The aftermath of the USJ attack was chaos wrapped in secrecy.
Izuku stood with his classmates near the facility's entrance, watching officers swarm the dome like ants over spilled sugar. Police cars lined the access road, their lights flashing silently. Men and women in tactical gear guarded every entrance. No cameras. No reporters. UA had locked this down before anyone could even think about getting close.
The dome loomed above them, a massive hole punched through its roof where Nomu had been launched into the sky like a ragdoll thrown by an angry god.
Kirishima muttered beside him, voice low. "Feels weird, doesn't it? Standing here while they clean up our mess."
Tsuyu tilted her head, considering. "Kero. Not our mess. Theirs."
Across the gathering area, Kaminari was slumped against a wall, his limbs occasionally twitching with residual electricity. Every few seconds, a small spark jumped from his shoulder. He didn't seem to notice anymore. "I feel like I should be more upset about this," he said, staring at nothing, "but I'm too tired to muster the energy."
Jiro stood beside him, earphone jacks dangling limp at her sides. "Same." Her voice was flat, drained. "I think my emotional battery is at like two percent."
Mineta, curled up on the ground with his knees to his chest, suddenly burst out: "I'M AT NEGATIVE PERCENT! I NEED THERAPY! AND A HUG! PREFERABLY FROM A GIRL!"
The silence that followed was deafening.
No one responded. No one even looked at him.
Kaminari's shoulder sparked again. A siren wailed somewhere in the distance. The paramedics continued their work, stretchers rolling across the pavement, and the class stood in a loose cluster, too tired to move, too drained to pretend everything was fine.
Kirishima let out a long, slow exhale. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Not our mess."
A man approached them—tired eyes, kind face, wearing a trench coat over a rumpled suit. Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi. Izuku recognized him from somewhere. The canon, probably. He'd seen this face before in another life.
"Midoriya Izuku?" Tsukauchi's voice was calm, professional, the kind of voice that had talked down panicked witnesses a thousand times. "I need to ask you some questions. It won't take long."
Izuku nodded. Followed him to a quiet area away from the chaos.
They sat on a low wall near the facility's entrance. Tsukauchi pulled out a small notebook—no recording devices, no fancy equipment. Just old-fashioned police work and a man who'd been doing this long enough to know that people talked more when you didn't shove technology in their faces.
"Start from the beginning." Tsukauchi's pen hovered over the page. "The warp gate. What happened after you were separated?"
Izuku told him.
He talked about the flood zone, the shipwreck, the waves of villains. He described the Kujin Style techniques that had flowed through him like second nature, the way his body had moved without thinking. He mentioned Tsuyu's arrival, Mineta's screaming entrance, the way they'd formed a team despite being three people who'd never fought together before.
Tsukauchi listened without interrupting. Just nodded occasionally, wrote things down, kept his expression neutral.
"And after you escaped the flood zone?" he asked. "What happened then?"
Izuku hesitated.
Shigaraki. The fight. The arm.
He told him. Most of it. The ambush on Shigaraki while he was distracted. The hits he'd landed—strike to the ribs, kick to the knee, palm to the chest. The way Shigaraki had screamed insults at him, threatened to decay every part of him, unraveled like a child having a tantrum.
He told him about grabbing Shigaraki's wrist. About the moment where he'd held it and thought—for just a second—about ending it.
He didn't say that part out loud.
He told him about Kurogiri's sudden convulsion, the uncontrolled warp, Shigaraki's broken arm and disappearing into the portal.
Tsukauchi watched him closely. His eyes were knowing but not accusatory. Like he could sense there was more but wasn't going to push.
"You did well, Midoriya." He closed his notebook. "Better than most pros would have in that situation."
Izuku didn't feel like he'd done well. He felt like he'd done something and wasn't sure what to call it yet.
Tsukauchi stood, patted his shoulder. "Get some rest. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."
He walked away, trench coat flapping in the breeze.
Recovery Girl's office was busier than Izuku had ever seen it.
