The sun was barely cresting the horizon when Izuku Midoriya arrived at the address Y/N had given him—a surprisingly modest property on the outskirts of Musutafu, far from the bustling city center. The yard was spacious and private, surrounded by tall trees that provided natural concealment from curious eyes.

This is it, Izuku thought, adjusting his gym bag nervously as he approached the gate. My first real training session with Gojo-sensei.

He'd made his decision last night after a long conversation with his mother. She'd been surprised by the offer—"A teacher wants to personally train you? Oh, Izuku, that's wonderful!"—but supportive. All Might had been more contemplative when Izuku called him, but ultimately encouraging: "Young Midoriya, if you feel this is the right path for your development, then I trust your judgment. Gran Torino will understand."

So here he was, at five in the morning, ready to begin what Y/N had promised would be the most mentally exhausting week of his life.

Y/N was already outside, dressed casually in dark training clothes rather than his usual teacher attire. His blindfold was in place, but there was something different about his posture—more relaxed, less performative. This wasn't Gojo-sensei the teacher. This was Y/N the mentor.

"Punctual," Y/N observed as Izuku entered the yard. "Good. I like students who respect time. Drop your bag over there and stretch. We're starting with practical application."

"Yes, sensei!" Izuku quickly complied, his movements practiced from months of training with All Might.

As he stretched, Izuku couldn't help but analyze his surroundings with his usual thoroughness. The yard was large—at least fifty meters across—with various training equipment scattered around. Weights, wooden posts that looked like they'd seen some damage, what appeared to be obstacle course elements. The ground was packed earth rather than grass, clearly designed for combat training.

He's been preparing this, Izuku realized. This isn't just a casual offer. He's actually set up a proper training ground specifically for—

"Stop overthinking and get over here," Y/N called out, standing in the center of the yard. "First lesson of the week: your analytical mind is a weapon, but it can also be a cage. You need to learn when to think and when to just move."

Izuku jogged over, his heart rate already elevated with anticipation and nervousness.

"So," Y/N said, his casual smile in place, "show me what you can do."

"Should I—" Izuku started to ask about parameters, limitations, what level of power to use—

"Just come at me," Y/N interrupted. "Whatever you think is appropriate. And don't worry—" His smile widened slightly. "I've turned off my Infinity. You'll actually be able to touch me this time. If you can."

He turned off his automatic defense? Izuku's analytical mind immediately started calculating. That means he's confident enough in his physical abilities alone to handle whatever I throw at him. Which means I need to—

"Stop thinking," Y/N's voice cut through his thoughts. "Move."

Izuku gritted his teeth and activated One For All—just five percent, spread across his body like he'd been practicing. Green lightning crackled around him as he launched forward, his leg already coming up for a kick aimed at Y/N's midsection.

Fast approach, conventional attack pattern, Y/N's Six Eyes tracked every movement despite not needing Infinity active. Predictable, but solid form. Let's see how he adapts.

"Not bad," Y/N said calmly as he sidestepped the kick with minimal movement—just enough to avoid contact, not an inch more. "But you telegraph your attacks too much. Your body shifts before you commit. Any experienced fighter will read that."

Izuku tried to adjust mid-attack, pivoting to follow Y/N's movement, but his teacher was already moving. Y/N's hand shot out, grabbed Izuku's extended leg with casual precision, and in one fluid motion, threw the teenager over his shoulder.

Izuku hit the ground hard on his side, the air knocked from his lungs. "Ow," he grunted, pain radiating through his ribs.

"Sorry," Y/N said, offering a hand to help him up.

But Izuku shook his head, pushing himself to his feet independently. "No, no, it's good that I get hurt." He winced slightly, already feeling a bruise forming. "Then I know what I'm doing wrong."

Y/N's smile widened with approval. "Good mindset. Pain is information. Use it."

Izuku took a breath, settling back into a fighting stance—this one slightly different, his weight distribution more centered, his body language less obvious. "Again?"

"Again," Y/N confirmed, beckoning with one hand. "And this time, try to think less about what you're going to do and more about reacting to what I'm doing. Combat isn't a formula you can solve ahead of time."

Don't overthink, Izuku told himself, focusing on Y/N's stance, his breathing, the subtle shifts in his posture. Just react. Just move. Just—

He launched forward again, but this time varied his approach—feinting left before driving right, keeping his movements smaller and tighter.

Y/N's head tilted slightly, tracking the movement. Better. He's learning to mask his intentions. Still readable, but improving already.

Izuku threw a punch—or appeared to. At the last second, he dropped his weight and swept at Y/N's legs instead, using the momentum of his failed punch to power the sweep.

Much better, Y/N thought, easily lifting one foot to avoid the sweep while simultaneously reaching down to grab Izuku's arm. He twisted, applying pressure to the joint without actually damaging it, forcing Izuku to roll with the motion or risk serious injury.

"Agh!" Izuku groaned as pain shot through his shoulder, but he managed to complete the roll, using the momentum to create distance between them.

