Chapter Text
“Our investigators are trying to learn everything they can about this so-called League of Villains. We’ve made some progress, but we can’t find anything on this Shigaraki so far. We’ve searched our records for men in their twenties or thirties registered with some kind of disintegration Quirk, but we’ve come up empty. The same goes for the Warp Gate villain, Kurogiri. Either they aren’t citizens, or they’re using aliases. Hard to find, either way.”
The report is long, but the Police Force has uncovered very little about the USJ attack. Tsukauchi feels a twinge of guilt that he can’t offer the UA teachers more than this—certainly not enough to repay their valiant efforts during the incident.
“So what you’re really saying is that we don’t know anything,” Vlad King sighs, looking over his papers.
“We’ve gotta track ’em down,” Snipe adds, his metallic voice cutting through the room. “I shot their ringleader, but once he heals up, he’ll probably try somethin’ like this again. What a pain.”
“He did seem like the type.”
The small white mammal beside the speaker tilts its head. “Is something on your mind, All Might?”
All Might glances aside before nodding. “The attack on the USJ was too bold. No sane adult would attempt something like that. The ringleader kept monologuing about his reasons for being there. He went on and on about Nomu’s many Quirks, but he never said a word about his own powers. When things didn’t go his way, he was visibly upset—like he was about to throw a tantrum.” He groans. “I suppose bragging about Nomu’s Quirks was his way of drawing me into a fight.”
“That may be true,” Principal Nezu says thoughtfully. “But strategically, it was foolish to reveal such information upfront instead of keeping it hidden.”
“Shigaraki makes wild, immature claims with a completely straight face,” All Might continues. “He talks about Nomu like it’s a pet. It’s as if he’s never been told ‘no’—like he believes everything will go his way no matter what. He has the personality of a spoiled child. A man-child.”
“A child with incredible power,” Vlad King cuts in, turning toward Midnight. “It’s possible he never received the Quirk counseling students get in elementary school.”
“Maybe,” Snipe says. “But it doesn’t change the situation now.”
“There were seventy-two villains arrested after the USJ attack,” Tsukauchi continues. “All of them were small-time thugs—back-alley criminals. What concerns me is that this ‘man-child’ managed to unite them under a single plan. They viewed him as a true leader. Criminals are feeling more pressure as the world fills with heroes. That may be why they were so quick to follow such simplistic villainy.”
Vlad King sighs again. “Guess that makes sense.”
“There’re plenty of people out there lookin’ for a cause,” Snipe says with a nod. “So what do we do to stop them?”
“Thanks to you heroes, we have the time to devote ourselves fully to this investigation,” Tsukauchi says with a grateful smile. “We’ll expand our search and continue pursuing those responsible for planning the attack.”
Nezu hums quietly. “A man-child, hmm? In some ways, he shares common ground with our students. Both possess immense potential. And like our students, it’s possible someone is guiding him—nurturing his malice.” He straightens. “For now, I’d like to thank the Police Force for everything you’ve done on behalf of our staff and students.”
“Thank you,” Tsukauchi replies, bowing low. The meeting adjourns soon after.
Nezu hops down from the table, files in hand, and is the first to step into the long hallways beyond.
Sunlight pours through the glass windows, framing the midday sky and catching a knowing glint in the principal’s eye. He pauses beside one of UA’s many trophy cases. In uncertain times, it feels appropriate to reflect on past successes. Over the years, countless students—particularly from the Support Course—have earned recognition.
“Admiring our progress, Principal Nezu?” Power Loader asks.
Nezu clasps his hands behind his back, smiling. “Some of the best support items ever created came from your students. These represent the finest among them.” His gaze lingers on a particular photo: a young All Might high-fiving the medal’s inventor, both wearing matching awards.
“Out of curiosity,” Nezu asks, “what is your assessment of Class 1-A?”
Power Loader hums. “They’re a solid group—strong Quirks across the board. Though from a support standpoint, only a couple really stand out. The girl with the earphone jacks, and maybe the lightning kid.”
Nezu’s tail flicks as he considers this, his eyes returning to the photo.
