get me something front-page worthy. I want the world hooked before that kid even steps onto the field."
Lois smirked, tucking the tickets into her jacket pocket. "Don't worry, Perry. You'll get your front page."
For the first week leading up to the Sports Festival, Izuku decided not to push himself too hard. He already knew his strength and speed were far beyond most of his classmates, but that didn't mean he couldn't contribute in another way. Instead of focusing on his own training, he threw himself into helping his classmates sharpen their skills—each session tailored to their quirks, weaknesses, and fighting styles.
Kirishima was the first. The red-haired boy was eager, always charging into things with his unbreakable spirit. But Izuku knew toughness wasn't just about hardening—it was about facing the pressure of true danger.Out in Ground Beta, Kirishima planted his feet and activated his quirk. "Go on, hit me with everything you got!" he shouted with his usual grin.
Izuku shook his head. "Not everything. But enough to make you question if you can really stand up to it."
And he did. Izuku struck with carefully measured blows—never enough to cripple, but always enough to make Kirishima's instincts scream. Each punch rattled Kirishima's hardened skin, making him grit his teeth as cracks started to form in his hardened plates. But each time he recovered, Kirishima pushed back harder, reinforcing his resolve. By the end of the session, his body was bruised beneath the hardening, but his endurance had noticeably increased.
Kirishima, panting and sweating, laughed through the pain. "Man, Midoriya, I swear you're gonna kill me one of these days… but damn, this is making me tougher!"
For Sero, Izuku designed a chase. They went to Ground Beta, weaving between broken buildings and wreckage. Izuku darted like lightning, forcing Sero to fire tape after tape to keep up.
"C'mon, faster!" Izuku shouted as he blurred past, only slowing enough to let Sero think he had a chance. Whenever Sero came close to snaring him, Izuku retaliated with sudden bursts of pressure—short punches that cracked walls or shockwaves that knocked Sero off balance.
At first, Sero grew frustrated. "I can't even touch you!"
Izuku slowed just slightly, his voice firm. "That's the point. If you can keep up with me—even for a second—you'll be ready for anyone else. Don't think of it as catching me. Think of it as surviving me."
By the end, Sero's reflexes were sharper, his tape firing more efficiently, and he had developed strategies to anticipate movement rather than just react.
With Mina Ashido, Izuku focused on agility. She already had speed and flexibility, but her acid use was raw, often scattered and uncoordinated. Izuku set up moving targets—metal plates rigged on swinging chains, some small, some large.
"Hit them, but only where I say," Izuku instructed, calling out different spots at random. Mina had to adjust instantly, her acid flying in sharp arcs. When she hesitated, Izuku closed the gap in a flash, lightly tapping her shoulder. "You hesitated. In a real fight, you'd be done."
The drills forced Mina to improve her precision and confidence, until by the end of the week she could hit almost any target Izuku called out in a split-second.
Jirou, Izuku had her try to track him through buildings using only her Earphone Jack vibrations, teaching her to detect subtle differences between decoys and real threats. For Kaminari, Izuku encouraged accuracy over raw output, having him shoot small, controlled blasts at fast-moving drones Izuku whipped into the air at high speeds.
By the end of the week, Class 1-A was buzzing. Everyone had pushed themselves harder than usual because of Izuku's training. Some bore bruises, some could barely walk straight, but all of them felt sharper, stronger, and more confident than they had the week before.
On Saturday morning, after a long flight across the Pacific, Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen stepped off the plane at Tokyo International Airport. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, businesspeople, and tourists, but Lois's sharp eyes were already focused on the task at hand. She wasn't here for sightseeing—she was here for the story that could define her career.
Jimmy, juggling both of their suitcases, adjusted his camera strap over his shoulder. "So, boss, what's our first stop? Straight to the action, or do we settle in first?"
Lois didn't hesitate. "We're heading to Musutafu. That's where U.A. High is located, and if the rumors are true, that's where Midoriya lives. We'll book a hotel nearby and start asking questions. The Sports Festival is still a week away, but I want a head start."
Jimmy raised an eyebrow as he hauled the bags onto a luggage cart. "Right, right. But Lois, this kid—you really think he's worth all the hype? I mean, Japan has All Might, Endeavor, Best Jeanist… why's everyone losing their minds over one high schooler?"