"Good!" Y/N called out, releasing him and stepping back. "You adapted mid-attack and then used my counter to reposition. That's progress."

Izuku stood slowly, nursing his shoulder but grinning despite the pain. "You're really strong even without your quirk, sensei."

"Technique beats strength," Y/N replied. "I've had centuries—" He caught himself. "—I mean, years. Years of martial arts training. Your raw power with One For All is impressive, but right now, you're relying too much on the quirk and not enough on fundamental fighting skills."

He gestured for Izuku to approach again. "That's what this week is about. Building your foundation. Teaching you that you're dangerous even at zero percent power, because your mind and body are weapons all on their own."

They continued like this for hours. Y/N would demonstrate a technique, Izuku would attempt it, fail, analyze what went wrong, try again. Each iteration showed improvement—subtle at first, then more pronounced as Izuku's body began to internalize the lessons his mind was absorbing.

Y/N threw him. Twisted his arms. Swept his legs. Put him in holds that Izuku had to think his way out of. Never using his quirk, never relying on his overwhelming power—just pure technique, experience, and the kind of combat wisdom that came from thousands of battles.

And Izuku soaked it all in like a sponge.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, Izuku was covered in dirt and sweat, sporting numerous bruises that would need Recovery Girl's attention later. But he was also moving differently—more efficiently, with better awareness of his body and his opponent's positioning.

"Alright," Y/N said, checking his phone. "That's enough for today. You need to catch your train to Gran Torino's place."

"Wait," Izuku blinked, confusion crossing his face. "I thought... I chose to intern with you?"

"You did," Y/N confirmed. "But that doesn't mean you should pass up the opportunity to train with Gran Torino. He's All Might's teacher—he knows One For All better than anyone alive except All Might himself. What I'm teaching you is complementary to what he'll teach you, not a replacement."

He tossed Izuku a towel. "So here's the plan: mornings with me, working on combat fundamentals, strategy, and mental conditioning. Afternoons and evenings with Gran Torino, learning One For All's specific techniques and building your power control. You'll be exhausted, probably overwhelmed, definitely wanting to quit. But you'll learn more in this one week than most heroes learn in a year."

Izuku's eyes went wide. "You want me to train with both of you? At the same time? Isn't that—"

"Ambitious? Crazy? Probably going to make you collapse from exhaustion at least once?" Y/N's grin was almost mischievous. "Yes to all of the above. But you're the kid who broke every finger in his hand just to help a classmate during a tournament. I think you can handle a tough training schedule."

"I—" Izuku started to protest, then stopped. His analytical mind was already working through the implications, the potential for growth, the opportunity to learn from two completely different masters. "Yes, sensei. I can handle it."

"That's what I like to hear." Y/N gestured toward the house. "Go clean up. Then we're getting food before I put you on that train. Can't have my intern fainting from hunger on day one."

Thirty minutes later, Izuku found himself sitting across from Y/N at a surprisingly upscale restaurant—the kind of place that made him acutely aware of his worn training clothes and still-damp hair from a quick shower.

"Sensei, you really didn't have to do this," Izuku said quietly, looking at the menu with prices that made him want to offer to pay with his allowance. "We could have just grabbed something quick, I don't want to—"

"Izuku," Y/N interrupted gently, having already ordered for both of them without looking at the menu. "Stop worrying about the cost. You're one of my favorite students. Of course I want to spoil you a little."

The food arrived quickly—perfectly prepared dishes that made Izuku's mouth water despite his protests. Y/N had ordered himself a glass of wine, while Izuku had water.

As they ate, Y/N raised his wine glass. "To better times, my friend."

Izuku blinked at the word friend—not student, not intern, but friend—and felt something warm bloom in his chest. He lifted his water glass, clinking it gently against Y/N's wine. "To better times," he echoed.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, Izuku too focused on the delicious food to maintain conversation. But eventually, curiosity got the better of him.

"Sensei," he asked hesitantly, "can I ask you something personal?"

"Depends on the question," Y/N replied, his tone light. "But go ahead."

"Earlier, when you were teaching me, you started to say you'd had 'centuries' of training, but then changed it to 'years.' Was that just a slip of the tongue, or..." He trailed off, uncertain if he was overstepping.

Y/N was quiet for a moment, his wine glass paused halfway to his lips. Then he smiled—but it was different from his usual smile. Older. Weighted with memories.

"You're too perceptive for your own good sometimes, you know that?" Y/N took a sip of his wine. "Let's just say I've been around longer than I look, and leave it at that. Some stories are better saved for when you're older and have a drink in your hand stronger than water."

"Oh. I didn't mean to pry, I just—"

"Relax, Izuku." Y/N's smile returned to its usual warmth. "I'm not offended. Your analytical mind notices details others miss—that's what makes you special. Just remember that not every mystery needs to be solved immediately. Some things reveal themselves with time."

