Deku P.1

"Starting now...I'm going into overtime." Auther/Nanami Kento

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As the hours dragged on, the chaos in Hosu City began to settle. The fires that had raged in the streets were gradually being extinguished, thick black smoke thinning into the night sky. The once-manic atmosphere of terror and violence now hung heavy with exhaustion and relief as the Nomu was finally captured or subdued, and emergency services worked tirelessly to clear the wreckage.

Izuku Midoriya made his way back to the city's heart, each step weighed down by fatigue and the lingering emotional strain of the day's events. His legs ached from pushing himself so hard, and the cuts and bruises he had collected during his fight with Stain throbbed painfully, but he kept moving. The thought of reuniting with his friends lifted his spirits, and he felt a pang of gratitude that they were still here, fighting alongside him in whatever way they could.

"Hey, guys!" Izuku called out, waving as he spotted his classmates and Endeavor gathered near a cluster of emergency vehicles. Bakugo was leaning against a police car, his usual scowl in place, arms crossed over his chest. Even covered in grime and looking worn out, he radiated a fierce, indomitable energy.

Bakugo's red eyes flicked over to Izuku, narrowing slightly. "Where'd you go, nerd?" he barked, though his tone was slightly softer than usual. "Icyhot over there was worried you were dead." He gestured toward Todoroki, who was a few feet away, watching his father, Endeavor, speak to the police with a stoic, unreadable expression. Despite Bakugo's gruff demeanor, there was a small, almost imperceptible flicker of relief in his gaze. He would never admit it, but seeing Izuku safe and in one piece had lifted a weight from his chest.

"Oh, really?" Izuku said, a little taken aback. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous smile forming on his face. "I guess I'll have to talk to Todoroki later…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes grew distant as the memory of his confrontation with Stain replayed in his mind. The terror, the resolve, the near brush with death—all of it left a lingering chill.

Bakugo studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "…Something happened?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a trace of curiosity—and perhaps concern—lurking beneath his tone.

Izuku exhaled slowly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "…I had a run-in with the Hero Killer. Stain," he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. The reality of what had happened still felt surreal, like a nightmare he couldn't quite wake up from. "Iida almost died. If I hadn't been there…" He swallowed hard, the words heavy in his throat. The thought of losing his friend, of failing to save someone he cared about, gnawed at him.

Bakugo's brows furrowed, his expression hardening. "Hmph," he grunted, looking away, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—worry, anger, frustration? It was difficult to tell. "Seems you had an eventful day, Deku." He pushed himself off the car, his movements stiff from fatigue. "Make sure you get back to your sensei. Gran Torino, right?" Bakugo reminded, his voice gruff. It was the closest he would come to saying he was glad Izuku was okay.

Izuku's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Kacchan!" he called, giving a quick wave as he turned and jogged off, the fatigue momentarily forgotten. Bakugo watched him go, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled with his frustrations.

He's getting stronger, Bakugo thought, a storm of conflicting emotions roiling inside him. And I'm… still lagging behind. The acknowledgment stung, lighting a familiar fire of resentment and drive in his chest. He couldn't afford to let himself fall behind—not when someone like Izuku was pushing forward with everything he had.

As Bakugo stewed in his thoughts, a cheerful voice suddenly interrupted his brooding. "Oh, it's Katsuki!" The voice was bright, almost annoyingly so, and Bakugo turned to see Kurokami Tenshin, the ever-cheerful Class President of 1-A, approaching with a wide grin. Kurokami was a whirlwind of energy, his dark hair tousled from all the running and chaos of the day, but his enthusiasm never seemed to waver. "You seem pretty mad," Kurokami continued, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Wanna talk about it?"

Bakugo rolled his eyes, clearly irritated. "No," he snapped, his voice dripping with exasperation. "Can't you go bother anyone else, President?"

Kurokami tilted his head, his grin only widening. "Actually…" Bakugo's eyes narrowed as an idea suddenly struck him, a dark smile curving his lips. "I do wanna talk about it," he said, his voice low and almost menacing.