Lois gave him a sharp look, her reporter's instincts burning behind her eyes. "Jimmy, this isn't just any student. This is the boy who caught a passenger plane in midair with his bare hands. People are calling him the 'second coming of All Might.' You think I'm gonna ignore that?" She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the saved photo Perry had shoved into her hands back at the Daily Planet. It was the now-famous shot of Izuku standing under the shadow of a massive plane, holding it up like it weighed nothing.
Jimmy leaned over and whistled. "Yeah, that's… not normal."
Lois smirked. "Not normal sells papers. And if what the whispers say is true—that his power doesn't match either of his parents, that his strength grows under the sun—then this kid could be the most important story since stars and stripes first revealed herself in Metropolis."
The mention of stars and stripes made Jimmy pause. "Wait. You think this kid's on that level?"
Lois slipped her sunglasses on, her tone even but serious. "That's what we're here to find out."
A couple hours later, their cab pulled into the bustling city of Musutafu, its streets alive with shops, commuters, and the occasional pro hero patrolling rooftops. Compared to Tokyo, it was smaller, quieter—but Lois could feel the undercurrent of anticipation in the air. Banners were already being put up for the U.A. Sports Festival, and every local newsstand was plastered with headlines about which students might stand out.
As Jimmy wheeled their bags into the lobby of a modest hotel not far from U.A., Lois scanned the crowd. Families with young kids, groups of reporters, even foreign tourists—all of them had come for the same reason. This wasn't just a school event. This was a spectacle.
Once they settled in, Jimmy flopped onto his bed, pulling out his camera to check the batteries. "So, what's the game plan? Stake out the school? Track down some classmates? Try to find the kid's house?"
Lois crossed her arms, thinking. "All of the above. But we start small. shopkeepers, locals—they always know more than they let on. We ask about Izuku Midoriya. Where he's from. How people see him. Then we build from there. I want context, not just a name on a file."
She glanced out the hotel window, toward the distant silhouette of U.A.'s massive gates. "This isn't just about Midoriya being strong. It's about what he represents. And if I'm right, this story won't just stay in Japan—it's going to shake the whole world."
Jimmy gave her a nervous grin. "Guess we're not getting much sleep, huh?"
Lois smirked. "Not if you want a Pulitzer, Olsen."
Lois and Jimmy spent the better part of the day combing through Musutafu. They started with shopkeepers, food stalls, and even a few café workers who had seen groups of U.A. students before. The name Izuku Midoriya carried weight, but the answers they got were all the same:
"He's polite.""He's kind of quiet.""Oh, that's the boy who cleaned Dagobah Beach, isn't he? Did it in no time at all—like magic."
Lois scribbled everything down, but it wasn't enough. She wasn't after scraps of admiration—she needed substance. Something that told her who Izuku really was. By late afternoon, she had made the call: they'd stake out the front of U.A. itself.
So, there they were, leaning casually against a lamppost near the massive iron gates of the most famous hero school in Japan. Students streamed out in clusters, laughing, chatting, or heading straight for the train. Lois's sharp eyes scanned every face until she saw him.
Izuku Midoriya was impossible to miss. Even in uniform, he stood taller than most of his classmates, his frame broader, stronger. His messy green hair glinted faintly in the light of the setting sun. There was no mistaking him—the kid radiated presence.
Jimmy raised his camera instinctively. "That's him, isn't it?"
Lois placed a hand on his wrist before he could snap the shot. "Not yet. If he sees us, he'll bolt. We watch first."
They observed as Izuku stopped near the gates, laughing with a small group of his friends. Lois caught snippets of names—Ida, Uraraka, Kirishima. The boy looked at ease, like any other teenager sharing the end of the school day. Then, with an almost casual wave goodbye, he bent his knees, launched upward, and shot into the sky like a bullet. Within seconds, he was a green-and-red streak vanishing into the horizon.
Jimmy's jaw went slack. "He just—he just took off!
Lois's lips pressed into a tight line. "Yeah. Which means following him home isn't an option. We'll have to try another way."
She slipped her notepad back into her jacket, squared her shoulders, and began walking directly toward the group of classmates Izuku had just left behind. Jimmy scrambled after her, nearly dropping his camera bag.
"Lois, wait—are you sure this is a good idea? These kids look like they're still in their teens. What are you gonna say?"
"Exactly what I need to," Lois replied coolly. "Teenagers gossip. And if Izuku's as private as he seems, then his friends know more about him than anyone else."