Izuku nodded, filing that information away in the mental notebook he kept alongside his physical one. Gojo-sensei has secrets. Big ones. But he's not hostile about me noticing. Just... evasive. Which means whatever he's hiding, he's not ready to share yet. That's okay. I can wait.

"Now," Y/N said, changing the subject smoothly, "tell me what you know about Gran Torino. All Might must have briefed you about his teaching style?"

And just like that, they were back to discussing training, strategy, and the week ahead. Izuku relaxed into the conversation, his earlier tension forgotten as he engaged with his mentor about hero work and technique refinement.

By the time they finished eating and Y/N had paid—waving off Izuku's protests with practiced ease—it was time to head to the train station.

They walked together through the afternoon streets, Y/N's casual presence somehow making Izuku feel safer despite knowing his teacher wasn't actively using his quirk to protect them.

At the station, as Izuku prepared to board his train, Y/N placed a hand on his shoulder one last time.

"Remember what we worked on today," he said seriously. "Technique over power. Awareness over assumption. And most importantly—you're dangerous even without One For All. Don't ever forget that."

"Yes, sensei," Izuku said, bowing despite Y/N's earlier protest about formalities.

"And Izuku?"

"Yes?"

Y/N's smile was genuine, warm, carrying a depth of care that made Izuku's throat tighten. "I'm proud of you. Not because of your quirk or your potential or any of that external stuff. I'm proud of who you are as a person. Don't lose sight of that while you're training to be stronger."

Izuku felt tears prick at his eyes but blinked them back. "Thank you, sensei. That... that means everything."

"Now get on that train before you miss it," Y/N said, his tone lightening. "And text me when you get to Gran Torino's place so I know you arrived safely. I'm your mentor now—I'm allowed to worry."

"Yes, sensei!" Izuku hurried onto the train, waving through the window as it began to pull away.

Y/N waved back, his smile never faltering, until the train disappeared around a bend.

Then, alone on the platform, his expression shifted—becoming more contemplative, more weighted.

That kid is going to be something special, Y/N thought, his Six Eyes tracking the train's departure even after it was out of normal visual range. Not because of One For All. Because of who he is. His heart. His mind. His unwavering determination to save everyone, even at the cost of himself.

I just hope I can teach him to save himself too. Before this world breaks him the way it breaks every hero who cares too much.

He turned away from the tracks, hands sliding into his pockets as he began the walk home.

The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. Another day ending. Another step forward in preparing his students for what was coming.

Because Y/N's Six Eyes had seen something today during training—a flicker in the distance, a presence watching from far away. Someone had been observing them. Someone with concealment abilities good enough to hide from most people.

But not good enough to hide from Y/N Gojo.

They're escalating, he thought darkly. The League of Villains. All For One. Whatever's coming, it's coming soon.

And when it does, I'll be ready. My students will be ready.

They have to be.

Because the alternative—watching them face threats they weren't prepared for—was unacceptable.

He walked home through the fading light, already planning tomorrow's training session, already thinking three steps ahead.

Always protecting.

Always preparing.

Always watching.

Because that's what the strongest did.

They protected those who couldn't protect themselves.

Even from threats they didn't yet know were coming.

Even when it meant bearing burdens alone.

Even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

The day ended.

But Y/N Gojo's vigil never did.

It never would.

Not as long as his students needed him.

Not as long as he had strength left to give.

Not as long as he was still standing.

And he would stand.

For as long as it took.

No matter what.

The train ride to Gran Torino's residence had given Izuku plenty of time to think—about the morning's training with Y/N, about the bruises forming under his clothes, about the week ahead juggling two completely different mentors. His notebook was open on his lap, filled with fresh observations from his sparring session.

Sensei doesn't telegraph his movements at all, he'd written. No wasted motion. Every action flows into the next like water. Need to study efficiency of movement more. Also: why does he sometimes seem sad when he thinks no one's watching?

Now, standing outside a modest house in a quiet neighborhood, Izuku double-checked the address All Might had given him. This was it. Gran Torino's home.

All Might's teacher, Izuku reminded himself, squaring his shoulders and trying to project confidence despite his nerves. The man who taught the Symbol of Peace how to use One For All. This is an incredible opportunity. I need to make a good impression.

He knocked on the door politely. "Hello? Gran Torino-san? It's Izuku Midoriya! All Might sent me for the internship!"

No response.

Izuku knocked again, louder this time. "Gran Torino-san?"

Still nothing.

Growing concerned, Izuku tried the door handle and found it unlocked. He pushed it open hesitantly. "Excuse me? I'm coming in!"

The interior was... cluttered. Papers everywhere, dishes piled in the sink, the general chaos of someone who lived alone and didn't particularly care about tidiness. And in the center of the living room—

"AAAH!" Izuku screamed.

