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Time, as always, slipped away quietly when you weren't paying attention. Before she knew it, the day of the forest training camp had arrived.
In the past few days, All For One hadn't contacted her again, and the League of Villains remained hidden in the shadows—which suited Konata just fine. The League? She couldn't be bothered. Their so-called leader, Shigaraki Tomura, looked like an overgrown man-child with anger issues anyway. What she did have to worry about was what would happen after this seven-day camp ended—when she would quietly slip away and begin her plan to erase All For One for good.
Her current strength wasn't anything god-tier, but since she had already decided she wasn't sticking around in this world, why should she care about protecting this body?
The morning of departure, she arrived early—not even 6:30 yet—even though the buses weren't leaving until seven.
Everyone else, excited for the long-anticipated camp, had arrived early too, each dragging along backpacks stuffed with spare clothes, snacks, and random "just in case" items.
Konata, in comparison, carried almost nothing: just a large schoolbag with a few changes of clothes, a phone, and a charger.
She had originally assumed her "Heart of the Diva" passive—courtesy of Hatsune Miku—would help her resist motion sickness. But no. Apparently, motion sickness wasn't considered a "debuff" by the system—it was treated as a "buff."
"A buff? Seriously? What the hell kind of buff is that? Am I supposed to channel my inner drunken master while vomiting my guts out?"
Yeah. She was starting to think the passive's "immunity to all negative statuses" was written way too vaguely. Did poisoning count? If yes, wouldn't injuries count too?
She'd actually done some "scientific testing" during her summer downtime. First, she swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. No effect. Then, feeling invincible, she decided to try a sip of pesticide.
The result? Midnight-sensei dragging her, pale and shaking, to the hospital for an emergency stomach pump. After convincing Midnight that it was an "accident," she finally understood: the passive worked on mental effects, not physical ones.
And motion sickness? Yeah, apparently that was "physical."
"Whoever make this system… you're on my list."
As usual, she grabbed her usual back-row window seat, slipped on her headphones, leaned her head against the seat, and closed her eyes.
She vaguely felt someone slide into the seat beside her but didn't think much of it. If it wasn't Tsuyu, it was probably Yaoyorozu or Uraraka. She'd chat if she could, but in her current state, any conversation would end with her collapsing mid-sentence.
At 7 AM sharp, the buses departed—Class 1-A and 1-B on separate ones, heading in different directions. About two and a half hours later, the bus stopped at a platform jutting out over a dense, endless forest.
The moment the bus stopped, the nausea slammed into her. She slapped a hand over her mouth and nose, ready to bolt outside, when a steady hand caught her shoulder.
"Need me to help you down?"
Hearing Izuku's voice, Konata froze, turning her head slowly to meet his steady gaze.
…When the hell did you sit down next to me?
Soon, under Aizawa-sensei's lead, everyone unloaded their gear. The scenery was breathtaking—endless green, sunlight streaming through the trees. But that beauty just made everyone even more confused.
"Uh, shouldn't we be… driving straight to the campsite? Why are we stopping here?"
Konata, half-draped over the safety railing, looked every bit like death warmed over.
"Not a kid," a voice piped up.
She turned her head to find a boy—short, red cap with two little horns, hands stuffed in his pockets, expression practically screaming I'm antisocial, don't talk to me.
Konata blinked.
Oh. A brat. Probably a problem child.
Noticing her stare, the boy shot her a glare so sharp it could've cut glass.
Yeah. Definitely a brat. And I hate brats.
She turned away, focusing on the horizon. Protect your eyesight, kids. Look at nature, not troublemakers.
The boy was Kota Izumi, here with two pro heroes — the mountain rescue duo known as the Wild, Wild Pussycats.
Despite being a team, the two heroes couldn't have been more different. One, a "forever-18" type with a cat-girl costume and enough fake innocence to choke a man.
Konata barely had time to register them before—
Boom.
A swirl of dirt, and then, under the influence of a certain feline's Quirk, the ground beneath everyone except her collapsed, sending her classmates tumbling down the cliff.
Standing safely where she'd been sightseeing earlier, Konata felt the burn of a sharp, dangerous stare.
Slowly, she looked toward the source—the tall blonde cat-girl hero—and instantly raised her hand.
"Uh… can I just… jump down myself?"
Apparently, forest training camp wasn't exactly the relaxing vacation she'd envisioned. And when the first dirt-made monster burst out of the trees, she understood why.
The task: cross the forest in three hours. Start time, 9:30. Arrival deadline, 12:30.
"Right… so this is one of those kinds of camps."
By the time they stumbled across the final ridge and saw the camp buildings ahead, Konata just collapsed on the ground.
