A laugh emerged and spread across the void until everything shuddered with it.
It was a strange language—half-sorrow, half-rapture.
The sound was beautiful. Destructive. Alive.
The universe responded—not with anger—but submission.
Each fallen star, each dying planet, each abandoned dream…
All now became hers.
A single tear fell from her eye—
not of sorrow, but of memory.
It did not fall downward.
It rose.
It spiraled upward like a comet in reverse, tracing a golden arc across the sky until it struck the event horizon of what had once been Earth's atmosphere—and shattered into light.
Every particle became an image:
a lunchbox ribbon fluttering behind her on the first day at U.A.,
Mina laughing with juice spilled on her chin,
Aizawa half-awake and grumbling about "another explosion before breakfast,"
her mother's voice whispering goodnight through a phone call she never finished—
—and Bakugo.
Bakugo.
Kneeling in ash.
Still screaming for her even though his lips made no sound. Still reaching with phantom arms where his real ones had vaporized under gravitational collapse. His explosions were gone—not because he couldn't ignite—but because *fire needs space to burn*, and space itself was folding inward like petals closing around its core.
And Midoriya…
His body now little more than luminous script scrolling across collapsing time-folds—equations forming and unforming as they tried to model something that broke all rules:
A gravity well with consciousness.
A singularity that remembers love.
But she remembered more than love.
She remembered weightlessness—the joy of floating just above danger, untouchable, safe in the air while others fought below. That was who she used to be: Ochaco Uraraka, hero-in-training. The girl who lifted others so they wouldn't fall.
Now?
Now everyone fell toward her —and there was no floor beneath them anymore.
The laugh faded into silence again—but this silence carried breath now. Purposeful breathing—the rhythm not of lungs or heart,
but something older: creation inhaling before exhalation begins anew
Above Bakugo's cracked lips moved one final time though sound still refused to form:
"...Round… Face…"
And somewhere inside the vastness consuming everything—
she heard him
Not with ears (there were none left), nor through language (all tongues forgotten), but as pure intent entered directly into what remained of thought:
"Come back."
For one fragile instant...
the goddess hesitated
Then—
from deep within where galaxies curled like dying serpents,
something stirred
not gravity
not power
not inevitability
but regret
That thin line All Might warned about?
It pulsed suddenly—a thread woven through infinite destructions,
connecting every version that ever lived
to this one moment when Ochaco chose between becoming god
or remaining human enough to cry
A flicker crossed her face—eyelids lowering slowly over eyes that held universes—and when they opened again…
they glistened not with cosmic fire...
but water
Real tears now floated free—not rising or falling—but simply existing outside physics' grasp as tiny perfect spheres reflecting lost faces:
Jiro tapping code,
Kaminari flashing peace signs,
Todoroki splitting ice and flame evenly down his nose…
and Bakugo handing her a slightly dented protein bar after training saying "Eat it, idiot, you're slow enough without sugar crashes."
The collapse stuttered
Space paused mid-consumption
Time hiccupped backward three seconds
Reality groaned under reversal stress—a universe trying very hard not to die only because someone inside it started missing home
One word escaped—from everywhere and nowhere—at once tender and devastatingly simple:
"...okay."
In less than an attosecond (or longer than eternity),
every law rewound.
Every equation flipped.
Every dead star blinked twice.
Earth reformed—from nothing but desire—for one reason only:
because she wanted ground beneath feet again
Bodies returned—not perfectly rebuilt by force,
but lovingly stitched together from memory fragments lingering near gravitational cores*
Bakugo gasped awake lying facedown in fresh grass smelling faintly electric still;
Midoriya blinked open eyes full color returning slowly—heavy limbs whole again except for hands which trembled uncontrollably—as if soul wasn't quite settled yet inside bones;
And Uraraka?
She stood barefoot on dew-covered grass outside U.A.'s eastern garden gate wearing wrinkled uniform pants torn at knee seams—hair messy from wind long past—with two things different about tonight's world:
First—the stars looked wrong overhead—as if arranged by someone who almost remembered constellations correctly
Second—they all whispered softly whenever anyone listened closely during quiet moments between breaths
No cameras caught what happened after midnight—or maybe they did but playback always showed same looping image: three figures standing together silhouetted against horizon—one crouching angrily wiping dirt off sleeve; second stiff-backed staring blank-eyed forward; third smiling gently eyes closed—as if choosing peace despite knowing future may demand another fall someday
Next morning class resumed normally—or seemed so
Uraraka walked quietly into homeroom late
Two boys glanced up instantly
She met both their stares evenly then sat down