The morning sun crept through the high windows of U.A.'s main building, bathing the hallway in golden light. Yet something in the air felt… wrong. Not dangerous, exactly. Not yet. Just pressurized. Like the sky was holding its breath.
Izuku Midoriya stood near the front entrance, his support gear secured tightly to his arms, nervously tapping the side of his utility pouch. Every few seconds, his fingers twitched—reflexive, like something was trying to climb out of his skin. Crimson-green sparks flickered at the edge of his fingertips before he forced his hands into his pockets.
He took a deep breath.
Momo Yaoyorozu stepped beside him without a word. She didn't ask if he was okay. She just knew.
"You're sensing it again," she murmured, her voice low enough not to carry to their classmates gathering around the waiting bus. She didn't turn to face him, but her hand drifted ever so slightly closer to his.
He nodded, his brow furrowed. "It's faint this time… like echoes bouncing through glass. But there's a rhythm to it. Not just background noise. It's… like a drumbeat trying to match my heartbeat."
Sparks curled again across his knuckles, barely visible in the sunlight. He flexed his hands quickly, then winced.
"Pain?" she asked.
"Not physical. Just… loud. Magic doesn't usually behave this way unless something's about to break through."
Momo's lips pressed into a thin line. "We're going into a training facility designed for disaster simulations. Maybe it's just triggering your sensitivity."
"Maybe." But he didn't believe it, and she could tell.
A gust of wind rustled the trees just outside. For a moment, the shadows shifted in a way that made the light itself feel bent.
Then came the voices—loud, cheerful, unaware.
"Man, today's gonna be wild! Can't wait to try out the landslide zone!" Kirishima's voice rang out.
"Do you think there's an actual volcano? Because I am not jumping into lava," Kaminari added.
"Who'd be stupid enough to design that into a training exercise?" Jirou asked dryly.
Hagakure chimed in cheerfully from somewhere near the bus, "Thirteen's in charge! It's all about rescue, not lava pits!"
The mood was light. Normal. It felt wrong.
Izuku lingered at the edge of it all, like his body was physically present but his spirit half a step outside. It wasn't fear—not exactly. It was awareness. Something ancient in his blood whispered that today would bend the rules. Something was stirring in a place it didn't belong.
As they boarded the training bus, Izuku took a seat near the back, pressed against the window. Momo sat beside him again, no hesitation. The moment she did, the electric pressure in his bones subsided—just slightly.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know I should focus on the objective. Thirteen's rescue training is important."
"You're not wrong to be cautious," she replied, folding her arms and sitting tall. "You've been sensing these magical fluctuations more consistently. That's not paranoia. It's pattern recognition."
He blinked. "Did you just say that like a scientist or a mage?"
Momo glanced sideways, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Yes."
That made him smile. Only briefly—but enough.
She continued, tone softening. "Remember what we talked about last night? About trial and error? About patience?"
He nodded, more slowly this time.
"You've been growing into your power. But growth doesn't always wait for safety or convenience. If something's pulling at the veil today—then maybe we're meant to see it."
They sat in shared silence for a moment as the bus rolled forward down the curved hill from U.A.'s front gate, students chatting all around them. The distant skyline of Mustafu stretched across the horizon, glittering in the morning sun.
Then Izuku whispered, "Do you feel it too? Not magic—just… the day."
Momo paused. She looked out the window, watching the clouds shift unnaturally fast above the distant rooftops.
"…Yes," she finally said. "Like we're standing on a pressure point. And something's pushing through the seam."
Red light flickered, just once, beneath Izuku's palm.
The training bus rumbled to a gentle stop in front of a massive domed structure that glinted like a fallen star. Even from the outside, the Unforeseen Simulation Joint radiated artificial grandeur—jagged mountain peaks molded from steel and resin, artificial fog hissing from vents near what looked like a faux ocean bay.
Uraraka pressed her face to the window.
"Whoa—wait, is that a shipwreck?! That's so cool!" she gasped. "It's like… like we just pulled up to a movie set or a theme park!"
Izuku blinked and smiled softly at her reaction. Her excitement was contagious—genuine, wide-eyed wonder. For a moment, it grounded him. Reminded him they were still students. Teenagers. Not soldiers.
"That's the idea," he murmured aloud.
Momo glanced at him, arching an eyebrow.
He motioned out the window. "Heroics aren't just about fighting. This place was built to simulate the kinds of disasters heroes need to manage when things go really wrong. It's a kind of test. Controlled chaos."
Their teacher, Aizawa, stood at the front of the bus. He didn't raise his voice. He never had to. His dry presence did all the work.
"Get off the bus. Stay in formation. Don't embarrass yourselves."
That was all the warning they got.
As the doors hissed open and they stepped off the bus, a wave of humid, oddly metallic air greeted them. Izuku flinched—just slightly—as his foot touched the ground. The magic was louder here. Not full-blown spells or hexes, but something residual. Something… buried beneath.
His fingers pulsed again. Red-green sparks licked across his knuckles and vanished.
Momo noticed. She didn't speak, but her hand hovered close to her utility belt. She hadn't manifested anything yet, but she was already calculating possible responses.
The other students were too busy marveling.
"Is that a real tornado dome over there?" Kaminari pointed, eyes wide.
"No way! Look at that bridge—it's already halfway collapsed," Kirishima said, clearly impressed.
"Oh man," Uraraka whispered beside them, her gaze shining as they approached the main gate. "It's like walking into a video game… rescue edition! I bet we'll get to float people out of the rubble or something."
Her excitement didn't fade, even as Aizawa motioned toward the figure waiting at the dome's grand entry platform.
The Pro Hero Thirteen waved to them, clad in her signature space-themed costume. Her presence was lighthearted, almost warm, in contrast to Aizawa's passive grimness.
