Hey Guys. I am here to inform you that this is the beginning of a new week, and the end of the ATLA subplot.
Most of you probably thought it was way longer than necessary. Perhaps. But I am not one for fast pacing so don't get angry with me if you don't like it. Second, I have read so many MHA fics and quite frankly, they re almost all the same.
I try to make mine as different as I can while still engaging. For those who feel I over glazed Avatar, that's my childhood, so sue me if you can.
Though it is what I feel would happen in a Quirk centric world where the vast majority of fictional content is all Quirk based. So once again, sue me. (Just Kidding. I don't actually own any of this except my OC's.)
That being said, things will pick up speed from here and everything will be focused on MHA from this point onwards as far as I have written. Anyway, moving on. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and hope my recent writing quality is better to those who it bothers.
With all said and done, I present to you, the Last Chapter of the ATLA subplot. let the Powerstones start rolling in.
___
The bell rang. School ended. Izuku lingered by his desk, watching his classmates file out in their usual clusters of chatter and complaints about homework. He should have gone home—his mother would worry if he was late again—but something tugged at him. All those conversations he'd overheard, the posts flooding his social feeds, the reviews that made his eyes go wide. And All Might's recommendation, delivered with that booming laugh and knowing wink.
His feet made the decision for him, carrying him toward the bookstore instead of home.
What he found made him stop dead.
A line. An actual, honest-to-god line that snaked around the building's corner and disappeared into the alley beyond. Dozens of people pressed together like concert-goers, like this was some limited merchandise drop instead of a bookstore on a Tuesday afternoon.
"They're restocking!" A group of middle school girls bounced on their toes nearby. "First edition reprints! And if you're lucky, there might be signed inserts!"
His heart did something embarrassing in his chest. He approached the guy at the line's end, clearing his throat. "Um, excuse me? What's everyone waiting for?"
The man looked him up and down. "You serious? The Last Airbender restock. They've sold out twice already." He shook his head like Izuku had asked what color the sky was.
"Oh." The word came out smaller than intended.
Behind them, another voice chimed in: "I heard it outsold Pro Hero Quarterly in under a week. And that was before Endeavor's agency gave it an official endorsement."
"Even Endeavor's reading it?"
"Apparently. Though can you imagine All Might giving his stamp of approval? Remember what happened to those restaurants he mentioned in his autobiography?"
"Half of Hosu shut down so people could make reservations. Complete chaos."
They laughed, oblivious to how Izuku had gone very, very still.
*If only you knew,* he thought, watching the endless line of eager readers. *All Might already gave his approval. What would this look like then?*
Commotion erupted from somewhere near the front. Shouts, groans of disappointment, the shuffle of defeat.
"Sold out again!"
"You've got to be kidding me!"
"I've been here for an hour!"
"Should've gotten here earlier like the rest of us."
"When's the next restock?"
Profanity peppered the air. Izuku winced, but the crowd's frustration felt almost tangible, pressing against him in waves.
*I guess I'll have to try another day,* he decided, already turning to leave when—
"GET OUTTA MY WAY, EXTRAS!"
The crowd parted. Not willingly—instinctively, like a survival mechanism kicking in. And there, stalking through the gap with his U.A. jacket slung over one shoulder and a pristine copy of The Last Airbender tucked under his arm like conquered territory, was Katsuki Bakugo.
He held the book aloft, grinning with all his teeth. "Maybe next time you losers will learn to show up when it matters. I got the last copy."
*So that's why he skipped afternoon classes.*
"Ka—Kacchan?"
Bakugo's red eyes found him instantly. "The hell are you doing here, Deku?"
"I just... wanted to see if they had any copies left." His gaze kept drifting to the book. "You bought The Last Airbender?"
"What, you gonna cry about it?"
"No! No, it's just..." He floundered. "I didn't think you liked reading."
"It's not some sappy garbage for extras. This thing's got teeth." Bakugo's scowl deepened. "You think I'd waste time on something lame?"
Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain offered nothing useful.
Something shifted in Bakugo's expression—the scowl fading by degrees, annoyance cooling to something almost like amusement.
"Save it, nerd." He shouldered past, the book still clutched possessively. "I've got better things to do than listen to your stammering."
No explosions. No creative insults. Just quiet, absolute confidence that he'd won something worth winning.
