Was I okay with this? Hell nah.
Every fiber of my being screamed to charge in, to take control of the chaos unfolding before me.
Did I follow Aizawa's orders anyway? Yeah, I did, even though it pissed me off to no end, I swallowed it down and played along.
He was right. My skills had limits, and running headfirst into a fight I wasn't ready for was a one-way ticket to getting myself killed. But knowing that didn't make it any easier to stand back and watch everything teeter on the edge of disaster. Sitting on my ass wasn't going to fix this mess, and deep down, that gnawed at me like a rabid dog.
Still, no matter how much it burned me up inside, I had to roll with it for now. Charging in blind would just screw me and everyone else over faster. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay put, my mind racing for a way to turn this around without breaking rank. But before I could even settle on a plan, the situation flipped upside down again. Another black warp gate tore open in the air, swirling and ominous, and out stepped Kurogiri, his misty form coalescing into that familiar, eerie shape. He started rattling off some grand speech about killing All Might right here and now, his voice dripping with smug certainty. In the blink of an eye, the world tilted, space warped around us, and just like that, we were all scattered, teleported to different corners of the U.S.J.
When the dizziness cleared and my senses snapped back, I found myself in the fire simulation zone. The air was thick with heat and smoke, the fake cityscape around me flickering with artificial flames that cast jagged shadows across the ground. Two armed thugs stood waiting, knives glinting in their hands, their silhouettes sharp against the hazy backdrop. The stifling atmosphere should've rattled me, but instead, it steadied my nerves. There was no one else around yet, just me and these assholes. It was almost a relief, a chance to vent the frustration boiling inside me without anyone watching.
"Looks like I hit the jackpot," one of them sneered, his lips curling into a nasty grin that showed off crooked teeth. "Just one little student. Easy pickings."
I didn't bother with a reply. Words were a waste on scum like this. Instead, I sucked in a deep breath, flipped them both the middle finger with a cocky smirk, and let my stance loosen up. "Come try beating me, you brain-dead fucks…"
The first guy growled, a low, guttural sound, and lunged at me, moving faster than I'd expected from someone who looked like he'd crawled out of a dumpster. But after ten months of grinding martial arts into my bones, he might as well have been moving in slow motion. I sidestepped his wild swing, pivoted on my heel, and drove a fist wrapped in tungsten straight into his jaw. The crack of bone breaking rang out, sharp and satisfying, and he hit the ground hard, clutching his face and wailing like a kicked puppy.
The second thug froze for a split second, clearly rethinking his life choices after watching his buddy eat dirt. But he shook it off and charged anyway, knife slashing toward my chest. I caught his wrist mid-strike, my grip tightening until I felt the bones creak under my fingers. His scream ripped through the air as the blade clattered to the ground, useless. Before he could recover, I ducked low, swung my leg out, and smashed a metal-coated kick into his knee. The joint buckled with a sickening crunch, and he collapsed beside his friend, howling just as loud, their voices blending into a pathetic chorus of pain.
Both of them were down now, sprawled out on the scorched ground, moaning like wounded animals caught in a trap. I stood over them, chest heaving, adrenaline surging through me like a live wire. My heart pounded in my ears, a steady thrum that drowned out everything else. For a moment, the world slowed, their whining faded, the crackle of the fake fires dulled, and all I could hear was the rush of my own blood.
I glared down at the pair, a strange, restless itch crawling up the back of my skull. This wasn't enough. Not even close.
Think about it. Some of these bastards would just break out later anyway, especially after the Tartarus mess goes down the way I knew it would. Why let them live to cause more trouble? I'd read too damn much about this world's future to believe locking them up was a permanent fix. Prison bars didn't hold everyone, not in a place like this. Might as well end it here, right now, while I had the chance.
But even as that thought took root, another part of my brain screamed that this was a colossal fuck-up. Who was I to play judge and executioner? Killing them would make me just as cold, just as ruthless as the pricks I despised.
Then the darker, colder side of me, the pragmatic bastard who'd survived this far, whispered back that this was exactly what needed to happen if I wanted to flip this story's shitty ending on its head. Mercy was a luxury I couldn't afford, not when the stakes were this high.