An elderly man lay face-down on the floor, completely motionless, a plate of sausages and ketchup splattered around him. The ketchup had spread across the floor in a pattern that looked disturbingly like blood.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" Izuku rushed forward, his hero training kicking in immediately. "Gran Torino-san! Are you okay?! Can you hear me?! I need to call an ambulance—"

He pulled out his phone with shaking hands, already dialing emergency services—

The "corpse" suddenly sat up with surprising speed. "TAIYAKI!" the old man shouted, then blinked at Izuku with rheumy eyes. "Who are you? Why are you in my house?!"

Izuku nearly dropped his phone. "I—what—you were—" He took a shaky breath, his heart hammering. "I'm Midoriya! Izuku Midoriya! All Might sent me for the internship!"

Gran Torino squinted at him. "Midoriya? Never heard of you. Are you selling something? I already have a vacuum cleaner!"

"No! I'm your intern!" Izuku protested, pulling out his U.A. identification. "See? I'm a student at U.A.! You're supposed to train me this week!"

The old man stared at the ID for a long moment, then his face brightened with recognition. "Oh! You're Toshinori's boy! Why didn't you say so?" He stood up with a grunt, completely ignoring the mess of fake blood ketchup and sausages on his floor. "What's your name again?"

"Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya."

"Right, right. Mikuya."

"Mi-do-ri-ya."

"That's what I said. Mikoya." Gran Torino shuffled past him toward the kitchen. "You hungry? I was about to make taiyaki."

He... he just pretended to be dead, Izuku thought, his mind reeling. With ketchup. Why would he—is this a test? Or is he actually—

"Um, Gran Torino-san?" Izuku ventured carefully. "Are you... feeling alright? Should I call someone? A doctor or—"

"A doctor? Why would I need a doctor? I'm fit as a fiddle!" The old man was already rummaging through his kitchen cabinets. "Now where did I put that taiyaki maker..."

Izuku watched with growing concern as Gran Torino pulled out various kitchen implements, seemingly forgetting what he was looking for every few seconds. The legendary hero who'd trained All Might was... this?

Maybe he's just old, Izuku thought desperately. Maybe he's not in the right mental state to train anyone anymore. What if All Might doesn't know how much he's declined? What if—

He needed to call All Might. This couldn't be right.

Izuku pulled out his phone again, stepping into the hallway for privacy as he dialed All Might's number. It rang once, twice—

"Oi! Mikoya! What're you doing back there?!"

Izuku jumped, turning to find Gran Torino had somehow appeared behind him, now holding what looked like Izuku's hero costume case.

"That's—that's my costume!" Izuku protested, rushing over. "Please don't—"

But Gran Torino had already opened it, pulling out the new costume that the support department had modified based on his requests. The old man held it up, examining it with surprising focus despite his apparent senility.

"Hmm. Less armor than the last one. More mobility-focused. Expecting to move faster, are you?" Gran Torino's eyes, when they met Izuku's, were suddenly sharp. Calculating. Nothing like the confused old man from moments before.

Izuku froze. Wait. Was he... was all of that an act?

Then, just as quickly, the sharpness faded back into vague confusion. "What's this thing? A costume? Are you a performer? I don't need entertainment, I already have my programs!"

He dropped the costume carelessly on the couch and shuffled away, muttering something about taiyaki.

Izuku stood there, completely bewildered, clutching his phone and wondering if he'd made a terrible mistake choosing to train here.

I wish I were with Y/N-sensei, he thought desperately. At least his training methods make sense. This is just... what is this?

But he'd committed. All Might had recommended this. And Y/N had said this training was important for learning One For All's specific applications.

So he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and called out: "Gran Torino-san, please don't go through my costume without permission. I need it for the internship."

The old man appeared in the doorway, a plate of what was apparently successfully made taiyaki in his hands. "Your costume? Oh, you're the intern! What's your name again?"

"Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya."

"Right, right. Mikuya." He took a bite of taiyaki, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, Toshinori wanted me to train you. Said you had his quirk now. Interesting choice, that boy. Could've picked anyone, but he picked... what was your name again?"

"Midoriya," Izuku said through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin.

"Hmm." Gran Torino's expression shifted again, becoming more focused. "I hear you've been training with that Y/N Gojo fellow too. Young, strong, probably more fun to train with than an old man like me."

Izuku's eyes widened. He knows about this morning? How—

"All Might told me you made arrangements to train with both of us," Gran Torino continued, his voice losing some of its vague quality. "Split schedule. Ambitious. Exhausting. Probably going to make you wish you'd chosen just one mentor." He took another bite of taiyaki. "But Toshinori recommended me specifically because I know One For All. Lived with it. Trained with it. Know its strengths and weaknesses better than anyone except maybe the vestiges themselves."

He shuffled over to his worn armchair and settled into it with a grunt. "So here you are. And here I am. And we're going to figure out why Toshinori thought you were worthy of his power, despite the fact that you nearly killed yourself at the Sports Festival."

His eyes—suddenly clear and sharp as razors—fixed on Izuku with an intensity that made the teenager take an involuntary step back.

