The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a melancholic glow over U.A. High School. The once vibrant campus now felt heavy with grief. Class 1-A huddled together in the common room, their faces etched with sorrow. The news had spread like wildfire: Midoriya Izuku, their beacon of hope, was gone.

"Izuku..." Uraraka choked on his name, tears streaming down her cheeks. "How could this happen?"

"He saved us all," Kirishima whispered, his voice raw. "But at what cost?"

"He always said he'd give everything for a better world," Iida murmured, adjusting his glasses. "I just never thought it would come to this."

"Remember when he first arrived?" Momo's voice trembled. "That determined look in his eyes, as if he could conquer anything?"

"And his notebook!" Mineta added. "Filled with quirks, strategies, and dreams."

"He believed in us," Todoroki said quietly. "Even when we doubted ourselves."

"Bakugo..." Kirishima turned to their explosive classmate. "He was your rival, but also your friend."

Bakugo clenched his fists. "Damn it, Deku! You can't leave me like this!"

"We'll honor his memory," Yaoyorozu vowed. "We'll be the heroes he believed we could be."

The entire hero community gathered at Izuku's funeral. Aizawa stood before the crowd, his voice steady despite the pain.

"Midoriya Izuku," he began, "was more than a student. He was a symbol—a testament to resilience, sacrifice, and unwavering hope."

In the days that followed, Class 1-A trained harder, fought fiercer. They carried Izuku's legacy within them, each step a tribute to the boy who'd given everything.

"We'll make you proud," Uraraka whispered to the wind. "We'll be the heroes you dreamed of."

And as the sun rose, casting its golden light on the empty desk in Class 1-A, they vowed to keep his memory alive.

Bakugo's fists clenched, knuckles white against the backdrop of the setting sun. The memorial garden, where flowers bloomed in defiance of tragedy, was his refuge. He stood there, alone, wrestling with emotions he'd never allowed himself to feel.

"Damn you, Deku," he whispered, voice raw. "Why did you have to be the one to go?"

The guilt gnawed at him—a relentless beast. He remembered their childhood, the days when they raced to school, Izuku's notebook flapping in the wind. Back then, Bakugo had scoffed at the quirkless boy, mocked his dreams. But now, those memories were shards of glass, cutting deep.

"I could've been better," Bakugo muttered. "I could've protected you."

He replayed the battle—the final clash against All for One. Izuku's sacrifice had shattered the villain's plans, but it had also shattered Bakugo's world. The explosion that had consumed his friend echoed in his nightmares.

"You were supposed to surpass me," Bakugo said, voice trembling. "Not die for me."

His anger surged—a tempest of flames. He blamed himself for not reaching Izuku in time, for not understanding the weight of that last smile. The hero world mourned, but Bakugo's grief was a private inferno.

"I'll make them pay," he vowed. "Every villain, every threat—I'll crush them all."

And as the stars blinked into existence, Bakugo swore an oath: Izuku's legacy would burn brighter than any quirk, any hero name. His anger would forge a path to redemption—one that led to a world where no one else had to die.

Uraraka sat on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. The wind tugged at her hair, but she barely noticed. Her heart was a leaden weight, pulling her down into the abyss left by Izuku's absence.

"Why?" she whispered to the stars. "Why did he have to leave us like this?"

The memories flooded back—their first meeting, the Sports Festival, the countless training sessions. Izuku had been her friend, her confidant, and the one who'd shown her that heroes could be more than just powerful. They could be kind, selfless, and unwavering.

"I'll carry your dreams," Uraraka vowed. "Even if it means I'm drowning in grief."

She thought of his smile—the one that had lit up even the darkest days. How could she honor that? How could she keep moving forward when her heart felt shattered?

"You're not alone," Iida's voice interrupted her thoughts. He sat beside her, his glasses glinting in the moonlight. "We're all hurting, Uraraka. But we have a duty—to protect, to inspire, just like Izuku did."

