Musutafu was blooming into early spring when Monoma returned. Cherry blossoms drifted through the UA gates as he stood with his duffel bag, the city both familiar and strangely distant.
Kendo Itsuka met him with a bright smile and a firm handshake. "Welcome back, hero. We saw the news."
Even Bakugo gave a grudging nod from across the courtyard. "Not bad, copycat. For a Class B extra."
Monoma just smiled. The old taunt had lost its sting.
His phone buzzed. A message from Mina:
"Seoul is quieter without you. Father says you're welcome anytime. I say… come back soon."
Attached was a selfie of her at the agency rooftop, smiling, the city glittering behind her. On her cheek, drawn in golden holographic ink, was a tiny, perfect spiral—his signature gravity-well.
He saved the photo.
That afternoon, he stood before Class B, giving a brief report on his internship. He didn't boast. He spoke about adaptation, about strategy, about how a quirk is only as strong as the mind behind it. When he finished, they applauded—not out of politeness, but respect.
Later, alone on UA's training grounds, he tested his evolved Copy. Twenty minutes solid. Three memory-copies held with focus. He lifted a training dummy with Mina's telekinesis, shielded himself with a gravity spiral, and for a moment, let a faint golden glow outline his form—a silent tribute to the voices of the quirks he carried.
He wasn't just a copycat anymore.
He was an archive. A strategist. A hero who could turn any power into a new solution.
The media called him "The Adaptive Hero." He liked the title. It fit.
As the sun set, painting the sky in shades of gold and violet, Monoma Neito looked toward the horizon—toward Seoul, toward the future—and smiled.
I didn't need the spotlight before, he thought, turning back toward the dorms, his steps sure and light. But now… the world can't look away.