"Excuse me," Lois said smoothly as she approached, flashing the practiced smile of a seasoned reporter. "My name is Lois Lane, Daily Planet. I'm doing a feature on your classmate, Izuku Midoriya. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
The students glanced at each other nervously. Uraraka looked especially wary, her big eyes darting like she wasn't sure if she should answer. Kirishima stepped forward first, though, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, well… Midoriya's kinda private, y'know? He doesn't really like attention. But… he's a good guy. The best, honestly."
"Yeah," Uraraka chimed in softly, her expression softening as she spoke. "He's always looking out for everyone. Even when he doesn't have to, he just… cares. He's the kind of person who'll throw himself in danger if it means saving even one person."
Ida adjusted his glasses, his tone firm and resolute. "Midoriya exemplifies the very definition of a hero. Selflessness, courage, and unshakable conviction. He inspires us—his peers—to push ourselves harder every day."
Lois listened carefully, jotting down notes, her sharp instincts catching every subtle inflection in their voices. These weren't rehearsed lines or shallow praise. This was genuine. Each of them spoke of him with a mixture of respect and admiration—like he was more than just their classmate. Like he was their symbol.
The drive out of Musutafu stretched into open countryside, the city fading into rolling fields and clusters of forest. Lois sat in the passenger seat, eyes sharp, scanning the horizon as Jimmy hummed nervously behind the wheel. Their rented car bumped along a dirt road until, finally, the familiar red roof of a farmhouse appeared in the distance.
"This is it," Lois said, voice low but certain. "Midoriya's farm."
As they pulled into the driveway, the sight before them nearly stole Jimmy's breath. Izuku, clad in worn overalls and boots caked with earth, moved across the field with casual strength that looked anything but human. Balanced effortlessly on his broad shoulder was a massive hay bale—one that should have required a tractor or a team of men to budge. Yet Izuku carried it as if it weighed nothing, humming softly to himself as he approached the barn.
Jimmy's hand went to his camera instinctively, the shutter snapping in rapid succession. Click—click—click. Each shot caught Izuku in profile, the late afternoon sun framing him in gold, highlighting the sheer effortlessness of his power.
"Jimmy," Lois warned under her breath, though her eyes never left Izuku. "Careful. Don't make it obvious."
But Jimmy was entranced. "Lois… this kid's unbelievable. He looks like something out of a myth—like Paul Bunyan or Hercules." He zoomed in for another shot, the lens catching the glint of sweat on Izuku's brow and the calm determination etched on his face. "No wonder they're calling him the second coming of All Might."
Izuku stopped mid-stride, his head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing. For a moment, Lois swore his gaze flicked toward the car, as if he'd heard the shutter clicking from across the field. The hair on her arms stood on end.
"Lois…" Jimmy whispered nervously. "He—he's looking right at us."
Lois stayed composed, though her heart beat faster. "Of course he is. A boy who can carry a plane isn't going to miss two strangers parked on his property."
Sure enough, Izuku lowered the hay bale gently into the barn and began walking toward the car, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his pocket. He didn't look angry—just wary, curious.
"Stay calm," Lois murmured, straightening her blazer, every bit the professional journalist. "We wanted to meet him, Jimmy. Well… here he comes."
Izuku's tall frame cast a long shadow as he approached, green eyes sharp but cautious. His voice carried across the quiet farmyard, steady but polite.
"Can I help you?"
Lois leaned forward, offering him the kind of smile that had gotten her into and out of trouble with presidents and warlords alike. "Izuku Midoriya. My name's Lois Lane. This is Jimmy Olsen. We're with the Daily Planet. We'd like to talk."
Jimmy swallowed hard, clutching his camera close. Izuku's gaze flicked to it for a moment, then back to Lois, his expression unreadable.
The farmyard was quiet save for the clucking of hens and the low hum of cicadas as Izuku waved Lois and Jimmy toward the barn. His expression was polite but cautious, like someone trying to balance hospitality with a need to keep secrets.
Inside, the barn smelled of hay and wood polish. Shafts of golden light filtered through the high windows, illuminating stacks of feed, tools, and worktables. Izuku grabbed another hay bale with casual ease, tossing it onto the loft above as though it weighed nothing more than a pillow.
"Go ahead," he said, nodding toward Lois as he wiped his brow. "You can ask your questions while I work. I don't have much time to sit still."
Lois smirked faintly, flipping open her notepad. "Fair enough. Multitasking is something I'm familiar with. Let's start simple—people are calling you the second coming of All Might. Do you see yourself that way?"