"So, Midoriya Izuku," Gran Torino said, his voice carrying none of its earlier confusion. "Why don't you tell me about this quirk of yours? And don't give me the party line about 'late manifestation' or whatever cover story you've been using. I want to know the truth. How long have you really had One For All? How much has Toshinori taught you? And most importantly—"

He leaned forward, his gaze boring into Izuku.

"—what made him think a boy who breaks his own bones with every punch was ready to inherit the greatest quirk in hero history?"

Izuku swallowed hard, all thoughts of calling All Might to complain about senile mentors completely evaporated.

This was a test. All of it—the fake death, the forgetfulness, the confusion. A test to see how he'd react, how he'd handle the unexpected, how quickly he'd adapt.

And he'd almost failed it.

Y/N-sensei said combat isn't a formula you can solve ahead of time, Izuku remembered. That I need to learn to react instead of overthink. Maybe that applies to more than just physical fighting.

He took a deep breath and met Gran Torino's sharp gaze head-on.

"I've had One For All for about ten months," Izuku said honestly. "I was quirkless before that. All Might gave me his power after I tried to save my childhood friend from a villain, even though I had no quirk and no chance of success. He said I had the spirit of a hero."

He paused, then continued: "As for why I break my bones—One For All is a stockpiling quirk that accumulated power over generations. My body isn't adapted to handle that much energy yet. I'm learning control, but it's slow. At the Sports Festival, I pushed myself too hard because I was trying to help Todoroki-kun, not just win."

"Help your opponent during a tournament," Gran Torino mused. "Toshinori would do something like that. Soft-hearted, both of you." He stood up with surprising agility, setting his taiyaki aside. "Alright, Midoriya. Here's how this week is going to work."

He moved to the center of the room with the grace of someone decades younger. "You're going to learn to activate One For All without destroying yourself. Full cowl—constant low-level activation across your entire body instead of explosive bursts in individual limbs. It'll give you speed, strength, and durability without the self-destructive power spikes you've been relying on."

Izuku's eyes widened. Full cowl activation? Like what Y/N-sensei was talking about this morning—making the power a natural part of my movement instead of a separate attack?

"It's going to be difficult," Gran Torino continued. "It's going to hurt. You're going to fail. A lot. And I'm going to seem like a crazy old man who can't remember your name because I need you off-balance, reactive, unable to overthink every movement."

He grinned, showing surprisingly sharp teeth for someone his age. "Your other teacher—this Y/N fellow—he's teaching you strategy. Technique. How to be smart. That's good. You need that. But I'm going to teach you instinct. How to move without thinking. How to let One For All flow through you like breathing instead of treating it like a weapon you pull out when needed."

The room seemed to shift, energy crackling in the air. Gran Torino's quirk activated—Jet—small bursts propelling him across the room at impossible speeds.

One moment he was by the window. The next, he was behind Izuku. Then beside him. Then above him, hanging from the ceiling.

"This is One For All combined with proper application," Gran Torino said, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "Constant activation. Instant reaction. No overthinking. No hesitation. Just pure, fluid movement."

He landed in front of Izuku, slightly winded but grinning. "So. You still wish you were training with just the young, strong Y/N Gojo? Or are you ready to learn from an old man who knows more about your quirk than you'll learn in a lifetime of trial and error?"

Izuku's earlier frustration and confusion had transformed into something else: excitement. Understanding. Anticipation.

"I'm ready, Gran Torino-sensei," he said, bowing properly this time. "Please teach me. And I'm sorry for doubting you."

"Don't apologize. Doubt is healthy. Keeps you alert." Gran Torino shuffled back toward his taiyaki, his movements suddenly old and uncertain again. "Now go put your costume on. Training starts in five minutes. Oh, and what's your name again?"

"Midoriya," Izuku said, this time with a slight smile.

"Right, right. Mikuya. Don't be late!"

As Izuku hurried to change, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Y/N:

Arrived safely at Gran Torino's place. He's... interesting. I think this week is going to be even harder than you warned. Thank you for this morning's training. It's already helping me understand what I need to learn. —Midoriya

The response came almost immediately:

Good. Remember: technique from me, instinct from Gran Torino. Both are essential. You're going to be exhausted. That means it's working. Don't give up. —Y/N

Then, a moment later:

And Izuku? I'm proud of you for committing to this. Not many students would willingly put themselves through double training. That determination is what makes you special. See you tomorrow morning. Bring pain relievers. —Y/N

Izuku smiled, tucking his phone away as he finished putting on his new costume. The modifications felt good—lighter, more flexible, designed for the kind of high-speed movement he'd need to master.

From the other room, Gran Torino's voice called out: "MIKUYA! ARE YOU COMING OR NOT?!"

"IT'S MIDORIYA!" Izuku shouted back, but he was grinning now.

This was going to be brutal. Exhausting. Probably the hardest week of his life.

But he was ready.

He had two masters teaching him different aspects of heroism. Two perspectives. Two skill sets.