He remembers that girl—the one who would go on to change the world.
Very interesting indeed.
“So then, to recap,” the teacher says, projecting his voice as he scans the stands filled with students bathed in the blue glow of their holo screens. “When Quirks first emerged, two opposing ideological extremes formed. What were they?”
One hand shoots up immediately. The professor grins and points. “Yes, Iskra.”
Iskra lowers her hand and leans back into her plush seat. “When Quirks were first developing, people didn’t understand them at all. But as they became more common, it became clear that Quirks were being passed down through offspring.” She tugs at the collar of her shirt, flapping it slightly to cool off in the stuffy classroom. “The theory is that Quirks will eventually become too powerful—and too complex—to control. That’s the Quirk Singularity Doomsday Theory.”
She continues smoothly, barely glancing at the screens. “On the other side of the spectrum, Quirk users feared government restriction. That fear led to ideologies like the Meta Liberation movement.”
As she speaks, images and linked articles populate the main board and each student’s display for later review. The professor nods, impressed, and taps a control panel. The window screens slide open, and a chorus of groans follows as sunlight floods the room.
“And with that, class is dismissed,” he says. “Don’t forget—your papers on both theories are due next week.”
Iskra reaches down and unplugs her flash drive. Her hologram fizzles out instantly. “Well,” she mutters, rolling her shoulders, “that was a long lecture.”
“Senior finals,” Melissa says with a laugh as she unplugs her own flash and slips it into her bag. “What did you expect?”
“Good thing we applied for early admission,” Iskra replies. They laugh as they head out into the hall together.
Outside, the sun bears down through palm trees and scattered clouds, the sky an impossibly vivid blue. And to think—the ground beneath their feet, the entire island keeping them aloft, is completely man-made.
I-Island exists for the world’s leading scientists, a hub for developing Quirks and Hero Support technology. In a society where more than eighty percent of the population possesses extraordinary abilities, one profession rises above all others: Hero—those who protect the powerless from those who wield their Quirks with malice.
At the bike rack, the two girls press their fingers to the handles of their scooters. With a soft click, the restraints disengage.
“What do you say we grab dinner tonight?” Melissa asks, pushing off as her scooter glides neatly into its lane.
“I’d love to,” Iskra says, tucking a loose strand of blue-and-yellow hair back into place. “But Uncle David wants me to test a new support item first. We could all go together afterward.”
“Sounds perfect,” Melissa says. “Papa won’t mind. I’ll just work on class stuff until then.”
The central tower of I-Island houses most of the scientific staff, each floor dedicated to a different field of research and the funding that supports it. This building is one of many work facilities separate from the residential sector.
Once the elevator doors slide open, the two girls step out and approach a large metal door. They scan their ID cards, and the door glides aside, revealing a spacious lab. One man sits at a computer while another fiddles with a support item at a nearby workbench.
“We’re here!” Melissa calls, placing a hand on Iskra’s shoulder and gently pushing her forward.
The lab assistant looks up. “Hello, you two. How were classes?”
“Super great!” Melissa answers instantly. “Iskra got top marks again.”
Iskra covers part of her face with her hand, embarrassed, then bows her head slightly. “There was nothing to it.”
Smiling at them, the lead scientist turns with the item still in his hands. “I’m glad to hear the coursework hasn’t been affecting your studies.”
Iskra’s eyes light up when she notices what he’s holding. “No way—you already got my notes?” She beams. “Uncle David, you’re the best!”
David Shield, one of the leading figures in Quirk research, chuckles. “Remember, unlike Hero gear, your equipment needs to be practical for everyday use.”
He holds up a stone-blue band with angular paneling, its square shape broken by inverted arrow-like corners. From his desk, he selects several matching panels—dark purple, nearly black—and snaps them into place before handing the device to Iskra.
“Melissa,” David says, “can you help set Iskra up in the chamber?”
“Sure thing.”
The two girls hurry into the adjoining room, where a large window provides a clear view inside. Multiple screens flicker to life, tracking their movements. David watches them fondly—until the lab door opens behind him.