Izuku hesitated, setting a crate of tools onto a shelf before answering. "No. All Might is… All Might. He's a symbol, someone the whole world looks up to. I just want to protect people in my own way. If that looks similar to him, then so be it. But I don't think anyone can replace him."
Lois scribbled notes quickly, her eyes sharp. She shifted her tone slightly, testing. "And yet, some would argue you've already surpassed what most pros can do. Planes, villains, even that rumor about you flying to the moon—"
Izuku turned his head slightly, brows furrowing. "Rumors get exaggerated. I do what I can with what I've been given. Nothing more."
While Lois pressed further, Jimmy wandered quietly around the barn, camera hanging loosely from his neck. He peeked into tool chests, glanced at the loft above, and eventually found himself near a wooden hatch at the back of the barn floor. Something about the subtle drag marks around it caught his curiosity. He crouched, fingers brushing the latch.
"Hey, what's down here—?" Jimmy started, tugging it open.
Izuku was on him in a heartbeat, faster than Lois could blink. His hand closed over the hatch, slamming it shut with a force that rattled the boards. Jimmy stumbled back, wide-eyed. Izuku's gaze wasn't angry—just hard, protective, like he'd nearly seen something he shouldn't.
"That's private," Izuku said firmly. His voice carried a weight that silenced the barn.
Lois's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her instincts kicking into overdrive. She smiled on the surface, but inside she knew she'd just brushed up against something big. Something hidden.
She adjusted her blazer and continued the interview as though nothing happened, but her questions grew sharper, circling around identity, legacy, and responsibility. Izuku answered carefully, never giving more than he intended, though every word of his carried honesty and conviction.
By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, Lois closed her notebook. "That's enough for now. Thank you for your time, Midoriya."
Jimmy gave a sheepish nod, still shaken by how fast Izuku had moved. The two returned to their car, driving back toward their hotel.
But Lois wasn't done. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead, replaying the moment when Izuku stopped Jimmy. What was he hiding under that barn?
Later that night, while the farm lay in quiet darkness and the cicadas sang their summer chorus, Lois Lane stepped out of her hotel, dressed in black and armed with nothing but a flashlight, her notebook, and a journalist's unshakable instinct.
The hotel room was dim, the only light coming from Jimmy's quirk as the glowing hologram of the cellar wall stretched across the room. The lines of radiant script hung in the air like ghostly fire, casting strange shadows across Lois and Jimmy's faces.
The translator—a tired-looking middle-aged man who had been working night shift at the hotel—adjusted his glasses and leaned closer to study the projection. He muttered to himself, tracing the glowing characters with his finger before finally speaking.
"It says… Take the crystal to the edge of the world. Cast it into the void at one of the polar caps, and the path will be revealed."
Lois and Jimmy exchanged a sharp glance.
"The crystal?" Jimmy whispered, lowering his voice like the word itself was dangerous. "What does that even mean?"
Lois's mind was racing. "A key. A weapon. A… map. Whatever it is, Izuku's hiding something big. Bigger than just some kid with a strong quirk."
The translator shrugged, clearly unsettled. "That's all it says. I don't know what it means. Are you sure this is real?"
"Real enough," Lois said flatly. "Thank you." She slipped the man a generous tip, and he hurried out without another word, leaving Lois and Jimmy alone with the projection.
Jimmy let the hologram fade, his hands trembling slightly. "Lois, if this is what he's protecting… maybe he's right. Maybe we shouldn't push this."
Lois leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. Her expression was hard, but beneath it there was a flicker of conflict. "I've chased a lot of stories, Jimmy. Presidents, warlords, corporate giants—but this boy? He's different. The world sees him as a hero-in-the-making, maybe even the next All Might. But if he's tied to this…" She gestured toward the empty air where the text had glowed seconds before. "…then he might be something else entirely."
Jimmy hesitated. "…So what do we do?"
Lois's voice softened, though her eyes still burned with determination. "We wait. The Sports Festival is in less than two weeks. Every hero in Japan, maybe the world, will be watching him. If he slips up, if he reveals even a piece of what he's hiding… that's when I'll go to Perry."
She turned toward the window, looking out at the glittering Tokyo skyline. Somewhere beyond the city, Izuku Midoriya was carrying the weight of a secret that could change everything.
Lois's jaw tightened. "After the festival… Perry's going to hear about all of it."