And by the end of this week, he'd be stronger than he'd ever been.

Not just in power.

In control. In instinct. In understanding.

He stepped out of the room, ready for whatever Gran Torino's "training" would entail.

"About time, Mikoya! Now, let's see if you can catch me!"

And before Izuku could correct his name one more time, Gran Torino vanished in a burst of speed, leaving only a slight breeze and the echo of laughter.

Here we go, Izuku thought, activating One For All at five percent and giving chase.

Y/N-sensei was right. This is going to be exhausting.

But it's going to be worth it.

The training began.

And Izuku Midoriya, inheritor of One For All, student of two masters, threw himself into it with all the determination that had brought him this far.

Because that's what heroes did.

They kept moving forward.

No matter how hard the path became.

No matter how many times they fell.

They got back up.

And they kept fighting.

Always.

Hosu City—Day One of Internships

The streets of Hosu were quieter than Tenya Iida had expected. After the chaos of the Sports Festival, after the noise and spectacle of thousands of spectators cheering for hero students, the relative calm of actual patrol work felt almost anticlimactic.

Almost.

"Stay alert, Ingenium," Manual said, using the hero name Tenya had temporarily adopted in honor of his brother. The pro hero walked with practiced ease, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. "Hosu's been quiet lately, but that doesn't mean we can let our guard down. Most villain activity happens in the moments we stop paying attention."

"Yes, sir!" Tenya responded with characteristic enthusiasm, his hand moving in that familiar chopping motion. "I will maintain maximum vigilance at all times!"

Manual smiled beneath his costume's face covering. The kid was intense—maybe a bit too intense—but that was better than the alternative. Better to have an intern who cared too much than one who didn't care at all.

Though, Manual thought, observing the slight tension in Tenya's shoulders, the way his eyes lingered a bit too long on dark alleyways, he seems distracted. Like he's looking for something specific.

He wasn't wrong.

Beneath Tenya's professional demeanor, his mind was churning with darker thoughts. Thoughts that had consumed him since the Sports Festival, since the phone call that had shattered his world:

"Tenya? It's about your brother. There was an attack. The Hero Killer—Tensei is alive, but..."

Ingenium. His brother. His inspiration. The hero Tenya had looked up to his entire life—paralyzed. Career ended. Dreams crushed. All because of one villain: Stain, the Hero Killer.

And Stain was last sighted in Hosu City.

That's why I chose this internship, Tenya thought, his jaw clenching behind his helmet. Not for the training. Not for the experience. But to find him. To stop him. To make him pay for what he did to my brother.

"Ingenium?" Manual's voice cut through his thoughts. "You alright? You seem tense."

"I'm fine, sir!" Tenya responded immediately, forcing his posture to relax. "Just focused on our patrol!"

I can't tell him the truth. He'd never approve. No hero would approve of what I'm planning. But I don't care. This isn't about being a proper hero. This is about justice. About revenge.

About making sure Stain never hurts another hero again.

Meanwhile—Abandoned Warehouse District, Hosu City

The warehouse stank of rust and decay, empty save for the three figures meeting in its shadowed interior. Moonlight filtered through broken windows, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe with malevolent purpose.

Tomura Shigaraki stood with his usual agitated energy, scratching at his neck with four fingers while the severed hand covering his face shifted slightly with each movement. Beside him, Kurogiri's misty form provided the only source of light in the darkness—those yellow eyes glowing softly, watchful and calculating.

And across from them, radiating an intensity that made even the air feel heavy, stood Stain.

The Hero Killer.

His appearance was exactly as the reports described: wrapped in tattered cloth and makeshift armor, multiple blades strapped across his body, his face mostly concealed except for those eyes—burning with fanatical conviction, with absolute certainty in his twisted ideology.

"So," Stain's voice was rough, gravelly, carrying the weight of someone who'd seen too much and decided the world needed to burn. "You're the League of Villains. The group that attacked U.A.'s hero students. The ones claiming they'll destroy hero society."

"That's us," Shigaraki said with barely contained glee, his scratching intensifying. "We're going to tear down everything those fake heroes have built. Destroy the system. Burn it all to ash. And we want you to join us, Hero Killer. Your reputation, your ideology—it aligns with our goals."

Stain was silent for a long moment, studying Shigaraki with those intense eyes.

Then he spoke, his voice carrying disappointment that somehow felt more cutting than anger:

"No. It doesn't."

Shigaraki's scratching stopped. "What?"

"Your goals," Stain clarified, his hand moving to rest on one of his katanas. "You say you want to destroy hero society. But why? What's your conviction? What drives you beyond simple destruction?"

"I hate them," Shigaraki said immediately, his voice taking on a childish quality. "I hate All Might. I hate heroes. I hate everyone who stands in my way. So I'm going to destroy them all. Simple as that."

The warehouse seemed to grow colder.