No hesitation. I squatted down next to the guy with the broken jaw, slapping a hand across his face to pin him in place. He freaked out, thrashing under me, but he didn't have the strength to budge. His eyes went wide, pleading, tears streaming down his ugly mug, almost comical enough to make me gag if I wasn't so focused. "Please… don't…" he stammered, his voice choking like he'd swallowed gravel. The other guy echoed him, their desperation a garbled mess of fear.
"No dice, you useless shits," I said, my tone flat and unforgiving even though my body couldn't be in any worse condition right now. "Ain't random that I'm the one standing over you now. That doesn't just happen, it takes some goddamn logic. Get it?" I cranked my Quirk into gear, letting it surge through my hand. Their bodies shifted under my touch, turning brittle and pale as I transformed them into dry ice. The heat from the surrounding fires did the rest, vaporizing them clean, no blood, no mess, just faint smudges on the ground where they'd been. Their pleas and flailing didn't stop until the last second, but I tuned it out, my focus razor-sharp.
When it was over, I stood up, hands trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the raw energy still buzzing through me. The world went dead quiet again, save for the faint crackle of the flames and the steady thump of my heartbeat. I stared down at the two human-shaped stains, all that remained of the thugs. No bodies, no evidence, just ash and memory.
Yeah, that was my first time killing. And… I felt fuck-all. No regret, no guilt, no pity, just a cold, hollow void where something should've been. Maybe that should've scared me, but it didn't.
"So that's my first go, huh?" I muttered, glancing at my hands as they shifted back to normal, the metallic sheen fading away. "Ain't as bad as I figured."
I took a deep breath, forcing my mind to lock back into gear. No time to stand around navel-gazing, my classmates were scattered across the U.S.J., probably facing their own packs of these assholes. I had to find them, link up, and help, or when the real canon shit hit the fan, it'd be a hundred times worse than this warmup.
"Someone there?" A voice sliced through the haze, not far off, jolting me out of my thoughts. I spun around, squinting through the smoke to see who the hell it was.
Ojiro Mashirao stepped into view, his posture tense, tail tucked close like he was ready to bolt or fight at a moment's notice. His eyes darted around the wrecked sim zone before settling on me, a mix of relief and confusion washing over his face. "Onodera? You're here?" His voice was thick with worry. "You okay? I just saw two guys heading this way… and those noises earlier… Was that you?"
I froze for a beat, scrambling to pull my shit together. My head was still spinning from the emotional whiplash, killing two people one minute, playing it cool the next, but I forced a shaky grin, hoping it'd smooth over any cracks he might notice. "Yeah, no shit," I said, keeping my tone as steady as I could manage. "Two thugs rolled up and handled 'em, but they used some Quirk and bailed." I nodded toward the ash piles, keeping it vague.
Ojiro's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his face as he studied me. "Handled? What do you mean?"
I shook my head, gesturing at the smudges on the ground. "Broke their legs, and… somehow they smoked out or vanished. Whatever they were, the threat's gone. You good? Hurt anywhere?"
He followed my gesture, staring at the faint marks, but his expression didn't shift much. "I'm fine. But…are you okay? You don't look fine at all."
"Dead tired, if I'm being real," I cut him off fast, not giving him room to dig deeper. "Dunno if I'll last 'til the end of this shitshow. No time to stand around, though. Seen anyone else?"
Ojiro shook his head, his tail twitching slightly. "Just you. I got warped here solo. But if you're right, we need to find the others and regroup fast."
I nodded, latching onto the plan. "Cool, let's move. Stay sharp, these bastards ain't pushovers, and I doubt they'll back off easy."
We started walking, me taking point to scout ahead and deal with any punks dumb enough to cross us. Ojiro followed close behind, but I could feel his eyes boring into my back, like he was trying to puzzle out what really went down in that smoke. I kept my pace steady, shoving down the unease creeping up my spine. The last thing I needed was him figuring out the truth, not now, not when everything was already hanging by a thread.
We wove through the fire zone, passing charred sim buildings and thick clouds of black smoke that stung my eyes and throat. Out of nowhere, Ojiro broke the heavy silence. "Onodera, you think we'll make it out of here?"
His question hit me like a brick, stopping me dead in my tracks. "Out? Whatcha mean?"