The real problem hadn't been the forest itself—but the near-endless waves of dirt monsters that had kept coming at them.
"Can I still quit? Please tell me I can still quit…"
As the teachers stood by the entrance, welcoming the students, Konata seriously considered slipping away the first chance she got.
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Meanwhile, elsewhere…
"All Might, you don't usually call me out of nowhere. What's wrong?"
Inside a quiet office, All Might answered the phone with mild confusion. On the other end of the line was his closest friend, Naomasa Tsukauchi—one of the very few people who knew everything: One For All, All For One, and the shadowed war that stretched between them.
"All Might," Tsukauchi's voice was tight, serious. "I need you here. Urgently. It's about All For One."
The moment he heard that name, All Might's brows furrowed.
That man. The one who had killed his master. The one who should have died eight years ago. The one who had crawled back from hell to bare his fangs again.
He didn't waste time with words. Ending the call, he moved immediately, arriving at the police station in record time.
Once the door was locked and the room secured, Tsukauchi motioned for him to sit.
"All Might," Tsukauchi began, voice heavy. "I've found something. Just a trace, but it's enough to rattle me. And I need your judgment on this."
"What kind of trace?" All Might leaned forward, tension radiating off him.
"Konata Izumi," Tsukauchi said slowly. "You know her, right? The Class 1-A representative."
"…Konata?"
All Might blinked, confused. "Of course I know her. She's… well… she's… good."
Yeah. That was the best description he had. Good.
"She's the one who gave me critical intel on All For One. Why? What's going on?"
Tsukauchi hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"Based on what I've found… there's a possibility—just a possibility—that she's an agent All For One planted inside U.A."
"No."
All Might didn't even think. His response was instant, sharp, and absolute.
"I know that girl. There's no way. Not after everything she's done. Impossible."
"Calm down," Tsukauchi said, lifting a hand, a weary smile tugging at his lips. "I don't want to believe it either. But… what if things aren't as they seem?"
From under the table, Tsukauchi pulled out a sealed envelope and placed it on the coffee table between them.
"Let's review the facts," he said grimly.
"Before you came to U.A., she was just another quiet, overlooked student. Background checks say she barely talked to anyone, practically invisible. Then you arrived, and suddenly… she changed. Rapidly. Everyone noticed. And around the same time… the USJ incident happened."
All Might scowled. "Coincidences happen. That doesn't mean—"
"Which is why I'm not accusing her blindly," Tsukauchi interrupted, sliding the envelope closer.
"These are the documents. The evidence I've gathered so far."
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Evidence.
All Might reached out and took the file from Naomasa Tsukauchi's hand. The moment his eyes scanned through the contents, his expression shifted—sharp, complicated, and just a little pained.
"So," Tsukauchi sighed, as if he had already predicted this reaction. "Now you'll actually hear me out?"
All Might exhaled through his nose, flipping the file face-down onto the coffee table. "...Continue."
"Good," Tsukauchi said, tone flat but steady. "Though that alone doesn't prove anything, it's enough to start the conversation. So listen carefully."
"If that's your only so-called evidence," All Might warned quietly, "don't say another word. I'd rather trust her."
Tsukauchi shook his head. "Then let me be blunt. Time's short, so I'll get straight to the point. Don't you think the League of Villains acted… a little too stupid during the USJ incident?"
All Might's jaw tightened. "We've discussed this internally. Shigaraki Tomura is… immature. A tantrum-prone child."
"Really?" Tsukauchi's brows furrowed, his voice sharp. "Or is that exactly what they want you to believe? Gaining your trust through an obvious act of recklessness is the oldest trick in the book. A well-timed gambit, and the timing here was too perfect."
All Might's voice grew cold, a warning threaded through his words. "Naomasa… If you're going to use baseless speculation to tarnish her efforts—her sacrifices—then we're done talking."
A pause. Then Tsukauchi bowed his head slightly. "...Fine. I'll apologize for that."
His tone steadied. "But hear me out. During the Hosu incident—you know the story—she slipped out of everyone's sight. Midoriya risked his life to drag her back. She claimed she'd come face-to-face with All For One… and that he couldn't take her Quirk. And then, instead of killing her, he let her go—though not without leaving her barely standing."
All Might's fists tightened on his knees. His silence said enough.
"Don't misunderstand," Tsukauchi continued, voice quieter now. "I'm not eager to see her as some double agent. But you know what kind of man All For One is. If he couldn't take her power, then killing her outright would've been the safer, cleaner option. Why let her live, Toshinori? None of this adds up."
All Might had no answer.