“Professor David Shield,” a familiar voice says pleasantly, “how wonderful to see you again.”
David and Samuel both stiffen as a small white mammal in an impeccably tailored suit steps inside.
“Mr. Nezu?” Samuel blurts out. “What are you doing here?”
Nezu smiles. “Principal Nezu, if you please. That is my occupation, after all.” He turns to David. “I trust you received my email?”
David swallows and rubs the back of his neck. “I did. I just didn’t think you’d come all the way to I-Island to discuss it.”
“Something this delicate requires a strong paw,” Nezu replies lightly.
He glances toward the observation window. Inside the chamber, a yellow-blonde girl with glasses secures a collar-like device around the neck of a platinum-blonde girl with pale blue-mint highlights. The two give the cameras a thumbs-up.
David activates the microphone. “All right. Start with level one.”
The chamber lights shut off, bathing the observers in a soft blue-white glow.
“Her Quirk is developing beautifully,” Nezu comments. “Fascinating, really.”
David removes his glasses to clean them. “There’s a reason they call her the Impossible Girl. She’s been working relentlessly this past year. She’s a senior at the academy—same as Melissa.”
“A senior at her age is impressive,” Nezu says.
David crosses his arms, watching the chamber. “She’s remarkable… and she’s only just learned how to function again.”
Nezu nods solemnly, remembering the weight of the past year.
“Version four is a success!” Samuel announces as the lights rise.
Iskra takes a few deep breaths as the glow fades from her hair. Melissa unlocks the chamber door and lets her out.
“It works great!” Iskra says, giving a thumbs-up.
Then both girls freeze.
Standing just outside the chamber, Nezu smiles and waves. “Hello. I’m Principal Nezu. It’s very nice to finally meet you both in person.”
“Hi!” Melissa says cheerfully, gesturing to herself before shaking Iskra slightly. “I’m Melissa—and this is Iskra.”
Iskra lifts a hand. “Hey.”
“Iskra Digi, correct?” Nezu asks.
She nods, one hand settling on her hip. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Then her brow furrows. Principal…?
“UA?”
Iskra rests her chin in her hands, swirling a straw through her soda. The lively noise of the diner is a welcome contrast to the sterile white walls of the lab—but the situation feels strange, especially with David and Melissa seated elsewhere.
“UA,” she repeats quietly, realization settling in. She knows that school well. Too well. And sitting across from her, demolishing a cheeseburger and fries, is its principal.
“We could’ve gone somewhere else if you preferred,” Nezu offers. “Perhaps sushi?”
Wiping his mouth, he smiles politely. “Actually, I quite enjoy the cultural contrast. As they say—when in Rome.” A small burp escapes him, and he grips the table. “Pardon me.”
Iskra laughs softly, taking a sip of her drink. “You’re good. So… why did you want to talk to me?”
Nezu’s expression softens. “First, I’d like to extend my sincerest condolences for your loss.”
Iskra’s smile vanishes. She straightens, shoulders rolling back as she breathes in slowly.
“Your mother was one of the finest students UA ever taught,” Nezu continues. “Top of her class—top of the school.”
Iskra doesn’t respond. She stares out at the setting sun, the lower half of her booth swallowed by shadow cast from the island’s perimeter wall.
Nezu pauses, then gently changes direction. “Are you aware of the USJ attack in Japan?”
“USJ?”
“It’s a rescue-training facility on campus. Our first-year Hero Course class was attacked by a large group of villains—mostly low-level thugs, save for their leader. The students held them off until teachers arrived, but it was a difficult battle.”
“Sounds like a hell of a class,” Iskra says. “Handling a villain attack as first-years.”
“Quite remarkable,” Nezu agrees. “But the incident revealed something important.”
Now intrigued, Iskra leans forward. Nezu takes a sip of his drink. “We seek excellence—but also diversity. A wide range of Quirks and skills.”
“As any prestigious school would,” Iskra says, popping a fry into her mouth.
Nezu smiles broadly. “Which is exactly why I’m offering you a position in the Hero Course.”