"Don't you see?" he pressed, his voice quieter now, laced with uncertainty. "This isn't like any training we've done. It's a real fight. You think… we've got what it takes to pull through?"
I turned to face him, locking eyes. His were wide, brimming with doubt and nerves, searching for something to cling to. "We've got more than enough," I said, my voice flat and colder than I'd intended. "Not just getting out, we'll making sure everyone's safe too. That's why we're heroes, right?"
Ojiro held my gaze, weighing my words like they were a lifeline. After a long beat, he nodded. "Alright. If you're that sure, I'll trust you."
I gave a curt nod back, shutting my mouth before I said anything else. Our footsteps mingled with the roar of the flames and the distant, eerie sounds echoing through the U.S.J. I'd played confident, but Ojiro's look, half-doubt, half-faith stuck with me. I just hoped he wouldn't piece together what really happened back there. Killing a classmate to keep them quiet wasn't on my to-do list, and I'd rather not add it.
We cleared the fire zone and hit the central plaza, where shit got real clear—and real ugly—fast. It was worse than I'd imagined, a gut-punch of a scene straight out of the worst-case scenarios I'd run through in my head.
Eraser Head - Aizawa Shota - was a broken mess, smashed into the ground by the Nomu. Blood pooled around him, his body limp, and I couldn't tell if he was still breathing. Izuku, Tsuyu, and Mineta were pinned down nearby, cornered by Shigaraki Tomura and that grotesque Nomu. Izuku's arm was twisted at a bad angle, looked like he'd tried a Smash on the damn thing and got nothing but a wrecked limb for his trouble. Tsuyu was inches from Shigaraki's decay range, her face pale but determined. The situation was fucked beyond words, spiraling out of control faster than I could process.
"Where the fuck are they?!" I snapped, my voice booming through the chaos. "Screw it—Ojiro, listen up and move, comrade."
Before he could get a word in, I barreled on: "Drag Aizawa-sensei to safety. I'll distract these assholes."
"Are you insane?!" Ojiro hissed, his voice trembling with panic. "Those two aren't something we can handle! We need to wait for the other heroes!"
"No time to wait or waste!" I shot back, my eyes locked on the scene ahead. "If we don't act, not just us—everyone here's dead meat! MOVE!"
Ojiro flinched at my shout, but after a split second of hesitation, he nodded, no more arguing. He took off toward Aizawa like a shot, his tail whipping behind him as he sprinted.
Once I saw him reach Aizawa's side, I sucked in a deep breath, stepped out from cover, and roared, loud and taunting: "Hey, freaky fucks! Wanna cause chaos? Let me show ya how it's fuckin' done!"
Shigaraki spun around, his red eyes glinting with twisted delight behind that creepy hand mask. "Oh, another dumb prey. This'll be fun. Nomu, kill him!"
The Nomu charged on command, a hulking blur of muscle and menace barreling straight for me. It was fast, faster than anything that size had any right to be, and packed with tank-like durability, regen, and enough raw power to shred normal heroes without breaking a sweat. Most people wouldn't stand a chance.
But I wasn't most people. I knew this bastard inside and out, every strength, every trick. As its massive fist rocketed toward me, I shifted my body to full diamond, the crystalline sheen rippling over my skin. I thrust my hand forward, meeting its momentum head-on, aiming to pierce through and rip its arm apart. The diamond spike gouged into its flesh, tearing a jagged hole, but it didn't stop, didn't even flinch. The damn thing ignored the damage entirely and swung its other fist, smashing me aside like a ragdoll.
The hit didn't hurt much. Diamond's tough as hell, but it wasn't as durable as tungsten. I skidded across the ground, switching back to my normal form as I rolled to my feet, brushing it off like it was nothing. Stepping forward, I grinned, all teeth and bravado, and started talking smack: "That trash heap's supposed to counter All Might? Bullshit. Let me teach ya what a REAL tanker looks like!"
The Nomu didn't respond, just lunged again, its blank eyes locked on me. Shigaraki cackled in the background, clearly enjoying the show. I braced myself, mind racing.
This wasn't going to be easy, but I'd be damned if I let these freaks walk all over us.
Time to dig deep and fight like hell.