"But how?" Uraraka wiped her tears. "How can we be heroes without him?"

Iida's resolve was unyielding. "We'll train harder. We'll learn from his example. And we'll lift each other up."

In the weeks that followed, Class 1-A transformed. Uraraka practiced her quirk relentlessly, mastering its intricacies. She remembered Izuku's words: "Gravity isn't just about floating—it's about grounding yourself, finding strength in vulnerability."

She sparred with Bakugo, their explosions echoing Izuku's fiery determination. She studied Todoroki's ice, seeking balance between power and compassion. And when she looked at the empty desk in the classroom, she saw not loss, but potential—a canvas waiting for heroes to rise.

"We'll be the echoes of his legacy," she told herself. "We'll save lives, make sacrifices, and never forget the boy who believed in us."

And so, Uraraka floated above the city, her heart heavy but resolute. She'd carry Izuku's dreams, his laughter, and the promise of a better world. Because heroes didn't just fight villains—they carried hope, even when the weight threatened to crush them.

Aizawa stood in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of loss settling on his shoulders. The room smelled of dust and memories—of late-night grading sessions, Izuku's earnest questions, and the way the boy's eyes had always held hope.

"Eraser Head," Present Mic's voice crackled over the phone. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm not," Aizawa replied, his voice hoarse. "I've lost too many students."

He remembered the first time he'd met Izuku—a quirkless kid with determination burning in his gaze. Aizawa had seen potential, but he'd also seen vulnerability. He'd vowed to protect that vulnerability, to mold it into strength.

"You did everything you could," Present Mic said. "We all did."

"Not enough." Aizawa clenched his fists. "I trained him, believed in him. And now he's gone."

The U.A. classroom felt like a mausoleum. Aizawa stood before the chalkboard, where Izuku's notes still lingered—the scrawled equations, the hero analyses, the dreams that had once filled the room with possibility.

"You were my greatest student," Aizawa whispered. "And my greatest failure."

He'd erased Izuku's quirk during the entrance exam, testing the boy's resolve. But Izuku had persisted, proving that heroism wasn't just about powers—it was about heart.

"I'll keep teaching," Aizawa vowed. "For you, Midoriya."

Late at night, Aizawa patrolled the streets. His scarf fluttered in the wind, a reminder of the boy who'd worn it proudly. He'd lost track of how many villains he'd apprehended, how many lives he'd saved. But it wasn't enough.

"You're not alone," a voice echoed. It was All Might, his form flickering like a fading star. "I miss him too."

"He deserved better," Aizawa said. "We all did."

"Then honor his memory," All Might urged. "Teach the next generation. Show them what it means to be a hero."

And so, Aizawa continued—the shrouded eyes of his goggles hiding tears, the weight of grief pushing him forward. He'd keep fighting, keep training, because heroes never stopped—even when their hearts were shattered.

Eri stood at the edge of the memorial garden, clutching a wilted flower. Her eyes, wide and haunted, reflected the pain of a child who'd seen too much suffering.

"He's gone, Eri," Mirio said gently, kneeling beside her. "But his spirit lives on."

"I miss him," Eri whispered. "Why did he have to leave?"

Mirio's smile was bittersweet. "Because heroes make sacrifices. And Izuku was the greatest hero of all."

Eri joined U.A. High School, her quirk now under control. She wore Izuku's old All Might hoodie, its fabric soft against her skin. Class 1-A welcomed her—the echoes of their fallen friend guiding their actions.

"We'll protect you," Uraraka promised, wrapping an arm around Eri. "Just like Izuku protected us."

"And we'll make sure you smile," Mineta added, earning a glare from everyone.

Years passed. Eri became a hero—a beacon of hope for a world still healing. She wore her hair in green streaks, a tribute to Izuku. And when she faced villains, her eyes held the same unwavering resolve.

"For Izuku," she whispered, as her quirk rewrote reality.

And somewhere, in the threads of time, Izuku smiled—a fading echo, but never forgotten.

THE END