Iskra chokes.
She coughs violently, gripping the table, finally clearing her throat through her straw. “Hold on—UA is insanely hard to get into. You can’t just offer me a spot.”
“I am the principal, my dear—”
“No thanks.”
Nezu blinks.
Then smiles again. “You’re quick to decide.”
Leaning back, Iskra crosses her arms. “I-Island has strict policies about leaving.”
“Not for residents.”
“I may not be a scientist,” Iskra replies evenly, “but I attend the academy and I’m currently involved in multiple research projects.”
Nezu’s cheerful smile doesn’t waver, making her grimace. “Fine,” she mutters. “I just don’t want to go.”
“If commitment is your concern,” Nezu says gently, “support students would be thrilled to collaborate with you. You’d have your own room—”
“I have no interest in going, sir.”
This time, there’s no deflection in her voice. Just honesty.
“The school year is almost over,” she continues. “Melissa and I were both accepted into I-I University on the other side of the island.”
She stands.
“And as fun as this has been,” she adds, “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Principal Nezu.”
At the door, she glances back once. “Have a safe flight.”
Then she steps outside, arms folding behind her head as warm light washes away the weight of the conversation.
Mint stings Iskra’s gums as she brushes her teeth, the sharp aftertaste lingering in her breath. Her scroll rests on the sink, reflected faintly in the mirror.
A knock sounds at the door.
Iskra turns from the sink and steps out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in her mouth. She opens the door.
“You’re home early,” David says.
She carefully pulls the brush from her lips, toothpaste foaming as she mutters, “Were you in on this?”
“All I got was an email.”
“And you couldn’t give me a heads-up?” Iskra asks, turning back into her apartment and returning to the bathroom, leaving the door open.
“Would it have made a difference?” David counters as he steps inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. He pulls out the chair at her desk and sits. “You have to admit—some people would kill for an offer like this.”
“So you are in on it—!”
Iskra spins around, spitting into the sink. The mint turns bitter as her frustration catches up with her.
David chuckles quietly and glances toward her desk. A letter lies there, unopened. He picks it up, recognizing the acceptance envelope instantly—the same one Melissa received, only with a different name and major.
“Look at you,” he says, smiling. “Sixteen and starting college in the fall.”
Iskra steps fully out of the bathroom, holding two charging cords. She sets them on the desk near her bed, then perches on the edge of it, back against the wall. Reaching up, she cracks the window open. The scent of saltwater drifts in, steady and familiar.
“You know the committee supports Nezu’s proposal,” David says gently. “They think this is an incredible opportunity—to really study Quirk development.”
Iskra stiffens. She draws her knees to her chest and buries her face in her hands with a groan. “Of course. The moment I don’t want to leave, they’re like, ‘Sure! Go right ahead—just waltz off the island.’”
David sets the letter down and sits beside her on the bed. “It’s not just them.”
She peeks at him. He exhales.
“I’ve been thinking about it too.”
“It’s May,” Iskra snaps. “One more month and I’m done.”
“Done?” David raises a brow, bringing one knee up and resting his arm over it. “The reason I recommended you for Melissa’s class wasn’t because I thought it suddenly matched your level. I always knew you could handle it.” He softens. “But you needed someone. And now… I think you need more than just Melissa and me.”
Iskra’s jaw tightens. David places a hand on her far shoulder.
She slumps forward, resting her head against him, eyes squeezed shut. “Uncle David…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll only be a plane ride away,” he says quietly. “And the board is offering you one more thing.”
She lifts her head. “What?”
“If you do this—after the Japanese school year ends—they’ll let you rejoin Melissa’s class. You can do occasional work on the mainland, too.”
Iskra’s eyes widen. “S-So…The…The mainland?”
“Yup.”
“…Just one year?”
“Only one.”
She exhales deeply, the weight finally easing from her shoulders.
There are only two places where you can truly see the ocean surrounding I-Island. One is from the highest levels of the central tower.
The other is from the sky.
“You’ll be living on campus,” Nezu says from the front passenger seat, glancing back at Iskra. “The I-Island board was very clear—you’re UA’s responsibility now.”
