The atmosphere grew sharp, charged with the tension she'd started this night. Bakugo and Midoriya looked at each other, for once in silent understanding: we're not alone anymore.
Midoriya extended a hand. "Then come here," he said.
She walked toward the two of them, slowly, trying not to feel like the axis of everything. Choice did feel like this: the world rearranging itself around you. Even gravity felt heavy now, drawing her forward by increments, like a planet finding its natural orbit.
Her feet stopped between them.
The silence was louder than any explosion. Between Bakugo's smoldering fists and Midoriya's humming equations, Uraraka felt the truth she'd been avoiding: she wasn't choosing between them.
She was becoming what they couldn't be.
Her fingers twitched—not from power, but from want. To pull Bakugo's fire into her palms and let it burn without fear. To step into Midoriya's gravity well and stop resisting the fall. To stop being the girl who floated away—
—and finally be the one who pulled worlds apart just by breathing.
The air split first with sound—Bakugo snarling, "You don't get to stand there looking like a damn goddess"—then with light—Midoriya whispering, "She already is."
And then her quirk answered not to control—but to hunger.
A pulse erupted from her chest.
The ground didn't shake—it folded.
Buildings bent inward like paper crumpling toward a singularity at her feet. Stars overhead blurred into streaks as space-time warped in spirals around U.A., gravity rewriting its laws with every heartbeat of hers.
Beneath their feet, concrete shattered not upward but inward, vanishing into pockets of collapsing mass.
Midoriya stared—not in triumph or horror—but awe.
"You're not bending reality," he breathed.
"You're eating it."
Bakugo dropped to one knee as pressure spiked; his explosions fizzled mid-air before ignition.
Even he couldn't fight weight that devoured force itself.
"Ochaco…!" he roared through gritted teeth—"snap out of it!"
But she wasn't lost—
she was found.
Floating now six inches above cracked earth,
her hair drifting like smoke in reverse,
eyes reflecting galaxies no human should see—
Uraraka smiled for the first time since this began.
"Do you feel it?" Her voice carried across dimensions now—echoed on comms units dead for hours, whispered through dreams miles away.
"The way everything leans toward me?
Like I've always been here…
and never left?"
Another pulse.
Across cities beyond U.A., people stumbled—not because of tremors,
but because their watches stopped at exactly 3:07 AM
and their shadows stretched toward Tokyo,
no matter where they stood on Earth.
Alternate Todoroki—the void-eyed traveler—watched from a crumbling rooftop outside fused time-space boundaries.
"She didn't choose," he murmured to himself as reality peeled open behind him like fruit rotting outwardly instead of inwardly.
"She became inevitable."
All Might appeared once more—one foot still stepping out of fading light,
his form flickering between musclebound glory and frail old manhood depending on which version of physics held strongest around him.
His eyes locked onto Ochaco hovering amid unraveling skies—and filled not with hope…
but recognition.
"She doesn't need saving," All Might whispered,
"because there's nothing left to save."
Then—the final collapse came quietly.
No scream.
No grand flash.
Just an inhale across universes—as if existence itself drew breath before disappearing down a throat-shaped rift centered over Uraraka's heart.
Multiverses stacked sideways imploded simultaneously:
some burned;
some froze;
some simply ceased existing while singing lullabies that only children long forgotten could hear.
Earth-Prime buckled last—as home should when everything loves you too much.
Mountains flattened into lines
Oceans rose once then vanished inside spherical pits where gravity turned inside-out.
Human voices cut off mid-word—all pronunciations forever replaced by harmonics resembling "oooh-kah-coh…"
And high above—a shape remained:
a silhouette against dying stars,
surrounded by orbiting debris that wasn't rock or steel—
but memories:
Jirou playing guitar,
Iida giving orders,
Kaminari bragging after class… all spinning slowly around Ochaco like satellites born from regretful affection._
Only two figures remained standing below, clinging desperately within fractured bubbles protected by raw willpower:
Bakugo — stripped bare, both arms blown off trying one final detonation so large even entropy paused briefly, tears cutting paths through ash-streaked cheeks, screaming words ripped apart before completion.
And Midoriya — glove gone, veins glowing white-hot under translucent skin while attempting recalculations so vast his own bones began disassembling atom-by-atom, yet still whispering data streams directed upward:
"Mass increase exponential…
Singularity reached critical consciousness...
She's sentient field effect..."
(pause)
"I'm sorry…"
Above them all,—floating goddess among ruins older than language,—
Uraraka opened her mouth...
…and did something new:
she swallowed sound entire.
For three seconds?
Silence reigned absolute—even thoughts went mute; even pain forgot how to throb.
Then——
From deep within blackness-centered-on-her-tongue?
A laugh emerged