"Hello, everyone!" she greeted, voice muffled by her suit's helmet. "Welcome to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint—USJ for short!"
Uraraka let out a soft, thrilled squeak.
"This place was built to help you develop your rescue skills. As future heroes, it's not just about fighting villains. Sometimes it's floods, landslides, industrial accidents… situations where people's lives hang in the balance, and raw strength won't solve the problem."
She gestured dramatically toward the various disaster zones visible through the inner dome: collapsed buildings, broken dams, a railcar crash area, fire zones, even a mock nuclear plant sealed behind heavy shielding.
A collective murmur of amazement rippled through the students.
"This is awesome," Tokoyami said, his deep voice reverent.
"I'm gonna climb every part of this place," Ashido grinned.
But Izuku wasn't looking at the facilities. He was squinting at the air itself.
There were… threads.
Faint lines, barely visible unless he focused—shimmering veins of energy twisting between the zones. Almost like an unseen web, but pulsing gently. They weren't natural. Not even the artificial kind of magical constructs he'd sensed before. These were unstable. Residual. Left behind.
Momo touched his wrist lightly. "You're seeing it again."
He nodded slowly. "Something happened here before us."
Aizawa cut off the chatter with his usual deadpan sharpness. "Thirteen will lead the session. Treat this like real work. You're not tourists."
The class formed into clusters—Uraraka, Iida, and Izuku naturally bunched together. Iida stood straight-backed, ever the model of preparation, but Uraraka practically bounced in place.
"I'm gonna use my quirk to float through the collapsed zone. I've practiced adjusting for falling debris, and if someone's pinned, I could totally lift them!"
"Be careful with stamina," Izuku said automatically, glancing at her boots.
She laughed. "You sound like my mom!"
Izuku smiled faintly, but that flicker of warmth didn't dull the drumbeat in his ears. The longer they stood near the dome, the worse the pressure got. His fingertips itched.
Momo moved closer. "Should we say something to Aizawa?"
"No proof. Just instinct," Izuku murmured, eyes locked on a nearby shadow.
He blinked.
Nothing was there.
But… the air had shifted again. Almost imperceptibly. Like something had looked back through the threads.
And far off, across the facility, something opened.
Something wrong.
The class began to break into teams, buzzing with energy and lighthearted banter. Uraraka was still chattering excitedly to Iida about using her Quirk to maneuver through unstable terrain, while Kaminari and Sero were joking about who could zipline the farthest without puking.
Thirteen moved toward a console embedded in the wall, prepping to activate the hazard zones for the simulation.
"Each of you will be grouped by zone," she explained, gesturing toward the various terrains. "I'll give you roles that simulate both civilian and hero positions. It's up to you to navigate, rescue, and triage as effectively as possible—"
Izuku froze.
His spine stiffened. A low hum crawled through his molars like a tuning fork vibrating in bone. His fingers twitched—and the red-green sparks flared again, just for a second, licking across his skin before vanishing.
Momo turned sharply to him. "Midoriya—?"
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes were wide, locked not on Thirteen, not on Aizawa—but on the air behind them.
Something was wrong.
The light had shifted.
"Wait," Izuku breathed. "That's not—"
And then it happened.
The air across the central plaza split open. A point just beyond the main staircase twisted in on itself, warping like glass underwater. Purple-black mist oozed through the tear, coalescing into a jagged spiral.
A hole in space.
A portal.
And from it stepped something utterly wrong.
Kurogiri.
His form was indistinct, a humanoid silhouette cloaked in roiling mist, metal peeking from his throat like a bolted collar. His voice was smooth, eerily calm.
"So this is the so-called 'Symbol of Peace's' legacy… Students. How delightful."
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Even Kaminari's grin faltered.
"Wait… is that part of the simulation?" Sato muttered.
Thirteen stepped forward immediately. "No."
The word hit like a gunshot.
Momo's breath caught in her throat. "Izuku."
He was already raising his hand slightly. His fingers sparked again. Not uncontrolled, not full-blown spellcasting—but his instincts were screaming.
The portal reeked of magic.
But not his. Not like Wanda's, not even like the quiet, forgotten enchantments buried in the earth.
This was distorted. Raw. Someone had funneled wild magic into the very fibers of a creature that shouldn't exist.
He could feel it.
And then, as if on cue, the others came.
More portals burst open across the fake disaster zones. Figures spilled out—dozens of them. Some in coats, others in crude armor, masks, bare arms covered in scars or painted symbols. Villains. Real ones.
Aizawa's eyes narrowed instantly. No hesitation.
"Everyone—stay back! Thirteen, protect the students. This isn't training. This is real."
Gasps broke out behind them.
Uraraka stumbled backward as one villain stalked from the rubble zone, cracking his knuckles.
"Wait, villains? Real villains?" she whispered, barely believing her own voice.
Iida looked to Aizawa. "Should I run? Get help? Should I—"
"You'll be told what to do. Do not improvise."
But Izuku wasn't looking at his teacher anymore. He was staring at the figure still standing inside the portal's lip.
Behind Kurogiri, in the darkness of the rift—
Something massive shifted.
A shadow moved.
The Nomu.
It wasn't fully visible yet, but what little Izuku could see made the sparks at his fingertips flare again, almost painfully. His chest ached with pressure.
Its aura was wrong—not just villainous. Not just dangerous.
But imbued. Twisted by dark, primal magic not unlike his own, but forced. Coerced. Warped like bone snapped the wrong way and healed into something monstrous.
Momo whispered beside him, "What is that thing?"
Izuku couldn't speak.
He didn't have the words.
All he knew was that the USJ had stopped being a training ground.
It was now a battlefield.