Iskra stares out the car window, processing the world rushing past. “Schools have dorms?”
“Yes,” Nezu replies. “A program I’ve been meaning to implement. Since there’s been no need for them, they’ve never been used.” He smiles. “Until now. You’ll have your pick of rooms.”
She nods, then asks, “What class will I be joining?”
“If you pass—Class 1-A.”
Iskra crosses one leg over the other and folds her arms. “Please elaborate, sir.”
Nezu’s eyes sparkle. “Today is the last day of classes before the UA Sports Festival.”
“Best event of the year,” Iskra says immediately. “Uncle David, Melissa, and I watch it every year.”
“Then they’ll get to watch you,” Nezu replies.
She lets out a low whistle, leaning back and lacing her hands behind her head. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all. Your performance will determine your technical acceptance into UA. Either way, you’ll gain exposure.”
“Fair deal.”
“No one expects you to win the festival,” Nezu adds. “We’re evaluating creativity, resourcefulness, adaptability—how you perform in various situations and against others.”
The car slows.
Momentum carries Iskra forward as she opens the door and steps out. Sunlight glints off the first two towers of the massive campus, while the others are partially obscured by the connecting bridge. At the entrance stands the iconic gold emblem—a U wrapped around an A.
Leaning against the car, Iskra pulls a pair of dark blue sunglasses from her back pocket and slips them on.
“Okay,” she says. “This looks epic.”
As Nezu steps out, the trunk opens automatically. Iskra extends the handles of two bags and pulls them free.
“You can leave those here,” Nezu says.
She hesitates, tightening her grip. “You sure? One of these has critical equipment.”
“I assure you,” Nezu replies, “they’ll be handled with the utmost care.”
Reluctantly, she lets go and follows him into the building.
In the spacious main lobby, a man rises from a bench. A scarf is wrapped around his neck; his arms are in slings, his face partially obscured by bandages.
“Principal Nezu,” he says flatly.
“Ah, Eraser!” Nezu chirps. “Thank you again for meeting us.”
Iskra lifts her sunglasses. “Eraser Head?” She pushes them up onto her head. “As in Shota Aizawa?”
Even through the bandages, Aizawa’s gaze sharpens—then stalls, momentarily caught on the blue strands woven through Iskra’s hair.
“Eraser,” Nezu says, “allow me to introduce your new student—Iskra Digi.”
“Potential student,” Aizawa corrects.
Both teacher and student glance at Nezu, then back at each other. Iskra grins. “It’s great to meet you, sir.”
Aizawa exhales and turns away. “Yeah. Likewise. Try to keep up.”
Iskra snaps a playful salute and jogs after him. “Yes, sir!”
Every so often, Aizawa glances at her as they walk. He’s seen pictures before—old files, archived photos—but seeing her in motion makes the difference stark. That toddler grew up fast. Too fast.
“Whoa.”
Iskra stops short at a floor-to-ceiling window. Her eyes dart across the Support Course Studio as sparks flash and mechanisms whirr inside. Gadgets clatter, pistons hiss, something explodes in a controlled burst of smoke.
“And it’s inside the school?” she says, pressed nearly to the glass. “That’s insane.”
“Hey, kid.”
She pivots instantly, attention snapping to him. “Yeah?”
“What’s your Quirk?”
Iskra opens her mouth—then smirks. “Well,” she says thoughtfully, “in my experience, one should reveal things only when the moment is… opportune.”
Aizawa exhales. “You’re dramatic.”
She slides her sunglasses down her nose, snaps her fingers, and flashes a grin that could power a generator. “Gotta stay in the moment. You never know when the camera might be rollin’.”
Before he can stop her, she flips her phone up, front camera on. “First day at UA! Getting the grand tour from my potential teacher—the one, the only, Eraser Head—”
“Put that away.”
“Yes, sir.”
The phone disappears instantly, like it never existed.
Aizawa pauses, noting it. Loud personality. Fast compliance. Interesting.
He sighs and keeps walking—and then spots the crowd ahead.
