The worn-out training gym smelled of old leather, sweat, and ozone—the distinct aroma of a week of grueling progress. Izuku Midoriya stood before his temporary mentor, Gran Torino, his body aching in a dozen new places, but his spirit feeling lighter than it had in months.

"Thank you, Gran Torino!" Izuku bowed deeply, his voice thick with genuine gratitude. "For everything. I feel... I feel like I can finally breathe when using One For All now."

The old hero, for once, wasn't bouncing off the walls or pretending to be senile. He stood still, a rare moment of solemnity settling over his grizzled features. "Just remember, kid," he grunted, tapping a finger against Izuku's chest. "Five percent. That's your limit for now. Don't get cocky. You've still got a mountain to climb."

"I will! I'll remember!" Izuku promised, his fists clenched with determination. But a question, one that had been niggling at him all week, finally pushed its way out. "Gran Torino... if you don't mind me asking... you're so strong, and you trained All Might himself. Why... why aren't you famous? Why aren't you a top-ranked Pro?"

Gran Torino let out a short, sharp bark of laughter that held no real humor. "Fame? Rankings?" He shook his head, his eyes gaining a distant, almost weary look. "I never had any interest in that circus. I only got my hero certification because, at a certain point in my life, I needed the license to use my Quirk freely." He fixed Izuku with a sharp look. "The rest of that story... that's for Toshinori to tell you when he's ready. Now, scram. Don't you have a train to catch?"

Izuku nodded, understanding the boundary that had been set. He shouldered his bag and turned to leave, taking a few steps across the dusty floor.

"Hey, kid!"

Izuku paused and glanced back. Gran Torino was scratching his head, a look of exaggerated confusion back on his face. "What was your name again?"

For a split second, Izuku was disconcerted, the whiplash from the serious mentor to the forgetful old man leaving him off-balance. But then, he saw the subtle gleam in Gran Torino's eyes, the silent challenge. This wasn't a question of memory; it was a test of identity.

A slow, confident smile spread across Izuku's face. He stood a little taller.

"Deku," he said, the name that was once an insult now a badge of honor.

Gran Torino's wrinkled face broke into a genuine, pleased grin. He gave a casual wave, shooing him away for the last time. "Right, right. Get going, then."

Heart feeling impossibly full, Izuku stepped out of the gym and into the late afternoon sun, the weight of the week finally lifting. He took a deep, cleansing breath—

—only to have it stolen away as a figure dropped from the rooftop above, landing directly in front of him with the weightless grace of a falling leaf.

"Boo."

"KYAAAAAH!" Izuku shrieked, his limbs flailing as he stumbled backward, his Quirk flickering uncontrollably for a moment in his surprise.

Y/N, now clad in casual U.A. attire that did nothing to diminish his otherworldly presence, threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. He reached out, his hand settling on Izuku's green curls, ruffling them affectionately.

"Look at you," Y/N beamed, his eyes shining with unmistakable pride. "All charged up and ready to conquer the world. I'm impressed, my little student. You did good."

Izuku, his heart still hammering against his ribs, managed a wobbly smile at the praise. But his innate concern quickly overrode his fluster. "Y/N-Sensei! Should you really be moving around that much? Didn't Recovery Girl give you strict orders to stay in bed?" His eyes scanned Y/N for any sign of the injuries that had landed him in the hospital just days prior.

Y/N waved a dismissive hand, his expression one of utter nonchalance. "Please. A few scratches from a wannabe hero killer and a building falling down? That's barely a Tuesday for me." He winked, looping an arm around Izuku's shoulders and steering him toward the station. "Now, stop fussing and tell me all about the crazy old man's training. Did he really hit you with a ladle? The details, Izuku, I need the details."

Izuku seemed to deflate slightly, the last of his adrenaline seeping away, replaced by the deep, bone-weary fatigue of a week spent being hurled into walls by a super-powered geriatric. As they fell into step together, the setting sun casting long shadows ahead of them, he launched into an animated, if slightly slurred, retelling of his training.

"He was just... so fast, Sensei," Izuku mumbled, gesturing weakly with his hands. "One second he'd be snoring in his takoyaki, and the next—wham! I'd be eating the ceiling. And he really did use a ladle! A wooden one! He said my form was 'sloppier than week-old rice'..."

Y/N listened, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, a fond smirk playing on his lips. He didn't interrupt, only offering a soft, chuckling "Is that so?" when Izuku described particularly absurd moments. The boy's earnestness was a balm, a pure, unfiltered stream of dedication in a world so often mired in cynicism.

As the bustling entrance of the train station came into view, Izuku finally wound down his story. He glanced up at his mentor, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes. "Um, Sensei... does this mean we'll be training more? You and me, I mean?"

Y/N didn't even break stride. "Of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He glanced down at Izuku, his expression shifting to one of playful challenge. "That is, if you think you'll be able to move tomorrow after all that. We can start first thing in the morning, if you're up for it."

The effect was instantaneous. Like a flower turning toward the sun, Izuku's exhaustion seemed to vanish beneath a radiant beam of pure joy. His whole face lit up, and he nodded vigorously, his green hair bouncing.

"I'll be there! I promise! I'll be ready!" he declared, his voice full of renewed energy.

Y/N's smirk softened into a genuine, proud smile. He reached out one last time, ruffling Izuku's hair with an affection that felt both ancient and utterly present. "I know you will," he said, his voice dropping to a warm, almost paternal tone. "Now, go home and get some rest, my determined little hero. You've earned it."

With a final, buoyant wave, Izuku turned and hurried into the station, his spirit already soaring at the prospect of the next day's training, his footsteps light with purpose and the unwavering support of a god who believed in him.