"And then there's this," Tsukauchi said, pulling out another stack of documents—bank transfers, transcripts, intercepted snippets of calls. "She knows about All For One. And if she knows that much, then she knows about One For All too. So tell me… doesn't that make her sudden closeness to Midoriya… suspicious?"
All Might stood, his cape brushing against the chair. Tsukauchi, undeterred, spread a series of photographs across the table. His voice dropped.
"You know one of these faces—Shigaraki Tomura. Your 'man-child' of a villain. But this other one…" He tapped a finger against a picture. "This is what caught my attention."
The photo showed a mall—and there, clear as daylight, a tall, hooded young man lugging half a dozen shopping bags, trailing behind a girl with long blue hair. Too close. Too casual. The camera had caught the moment perfectly: his head tilted toward her as if murmuring something, her posture unbothered, almost amused.
The reality, of course, had been far less cinematic. The conversation went something like:
☆ Konata: "Hey, quick question. If you accidentally touch your own neck with all five fingers, do you just… instantly disintegrate yourself?"
☆ Shigaraki: "…Yes."
☆ Konata: "Cool. Wanna do a live demo? I'll pay you a million yen."
☆ Shigaraki: "Too little."
☆ Konata: "C'mon, Midnight-sensei says my market value's at least ten times that. Ninety-nine hundred thousand, final offer."
☆ Shigaraki: "…Fine. You first."
☆ Konata: "Nope. You first."
☆ Shigaraki: "You first."
☆ Konata: "You first."
The rest of that meaningless, ridiculous exchange lasted the entire afternoon.
Tsukauchi pinched the photo between his fingers, studying it with obvious frustration. "The League's ringleader, and one of U.A.'s brightest—practically laughing together in public. It's absurd, Toshinori. And yet, the footage is clean. Not edited. Not tampered with. I verified every angle, every bystander."
"And that's when I started digging deeper," he said. "And the deeper I dug, the more red flags I found."
He clapped a hand on All Might's shoulder. "I don't want to believe it either. But right now, all the evidence points one way—she's on All For One's side."
All Might stared out the window. Night had already fallen, stars scattered in the empty black. His voice, when it came, was quiet but resolute.
"She's… a good kid. Until there's proof I can't ignore, I will believe in her."
Tsukauchi's tone hardened. "And what is this, Toshinori? Bank logs. Call records. Photos. Audio. None of this counts as proof to you? If she's compromised, then the League already knows where the training camp is. They'll attack—tomorrow at the earliest, the day after at the latest. And if they do, we won't just be looking at students in danger. The pros stationed there will be slaughtered too."
"…What do you want me to do?" All Might finally asked.
"Simple," Tsukauchi said. "Prepare for the worst. Assume an attack is coming, and plan accordingly. This could be our chance to corner the League. Maybe even All For One himself."
"Do you need me there?"
"No," Tsukauchi shook his head sharply. "You showing up without a plan could spook them. Until we have an airtight strategy, you stay put."
All Might exhaled through gritted teeth. "Then if nothing happens—if this is just your paranoia—you'll apologize. To her. In person."
"Of course," Tsukauchi said without hesitation. "If I'm wrong, I'll take full responsibility."
All Might nodded stiffly. "I'll speak with Nezu. And… keep Eraserhead in the loop. Quietly. She can't suspect anything."
"She won't," Tsukauchi promised. "If she realizes we're watching her, we risk losing everything."
All Might paused at the door, his frame casting a long shadow across the room. "...Then we'll do this your way. For now."
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Tsukauchi stared at the empty doorway, his lips twisting into a humorless smile. He knew he'd angered his oldest friend—the abrupt transformation into muscle form had been all the proof he needed. But what choice did he have? If his instincts were right… if the League really attacked during the training camp… if she really turned on them in that chaos…
That was a gamble they couldn't afford to lose.
"I hope I'm wrong," he muttered, collapsing back onto the sofa. His gaze drifted back to the photos scattered across the table, to that almost-friendly image of Konata and Shigaraki. His brow furrowed.
There was still one unanswered question, one thing that gnawed at him:
Who had sent those photos to his inbox in the first place?
If they'd been fake, it would've been easy—call it a ploy, a deliberate attempt to sow discord. But they were real. Verified. Untouched. And when he'd traced the day, talked to every bystander, every camera, every angle… the story had been the same every time.
"...Forget it," he muttered, rubbing at his temple. "I've got bigger problems right now."
Because in the end, everything would come down to the training camp.
One way or another, they'd have their answer.
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Guess what was going on in my mind when I wrote this chapter? Honestly… I don't know. Maybe just the quiet hum of a late night, empty room, and the thought that stories feel a little lonely when I write them down.
Also, don't forget to toss in those powerstones. At least they don't ignore me, unlike some people.
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