The disappointed murmurs of the crowd resumed around them, but Izuku barely heard. His eyes stayed fixed on that cover—bold lettering over four figures in motion, elements swirling like promises beneath the title.
A book everyone had read except him.
Even Kacchan.
"Guess I really need to catch up," he muttered, pulling out his phone as he walked.
Every online store told the same story: *Out of Stock.*
He sighed. Then smiled, just a little.
If even Kacchan was reading it, it had to be worth the wait.
---
## Across Japan
**Kirishima Eijirō**
*Family convenience store, Chiba Prefecture*
The magazine rack held his attention longer than it should have, considering he was supposed to grab milk and ramen and get home before his mom started worrying. Hero Times Weekly sat open in his hands, but his eyes kept drifting to the bestseller display by the register.
*The Last Airbender* again. Same cover he'd been seeing everywhere for weeks now.
"Even Mina won't shut up about it," he muttered to the empty aisle. "Says it made her cry three times. She never cries at anything."
The cover was simpler than most books that made this kind of splash—no flashy costumes or explosion effects. Just four silhouetted figures against swirling elements, somehow managing to look both peaceful and dangerous.
He picked up a copy, testing its weight. Not too thick, not too thin.
"Might be worth a shot." He headed for the counter, suddenly self-conscious. Not about the book itself, but about how much he'd always been a sucker for underdog stories. Stories about getting stronger, about protecting the people who mattered.
Nobody had to know how much that stuff got to him.
**Iida Tenya**
*Kamino Municipal Library, 3rd floor*
Perfect posture, perfect organization. Highlighter and notebook aligned at precise right angles, just the way concentration demanded. The Last Airbender lay open before him, and he was approaching it with the same methodical intensity he brought to everything else.
"Fascinating." His whisper barely disturbed the library's hush. "The protagonist's adherence to pacifist principles despite overwhelming pressure... it mirrors the ethical dilemmas pro heroes face during crisis negotiations."
His pen moved across the margin: *Chapter 18—examine Aang's refusal to kill despite consequences. Compare to Hero Code provisions regarding lethal force.*
A nearby student glanced over, rolled her eyes at his color-coded annotations, and returned to her manga.
"The Air Nation's genocide serves as historical context for the protagonist's moral framework," he continued under his breath, writing faster now. "Remarkable how the author maintains thematic consistency while—"
"Dude, it's just a story."
He straightened without looking back. "Stories shape minds. Minds shape heroes. Heroes shape society."
The philosophy was sound. The character development methodical. This wasn't entertainment—it was education wearing adventure's clothes.
**Jirō Kyōka**
Lo-fi beats drifted from her bedside amp, one ear jack plugged in while she sprawled across her covers. The Last Airbender sat propped on her chest, and she'd somehow read three chapters more than she'd planned.
Sokka had just delivered another terrible joke—something about "boomerang-ing back to the topic"—and despite herself, she snorted.
"What a dork." But she was smiling.
The next page brought Katara arguing about hope versus realism, and something twisted in Jirō's chest. The dialogue felt sharp, real—not polished the way most books made conversations sound.
*These characters actually talk like people.*
"You still reading that bender book?" Her mom's voice floated up from downstairs.
"It's not just a bender book!" The words came out more defensive than intended.
She stared at the page, heat creeping up her neck.
"It really isn't," she whispered to the empty room.
**Yaoyorozu Momo**
*Study room, Yaoyorozu Estate*
Crystal chandelier light fell perfectly across her mahogany desk, illuminating the fortress of preparation books surrounding her. Calculus, physics, hero law, combat theory—everything needed for U.A.'s entrance exam demanding her complete attention.
Instead, she kept glancing at her phone.
Her study group's chat had been buzzing all week about some book. Normally she'd ignore such distractions, but these weren't mindless fan reactions. They were analytical discussions—narrative structure, thematic depth, character psychology.
Curiosity won.
*Akiko: Just finished Chapter 12. The way they handle Katara's trauma after her mother's death... it's not patronizing at all. Feels real.*
*Hiroshi: You're still behind. I'm already at the Siege of the North. The Fire Nation's about to conquer the last Water Tribe stronghold.*
*Yuta: Can we talk about how the magic system actually makes sense? The chi-based power system is fascinating. Most fantasy just handwaves that stuff.*
*Akiko: @Momo you'd love this. It's basically a dissertation on power vs responsibility disguised as an adventure story.*
A dissertation disguised as adventure? That caught her attention.