"Disappointing," Stain said flatly. "You're just another tantrum-throwing child. No ideology. No purpose. Just destruction for destruction's sake." His eyes narrowed. "That's not revolution. That's not change. That's just... noise."

"Stain-san," Kurogiri interjected smoothly, his yellow eyes brightening slightly as he moved to step between them. "Perhaps we should discuss this more calmly. Our master, All For One, has great plans for—"

"Kurogiri," a voice emanated from Kurogiri's mist—distorted, ancient, carrying absolute authority. "Stand aside. Let Tomura handle this. He needs to learn."

All For One, watching from somewhere distant, observing through Kurogiri's connection. Always teaching. Always testing his successor.

Kurogiri hesitated, then obeyed, stepping back and leaving Shigaraki and Stain facing each other directly.

Stain's hand tightened on his katana's grip. "You want me to join your League? Fine. But I have one condition."

"What condition?" Shigaraki asked, his tone suspicious.

"Bring me Y/N Gojo."

The name hung in the air like a curse.

Shigaraki blinked, confused. "The U.A. teacher? Why would you—"

"Because," Stain interrupted, drawing his sword slowly, the blade catching the moonlight with deadly beauty, "he represents everything wrong with modern heroes. Overwhelming power used without purpose. Strength without sacrifice. A man who could change everything but chooses to protect a corrupt system instead."

His eyes blazed with fanatical intensity. "I've watched him. Studied him. That display at the USJ, stopping our attack so effortlessly—he's strong enough to remake society, to tear down the false heroes and build something pure. But he does nothing. He teaches children to perpetuate the same broken system."

The katana pointed directly at Shigaraki now, the blade steady despite the fury in Stain's voice. "If you can't bring Y/N Gojo to me—if you can't deliver the strongest piece on the board so I can test whether he's a true hero or another fake—then we have nothing to discuss. Your League means nothing to me."

Shigaraki stared at him for a moment.

Then he laughed.

It started as a giggle—high-pitched, slightly unhinged—before building into full manic laughter that echoed through the warehouse. His scratching resumed with renewed vigor, leaving fresh red marks on his neck.

"You want us to bring Gojo here?" Shigaraki managed between laughs. "To Hosu? Are you daft?!"

"I'm completely serious," Stain growled, his blade not wavering.

"It's IMPOSSIBLE!" Shigaraki's laughter died as quickly as it had started, replaced by frustration. "That man is untouchable! Literally! We couldn't land a hit on him at the USJ even with our best fighters! And you think we can just... what? Invite him to Hosu for tea?!"

His red eyes fixed on Stain with something between pity and contempt. "And even if we could, why would he care about Hosu City anyway? He's got no connection here. No students, no family, no reason to come running just because we ask nicely."

"Then make him care," Stain said coldly, his katana pressing closer to Shigaraki's throat—close enough that Kurogiri tensed, ready to warp Shigaraki away if necessary. "Create a situation he can't ignore. Threaten something he values. Force his hand."

"Stain-san," Kurogiri's voice carried warning now. "Please lower your blade. This discussion can be—"

But Stain didn't hear him. Or perhaps he heard and simply didn't care. His eyes were locked on Shigaraki's, burning with absolute conviction.

"Listen carefully, Tomura Shigaraki," Stain's voice was barely above a whisper but somehow more threatening than any shout. "I don't care about your master's plans. I don't care about your tantrum against hero society. I don't care about your League or your goals or your pathetic need for destruction."

The blade pressed closer, a hair's breadth from Shigaraki's neck. "But I care about purging the false heroes. About creating a world where only the truly worthy can call themselves heroes. And Y/N Gojo is either the greatest true hero this world has seen in generations, or he's the most dangerous fake—someone with godlike power who wastes it protecting a corrupt system."

His voice dropped even lower, becoming almost reverent. "I need to know which he is. I need to test him. To see if he bleeds conviction or just empty strength."

Then, louder, with absolute finality: "So if you can't deliver him—if you can't bring Y/N Gojo to me so I can determine his worth—then this alliance is over before it begins. And I will rip your League apart, piece by piece, no matter what resources you think you can offer me. Because an organization without conviction, led by a child without purpose, is worse than useless."

The tension in the warehouse was suffocating. Kurogiri's mist had grown agitated, swirling with barely contained readiness to intervene. Shigaraki stood frozen, the blade at his throat, his usual confidence shaken by the raw intensity radiating from the Hero Killer.

And watching through Kurogiri's connection, All For One observed with interest.

Fascinating, the ancient villain thought. Stain's ideology makes him unpredictable. Dangerous even to potential allies. But his obsession with Y/N Gojo... that could be useful. If channeled correctly.

"Tomura," All For One's voice emanated from Kurogiri again. "Tell him yes."

"What?!" Shigaraki hissed, not moving due to the blade still at his throat. "Master, we can't—"

"Tell him we'll bring Gojo to Hosu," All For One continued calmly. "Whether we actually can is irrelevant. What matters is keeping Stain focused on his obsession while we use his reputation and skills for our purposes."