Kurokami, oblivious as ever, clapped his hands together in excitement. "Great! I'm all ears!" he said, leaning in with genuine interest. "You know, it's rare for you to actually want to talk to me without being angry or wanting to fight. And then there's the whole extreme anger issue thing…" Kurokami started rambling, completely unfazed by Bakugo's increasingly dark expression. "…And your weird obsession with Deku and that bizarre rivalry you two have—"

Bakugo's eye twitched, and his fists clenched tighter, his face growing darker with barely suppressed rage. His temper was a hair's breadth away from exploding. In the background, Todoroki, who had been observing the entire interaction while pretending to pay attention to his father's conversation with the police, sighed quietly. With a solemn expression, he murmured, "I hope Kuro survives this." It was a small, whispered prayer for the hyperactive president who had no idea what kind of wrath he was courting.

Meanwhile, Izuku had made his way back to Gran Torino's temporary residence. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted with streaks of crimson and gold. Panting from the exertion of all the running, Izuku paused at the front door, trying to catch his breath. His muscles felt like lead, and every bruise and cut on his body ached.

"Gran Torino?" Izuku called out cautiously, peeking inside. The small apartment was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a flickering lamp in the living room. "Sir? I'm back."

There was a shuffling noise, and then Gran Torino appeared from the shadows, his white and yellow hero costume looking slightly singed from the day's battles. The old hero's face was stern, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he looked Izuku over. "You look like hell," he grumbled, but there was an underlying note of worry.

Izuku managed a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… I, uh, had a rough time," he admitted. The image of Stain and the memory of Iida's near-death experience were still fresh, but he felt a wave of relief being back here, in this tiny, safe space.

Gran Torino's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms. "Tell me everything," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Despite his gruff demeanor, there was a softness in his gaze, an unspoken acknowledgment of the burden Izuku carried.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice steady. And so, he began to recount the harrowing events of the night, knowing that even in this moment of temporary respite, the world of heroes was far from peaceful. The challenges would only grow harder, but for now, he was still standing, still fighting—and that was enough.

...

As Izuku finished recounting his harrowing encounter with the Hero Killer, the small room fell into a heavy silence. Gran Torino sat still, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in every word. The old hero's face, usually crinkled with an almost comical grumpiness, was now grave and thoughtful. The weight of Izuku's words pressed down on him like a storm cloud, darkening his thoughts.

Gran Torino took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I see…" he finally said, his voice quiet but laced with a sharp edge. "You did well, kid. Better than expected, even. But next time…" His eyes met Izuku's, hard and unyielding. "Next time, don't just fight the villain. Catch the villain. You understand?"

Izuku nodded, the determination in his heart rekindling. "Yes, sir," he replied, though his body screamed for rest and his mind buzzed with fatigue. Even after everything he'd done, he knew he still had a long way to go. Improvement was an endless path, and he was willing to walk it, no matter how rough it became.

Gran Torino's expression softened slightly. "But for now, get some rest," he ordered, a hint of gruff affection slipping into his voice. He eyed Izuku's battered appearance, the tattered and filthy hero costume, the bruises, the exhaustion evident in every line of the boy's face. "You look like you crawled through a sewer and fought the rats."

Izuku glanced down at his torn and bloodstained outfit, embarrassment creeping up his neck. "Ah… I see, sir!" he said, giving a weak but earnest smile. He turned and made his way to his room, the promise of sleep almost too tempting to bear. As he disappeared down the hallway, Gran Torino watched him go, his expression shadowed.

Once Izuku was out of earshot, Gran Torino let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging under an invisible burden. With a sense of urgency, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, and he knew that the implications of today's events went far beyond Hosu City.

He punched in a number, his fingers steadier than his heart, and waited as the line rang. It was picked up almost immediately, and a loud, sputtering noise echoed through the receiver.

"PFTTTTT!!!" The sound of someone coughing wildly came through, followed by the familiar, slightly panicked voice of Japan's No. 1 Hero. "Gran Torino!" All Might's voice cracked slightly, not out of fear but rather a reflex—an instinct deeply ingrained from years of mentorship under Gran Torino's brutal, no-nonsense training. The mere sound of his former teacher's voice was enough to make All Might's spine straighten.

"Gran?!" Gran Torino's voice shot back through the phone, gruff and mockingly severe. "It seems you've left your manners back in your teenage years, Toshinori! How about I come pay you a visit and beat some respect back into you?" His tone was loud and ominous, but beneath it lay the kind of familiarity only forged through decades of shared battles.