Twenty minutes later, she was three chapters deep and completely hooked.
"Miss Yaoyorozu?" Watanabe appeared in the doorway with her evening tea. "Your tea."
"Oh! Thank you." She accepted the cup without looking up.
"Might I ask what has captured your attention so thoroughly? It's rare to see you distracted from your studies."
Heat touched her cheeks. "It's a novel. The Last Airbender. My study group recommended it."
"Ah, yes. My granddaughter mentioned that title. Her entire class is reading it, apparently."
"It's surprisingly sophisticated. The author demonstrates deep understanding of political theory, military strategy, even thermodynamics." She gestured at her screen. "This isn't just entertainment—it's genuinely educational."
"How delightful. Perhaps a brief reading break will refresh your mind for tomorrow's exam preparation?"
She looked at her textbook stack, then back at her screen where Aang was learning the weight of his destiny.
"Perhaps... just one more chapter."
Four hours later, she was still reading.
**Ashido Mina**
"No, no, NO!" The whisper came muffled through her pillow, book clutched against her chest. "You can't just end the chapter there!"
Three hours past bedtime, way deeper in the story than she'd planned. Her eyes burned but stopping felt impossible.
The adventure parts were incredible—flying bison, spirit worlds, epic battles—but the emotional moments hit different. Harder.
"This is so not fair." She wiped at her eyes, annoyed at herself for getting so invested.
Her phone buzzed: group chat notification.
*Himari: Anyone else crying over Avatar rn?*
*Yue: SAME! Just finished chapter 18*
*Akane: DON'T SPOIL ANYTHING I'M ONLY ON CHAPTER 8*
She smiled through the tears and typed back: *This book is emotionally devastating and I love it.*
Then she clicked off her flashlight but kept the book close.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
---
## Ken's Living Room
Stacks of white envelopes covered the coffee table. All opened, all official, all containing numbers that still didn't feel real.
Ken slumped into the couch while his mom held the latest statement, reading it for the third time.
"This can't be real."
"It is." He ran both hands through his hair. "Domestic sales, digital rights, translation deals. They're talking merchandising now. Singapore, Korea, parts of Europe—it's spreading."
She laughed, but it came out shaky. "A book you wrote in your pajamas. In this living room."
"Joggers," he corrected with a tired smile. "I had some dignity."
The signing bonus had felt like winning the lottery—¥1.5 million for a story he'd written between training sessions. Four months later, with over a hundred thousand copies sold and anime rumors swirling, his cut had hit ¥18 million and climbing.
One volume. Just one.
"Are you happy?" she asked quietly. "With how big this is getting?"
He leaned back, considering. "Mostly. I've got Books Two and Three finished already, so it won't interfere with hero training. Now I just sit back and watch the money roll in."
"What about revealing yourself? People will want to know who wrote it eventually."
That question had been nagging at him. Fame brought scrutiny, and scrutiny brought questions. If the paparazzi here were anything like Hollywood's, they wouldn't stop digging.
"Not yet. Maybe not ever, officially." He gestured at the financial documents. "Sometimes mystery works better than revelation. Besides, I'm planning to be a hero. Only the most successful pros make real money, and this could help when that time comes."
She nodded slowly, but something troubled crossed her expression. "When you first told me you wanted to be a hero, I worried about the danger. The responsibility. The pressure." Her eyes found the money again. "I never worried about fame."
"This is different. Heroes save people. Writers just tell stories."
"Stories that change people. Make them think, feel, grow." She met his eyes. "That's its own kind of heroism."
They'd had this conversation before. More than once, actually, as the weeks passed and the book's success grew and U.A. drew closer. She didn't want him to be a hero—he understood that. After getting her son back, watching him walk into certain danger again was the last thing she wanted.
But understanding didn't make it easier.
"Maybe," he said finally. "But I still want both."
She began gathering the scattered papers into neat piles. "Then figure out how to balance them. Because in exactly two weeks, U.A. entrance exams begin."
She stood, then paused to press a kiss to his forehead. "If this is what you want, I support you. Do your best. I'm proud of you regardless."
After she left, Ken stared at the calendar on the wall. At the red circle around a date that had seemed impossibly far away when he'd first marked it.
Two weeks.
The official start of everything he'd been preparing for was just two weeks away.
___
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