A pause, then: "And who knows? Perhaps we will manage to draw Gojo out. The man does seem... attached to his students. If we create the right situation, he may come running after all."

Shigaraki's eyes widened slightly with understanding. Then that manic grin returned.

"Fine," Shigaraki said, meeting Stain's burning gaze. "We'll bring you Y/N Gojo. Can't promise when, can't promise how, but we'll create a situation he can't ignore. A threat big enough that even the 'strongest' teacher will have to respond."

"When?" Stain demanded, his blade finally withdrawing slightly.

"Soon," Shigaraki replied. "Very soon. In fact..." He scratched his neck thoughtfully. "How about we start making noise right here in Hosu? Get his attention. Show him that ignoring us has consequences."

Stain studied him for a long moment, searching for deception. Finally, he sheathed his katana with a sharp click.

"You have one week," Stain said coldly. "One week to bring Y/N Gojo to Hosu, or to create a situation that forces him to come. After that, if I haven't seen proof of your commitment to this promise..."

He didn't finish the threat. He didn't need to.

"We'll deliver," Shigaraki said, his confidence returning now that the blade was sheathed. "One week. Hosu City. We'll make it a stage that even Y/N Gojo can't ignore."

Stain nodded curtly, then turned to leave. "I'll be watching. And if you fail—if this is just another empty promise from false villains—"

"Yeah, yeah," Shigaraki waved dismissively. "You'll kill us all. We get it. Very scary. Now go do your Hero Killer thing and let us handle the planning."

Stain paused at the warehouse entrance, his silhouette dark against the moonlight beyond. "One week, Shigaraki. Don't disappoint me."

And then he was gone, vanishing into Hosu's shadows like a ghost.

Shigaraki immediately turned to Kurogiri, his manic energy returning full force. "That guy is INSANE! Completely unhinged!"

"He's also extremely dangerous," Kurogiri observed calmly. "And now we've made a promise we may not be able to keep. If we fail to deliver Gojo—"

"We won't fail," Shigaraki interrupted, scratching his neck with renewed vigor. "Master said to tell him yes, which means Master has a plan. Right, Master?"

All For One's voice carried amusement: "I have several plans, Tomura. And yes, drawing out Y/N Gojo is one of them. That man is... complicated. Powerful beyond measure. But also predictable in one key way."

"What way?" Shigaraki asked eagerly.

"He cares about his students," All For One said simply. "Genuinely, deeply cares. That attachment is both his strength and his weakness. If we threaten the right students, in the right way, at the right time..."

"He'll come running to save them," Shigaraki finished, understanding dawning. "And walk right into whatever trap we set."

"Exactly. Now, let's discuss how we're going to turn Hosu City into a battlefield that even Y/N Gojo can't ignore..."

As the League began planning, none of them noticed the small figure watching from the warehouse rafters—a modified surveillance device, nearly invisible in the shadows, transmitting everything back to U.A.'s security center.

Where Principal Nezu sat, watching the recording with his paws steepled in front of his face, his black eyes gleaming with intelligence and concern.

"So," Nezu murmured to himself. "The League of Villains is targeting Gojo specifically now. And they're planning something in Hosu City. Within a week."

He pulled up his communication system, already composing messages to the relevant heroes. "We need to increase security. Alert the Hosu patrol heroes. And warn Gojo that he's become a specific target."

His eyes tracked to another screen showing current internship placements. Several U.A. students were in Hosu right now, including—

"Iida Tenya," Nezu read aloud. "Interning with Manual. In Hosu City. Where the Hero Killer was last sighted."

His whiskers twitched with concern. "And Midoriya Izuku, splitting time between Gran Torino's training and Gojo's personal mentorship. Two of Gojo's students, both in danger zones."

He picked up his phone, dialing a familiar number.

It rang twice before Y/N's voice answered: "Principal Nezu. What can I do for you at—" a pause, "—eleven PM on a school night?"

"We need to talk," Nezu said seriously. "It's about the League of Villains. And you specifically. Can you come to my office? Now?"

A longer pause. Then: "On my way."

The call disconnected.

Nezu leaned back in his oversized chair, staring at the surveillance footage of Shigaraki's manic grin and Stain's burning conviction.

"This is going to escalate quickly," he murmured to himself. "The question is: can we prepare fast enough to prevent catastrophe?"

"Or will Hosu City become another battlefield where our students are caught in the crossfire?"

He didn't have an answer.

But he knew one thing with certainty:

The next week was going to test everyone.

Students. Teachers. Heroes.

And most especially, Y/N Gojo—the man who'd become a target not for what he'd done, but for what he represented.

Overwhelming power without clear allegiance to anyone's ideology.

A wild card in a game where both heroes and villains wanted predictability.

The strongest.

And therefore, the most dangerous variable in everyone's plans.

The pieces were moving.

The board was set.

And in one week, Hosu City would burn.

The only question was: who would be left standing when the smoke cleared?