The familiar, high-ceilinged homeroom of Class 1-A was abuzz with the chaotic energy of reunion. After a week scattered across the country, the students were a torrent of shared stories, comparing notes on their internships with the fervor of soldiers returning from different fronts.

Kirishima and Sero were locked in a fit of laughter, the former pointing a finger at a seething Katsuki Bakugo. "Dude, what even is that?" Eijiro grinned, his sharp teeth on full display. "Your hair's even spikier! Did Best Jeanist use industrial-strength hairspray or just superglue?"

"SHUT IT, SHITTY HAIR!" Bakugo snarled, small explosions popping in his palms. "I'LL BLAST YOU TO DUST!"

Nearby, Mina was bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes shining with admiration as she looked at Tsuyu and Jiro. "You guys are so manly! Actually facing down real villains? That's insane!"

"Ribbit, it was... intense," Tsuyu croaked, a finger to her chin. "But we learned a lot."

Jiro just nodded, twirling one of her earjacks. "Yeah. Makes you realize what we're really training for."

Their attention then turned to Uraraka, who struck a determined, if slightly clumsy, fighting pose. "My internship was very fruitful!" she announced, a new glint of steel in her brown eyes. "I practiced a whole new close-combat form!"

Denki blinked. "Whoa, Uraraka, you changed a lot this week."

From his desk, Minoru Mineta scowled, looking utterly traumatized. "You just realized that now, Kaminari? I've realized the ultimate truth: all women are beautiful, powerful, and utterly terrifying! Mt. Lady is a demon in a mini-skirt!" He shuddered, recalling a week of being used as a living projectile.

Denki, wisely ignoring him, then gestured toward the room's quiet corner. "But man, the guys who went through the real wringer were Midoriya, Todoroki, and Iida."

A hush fell over the group as all eyes turned to the trio. Izuku still looked a bit bruised, Tenya was unusually quiet and rigid, and Shoto was as inscrutable as ever. Most of the class cautiously approached them.

"Is it true?" Mina asked, her voice hushed with a mix of fear and excitement. "You guys fought the Hero Killer?"

Shoto Todoroki stepped forward, his heterochromatic eyes cool and impassive. He was the picture of calm authority. "The reports are correct. My father, Endeavor, engaged and subdued the Hero Killer. He saved us."

It was a smooth, practiced lie, omitting the brutal truth of their own desperate struggle and Y/N's chaotic, godly intervention. The class seemed to accept it, murmuring amongst themselves about the number one hero's prowess.

Mina, ever curious, then scanned the room. "Hey, where's Y/N-Sensei? I heard he was in Hosu too, but Recovery Girl had him on lockdown."

As if summoned by the very sound of his name, a head of impossibly white hair popped upside-down from the open transom window above the classroom door, a wide, playful grin on his face.

"Did I hear my name~?"

The entire class jolted violently, a collective yelp echoing through the room. Tenya Iida, in a perfect display of startled propriety, shot into the air, his arms chopping rigidly.

"SENSEI!" he boomed, his face flushed with a mixture of fright and utter exasperation. "Such a frivolous and startling entrance is completely unbecoming of a U.A. instructor! You nearly induced cardiac arrest in the entire class!"

Y/N swung fully into the room, landing without a sound. The class collectively deadpanned, the tension of the previous moment instantly shattered by their teacher's antics.

"Aw, don't be so stiff, Tenya," Y/N chuckled, winking. "A little surprise keeps the heart healthy. Besides, I couldn't let my favorite students have all the fun without making my own dramatic return."

Before Y/N could further elaborate on his dramatic entrance, a voice, dry and thick with exhaustion, cut through the classroom from the hallway.

"Get down from there and stop causing a scene."

Aizawa stood in the doorway, capture weapon piled high and dark eyes narrowed in a familiar, weary expression. He looked like a man who had just spent five minutes dealing with a cosmic-level disturbance and had found it only slightly more trying than his usual homeroom duties.

Y/N laughed, a sound that seemed to make the very light in the room brighter. He hopped off the desk he'd been leaning against, landing with preternatural grace. "Relax, Shota. Don't worry so much. See?" He spread his arms wide, a picture of vibrant health. "Perfectly fine. Not a scratch on me. Recovery Girl is a miracle worker, but let's be honest, I'm a fantastic patient."

Aizawa's deadpan stare suggested he deeply doubted both of those statements.

Y/N continued, his tone shifting to one of casual, almost apologetic announcement. "I'll stay for a moment or two to drink in the delightful chaos, but then I have to head back to Jujutsu High for the week. Duties call, you know how it is."

A chorus of disappointed groans rose from the class. "Aww, already?" Mina whined. "We just got you back!"

Even Bakugo grunted, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Tch. When are you coming back, then?" he demanded, his voice a low growl that couldn't quite mask a sliver of something other than pure irritation.

Y/N drifted over to him, a thoughtful hum on his lips. He reached out and tapped a slender finger against Bakugo's cheek, a gesture so brazen it made the entire class hold its breath. Bakugo stiffened, a small spark popping in his palm, but he didn't pull away.

"When? I don't know," Y/N mused, his gaze drifting toward the window as if he could see the other campus from here. "A week, maybe two. It all depends on if my friends over there need any more sorcerers to help with their... pest control." He said the last two words with a playful grimace, implying a world of hidden dangers.

With a final, breezy smile directed at the class, he found an empty seat at the back of the room, folding himself into it with effortless elegance. "Don't mind me," he said, propping his chin in his hand. "Please, Aizawa-sensei, proceed. I'm just here to watch."

And so, as Aizawa began the day's lesson with a long-suffering sigh, Y/N sat and observed, a silent, smiling god enjoying a momentary respite in a classroom of budding heroes, the weight of another world waiting just beyond the horizon.