Students filtered in and out all day like patients in a crowded ER. Kaminari came out practically dragging himself, his exhaustion visible in every step—he'd pushed too hard and his stamina was completely drained. Kirishima had ice packs on his fists but refused to sit down, too amped on adrenaline. Tsuyu had minor cuts that Recovery Girl fixed with a quick kiss on the forehead, leaving her tired but functional. Mineta came out crying—more than usual—and immediately demanded hugs from anyone who would listen.
Even Bakugo went through. Came out with his arms bandaged, clicked his tongue at Izuku, and left without a word. But he looked at Izuku for a second longer than usual. Like he wanted to say something and couldn't figure out how.
When it was finally Izuku's turn, Recovery Girl took one look at his readings and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. The sound was sharp, maternal, full of disappointment.
"Fifteen percent? For how long?"
"A few minutes. Maybe less."
"Young man, your body is not a machine." She sighed, already preparing to examine him properly. "Do you have any idea what pushing that hard does to your muscles? Your bones? Your circulatory system?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you do it?"
Izuku didn't have an answer that would satisfy her. Because people were dying wasn't going to make her worry less.
She had him sit on the bed, ran through a series of checks—pulse, reflexes, range of motion. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips gently to his forehead.
Warmth spread through his muscles like honey through tea. The ache faded. The tightness in his chest loosened. But almost immediately, he felt something else—a drain, deep in his core. Like someone had pulled a plug on his energy reserves.
Recovery Girl pulled back and watched him closely. "You feel that? That tiredness?"
Izuku nodded.
"That's your own stamina fueling the healing. My quirk doesn't create energy—it just accelerates your body's natural processes. You were already exhausted from the fight, so..." She gestured vaguely. "You're healed, but you're going to feel like you ran a marathon for the next day or so. Maybe longer. If you were any older or more tired, I wouldn't have been able to do much at all."
"Understood."
"Rest here for a bit." She pointed at the bed. "Don't push yourself again so soon. And I mean it."
Izuku nodded, leaning back. The infirmary was quiet. Peaceful, almost. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Machines beeped softly. Somewhere down the hall, someone was crying.
The door opened.
All Might walked in.
Small form. Tired eyes. Limping slightly, one hand braced against the doorframe like he needed the support. He looked like he'd aged ten years since the battle—the lines on his face deeper, the shadows under his eyes darker, the weight of everything pressing down on shoulders that had once carried a nation.
Recovery Girl whirled on him like a mother whose child had come home past curfew with a torn coat and a black eye.
"And YOU!" She jabbed a finger at his chest, her small frame somehow filling the room. "Don't think I didn't notice your readings! Pushing past your limit like that in front of students—"
"Now, now, Recovery Girl, the children were in danger—"
"I don't care!" Her voice cracked with fury and something that sounded like fear. "You're supposed to be their teacher, not their martyr! Sit. Down."
All Might sat.
He actually looked sheepish. The Symbol of Peace, the man who had never once faltered in front of a camera, reduced to a scolded schoolboy by a tiny old woman in a nurse's cap. He perched on the edge of the bed like a child waiting for his punishment.
Izuku watched, a small smile tugging at his lips. Even the greatest hero in the world got yelled at sometimes.
Recovery Girl checked him over, muttering complaints the whole time about reckless heroes and stupid self-sacrifice and didn't anyone think about her blood pressure. She poked and prodded, took readings, made disapproving noises that grew louder with each finding.
"You're stable. For now." She straightened up, hands on her hips. "Don't make this a habit."
She looked at both of them—the boy on the bed and the man who was supposed to be his teacher—and something in her expression softened, just for a moment.
"I'll give you ten minutes. Then you both need rest. Actual rest. Not 'I'll rest later' rest. Rest."
She left, still muttering, the door clicking shut behind her.
Silence settled over the room.
The machines beeped. The lights hummed. Somewhere in the distance, a door opened and closed, footsteps echoing down the hallway. Two people sat in a quiet infirmary, too tired to pretend, too raw to fill the space with empty words.
"You did something brave out there." All Might's voice was quiet, stripped of its usual bombast. Just a tired man talking to a tired kid. "Something dangerous. But brave."