Iskra jogs to catch up, scratching the back of her head. “Uh… what’s going on?”
“Hey, you!”
A silver-haired student leaps up, voice echoing through the corridor. “I’m from Class 1-B next door! We heard you fought villains, and I wanted to see if that was true—but you’re just a bunch of brats who think you’re better than us!”
Iskra cranes her neck over the crowd and lets out a low whistle when she sees the classroom number.
“Oh,” she mutters. “That’s my supposed class.”
“Run your mouth all you want!” a blonde kid shouts, shoving through the group. “It’ll be more embarrassing when you’re KO’d! Don’t ignore me!”
“Dude, where are you going?!” a spiky redhead yells after him. “This is why everyone hates us, Bakugo!”
“They don’t matter,” Bakugo snaps without looking back. “All that matters is that I beat them.”
The silver-haired student jumps again. “Hey! Get back here—!”
Then he freezes.
“Mr. Aizawa—!”
“Everyone,” Aizawa says calmly.
The temperature drops.
“Get out of here.”
The crowd scatters immediately, instincts overriding bravado. Bakugo keeps walking.
For half a second, his eyes meet Iskra’s.
Something sharp flickers there—recognition? Challenge?
Aizawa steps between them. “If you’re accepted,” he says evenly, “this will be your classroom.”
“Mr. Aizawa!” several lingering students protest.
Iskra blinks. “So this is just homeroom?”
“No. You spend all your classes here. Teachers rotate.”
“Got it.”
Aizawa exhales again, heavier this time. “You should all be preparing for the Sports Festival.”
“Sir,” a composed girl asks from the back, hand raised. “May I ask who she is?”
Aizawa’s gaze flicks to Iskra just as she starts to speak. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
She shrugs. “Boss’s orders.”
“And don’t think you’re off the hook either.”
Iskra grins and gives a thumbs-up. “Never crossed my mind.”
For someone trying to be intimidating, Aizawa can’t miss the sheer optimism radiating off her.
“This is the Height Alliance.”
Iskra scans the row of buildings, each marked with a class number. “All of these were built for a ‘just in case’?”
Aizawa pulls out a key. “You’re living here, aren’t you?”
She snorts. “Touché.”
“The first floor is communal,” he explains, unlocking the door. Inside: a full kitchen, lounge space, wide screens, elevators tucked toward the back. “Kitchen, bathrooms, laundry. Dorms start on the second floor—eight rooms per floor. Separated by gender.”
He hands her the key. “You get one.”
“No problem.”
“Faculty has access. Don’t expect surprise visits, but the principal and I will check in.”
“Roger.”
“And remember,” Aizawa adds, turning back toward the door, “you’re UA’s responsibility and I-Island’s investment. These check-ins are routine.”
She nods.
“For now, take a couple days to train. Nezu had me stock the fridge—I didn’t know what you eat, so I covered my bases. If you need anything, find the teachers’ office.”
“Just one thing,” Iskra says, tilting her head.
He looks back.
“Where’s the nearest hardware store?”
Aizawa narrows his eyes. “Not far. I’ll give you directions when you submit a leave request.”
Iskra hauls both bags into her dorm and lets them slump against the wall. Boxes sit stacked near the bed. She spots the balcony, eyes lighting up.
Ideas start turning.
She drops her clothes bag and cracks open one of the boxes.
Hours later, a holo-computer hums to life on her desk, a carousel-like apparatus mounted beside it. She sinks into the chair and reaches back, unclasping the collar at her neck. She places it atop the carousel’s spire.
Panels shift. Slide. Lock neatly into place.
She massages the back of her neck, careful to avoid the sensitive spot near her spine, then undoes the ties in her hair. Long cords spill across the desk.
Turning, she unwraps two photos, popping the bubble wrap absentmindedly. Her acceptance letter goes up first.
Then a photo of her mother at the beach.
Just because.
“Now it’s my turn,” Iskra murmurs.
The holo-computer finishes booting up. Light reflects in her eyes.
She cracks her knuckles.
“Let’s get to it.”