"No, sir!" All Might replied quickly, straightening as if Gran Torino were standing right in front of him. "It was a slip of the tongue, I promise!"

Gran Torino's voice turned serious, the humor fading like a shadow at dawn. "We've got an issue, Toshinori," he said, and even through the phone, the weight of his words seemed to press down on All Might.

All Might's expression darkened immediately, and he clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. "Is it about Hosu?" he asked, the guilt already eating at him. "I couldn't get there in time… My body can't take the strain anymore." His voice was tinged with frustration, a hero's lament at the limitations he could no longer deny. The feeling of helplessness that came with knowing he had used up his time in his hero form today gnawed at his conscience.

Gran Torino hesitated for a moment before speaking, and when he did, his voice sounded older, more worn. "No, it's something worse…" he said, and the words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. "With the rise of the Hero Killer Stain and the emergence of this new League of Villains, the criminal underworld isn't just a scattered mess anymore. They have leaders now. Real leaders, ones that people will rally behind."

All Might's heart sank. He had known, deep down, that this day would come, but hearing it said aloud made it real, inescapable. "You fear…" he began, his voice dropping to a whisper. His breath felt heavy, as if the air itself was conspiring to crush his chest. "…You fear he's back, don't you?"

Gran Torino was silent for a beat, and then he sighed. "Yes, Toshinori. The greatest villain of today… All For One." The name seemed to reverberate through the small room, carrying a weight that felt almost physical. All Might's hand tightened around the phone, and his jaw clenched.

Memories of his past battle with All For One surged to the forefront of his mind. The devastation, the blood, the sheer scale of the destruction… All Might remembered the way their final confrontation had left him victorious but scarred. All For One had been beaten beyond recognition, his face mangled and his body shattered. It had taken everything All Might had—and even then, he had barely survived.

All Might had clung to the hope that All For One wouldn't survive his injuries. That the monster who had tormented generations of heroes, who had shaped Japan's criminal underworld with a single, iron-clad will, had finally been silenced for good. But the signs were all there: the creation of the black Nomu, the orchestrated attack on Hosu, the sudden unification of once-disorganized criminals. All For One was still out there, lurking in the shadows, biding his time.

All Might's hand trembled, and he forced himself to steady it. "I… I hoped he was gone," he admitted, his voice strained. "But if he's truly still alive…" The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. His time as the Symbol of Peace was running out, and he couldn't protect the world the way he once had. The burden of that truth threatened to break him.

Gran Torino's voice softened, but it carried an unyielding resolve. "We need to prepare," he said. "Things are changing. The League of Villains isn't just a band of rogue criminals anymore. They're organized, and they have Stain's ideology fueling the flames. The next generation is going to be tested in ways we never were."

All Might took a deep, shuddering breath, the weight of his responsibility pressing harder than ever. Izuku, the students of Class 1-A, the heroes fighting every day… They were the hope of a new era, but they were still young, still learning.

"I understand," All Might said finally, his voice regaining a measure of its usual strength. "I'll do everything I can to prepare them. To prepare him." The image of Izuku flashed through his mind—his determined eyes, his unbreakable spirit, the weight of One For All now resting on his young shoulders. All Might had entrusted him with more than just a quirk. He had given him a legacy, a mission that would one day fall entirely to him.

Gran Torino's voice softened even more, betraying a rare hint of vulnerability. "Good," he said quietly. "But don't shoulder it all alone, Toshinori. You've already given more than anyone could ask. Lean on others when you need to."

All Might smiled, though it was a weary, bittersweet smile. "Thank you, Gran Torino," he said, feeling a small measure of comfort from his old teacher's words. But deep down, the fear never truly left. The specter of All For One loomed ever larger in his mind, a shadow that promised to consume everything if they failed.

And with that, the call ended, leaving All Might sitting alone in his dimly lit apartment. The television continued to play in the background, the news still covering the aftermath of Hosu, but All Might didn't hear it. His thoughts were elsewhere, in the past and the uncertain future. Izuku… he thought. Please, be ready for what's to come.

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[Auther: Yo, been awhile eh? Anyways, this is me coming back. Sorry for the wait.]