Izuku stared at his hands. They looked normal. Clean. Steady. But he could still feel it—the snap of bone under his grip, the way it had given way too easily, the scream that had echoed across the plaza and still echoed in his ears when the world was quiet.
"I almost killed him."
All Might was quiet for a long moment. The machines beeped. The lights hummed. The weight of the words settled between them.
"I know."
Izuku looked up. "Is that wrong? That I was ready to?"
All Might turned to him. Placed a hand on his shoulder—the same hand that had launched Nomu through a roof, that had saved thousands of people, that had carried the weight of being the Symbol of Peace for decades. His grip was warm. Solid. Real.
"It means you're human." His voice was gentle. "It means you're a hero who had to make an impossible choice." His grip tightened slightly, grounding him. "What matters is what you do next."
Izuku looked at his hands again. "I keep thinking about it. His arm breaking. His face."
"That will stay with you." All Might's voice was soft, understanding. There was no judgment in it, no easy comfort. Just truth. "It should. It means you're not a monster." A pause. "But you're also not the same person who walked into the USJ. None of us are."
They sat in silence. Two people who had faced death and come back changed. Two people who had made choices they couldn't take back. Two people who would carry those choices with them for the rest of their lives.
The machines beeped. The lights hummed. The world continued.
A knock on the door. Tsukauchi entered, apologetic.
"Sorry to interrupt. But I have information. You'll want to hear it."
He sat across from them, pulling out a folder thick with papers. His expression was serious—the kind of serious that made you nervous even if you hadn't done anything wrong.
"Tomura Shigaraki. That's the name he gave. We're running it through every database we have—national, international, underground." He shook his head. "Nothing. No records. No prints. No identity. It's like he appeared out of thin air."
Izuku: "He's a ghost."
Tsukauchi nodded. "Essentially. The Nomu—that creature—is even more concerning. Biologically engineered. Multiple quirks working in tandem. Someone with serious resources built that thing."
All Might's expression darkened. His jaw tightened. "All For One."
The name hung in the air. Heavy. Ominous.
Tsukauchi didn't confirm it. Didn't deny it. "We can't prove that yet. But it's our leading theory. The quirks, the engineering, the targeting of you specifically—it has his fingerprints all over it."
Izuku's mind latched onto the name. All For One. He'd heard it before—in another life, watching a show about this world. But hearing it spoken here, now, in this context... it was different. Real.
He glanced at All Might, waiting for more. An explanation. Context. Anything.
All Might caught his look. Held it for a moment. Then very subtly shook his head.
Not now. Not here. Not yet.
Izuku filed the name away. Added it to the growing list of things he knew but couldn't explain how he knew.
Tsukauchi flipped a page in his folder, oblivious to the silent exchange. "The League of Villains is small. Disorganized. But dangerous. Shigaraki is unstable—your fight proved that." He looked at Izuku. "He unravels under pressure. He's emotional, reactive, easy to provoke. But he's also learning. Adapting. That makes him unpredictable."
Izuku filed away every word. Every detail. Every scrap of information that might matter later.
"We'll find them." Tsukauchi closed the folder. "It'll take time, but we will. In the meantime—stay alert. Stay together. And if you remember anything else, call me."
He stood, nodded to All Might, and left.
The room felt heavier.
Izuku looked at All Might. Opened his mouth to ask—
"Not today, my boy." All Might's voice was tired. Gentle. Final. "Soon. But not today. There are things you need to know, and things I need to be ready to tell you. Today is for resting. For healing. For being with your family."
Izuku closed his mouth. Nodded.
Soon. But not today.
Izuku walked through his front door and immediately wanted to collapse.
The exhaustion from Recovery Girl's treatment hit him like a wave—deep, bone-tired, the kind of tired that made every step feel like wading through mud.
Inko was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled amazing. She turned when she heard the door—and froze.
One look. That's all it took.
She didn't scream. Didn't panic. Just opened her arms.
He walked into them. Let himself be held. Let himself be small for a minute.
Inko didn't say anything at first. She just held him, rocked him slightly like she used to when he was small. The TV was off. No news. No reporters. Just the quiet of their home and the sound of cats meowing for attention.
Finally: "You're home."
"Yeah."
"You're safe."
"Yeah."
She pulled back, cupped his face, searched his eyes. "They haven't said anything on the news yet. Just that there was an 'incident' at UA. But I knew. Mothers know."
Izuku didn't know what to say to that.
They sat on the couch. The cats gathered immediately—Ochaco jumping onto his lap, Flex curling at his feet, Bastet claiming the armrest, Third ascending to his usual perch on the bookshelf, watching with those judgmental eyes.
Izuku told her. Not everything—not the almost-killing part, not the moment he'd held Shigaraki's wrist and thought about ending it. But enough. The flood zone. The ship. Tsuyu and Mineta. The waves of villains. Aizawa's broken body. All Might's arrival.
Inko listened. Cried a little. Held his hand the whole time.
"My brave boy." She sniffled. "My stupid, brave boy."
Izuku almost laughed. Almost.
The next two days passed in a haze of sleep and recovery.
Izuku slept more than he'd ever slept in his life. The stamina drain from Recovery Girl's quirk was no joke—his body demanded rest, and he gave it. He ate. Helped Inko around the house when he had energy. Played with the cats. Tried not to think about Shigaraki's scream.
Tried not to think about the name All Might had dropped and then refused to explain.
All For One.
It echoed in his mind. A question mark. A promise of answers to come.
On the second day, the news finally broke.
"LEAGUE OF VILLAINS ATTACKS UA: SYMBOL OF PEACE VICTORIOUS"
Inko called him down to watch. Reporters stood outside the UA gates, shouting questions at empty air. The school had released an official statement—minimal details, maximum reassurance. Students were safe. The villains were defeated. Classes would resume in a week.
They didn't mention Aizawa's broken body. Thirteen's injuries. The fear.
They didn't mention Shigaraki's escape.
They definitely didn't mention All For One.
Inko turned to him. "Is that true? What they're saying?"
"Mostly."
She didn't ask which parts weren't.
Later that night, Izuku lay in bed. The cats had claimed their usual spots—Ochaco on his chest, purring like a tiny engine. Flex curled at his feet. Bastet on his desk, watching the window. Third on the shelf, those gleaming eyes fixed on him.
He thought about Tsukauchi's words. Shigaraki. The League. All For One.
He's out there. With a broken arm and a lot of hate.
He thought about All Might's words. What matters is what you do next. And his silent promise: Soon. But not today.
He looked at his hands in the dim light. Clean. Steady.
I almost killed someone. But I also saved people. I fought. I protected.
Ochaco purred louder. Flex stretched in his sleep. Third's eyes gleamed.
Maybe that's enough for now.
He closed his eyes. Sleep came easier than it had all week.
Morning arrived. Sunlight through the curtains. Cats meowing for breakfast.
Phone buzzed.
Uraraka: Hey. Saw the news. They're saying classes start again in a week. You okay?
Izuku: Getting there. You?
Uraraka: Same. Want to talk later?
Izuku: Maybe.
Uraraka: I'll take maybe.
He put the phone down. Looked at the ceiling. The cats were already stirring, meowing louder, demanding sustenance.
A few more days at home. Then back to school. Back to them. Back to the questions All Might won't answer yet.
He got up. Faced the day.
Ochaco meowed at his feet. Flex did a backbend. Third judged from his perch.
Same as always
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Author's Notes:
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15 CHAPTERS ADVANCE OF STARTING WITH BLACK CLOVER
5 CHAPTERS ADVANCE OF MHA: LIMITED CHAOS GACHA
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NOTE: USJ ARC IS FOINALLY DONEEEEEE. Tbh i still have doubts sometimes on what route my mc will take, should it be somewhat similar to canon deku? and try to save shigaraki? or kill him or just outright cripple incapacitate him as soon as possible to take him out of the picture, will he trust in the future he knows and act on it or make a different choice from the orignal. ALSO DUNE PART 3 TRAILER IS MADD!! CRAZYYY FRR!! anyway how was the chapter?